TITLE:	BLACK AND WHITE
AUTHOR:	DONNILEE
E-MAIL:	DONNILEE@SNET.NET
WEB SITE:	http://donnilee.tripod.com
CATEGORY:	Skinner/Other
RATING:	NC-17 (Eventually, I promise, although the 
beginning is tame.)
SPOILERS:	Can't think of any.

SUMMARY:	Clara gets shot in the line of duty. Walter 
moves in to help her recover.  Not everybody is happy about 
it.

SYNOPIS:    Skinner met Clara in D is for Dangerous.  This 
is a sequel to "Trial and Error" and "Missing in Action", 
which continued their story.

DEDICATION:  Foxy, Sdani, and Monique Campbell have 
requested more of this story line.  So girls, this story is 
dedicated to you!  

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I have skirted the racial issue in the 
previous two stories, downplaying it on purpose, not 
wanting to make that the focus of the story.  But it is an 
issue near and dear to my heart.  Although I realize the 
need to tread lightly on this subject, I wanted to do a 
story dealing with the reality of interracial 
relationships.  Emotions run high when discussing religion, 
politics and race.  These are three subjects that I generally avoid 
discussing with people who aren't very close friends and I 
can be assured that they will not take things the wrong way 
or personally, and accept my feelings in the spirit in 
which they are intended.   In a perfect world, there would 
be no prejudice, no distinction made because of the color 
of one's skin.  But we all know that's not 
reality.  I believe that this country had made great 
strides in this area but we have a long way to go.  

My own experience with an interracial relationship taught 
me a lot of things, mostly about myself and what I 
really believed.  It also engendered in me a strength and 
conviction I didn't know I possessed.  I needed a sense of 
humor above all.  My decision to date this man was not an 
easy one to make initially.  Not everyone was happy about 
my decision to date this man, especially not my father, who 
didn't speak to me for two months after I let him in on the 
fact that my new boyfriend was a black man; a 6' 2", 250 
pound black man.  He claimed not to be prejudice, but when 
the issue showed up in his own family, the truth won out.  
It was a sore subject for many years, although the wound 
was finally healed and an understanding reached.  I had to 
accept him (my father) for who he was and realize that I 
would never change the spots on a leopard.  He was in his 
forties and wasn't going to change his beliefs.  I was only 
19, and I wasn't going to change mine, so why did I expect 
him to change his?

I think education is the best weapon we have.  Our best 
hope is to educate our children about the richness and 
diversity of culture and teach them not to fear and despise 
it, but rather, to embrace it as part of the wonderful 
world that we live in and teach them to learn from those 
that are different, rather than to criticize things they 
don't understand.  Our hope for the future lies in the 
future generations, not in trying to change the ones that 
exist.  I hope we can shape the tiny humans of the world to 
change the world we live in and make it a better place, one 
of love and tolerance.

Different does not equal wrong, it only equals different.  
My life was greatly enriched by this relationship, which 
did end, but on a friendly note because of geographical 
differences unable to be surmounted.  But our hearts did 
triumph over the resistance and ignorance of some of the 
people around us.  And for the time we had together, we 
learned an awful lot of acceptance from one another and 
shared a lot of love, making our corner of the world a 
happy place to be.

I haven't seen this man for over 15 years now and I often 
wonder what happened to him.  How did his life turn out?  
When we split, he was working toward an engineering degree 
and moving to a college far away.  I hope that his life has 
been as full and  as rich as mine has been.  And whatever 
memories he may have of me, if he ever thinks of me at all, 
I hope that they are good ones.

Despite my attempts to deal with this issue, the story came 
out rather tame compared to what I first had in mind.  
Maybe I'm afraid to delve too deeply into the hatred of 
others.  I just don't know - but this is the result and I 
hope you like it.

I thought long and hard about what I might want to say to 
preface this story.  Sorry this is so long 
winded.  But bear with me.  I decided finally that my 
favorite pontificator of all time could say it 
better than I ever could.  And since I agree with 99% of 
what he has to say on most subjects, I've 
recreated a long rant for your consideration.

XXXXXXXXXX

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  The Rants by Dennis Miller (1995) -- "Race. 
All right, topic is race in America.  Now race, race is touchy.  I'm 
so uptight about being called a racist that I refuse to separate the 
whites from the colors in my wash!  So let's proceed with caution.  
Everybody stay FROSTY!  Before we get started, I'd like to 
reacquaint our contestants with some of the basic rules of the 
game.  Let's call it the National Race Aptitude Test.  Ready?  
Question 1:  Of all the ethnic groups in America, which one did not 
come here voluntarily?  ANSWER;  African Americans.  Question 
2:  All ethnic groups have gone through a period of social 
rejection, but which one recorded a lynching as recently as 1991?  
Uh, that would be your African Americans again.  And last 
question:  On a national level, blacks obtained the right to vote 
waaaayyyyy back, when? 1965.  That's right folks, a mere 
thirty years ago, we were South Africa without the diamond mines!  
And that's the end of the test.

"Now I don't want to get off on a rant here, but let's face it.  
Racism is growing faster than the lint ball in Chris Farley's navel.  
Now personally, I am baffled by the concept of racial prejudice.  
Why hate someone based on the color of their skin?  When, if you 
take the time to get to know them as a human being, you can find 
so many other things to hate them for!  I mean, come on!  Jerks are 
everywhere.  All colors, all races, all religions too. Just look 
around ya.  Take a moment to notice.  Guarantee ya, you'll see 
more assholes than a Turkish Customs agent!

"Course it's reasonably ironic getting all self-righteous about racial 
and socio-economic segregation in Los Angeles where I live.  The 
inequity in this town makes Charles Dickens' London look like a 
Kibbutz.  But you know, L.A. is just a microcosm.  It's everywhere.  
The reasons?  Well, probably the main one is that people are 
increasingly overworked, underpaid, unhappy, disappointed and 
confused.  And when people feel like they're being fucked around 
in life they look for someone, or some group to blame it on.  
And you know, the more America's multi-colored tectonic plates 
adjust to relieve the strain, the wider the surface cracks become. 
Fear and insecurity touch many nut cakes cross this great land of 
ours.

"Up in our ivory towers, white professors whose only contact with 
real black people is James Earl Jones' voice over on CNN are busy 
composing master treatises on the genetic deficiencies of blacks.  
Meanwhile, down the hall in the afro-centric wing, a learned PhD. 
in mathematics is insisting that X equals Malcolm!  And down at 
street level, we have an eclectic little menu of cross burnings, drive-
bys, quotas, and people yelling racism in lieu of woof!  Welcome 
to 1995, can I take your coat for ya?

