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Jan-30

RANGER'S FANFIC - PART 23

The X-Files and the characters Walter Skinner and Dana Scully are property of  Fox, 1013 Productions and Chris Carter and whoever else has the money to own them. All other characters were created by the author (that's me). The following story is solely for entertainment purposes. And just so you know, I am doing this for fun and practice, and I ain't making no kind of money from this. So there.

***********

A QUESTION OF SKINNER - PART 23

Evelyn finally arrived at Edwin’s at ten forty-five. She bustled in from the back, tossed her purse and bunched up her coat under the bar at the time Nick pulled his heavy leather jacket out from his spot beneath the bar. She tapped him on the arm as a greeting, waved at Leon. He had cranked up his favorite Buddy Guy blues number, so Evelyn had to yell over Buddy's guitar.

“Why do I pay money for triple A’s when the road-side assistance I get just rates one? Lord. I ended up waiting for an hour, and then the tow guy who did show up smelled like a bag of corn chips…oh my god…”

She continued to mutter while tying up her apron. Nick shrugged into his jacket. He rapped on the bar to get Leon’s attention away from the drink he was mixing.

“Look. Walter sounds off. I think he needs an ear.”

Leon said, “Go. Me and Evie…we got this.”

xxx

Nick yanked open the outside glass entry door to Walter’s apartment building. Crystal City had a reputation for being security-minded, and the complex was a pretty good example. With the door completely closed behind him, he found himself in a no-man’s land with a set of glass doors in front of him and a bank of buttons on the marble wall to his left. There were no names to identify whose apartment was whose, only numbers. He knew Walter’s apartment number but none of these corresponded, which meant the bells were coded.   

He whispered, “Now I know you’re off.”

He dug in the kangaroo pockets of his leather jacket, found his phone.

“Walter. I’m in your lobby. You didn’t give me the number to your bell, buddy.”

 “Damn. Didn’t I? Sorry.”

Soon Nick heard a metallic click indicating the lock was disengaged. Walter, still in his suit, his tie askew, was waiting in the doorway of his tenth floor apartment when Nick stepped off the elevator.

“How many beers have you had already Jarhead?”

“Not all of’em. Got yours.”

Walter held up two bottles. Nick took one, followed Walter inside.

“Just so you know I didn’t get anything back on that .22 yet.”

Walter shrugged.

“So…why do you think you’re an idiot?”

Walter shrugged again. He didn’t say anything until they were in the living room.

“Sonja. Smart. Gorgeous.”

“Okay.”

 “Server. At The Watering Hole. Forty-one, goes to GW Law School. Met her on Friday. I think something happened between us. I don’t remember any of it.”

Nick took a seat on the sofa. He remembered Walter’s concern about someone laying his watch on his nightstand. Maybe this Sonja person had spent the night and removed it for him.

“Yeah, you told me about the amnesia on Sunday, remember? You were with…Dana.” Nick didn’t know why he had to say her name, but it felt right. He added, “And…I don’t think this is just about a woman.”

Walter closed his eyes, rubbed the cold bottle across his forehead, winced when it touched his injured eye. He really didn’t like having gaps in his life.

“Sonja called earlier today and we made a date to meet outside the law library at eight. I asked how she got my number. She said we exchanged them. Shit. I don’t remember that. Anyway I met her. We talked for a second, me in the car, her on the curb. I got out, you know to get closer. I…wanted to kiss her.”

“If she’s gorgeous like you say, I can understand the inclination.”

“I held her by the shoulders, asked her to kiss me.”

Nick snorted.

“You asked. I know you Jarhead.”

“All right. I told her to kiss me. Twice. Nick, I wouldn’t force a woman to do anything. She said no both times. But the second time? It was loud. She saw the security car coming, but I didn’t since my back was to the street. She told the fucking security guard I was assaulting her.”

Walter took a long pull on his beer, ran his thumb over the neck of the bottle. Condensation glistened on his skin, triggered a thought that came up from some strange place in his head. Sonja’s smooth skin would look delicious shining like this. And a pool of sweat, shimmering in the hollow of her neck; a cup waiting for him to lean in and...

What the fuck? He shook his head and sighed, rubbed his hand over his scalp.

Nick watched his friend carefully, sipped his beer.

“Like I said, Jarhead, I don’t think this is just about a woman. You looked like a drowning victim on Sunday with everything that happened to you.” 

Walter laughed bitterly.

“Ask anybody. I’m a paragon of strength.”

He sprawled in the recliner, the beer bottle dangling from his fingers. He gave Nick an apologetic look.

“I haven’t seen you in what…two…three years?”

