17 May 1999



Spoilers: up to Field Trip





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Excerpts from the journal of Walter S. Skinner





I knew they'd come.  I rubbed my eyes and stared out the window, trying

not to shake as I heard the key in the lock.



I'd thought of changing the locks to keep them out.  But I couldn't run

forever, and sooner or later Fox was bound to look at me and see that I

had another secret behind my eyes.



I'd never been sure what Krycek would do to me if I told Fox and Dana

about that.  It's a sick feeling in my gut, not knowing what he's going

to ask of me, and when.  Maybe that's another reason I didn't change the 

locks and run.  I needed them while I could have them, needed them now

in case he took them away later.



"Walt."  Fox's voice, soft behind me.  I didn't turn to look at him, and 

eventually he moved away.  I heard the rustling of paper, and knew he'd

brought groceries.  I heard Dana breathing.



She wrapped her arms around me and pressed her head against my back,

just below my shoulder blades.  God, she's small.  If I didn't know

better, I would think she was frail.



I found myself remembering the first time I felt her body against mine,

in the elevator at the Hoover.



And later, her legs locked around my waist, her head flung back.



I shuddered and her arms tightened, pulling me closer.  "What's wrong?"

Her voice was as soft as his had been.



Sharon used to hold me like this, when I had nightmares or when I stood

for hours looking at nothing.  I never spoke to her when she did that.

I thought she knew how much it helped, but maybe she didn't.  Maybe that 

was one of the silences that killed our marriage.



"I knew you were in trouble, Dana."



"How did you know?"



"I just knew."



Pots clattered in the kitchen and I heard the CD player Fox had put in

there two weeks ago spin up, a whine on the edge of my hearing.



I shouldn't have been able to hear it, but I could.



Dana's heart beat, evenly and strongly, against my back.



David Bowie began singing in the kitchen.  Fox joined in, his voice

blending with the music.  The pain hit suddenly as I realized how much

younger they were than I.



I was too old for David Bowie.  Too old to have been one of the

colorful, androgynous children who loved him when they were fourteen.

One of the children Fox had confessed to being in bed one night, telling 

Dana and I that he thought maybe Bowie was an alien, and if he listened

to the music, maybe he could find out where his sister was.



The oven slammed and the CD flipped rapidly through songs.



Oh, God.



It was the song that always made me think of Dana.



Velvet Goldmine.



Her hair's hot red.



Naked on my chain.



Imagery I didn't need while feeling tired and sorry for myself.



As Fox bounced into the room I saw he knew exactly what he was doing to

me.  That son of a bitch.



And he was in front of me, between me and the window, his arms around my 

neck.  I was trapped between him and Dana, feeling their hearts beat

close to mine.



"I know what it's like, Walter," he said.  "Don't you think it's

happened to me, now and again?  Irrational convictions, telling me to do 

something *now* or all Hell will break lose.  The biggest X-File of all: 

how do we know these impossible things, and why?"  



I closed my eyes and let myself feel their heartbeats.



"I almost lost you," I said.



Dana turned her head and kissed me on the spine.  Fox just held me

closer.



Whatever was in the oven smelled wonderful.  I waited in their arms for

dinner to be ready.



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