"So what's the solution.  Maybe a good first step in the healing 
process would be to take stock of where we currently stand.  I 
believe the different races in this country are making progress.  
Slow progress, yes, but real progress.  Nonetheless, we should 
probably all take time off from our incessant self-flagellation, 
count all the ingredients we have for a full-blown racial 
donnybrook and marvel at how wonderfully we DO, in fact, get 
along.

"We could also get a little less whiny about the slings and arrows 
from people that we should not give one tenth of one shit about.  
Why should I, or you or anybody, give somebody else, somebody 
who doesn't even know us as a person, the power over whether we 
feel good about ourselves or not?

"To those who would try to diminish us based on melanin content, 
I say this:  My self-opinion is decided by fiat.  Not consensus.  And 
I'm sorry my friend, but the polls are closed and I'm afraid that 
you're no longer eligible to vote.  Also, it's nice that we all came 
from somewhere.  But we are HERE now, and it's time to be proud 
of America.  We're living in a melting pot.  So MELT for Christ's 
sake.  Hey, I'm not a Pollyanna about the way the world works.  
Not all the turtles are gonna make it to the ocean.  That's not 
negativism, that's pragmatism.  But if you do find yourself on your 
back around four feet away from the water with some six year old 
kid from Redondo shoving an M-80 up your turtle ass, don't blame 
another group of people for your shitty life.  Get YOUR life 
together, and fight to reach the God damned breakers!

"Listen, I'm talking to every honest, sane, good-hearted person out 
there, whether  you're black, white, brown, yellow,  red, green. 
O.K., if you're green, go back where your came from!  That's 
where I draw the line.  But the point is, the point is, why in the hell 
are we letting the clown acts run the fucking circus in this country?  
Hate, is an excuse.   Somehow, some way, we've got to find the 
courage to LOVE the hate filled extremists on both sides.  To 
connect with them, to disperse the rage.  To tell them that it's time 
to come in from the embittered cold and join in our rainbow hued 
Twister game.

"Because the main thing I want you to remember is this:  If you 
think that racism goes away when we're all one big happy color, 
with all the infidels weeded out, well, I got news for you.  You're 
missing it big time.  Don't you see?  First, you kill off all the other 
races.  Then you start killing off all the other religions.  Then you 
kill off all the left-handed people, then you start killing off each 
other over the length of your crew cuts, and finally, finally, there's 
only one guy left - And no doubt that crazy motherfucker will 
attack the mirror!  Course, that's just my opinion.  I could be 
wrong." -- Dennis Miller

XXXXXXXXXX

PART 1 (PG-13)
WALTER SKINNER'S APARTMENT
THURSDAY EVENING
6:40 PM

It was a normal night.  Or, it started out that way.  I got out of work 
late around 6:00 PM.  Nothing abnormal about that.  I went home 
and took a shower and changed into casual clothes, jeans and a tee 
shirt.

The phone rang at 6:40 and I smiled, knowing who was on the 
other end.  I picked up the phone anticipating the sound of her 
voice, which always soothed my nerves after a hard day at work.  I 
could feel the tension start to ebb just from the anticipation.

"Hello," I answered softly.  Just in case it wasn't her, I never 
greeted her by name right off.  That could be embarrassing.

[Mr. Skinner? Walter Skinner?] a male voice on the other end of 
the line asked.

My body went tense instantly, not recognizing the voice but 
sensing somehow that this was not good news.  "Who's asking?"

[This is Officer Timmy Breen of the D.C.P.D.]

I felt all the blood drain out of my head and sat clumsily on the 
edge of the couch.  "Clara's partner?"

[That would be me.]

"What happened?!" I demanded in a none too friendly voice.

[Don't panic.  She's all right.  But I've got her down at D.C. 
General.  She asked me to call you.]

"In the E.R.?"

He cleared his throat.  I was up and yanking my leather jacket on 
as we spoke.  [No, she's in surgery.]

"Surgery?  What happened?"

[Don't panic,] he said again.

I took a deep breath, becoming annoyed with his reticence. "Just 
tell me what happened."

[She was shot.]

"Shot!  Where?"

[In the lung.  It missed her heart, but her lung collapsed. She's in 
surgery now.  The doctor said she'll be fine.  He needs to put a tube 
in to inflate the lung.  I expect her out of the O.R. in an hour or so.]

"I'm on my way."

I hung up in his ear and bolted out the door, heading for my car at 
a dead run.

XXXXXXXXXX 
D.C. GENERAL HOSPITAL 
THURSDAY EVENING 
7:15 PM

The traffic was a bear at that time of the evening and I white 
knuckled my way through a half hour ride to the hospital.  I hit the 
E.R. at a trot, seeing the security guards approaching, apparently 
ready for trouble when they saw me coming.  I flashed my I.D. and 
they relaxed visibly.

I didn't bother acknowledging them, going straight to the 
information counter and interrupting the nurse who was chatting 
with her coworker.  "Clara Jordan?"

Her head turned to regard me annoyance.  I flashed my I.D. again 
and the expression fell off her face replaced with one of undivided 
attention.  I repeated the question.  "Clara Jordan.  She was in 
surgery a half hour ago.  Where will they take her when she comes 
out?"

The wide-eyed nurse turned to her computer screen and began 
typing furiously.  She cleared her throat nervously and said, 
"They've reserved Room 304 for her, a private room."

I nodded, "Thank you."  I turned to make my way to the elevators 
when I saw a tall, black, D.C. cop in full uniform striding toward 
me from the hallway at the back of the E.R.

I'd spoken to him several times on the phone, but ironically in the 
year that Clara and I had been dating, I'd never met him.  I seen 
him from across the squad room a couple of times when picking up 
Clara.  He smiled a closed lipped smile that lifted one side of his 
mouth and stuck out his hand.  "You must be Walter."

I shook his hand.  Firm grip, I noted.  "And you must be Timothy 
Breen."

"Call me Timmy."

I'm six foot, two, and I was looking up at this guy.  He was tall but 
not as bulky as I was.  He wasn't a beanpole either.  This guy was 
solid.  He was quite impressive in his uniform, his .38 special, 
Billy club, beeper and various assorted tools of the trade hanging 
off his belt.  I sized him up again and he laughed, "I'm six foot, 
six."

"I'm sorry.  Didn't mean to stare."

"It's all right.  I get that a lot," he said good- naturedly.  He 
motioned his head down the hall the way he'd come.