“Sumthin’ like that. I took the early out in ’05, came down here and bought Edwin’s Bar. After Elnora died in ‘07, Leon decided to call it quits too, and I offered him a stake.”

“And after all that time…what do I do? Show up on your doorstep sniveling like a little girl.”

Nick leaned forward, his expression earnest.

“Leon said you were fallen, alone on the battlefield. We don’t leave our brother behind. You’d do the same, other foot.  Fidelis, brother. Semper.”

Walter squeezed his eyes shut against the impending waterworks. Nick leaned back on the sofa, his hands tucked behind his head and waited while his friend got it out. Walter fished a handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket, wiped his face.

“Ahhh...damn.”

“You’re not a virgin. That bitch Life will ride you hard, walk away from your ass when you collapse, and let you die. Look. I can’t imagine some of the crazy shit you’ve been through on your job, Walter.”

A movie reel of incidents related to Walter’s personal life overlapped by the cases designated ‘X’ scrolled rapidly through his head including his own death caused by the nano-technology in his bloodstream. The reel ended with the recent crap.

“Yeah, it’s been…intense.”

“Stack that on top of your experience in combat and well…shit.”

Nick had his own memories, and the two men fell silent for a few seconds. Nick sniffed, scrubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes.

“So sometimes man, you’ve got to get it out. And if you can’t do it in front of your brother, then you just can’t do it.”

Nick looked at his watch. They were on the right side of midnight.

“Aw, Walter. I’m sorry. Gotta get back to work.”

Walter nodded, walked his friend to the door.

“Sonja called me again after I got the hell out of there. Asked me if I was angry.”

“And you said, ‘shit yeah.’”

Walter nodded.

“She said something about anger and a collateral effect.”

Nick laughed, snapped his fingers.

“I know this one. You get mad, you get a hard-on.”

“Is that based on science?”

Nick shrugged.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Could be an urban legend.”

Nick leaned on the hallway wall just outside Walter’s apartment. He coughed back a laugh.

“Walter, I think your Sonja has a twisted sense of humor, but I don’t think she’s malicious.”

It was Walter’s turn to snort.

“You weren’t there with a security guard prick ordering you to get in your car.”

Nick took a few steps back, turned to walk down the hall. He came back, grabbed his friend in a bear hug, clapping him on the back.

“Get some sleep, brother.”

He turned back again, hooked three fingers below his chin and scratched his beard.

“But, just out of curiosity. Did you?”

“What?”

“Get a hard-on.”

“Fuck you Nick.”

Nick stood in front of the closed door, his cheeks nearly obliterating his eyes. The bird’s nest beard shuddered when he laughed. He walked to the elevator, punched the button.

“I think I got my answer.”

 

Comments (3)

Jan-24

RANGER'S FANFIC - PART 22

The X-Files and the characters Walter Skinner and Dana Scully are property of  Fox, 1013 Productions and Chris Carter and whoever else has the money to own them. All other characters were created by the author (that's me). The following story is solely for entertainment purposes. And just so you know, I am doing this for fun and practice, and I ain't making no kind of money from this. So there.

***********

A QUESTION OF SKINNER - PART 22

Nick checked his watch between taking orders and busing tables for his server Evelyn after whom Leon named the giant popcorn bag. She was running late. It was ten fifteen, and the week night crowd would really be gearing up at around eleven. He frowned when his phone vibrated, grabbed the holster clipped to his waistband, tilted it to see the screen. Walter. The ballistics hadn’t come back on that gun yet.

“Hey Walter, I don’t have anything on that--”

“Am I an idiot?”

Okay, this was off.

“You drunk?”

“I think I may be an idiot. I…don’t know. I got all this shit…my head’s not straight…and Sonja…she---”

“Wait.”

Nick dropped the pencil and receipt book next to the register.

“Let’s talk in person.”

There was silence for several seconds. Nick thought the line had gone dead.

“Walter?”

“Talking. Yeah. Talking is good.”

Nick snapped his phone shut, leaned against the register with his eyes closed.

xxxx

NYPD Narcotics Detectives Nick Gates and Leon Bobo were scheduled to begin prep for an undercover sting but were pulled off at the behest of the Chief of Detectives. November, nineteen eighty-eight, and the two of them collectively had seventeen years on the force. They found themselves in the Puzzle Palace--known to citizens as One Police Plaza--in a conference room, sitting at a table.

Leon said. “This damned thing is as big as my entire apartment.”

Somebody was nice enough to supply good coffee which, for them, was like getting a great meal. Apparently some higher ups within the Department were cooperating with the FBI on an inter-agency counter-terrorism thing, and this was to be a meet-and-greet.

