Scully scrutinized her supervisor’s face, wondering how much she should say about Mulder, about what was going on, with him, with the case, with Patterson.

“Are you worried about him?”

Skinner’s chin was resting on a fist, and his eyes behind the magnifying lenses were large, dark and impossible to read.

The question startled her, and she struggled not to let it show. She didn’t want to give anything away, needing to stay loyal to Mulder. She swallowed painfully, and belatedly fought the sudden overwhelming urge to cry.  Unable to speak, not sure what she would say if she could, she simply inclined her head with a frown and pierced Skinner with a look that spoke more eloquently than any words could have.  It was a look that said that even if she did trust  Skinner more than say your average rattlesnake, which she didn’t, and even if she felt inclined to talk about the current “disposition” of her partner, which she also didn’t, she would still hold him personably responsible for any permanent harm done to Mulder. He had ordered them onto this investigation, even if it had been at Patterson’s request, and that would forever be on Skinner’s conscience, should anything happen to Mulder.

Skinner sighed. Something grew tight in his jaw and around his eyes.

“Me, too,” he replied to what she didn’t say.

And suddenly, like one of her partner’s incredible leaps of logic, Scully understood. She knew why she was here, and it wasn’t to narc on Mulder over bureau protocol, or gossip about the bad blood between him and Patterson. Skinner’s concern was far more personal than that.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. Then, at his frown, she added, “You’re fucking him!” 

“Agent Scully!” His fist coming down on the desk made her jump. “You’re out of line!”

‘No denial’ was her first thought. This was quickly followed by her Mulder-fostered paranoia. She glanced around the room nervously, as if expecting the smoking man to materialize out of thin air.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said immediately, but her contrite tone didn’t match the icy blue sparks Skinner saw in her eyes. “That was out of line.” She mimed writing something, and he handed her a tablet of Post-Its and a pen. “I’m just worried about Mulder,” she continued, scribbling down an address and a time. “I’m sure you understand.” She handed the note to him.

“Perfectly, Agent Scully.” He read the note, nodded once and slipped it into the front pocket of his pants. Scully followed his hand as it traveled to the pocket and away, and had a startling clear visual of Mulder and—and—

“Thank you for coming in, Agent,” said Skinner.

“No problem, sir. If there’s nothing else, I should get back to the case. And my partner.” A pointedly raised eyebrow asked a silent question.

“Good idea, Agent Scully. Let’s not let this psycho add anyone else to his list—especially not one of ours.” He nodded again. He would meet her.

“Yours,” she murmured.

“Pardon me?” Anger tinged his words.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Scully stood, and with one last piercing look, turned abruptly and left.

Skinner sat with a sigh, had a brief moment of worry for Mulder, and then wondered what in the hell he was going to say to Scully in less than two hours.