We turned and strode down the hall toward the elevators. "Any 
word?" I asked.

"No, she's still in there.  I figured you'd be down here by now, 
raising hell.  Figured I better get down here and bring you up."

I scowled at him, "What do you mean, raising hell?"

He chuckled easily, reaching out to hit the elevator call button.  
Then he turned to me.  "Clara said you'd come charging in here 
like a bull, and I was to make sure I corralled you and didn't let 
you abuse any of the hospital staff."

I smiled.  She knew me well.  "She was conscious then? When 
they brought her in?"

"Yes."  The elevator doors slide open and we stepped inside.  He 
hit the button for the third floor and we rode up in silence.

We strode to the waiting room on the third floor.  He said, "The 
doctor said he'd come find me here as soon as she was out of 
surgery and in the recovery room."

I nodded.  "Will he let us see her in the recovery room?"

"I doubt it."

I nodded again, thinking that I might use my FBI status to get in 
anyway.  I didn't like to abuse it that way, but damn it, I needed to 
see her.  I looked at him again and noticed the blood on his 
uniform for the first time.  The dark navy blue of his uniform hid it 
quite well, but now that I knew it was there, it was all I could see, 
Clara's blood.  After a few seconds of silence, I asked, "Tell me 
what happened, from the beginning."

He took a deep breath and reclined in his chair, his long legs 
stretching out in front of him.  He couldn't be comfortable with all 
that hardware around his waist.  "We got a call for a robbery in 
progress at Gahan's Saloon."

"Downtown?" I clarified, unfamiliar with that bar.

"Not really.  It's near the north side of the Southeast section.  Not a 
pretty section of town.  But we were the closet team so we went."

"Perp had a gun, obviously."

"Yup.  We crashed the door, weapons drawn and shouting, 
'Police!'"

"You didn't call for back up?" I asked testily.

He shot me a look I couldn't decipher.  "Yes, but they were 
understandably a bit behind us.  As I said, we were the closest 
team.  We weren't waiting.  The perp was still inside."

I nodded.  "Go on."

"Little squirrelly white guy waving a .22 pistol at the bartender.  
Four patrons on the floor, face down and the bartender was stuffing 
money from a safe behind the bar into a duffel bag.  The guy was 
flipping out, totally geeked."

"Geeked?"

"High as a kite, man.  Probably heroin."

"What then?"

"Clara shouted for him to drop his weapon."

"And?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed, "He didn't even hesitate, man.  
He just turned to us and leveled his piece.  He shouted, 'Not a 
chance, nigger bitch!'"

He hesitated and swallowed again.  "I jumped at her.  I don't know 
how, I knew he was going to fire.  I plowed into her and pushed 
but he fired, and she got hit anyway."

His mouth curled up into an expression of anger and sadness.  
Softly he said, "I'm sorry.  I should have seen it coming.  I should 
have been quicker."

I patted him on the shoulder.  I could see the genuine remorse and 
guilt raging war on his face. He was truly blaming himself.  "I'm 
sure you did everything you could.  You never know how these 
guys are going to react when they're doped up."

"I never had a perp act so fast.  They usually at least hesitate when 
they see me bearing down on them."

"I'll bet," I deadpanned.

He smiled a grim smile.  "Damn, Walter.  I heard him call her 
nigger bitch and I snapped and reacted, knowing he was going to 
shoot.  I just knew.  I felt that anger, that primal anger, you 
know?"

I nodded.  He continued, "The kind that rises up out of your belly."

I nodded again, wondering why a white man, even a desperate 
junkie would rob a bar in the southeast of D.C.  It wasn't a 
neighborhood you wanted to wander around in unattended.  Even I 
didn't like to go there.  There was a reason they sent 95% black 
cops into that area.

"How bad?" I asked.  He knew I was referring to Clara again.

"It looked bad, a lot of blood.  I saw her get hit and fired at him.  I 
blew out his rotator cuff before she hit the floor."

"You're a good shot, huh?" I asked inanely.

"Yeah, I am," he said, with no hint of arrogance.  "Got to be.  So's 
Clara."

"I know."

"But she didn't even have time to get a shot off."

"What then?"

"Clara was clutching her chest and I hollered at the bartender, 'help 
me'.  He was understandably nervous, but he helped me hold the 
guy while I cuffed him. I got on the radio and called for help. Told 
them I had an officer down and a perp down.  I needed 
ambulances.  There were four civilians on the floor.  I didn't know 
if they'd been hurt. Turned out they weren't."  His voice trailed off.

He coughed and sat forward, scrubbing his face with his hands.  
"Then I held her until the EMTs got there, just trying to stop the 
bleeding with my hands. I didn't know what else to do.  She scared 
me.  She was having trouble breathing, but she was conscious.  Of 
course, I didn't know her lung was hit at the time."

I nodded, feeling pale and nauseous.  It was my worst nightmare.  I 
worried about Clara on the job everyday.  She worked some of the 
worst sections of D.C.  She was a brilliant cop, savvy and street 
smart and had a lot of contacts.  Some informants would talk to her 
when they wouldn't talk to anyone else.

"Who's the guy?"

"Chester Fallon a/k/a The Bird."

"The Bird?"

"That's his street name, apparently.  He's known as a junkie.  I 
didn't know that this afternoon, but he was treated here and hauled 
in.  He's got a rap sheet a mile long.  Possession, possession with 
intent to sell, aggravated assault, possession of a deadly weapon, 
breaking and entering, grand theft auto, domestic violence arrests, 
numerous larceny counts.  He's a real gem."

"Why would he go to southeast?"

"I don't know.  Not the brightest move he made that day.  I called 
in an 'officer down' and the place was swarming with D.C. cops.  I 
think we had at least 12 other uniforms there in under ten. They 
knew it was Clara.  They'd heard us take the call."

"There had to be a reason he went there."

"Probably.  I hope it was worth it to him.  'Cause I'm sure nobody 
at the precinct is going to be gentle with him."

He was alluding to the fact that the officers would push the 
envelope of acceptable, ethical behavior.  The man had shot one of 
their own.  Cops hated nothing worse than a perp that took down 
one of their own.  Thank God she was still alive.

"The doc said she was going to be all right?"

"Yeah, he was confident it would be simple procedure.  The bullet 
exited.  They would have to sew up inside whatever tissue was 
damaged and put the tube in her lung."

"Jesus," I muttered.  "This is my worst nightmare."   I felt a lump 
catch in my throat and I swallowed around it heavily.

"Mine too."

I looked at him, remembering how abrupt I was earlier. "Thanks 
for calling me.  Sorry I was sort of surly with you before."