Leon, who managed to look chronically rumpled despite being in a pressed suit and tie, possessed a rumpled attitude toward life and rarely had a good word for anyone. Today was no exception. He was cross and glared over the table at Nick, whose civilian clothes couldn’t mask the badass biker look he’d developed for work.

Leon muttered, “Fibbies. Bunch of damned pretty boys in designer suits who wouldn’t know a case from their teeny dicks in their ha--”

He clamped his mouth shut. The conference table was situated so anyone seated could see who entered the door. A tall guy apparently a victim of pre-mature balding, pulled the door open, and paused for a second to check out the room. In his grey suit-white shirt-grey tie combo, he might as well have had FBI tattooed on his forehead. He pushed up his glasses, stepped in.

“Gentlemen.”

Nick stared hard at the guy who was busy selecting a seat. He didn’t know this specimen, but there was something familiar in the way he carried himself. Secure and confident, a thin line away from arrogant.

“S’cuse me.”

The guy looked at him, expectation on his face. He pushed up his glasses.

Nick asked, “You…uh…ever had boots on the ground?”

The guy did a thing with his lips, which could have been construed as a smile or a sign that he was having a stroke. Nick couldn’t tell. The guy straightened.

Semper Fi.”

Leon grinned, responded, “OORAH.”

Nick said, “Semper.”

Brothers...Walter Skinner, Special Agent.”

Walter continually went against type, which delighted Leon to no end. Despite his surly demeanor, or the fact he truly knew his stuff, he wasn’t the typical agent sporting a superiority complex and a stick shoved up his ass to keep him standing upright. He didn’t grandstand, or try to steal their juice. He was all about getting the job done.  

After the assignment ended, the task force was disbanded and they went their separate ways. For a few years, they met up once a month for a drink either in New York or D.C. depending on who was willing to make the three-hour trip up or down on the Northeast Corridor. Gradually, the ritual stopped.

xxx

Walter had always been solid and true. A rock. But then, put enough stress on a rock and eventually it succumbed to the pressure. A guy who climbed up the FBI ranks to Assistant Director probably had his own set of internal enemies giving him grief, not to mention the mooks standing on his shoulders exerting force on him from above. Add to that, the recent weird shit that he couldn’t remember.

After nearly three years of silence, Walter sought Nick out twice in as many days. His head must have been really twisted.

 
Jan-16

RANGER'S FANFIC - PART 21

The X-Files and the characters Walter Skinner and Dana Scully are property of  Fox, 1013 Productions and Chris Carter and whoever else has the money to own them. All other characters were created by the author (that's me). The following story is solely for entertainment purposes. And just so you know, I am doing this for fun and practice, and I ain't making no kind of money from this. So there.

***********

A QUESTION OF SKINNER - PART 21

When Walter opened his office door, his assistant had already gone for the day, but true to her nature, left copious notes on his desk of what she had accomplished during the two hours of his absence. He laughed. If she were any more anal, she could eat coal and shit diamonds. And that’s what made him hire her. He settled into his chair, reviewed the stack she left him, occasionally making minor changes to a few of the memos. Suddenly aware of the weight of the cell phone in his jacket pocket, he pulled it out, and looked at the time.

“Shit.”

He pressed ‘calls received,’ scrolled to the one he wanted and selected ‘call back.’

“Sorry it took so long to call.”

“No problem. I know you’re busy. Look. Class ends tonight at eight. I don’t plan on hitting the stacks until tomorrow. So…”

Walter smiled. The woman was a pro at leaving open gaping opportunities. His watch taunted him. It was only five o’clock, which meant there would be three agonizing hours of waiting.

“I can pick you up. We can have coffee or something.”

“Mmm. Or something. That sounds…wonderful. You can pick me up at the library.”

Sonja’s delicious whiskey voice coated his ears and dripped slowly down to his crotch. He closed his eyes.

Wait.

His body stiffened and his eyes popped open.

“Sonja. About Friday. ”

“Yes?”

Great. The one time she didn’t guide him to an opening that would help him. He thought he detected a strain in her voice, but figured working full-time and going to school would strain anybody’s voice. He inhaled, blew it out as quietly as possible.

There probably was no right way to handle this. If he asked her if anything else happened between them, and nothing had, he might offend her. But if something had, and he asked because he couldn’t remember, he might insult her.

But something happened. Her number was in his phone, and obviously she had his. He wished he could dig out the memory.

“I was well…maybe a little drunk. My number. When did I---“

“Just before I left the restaurant. And I programmed my number into your phone.”

“Yeah. Okay. The uh, pie was…great.”