"It's all right.  I just didn't want you going volcano on me."

I chuckled then in spite of my emotional state.  Volcano. That was 
a good way to describe my temper.  I let things simmer and then 
erupted.  Clara was always telling me I needed to relax more in 
between bouts of stress.  I was working on it. This certainly wasn't 
going to help.

XXXXXXXXXX 
WAITING ROOM 
D.C. GENERAL HOSPITAL 
THURSDAY EVENING 
8:15 PM

A doctor, still wearing scrubs, appeared in the doorway.  We both 
jumped to our feet and he literally took a step back.  I suppose the 
two of us were quite imposing.  He regained his composure 
quickly.   "Dr. Richard Camy," he announced, sticking out his 
hand to Timothy after tucking his clipboard under the other arm.

Without preliminaries, Timothy said, "You're not the doctor I 
spoke with."

He nodded.  "I assisted.  You spoke with Dr. John Krenshaw."

"How is she?" I asked, not caring that I sounded slightly frantic.

He looked at me.  "And you are?"

"I'm her, boyfriend."  Why had I hesitated?  I guess I was still not 
used to that term.

He raised one eyebrow but then smiled.  "Next of kin?"

"Not available," I said, thinking angrily of her asshole father, who 
was now doing time in a prison in Florida for conspiracy to 
commit murder, against his own daughter.  Scumbag.  That 
wonderful sequence of events was only two months old, and now 
this.  I should probably call her brother, but decided to ask Clara if 
she wanted me to first.

"She's fine.  She's in the recovery room.  Dr. Krenshaw is with her, 
checking on her I.V.'s and pain medication.  She'll be out for 
another half hour or so.  When she wakes up, we'll bring her into 
her private room.

He looked at his clipboard and said, "Who's Walter Skinner?"

"That's me," I said.

"She listed you as the next of kin and the emergency contact."

I smiled, feeling unreasonably happy about that.  Dr. Camy looked 
at Timmy.  "You must be her partner."

He nodded.

"The surgery went fine.  She's a lucky woman, minimal tissue and 
muscle damage although we did have to stitch some muscle tissue 
in her back.  Missed all her major arteries and veins. We've 
inserted a tube to inflate the lung.  This has to be done slowly.  It 
could take a couple of days to fully inflate the lung.  She will stay 
here until that is accomplished."

"Any complications?" I asked.

"Nope.  Not so far.  We just need to watch for infection. She will 
have the tube in, which is, in effect, an open wound.  She'll be on a 
heavy course of antibiotics to prevent infection.  Once the lung is 
inflated, we'll remove the tube.  That's a simple procedure, takes 
about ten minutes, and we'll sew her up.  We'll probably keep her 
one more day after that, giving her breathing treatments to get the 
lung in shape again.  Then she can go home."

"What kind of care will she need at home?" I asked.

"Quite a bit for a few weeks.  She's going to be weak as a kitten.  It 
takes time for the lung to get back to full capacity.  And she'll  
have considerable chest and back muscle pain due to the healing 
muscle tissue.  But we'll send her home with painkillers."

"Muscle relaxers?" I asked.

"No, too risky with the lung.  We don't want her to take anything 
that might suppress her respiratory system.  The painkillers are 
enough of a suppressant.  We'll be giving her ones that are least 
likely to suppress her respiratory."

I nodded.  "When can I see her?"

"Soon, about a half an hour."

"Are you sure I can't see her now?"

"She's still out cold."

"I don't care.  I need to see her."

He stared at me for a few moments and then said, "Let me check 
with Dr. Krenshaw.  It's his call."

I nodded.  "I'll wait here."

"I'll be back."

He turned on his heel and left.  I looked up at Timmy and he 
smiled at me.  "She's going to be fine, Walter.  She's a tough 
cookie."

"I know, but Jesus, Timmy.  I almost lost her a couple months 
ago."

"I know."

I remembered that he was the one to identify the perp, Mason 
Garrett off the videotape from the ATM machine.  "I never got to 
thank you for that."

"For what?"

"Recognizing Mason Garrett."

"Oh that.  No thanks necessary.  I was just glad you and that other 
agent," he said.

"Agent Mulder."

"Yeah, Mulder.  Just glad you two got there in time."

I slumped back down in the chair.  "I'm going to take some time 
off and stay with her."

He made a face.  "She'll hate that."

I smiled a sad smile.  "I know. But she doesn't really have a choice 
in the matter."

"Uh oh," he deadpanned.

I swallowed around another lump in my throat.  "I won't be able to 
work with her home anyway, wondering if she is overdoing it."

"I feel a battle royal coming on."

I smiled finally.  "She can battle all she wants.  You heard the 
doctor.  She's going to need help once she's home."

He nodded.  "I know it and you know it.  But that doesn't mean 
she's going to like it."

"Yeah, well, too bad."

He grinned.  "She's lucky to have you," he said quietly.

I looked at him.  "I'm lucky to have her."

He nodded.  "I must admit, I had my doubts about you."

"Why?  'Cause I'm FBI?" I joked, knowing that had nothing to do 
with it. He smiled.  

"No.  I guess it was just that," he began.

"That I'm white," I stated without rancor.

He looked down at his feet.  "Kind of reverse discrimination there, 
huh?"

"Yeah, but I understand it."

"Do you?"

He held my gaze for a bit and I said, "Look, I know what the 
majority of people out there are like. But I'm not one of them, 
Timmy.  You have to believe me."

"I do now.  She told me you were different."

"But you didn't believe her?"

"Guess I needed to see for myself."

I nodded.  "So what changed your mind?"

"Things she's told me on and off.  The way you behaved when she 
was missing."

"How was that?"

"I don't know.  I saw then that you really cared.  It wasn't some 
superficial thing.  You were still in control, but frantic a bit, I 
guess.  I could see how much you," he cut off.

"Loved her," I finished for him.

He nodded.  "It's a rough road."

"I don't care."

He smiled at me.  "Good to know."

"I do love her, you know," I said quietly.  It was getting easier and 
easier to say it.  I wanted him on my side.  He was a big part of her 
life and if he didn't like me it could cause problems down the road.

He nodded.  "I know.  You certainly rushed down here like your 
ass was on fire."

I chuckled then.  "I know it's a bit chauvinistic, but sometimes I 
wish she wasn't a cop."

He grinned then.  "No chance."

"I know, she'd never give it up."

"She worked too hard to get it."

"I know.  She's paid some unreasonable prices for her career 
choice."

"Yes, she has.  I admire her for it.  She's dedicated.  She inspires 
me.  Reminds me why I became a cop in the first place," Timmy said.

We sat in companionable silence for a bit and then he pulled out a 
cell phone. "Got to call home."

I nodded.  He dialed and then smiled into the mouthpiece. "Hey, 
baby girl.  Is Momma there?"

I grinned.  I'd forgotten he had two little kids.  I couldn't remember 
how old they were.  I wondered what it would be like to have a 
child.  Clara and I were a bit old to start a family, but stranger 
things had happened.

"Hey, sweetie.  Yeah, I'm still at the hospital.  She's out of surgery, 
but I want to see her before I come home.  Don't wait dinner for 
me.  I'll grab something when I get in.  Alone?  No.  I'm waiting here with her boyfriend."

He chuckled and looked over at me.  I raised my eyebrow in 
question.  He said, "Yeah, the FBI man."  He grinned wider.

"Kiss the kids for me.  I should be home in another hour or so.  
O.K., bye now.  Love you."

He cut the connection and replaced his phone in a holster on his 
belt.  He had a holster for everything on that belt.  "How old are 
your kids?" I asked.

"My little boy, Tyrone, is 3, and his older sister, Alicia is 5."

"That who answered the phone?"

"Yes, she's very precocious.  Has the world all figured out 
already."

I smiled.  "You're a lucky man too."

"Yes I am, Camille is a wonderful woman.  She may leave me 
someday, but I'll never leave her. She's my reason for getting out 
of bed some mornings."

I smiled ruefully at him.  "She ever have a problem with Clara?"

"What?  That my partner's a woman?"

I nodded.

"Maybe a twinge, until she met her."

"And then?"

"And then she liked her and she knew she was too old for me."

We both laughed then.  "So what are you trying to say?" I asked 
teasingly.

He shook his head in amusement.  "Clara's a beautiful woman, but 
she's also 12 years older than me.  I think she feels a bit maternal 
towards me sometimes."

I smiled.  "Good." I said.

He laughed.  "No worries there.  We respect one another and like 
one another.  We have a bond. You must know, that only partners 
have.  Our lives depend on one another."

He looked down suddenly looking upset again.  "Don't beat 
yourself up," I said again.

"You're being awfully good about this.  I thought you'd be off the 
wall, maybe even blame me, especially after that back up 
comment."

I sighed.  "I know she's going to be all right now.  And I'm sorry 
about that.  I know you're both good cops.  I didn't mean to imply 
that you didn't do your jobs.  I was just scared.  Still am."

He nodded.  "I still feel guilty."

"Don't.  You did what you could.  If you hadn't pushed her, maybe 
that bullet would have killed her," my voice trailed off.  I 
shuddered at the thought of it.

He nodded, solemn again.  "I'm just so relieved she's going to be 
all right."

"Me too."

Dr. Camy came in again then and said, "You can both come in and 
see her now.  Briefly.  Then we're going to move her to a private 
room."

We stood and eagerly followed him down the hall to the elevator.  
The recovery room was on the fourth floor.  My heart lurched in 
my chest when I saw her lying there.  She looked so fragile and 
delicate in the hospital Johnny coat.  A hole was cut in the left side 
of it through which a tube stuck out.  I could see it taped to her 
skin.  She had an I.V. in her right arm and the left one was in a 
sling.

"Why the sling?" I asked the doctor.

"To keep the arm immobile so it doesn't jostle the stitches in her 
back or the tube in her chest."

I nodded and approached the bed on her right side.  Timmy took up 
position on the other side. She blinked and opened her eyes lazily.  
She smiled at me and I felt an odd tugging sensation in my chest.  
She licked her lips and turned her head to smile at Timmy.  "Both 
my guys," she muttered.

We smiled at her in unison.  "How are you feeling?" I asked, 
knowing that was a stupid question, but wanting to say something.

She smiled softly, her eyelids heavy.  "Like I've been run over by a 
Mack truck.  Other than that, everything's dandy."

I chuckled and leaned over to place a chaste kiss on her forehead, 
lingering a bit.  I retreated and looked into her eyes.  "Doc said you 
did well.  You're going to be fine."

"I'll be finer once this tube is out."

"I know.  Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Not really.  I think they gave me the good drugs."

I noticed her breaths were short and shallow, puffing out in 
between every couple of words.

Timmy smiled.  "I just wanted to be sure you were all right before 
I went home.  You need to stop scaring me like this, partner."

She licked her lips again.  "I'll try."  She paused. "Sleepy."

"I'll let you sleep now," Timmy said.  He brushed his hand over her 
hair and said, "I'll let the second shift take over now."

She smiled sleepily.  "Did he give you trouble?" she asked.

Timmy grinned.  "Nothing I couldn't handle.  You get some rest.  
I'll be back tomorrow."

She nodded, her eyes closing.  Timmy reached across the bed and 
shook my hand again.  "I'll check in tomorrow.  He pulled his 
wallet out and extracted a business card.  "My cell phone number's 
on there.  Call me for anything.  I mean it."

I nodded, pulling out my own wallet and putting the card inside.  
"I'll call you if anything happens."

He nodded.  Looking at her, she was fighting to keep her eyes 
open.  "You're in good hands," he said.  "Good night, partner."

She nodded. "'Night, Timmy."

He strode away and her head flopped to the side.  "Don't stay 
awake for me," I said.

"Don't want to miss your visit."

I grinned at her, leaning over so she didn't have to crane her neck 
to see me. "I'm not going anywhere.  They're moving you into a 
room soon.  I'm spending the night whether they like it or not.  I'll 
be here when you wake up."

She coughed gently and then winced.  I tried to hide my own 
answering wince.  She grunted softly, "Don't be a pain in the ass, 
Walter.  They've been very good to me here."

"Glad to hear it and I'll try to behave."

She smiled again, looking dopey.  "Good."  Her eyes closed and I 
stood in silence for several moments.  I thought she had drifted off 
to sleep when she murmured, "I love you, Walter."

I felt my chest constrict.  Softly I said, "I love you too, baby.  Sleep 
now.  Rest."

"Hmm," she hummed and nestled into the pillow, and was out like 
a light.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

PART 2 (PG-13)
D.C. GENERAL HOSPITAL
RECOVERY ROOM

A doctor approached and held out his hand.  "Dr. Krenshaw," he 
introduced himself.

I shook his hand.  "Walter Skinner."

"You her boss?" he asked, looking down at the chart dangling off 
the end of the bed.

I sighed, remembering my promise not to be a pain in the ass.  
"No, I'm her fiancé," I heard myself say.