There was silence for a few seconds.

 “The pie. Um…well, guess I’ll see you at eight.”

That was innocuous. Ambiguous. Was she taking offense, or being insulted?  He shook his head. Maneuvering through a woman’s mental minefield was not one of his strong suits.

xxxx

The October air was still warm and Walter could see Sonja’s lovely legs as they carried her from the door of the library to the curb where he was parked. He’d used his credentials to wave away a security guard thirty minutes earlier. She leaned down, motioned for him to lower the passenger side window. She grinned, looked around.

“Hey…nobody parks here.”

God, he wondered if he could survive that voice over time.

“I do.”

Just six words between them charged the air, made it incendiary. He licked his lips. If the bit of verbal foreplay could make him feel this… restless, he couldn’t wait to actually touch her. She shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other.

“Listen…there’s some case law that threw me in class; need to get to the stacks after all. Sorry.”

Her hair was loose. A sudden gust of chilled air lifted the ends up, whipped them around her face.  Walter got out of the car. Sonja straightened, stared at him. He came around the car with more aggression than he intended, but he felt his self-control slipping. He smoothed her hair back, then abruptly clutched her shoulders, yanked her close. He took in the firm, strong jaw-line, the high cheekbones gone rosy from the wind, the intelligence in her eyes. His gaze locked on her mouth.

He ordered, “Kiss me.”

 A smile.

“No.”

He pulled her tighter.

“I said kiss me.”

A broader smile.

“I said NO.”

Her voice carried past Walter at the same moment the campus security guard was making his rounds. He slowed his car and turned his spotlight on the couple. The bulb created a white bull’s-eye against Walter’s dark leather jacket.

“Is there a problem?”

Walter twisted around, squinted into the light.

“No—“

Sonja pulled away from him. The way she clutched her bag against her chest, it looked like she was protecting herself.

She yelled, “Yeah. This guy is trying to make-out with me even though I said no.”

Walter whirled around. He couldn’t read the expression on her face.

He hissed, “What the hell…Sonja what are you doing?”

The guard got out, came around the car.

“The lady said no. I think that means no.”

“Look—“

The guard snatched his radio from his hip, pointed it like a weapon.

“No, you look. You tried your FBI shit to park here, but that’s as far as it goes. Now I recommend you get back into your vehicle, sir. Now.”

The guard turned his attention to Sonja. Anyone would assume she was genuinely afraid.

“Do you need an escort, Miss?”

“No. Not if he gets in his car and drives away.”

The guard turned back to Walter.

“Sir. Your car. Right now.”

xxx

Rage filled Walter’s chest making it damned difficult to breathe. What the fuck was up with that woman?  Whatever her game was, he wanted no part of it. He imagined his hands around her neck. He was sitting in his car in the garage of his Crystal City apartment complex.

He flipped open his phone with the intention of tearing into her, but he managed to corral his anger long enough to place his phone on the seat. Wait until he could think clearly.

The phone suddenly did a circular dance on the car seat. He looked at the screen – Sonja Beckett – and swore under his breath. His first thought was to let it go, but curiosity overrode his anger.

“What?”

“Are you angry?”

“What do you think?”

“Hm…you know…the intensity of that emotion usually has a collateral effect. And I suspect you are experiencing it at this moment.”

“Collateral? What the hell are you talking about? You acted as if—“

“Arousal, Walter. Sexual arousal.”

“I’m not—“

“Liar. You’re so excited right now, you’re shaking.”

“I am angry.”

“Admit it Walter, if I were there in person, you’d have your hands on me. Your fingers around my neck—“

“Shut up. You’re nuts.”

He severed the connection and swore at the darkened screen.

 

Comments (2)

About the Author
No Really, It's Ranger (fr4)

WHAT CAN I SAY ABOUT ME THAT HASN'T BEEN SAID ALREADY?

I am a goddess. 

Perfect is my last name. Pretty is my first, and Damned is my middle.

My brain thinks I'm 25 but my body keeps blowing the whistle on it.

I've never been arrested except in development.

I'm always making jokes with people who don't have a clue (I should have learned by now).

I share (if my half is bigger).

I play well with others.

I don't eat paste.

I don't steal lunches.

My biggest problem is nap time. When I should be asleep I'm not and when I shouldn't be, I am.

I prefer snow over rain, laughter over tears, peace over conflict and eggs over easy.

Since my two children are adults now, I confessed to one that all these years I hadn't known one thing about being a parent. I had made it all up as I went along. They seemed disappointed by that. Yeah, like I was supposed to know everything??

So the question becomes: How does one improve on perfection? Well...there could be TWO of me!

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