His head jerked up and I stared him down, daring him to make a 
comment.  After a few seconds he said, "Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't 
realize.  She does have you listed here as the next of kin."

I released a breath I didn't know I was holding.   "She did well," he 
said, his eyes scanning the various monitors set up around the bed.

"Is she really going to be all right?"

He turned and made eye contact then.  "Yes, she'll be fine. I want 
to watch her closely.  She'll have trouble breathing for a couple of 
days until that lung inflates.  And that tube hurts, but it's necessary.  
I won't hold off on the pain killers if she needs them, but I don't 
want to give her too many either."

"Because of her respiratory system?" I asked, remembering what 
the other doctor had said.

He raised his eyebrows seemingly surprised I would know this.  I 
wasn't about to enlighten him that his colleague had educated me.  
"Yes, exactly.  But I'll keep her in as little pain as possible."

"Thank you."

"She's a tough lady," he said.

I nodded.  "Yes, she is."

"Most people are not conscious after a gun shot wound, even if 
they haven't lost the amount of blood she did.  They pass out from 
the fear or the sight of the blood."

"Clara's not like most people," I said with conviction.

He smiled.  "No, she's not.  I'm going to have to ask you to leave 
for a moment, just until we transport her to her room.  Maybe go 
get a cup of coffee in the Cafeteria on the first floor.  By the time 
you get back we should have her situated."

I nodded.  "Thank you, doctor.  She said you were all very good to 
her when she came in."

He nodded.  "That's my job."

"Still, I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he said.

I leaned over and brushed a kiss on her cheek and then turned to 
head out and find the cafeteria. I didn't want to leave her for a 
second, but I was going to need the coffee.  I also wanted to call 
Agent Scully.  Even though I had no reason not to trust this doctor, 
I wanted Scully to check her out.

XXXXXXXXXX 
D.C. GENERAL HOSPITAL 
CAFETERIA - FIRST FLOOR 
THURSDAY EVENING 
9:30 PM

I looked up as I heard familiar voices in the hallway.  I raised my 
hand to flag them down as Agents Scully and Mulder came 
striding into the cafeteria. Both were wearing work clothes and 
trench coats.  They were an impressive looking team, all business.  
They hurried to my table and sat down in the chairs opposite me.

Mulder looked at Scully and asked, "Coffee?"

"Aren't they closed now?" she asked.

I answered. "Yes, the Cafeteria is closed but you can still get 
coffee from the urns over there."

Scully nodded and Mulder unfolded himself from the small plastic 
chair and went to fetch the coffee.

Scully turned to me, her face serious.  "What happened?"

"She got shot," I said simply, embarrassed by the slight tremor in 
my voice.

"You said that.  What else?  Where was she hit?"

I sighed.  "She was hit in the chest."

I saw Scully stiffen slightly, trying not to show any reaction.  
Mulder slid back into his chair, handing Scully a Styrofoam cup 
around which she wrapped her hands.

"Go on."

"Doctor said it missed her heart, missed all her major arteries.  She 
was very lucky."

Scully nodded.  "That is lucky."

"Didn't miss her lung though."

"Oh no," she said, her voice filled with sympathy.  She turned to 
Mulder and said, "Spontaneous pneumothorax."

I nodded, blinking rapidly against the tears.  "She, she's all right.  
They said she was going to be all right."

Scully nodded.  "I'm sure she is then.  They wouldn't lie to you."

I nodded.  "She has a tube inserted in her chest."

"To inflate the lung," she said.  It was a statement.

I nodded.  "The bullet exited so that's good, less chance of 
infection.  She has stitches inside and stitches in her back."

Scully nodded again.  "What do you want me to do?"

I looked at her and sighed.  "I don't know.  It's not that I don't trust 
them, but they could miss something.  They're busy."

She smiled a sad, little smile.  "I'm sure they are taking good care 
of her.  I know Dr. Krenshaw. He's one of the top emergency 
surgeons on the east coast."

"Is he?" I asked, feeling a little better having that information.

"Yes, John's a very conscientious person.  Great surgeon, but he's a 
nice person too, good bedside manner."

"John?" Mulder asked, clearly asking why she called him by his 
first name.

Scully smirked at him.  "We went to medical school together.  He 
was two years ahead of me."

"Oh," was all Mulder said.

Scully grinned and poked him playfully in the ribs with her elbow.  
"Stop it, silly."

Mulder made an exaggerated pout, sticking out his lower lip and I 
couldn't help laughing at the two of them.  My mirth died quickly 
though and I said, "Will you check her out?"

Scully nodded.  "Yes, and I'll talk to Dr. Krenshaw, but I'm 
confident that she is in good hands.  I don't want to step on 
anybody's toes."

"Will he be insulted that I asked you here?" I asked.

"I really don't know.  I doubt it.  They are busy here and they 
usually welcome any extra help, especially if it's for free."  She 
grinned.

I smiled at her, nodding, then pressing my lips together tightly, not 
sure what to say.  "Thank you for coming down so quickly."

They both said in unison, "No problem."

I smiled again then.  We all stood and I led the way to the 
elevators.  We rode up in silence and I read the signs on the wall 
on the third floor pointing me to her room.

XXXXXXXXXX

DC. GENERAL HOSPITAL 
THIRD FLOOR - ROOM 304 
THURSDAY EVENING
9:45 PM

We entered Room 304 quietly.  She was asleep and I walked to the 
bed and picked up the chart at the foot of the bed, reading 
carefully.  It was too soon for there to be an official OR report, but 
there were plenty of notes, some by Krenshaw and some by 
another doctor named Richard Camy.

The boys stood in silence while I read carefully.  She had 20 
dissolvable stitches inside where the bullet had torn through soft 
tissue and her layers of muscle in her back.  That was a lot of 
stitches, but he probably made them small and tight which was a 
good thing.  More didn't always mean bad.  Sometimes it meant 
thorough, and I knew Krenshaw was meticulous and thorough. He 
was known for it.  He never cut corners.

I whispered, "Actually, this is better than I thought."

"How so?" A.D. Skinner asked.

"The bullet just nicked the edge of her lung, puncturing the pleura 
and poking a hole in the lung."

"How is that good?" he asked.

I smiled.  "The bullet didn't go in the front of the lung and out the 
back of the lung."

"And?"

"One hole, not two."

"Oh, that makes sense.  What's a pleura?"

"The membrane that surrounds the lungs and transports blood to 
the lung tissue.  If that membrane fills with fluid, it causes 
congestive heart failure."

"Oh God," he murmured, swallowing harshly.

I looked up, realizing I shouldn't be thinking out loud. "She's not in 
danger of that," I said quickly.

He just stared at me.  Mulder patted him on the shoulder. "Try to 
stay calm.  Getting excited won't help her."

"Hypocrite," he muttered.

Mulder smiled.  "Yeah, well, what can I say?"

"Relax, she seems to have come through the surgery well." I 
replaced the chart and went to the monitors, checking her blood 
pressure, heart rate and rhythm.  "Everything looks good, Sir."

He had a relieved look on his face.

"I'll check out her tube and the taping when she's awake. I don't 
want to disturb her now."

He nodded.  Mulder asked, "Do you want us to go get some more 
coffee and give you a few minutes alone?"

He nodded.  "Please."

We left the room and made our way slowly to the elevator and 
stepped inside.  Once the doors closed, Mulder turned to me.  "Is 
she really doing all right?"

"Yes, I wasn't fibbing to make him feel better.  Dr. Krenshaw gave 
her a lot of stitches inside but I think that's probably because he 
was thorough and careful, not because she was in that bad of 
shape.  All her vitals look good, her temperature is good, which 
means no infection.  Infection is the biggest concern now, more so 
than inflating the lung."

"More than the lung?"

"People can live with one lung."

"Yuck."

"I know, not the ideal situation, but possible.  But if you get an 
infection in the blood, it can spread to your whole body and it's 
very difficult to arrest a run away blood infection."

"She must be on antibiotics."

"Yes, she's on some heavy duty ones.  We'll have to watch for a 
yeast infection."

"Yeast infection?" he inquired.

I smiled.  "Antibiotics, particularly the strong ones can cause a 
yeast infection.  They make you feel like shit and you can break 
out in a fungus type thing at the site of the wound or in the mucus 
membranes.  It's not fatal or anything but it makes you mighty 
miserable and uncomfortable."

"Ahh," he said, as though contemplating that carefully.

"Too much information?" I joked.

He smiled.  "No, I was curious.  I hope she's alert within a 
reasonable amount of time.  He's really on edge, and if she stays 
passed out, it will start to worry him."

"How do you know that?"

"Because that's true for me."

"True for you?"

"Every time you've been in the hospital, I live for the moment 
when you become conscious.  Then I know everything's going to 
be all right."

The elevator stopped and we stepped out.  I took his hand and 
stopped him, leaning up to place a chaste kiss on his chin.  "I love 
you, Mulder."

"I love you too, Scully."

"Do you think me being here eases his mind?"

"Yes, I do.  Why else would he have called?"

"I'll stay for a while then.  You can go home if you want to."

"No, I'll stay with you.  Maybe we can play hooky tomorrow."

I grinned.  "Scammer," I teased.

He smiled and swooped down to kiss me quickly.  "Let's get that 
coffee." 

XXXXXXXXXX 
DC. GENERAL HOSPITAL 
THIRD FLOOR - ROOM 304 
THURSDAY EVENING - 10:00 PM

I became aware of my surroundings and panicked momentarily 
when I heard the beeping of a monitor.  Then it all came flooding 
back to me.

I'd been shot.

Jesus Christ, I'd been shot.

My next thought was to wonder if I was alone.  I couldn't hear 
anything other than the monitors and I was having trouble opening 
my eyes.  I vaguely remembered seeing Walter and Timmy but I 
had no idea how long ago that had been.

My throat was dry and parched but I managed to croak out, 
"Walter."

He was there in an instant, his big warm hands on my cheeks, 
"Yeah, baby.  I'm right here.  I'm right here."

"Water," I croaked.

His hands slid away and I heard him fumbling with something on 
the table next to my bed.  I forced my eyes open.  My eyelids felt 
like they weighed about a hundred pounds each.

He smiled tenderly at me and slid his arm gently behind my head, 
helping me to raise up enough to drink, holding the cup to my 
mouth.  He tipped and I sipped carefully.  I didn't want to choke.  I 
remembered the pain that shot through me the last time I coughed.  
And I hadn't coughed very hard.

It took a little time, but after several minutes of sipping gently, I 
had drained the cup.  He eased me back onto the pillow and slid his 
arm out from underneath my neck.  "More?" he asked.

I shook my head to say No, barely, and felt it swim.  I moaned 
softly.  "Are you all right?" he asked, sounding very upset.

"I'm fine.  My head's a little woozy.  Probably the drugs."

"Agent Scully was here and looked at your chart.  Said you were 
looking good."

"Oh God, Walter.  You didn't call her out here tonight, did you?"  
It was a rhetorical question.  I already knew the answer, obviously.  
He answered me anyway.

"Yes, I was worried.  This is a busy hospital.  I trust her.  I wanted 
her to take a look and make sure everything was in order and you 
were really all right."

"Oh Walter, the doctors here are great."

"I know," he said, sounding slightly defensive.  "They're also 
busy."

"I appreciate the gesture.  I do.  But you shouldn't have yanked her 
out of bed to come down here tonight."

"I didn't.  It's only 10:00."

"10:00?" I asked, feeling like I'd been asleep for days.

He pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed and gently took my 
hand in his.  "Clara, you scared the shit out of me.  Again."

I smiled gently at him.  "Sorry about that."

He nuzzled my hand with his cheek and I could feel his razor 
stubble.  "It's O.K.  I'm just so relieved that you are all right.  Jesus, 
this is my worst nightmare."

"I'm all right."

"I know, but still.  You getting shot, I worry about it everyday."

"It's part of the job."

"Doesn't make it any easier to accept."

"I know.  It sucks from this end too, but I know the risks."

"I love you, Clara.  I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

I felt warmth creep through my limbs, the way it did every time he 
said those three little words.  I knew it.  I'd always known it.  But 
hearing him say it did something weird to my insides.  Made them 
feel like they were melting.

I went to take a deep breath and couldn't help the cry of pain that 
tore from my mouth.  He was on his feet instantly, hovering over 
the bed, his hands hovering, not sure what to do.  "Jesus, what?  
Clara, what's wrong?!"

I concentrated on swallowing and breathing shallowly.  I wouldn't 
make that mistake again.  "I'm O-kay." I said.  "I forgot I couldn't 
breath deeply," my voice rushed out, hushed and breathless.

I turned trying to focus on him and reassure him.  Agent Scully 
came bounding into the room at that point, looking concerned.  
"Was that you?" she asked.

I swallowed again, feeling dry once again. "I breathed too deep," I 
croaked out.

She visibly relaxed, immediately understanding that I had jostled 
the tube in my chest.  She looked at Walter and said, "Sit down, 
Sir, you're going to make her all nervous.  She's all right. That 
hurts like hell when you forget and breath too deep. It moves the 
tube."

I was surprised to see him sink into the chair without protest.  He 
must really be on edge to take an order like that from one of his 
subordinates without protest.  He clasped his hands in his lap and 
scowled.

I chuckled and then groaned, "Ohohoh, that hurts."

Mulder and Scully were smiling.  Walter was scowling.  I turned to 
him.  "Relax, Walter.  I'm sure that's not the last time I'm going to 
do something that hurts."

"Sorry," he mumbled, scowling, still looking at his lap.

"Oh stop it.  Agent Scully is right.  I'm fine.  Just very tired, and 
very dry."

His head lifted.  "Need more water?" he asked, unreasonably 
happy it seemed at the prospect of being able to do something for 
me.

I nodded carefully, aware that the contents of my skull were 
delicate right now.  The last thing I needed was to get sick.  I might 
not survive that pain.  I shuddered just thinking about it.

He repeated his actions from before and helped me to drink the 
entire cup of water.  I smacked my lips.  "Much better," I 
murmured.  He smiled.  I realized he wanted to be able to help.

Men like Walter Skinner hated being powerless and helpless. It 
was the worst thing in the world for them to feel as though they 
could do nothing.  I was going to have to think up little things for 
him to do for me.  This could be fun, I thought, snickering 
internally.

I smiled at Agents Mulder and Scully.  "Thanks for coming down, 
but it was unnecessary."

Agent Scully nodded.  "Glad to do it.  If it puts his mind at ease, 
I'm happy to do it.  Besides, I wanted to see you myself anyway. 
I'm so sorry this happened."

"Me too."

"How are you mentally?" she asked tentatively.

"I don't know yet.  I keep seeing that guy's face every time I close 
my eyes, but I must be on some good drugs, because I'm not 
dreaming at all, which is probably a blessing."

She nodded.  "If you need to talk, let me know.  Been there, done 
that."

I smiled.  "Yeah, I will."

Agent Mulder was frowning, probably remembering the time she 
was shot in the warehouse in D.C.  That was the case on which I 
met her and Walter Skinner.  I fell for him that day.  Couldn't take 
my eyes off him.

Walter asked, "Agent Scully, can you come by tomorrow?"

"Walter!  Stop being a pain in the ass!" I declared, feeling a bit 
silly.  But I obviously didn't look my best and I wanted to see as 
few people as possible.

Mulder and Scully chuckled, probably enjoying that I could say 
things like that to him and they couldn't.  "Clara, I just want," I started to say.

"I know what you want, double and triple check.  I'm all right.  I'll 
be all right.  It's going to hurt like hell for a while and there's 
nothing you, or Agent Scully or anyone else can do."

"I know, but."

"But nothing.  I promise to alert you and the doctor at the first sign 
of anything unusual.  I promise."

He retreated into his chair again, pouting.  I looked at him and 
sighed.  "Oh for Christ's sake!" I exclaimed softly.

Scully cut in at this point.  "I do want to check that tube each day, 
Clara."

"That's not necessary."

"Maybe not, but it's a long day between morning and evening 
rounds.  I can at least make sure its secure and there is no infection 
brewing.  It will make A.D. Skinner feel better and I'll get to see 
you.  I want to see you anyway.  We haven't gotten to see much of 
each other lately."

I knew she was just being polite and trying to smooth this situation 
over, and I appreciated the effort.  I realized to protest would make 
me seem like an ungrateful bitch so I acquiesced.  "All right.  
Anything to keep him quiet."

They both chuckled.  Walter scowled.  I continued to look at him 
while he cleaned his glasses on the edge of his tee shirt.  "Look at 
me, Walter."

He raised his head, still scowling and put his glasses back on.  "I'm 
sorry.  I'm cranky and tired.  I know you just want to help."

His expression softened some, but he still frowned.  "I love you," I 
murmured. That did it.  

He smiled at me.  "I just want to make sure."

"I know," I replied.  I let my hand dangle off the side of the bed, 
careful not to jostle my I.V. and he took my hand in his and 
squeezed gently.  I squeezed back.

Agent Mulder cleared his throat.  "Well, I guess we'll be going.  
We'll stop back tomorrow at some point during the day."

"Sounds good, and thank you, Agent Scully."

"No problem at all.  Hope you feel better quickly."

"Thanks."

"See you tomorrow, Walter," Agent Mulder said.

To my surprise, Walter smiled at him and nodded. "Tomorrow."

They left and I grinned at him.  "What?" he asked.

"You let him call you Walter?"

He looked at his lap and then back at me.  "When we aren't on the 
job, yes.  When you girls disappeared, we did a lot of talking."

"I guess so."

"Well, he was a real friend to me, not just a help with the 
investigation."

"I know."

"I want to be friends with them.  They are good people."

"I know that too."

"And if we are going to be friends, it just didn't seem right to have 
him keep calling me sir."

"But he works for you."

"Yes, and on the job, he still calls me, sir.  Agent Scully calls me 
sir, all the time."

"I'm glad.  You need to have someone to talk to."

"I have you."

"I'm not enough. You need a buddy."

"Hard to come by in my line of work."

"I think Agent Mulder would be a good buddy."

He laughed.  "Hard to think of Mulder as a buddy."  He chuckled.  
"But yeah, I do consider him a friend.  And I genuinely like him as 
a person, weird as he can be sometimes."

I smiled again.  "Good."  I paused, feeling lassitude steal over me.  
"I'm tired, Walter."

"Then sleep."

"You should go home and get some rest."

"Not a chance," he said sternly.

I smiled, closing my eyes.  "All right, but no bitching about a sore 
back tomorrow from sleeping in that chair."

He chuckled.  "I won't.  Maybe I'll see if they have a recliner they 
can bring in."

"Mmm," was all I could get out before I felt my eyelids close and 
darkness steal over me. 

XXXXXXXXXX

I sat staring at her, watching her sleep.  Her beautiful face was 
unlined in sleep, the pain being given a reprieve in the wake of her 
sleep.  I was glad.  I couldn't stand to see her in pain.  I knew I was 
being a pain in the ass, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from 
hovering.

I knew she hated it when I did that.  She proved that when I took a 
week off to be with her after her abduction by Mason Garrett.  
While we'd enjoyed long, lazy days in bed, she also got annoyed 
by the end of time together.  I was fussing over her, so relieved to 
have her back and so determined to start a new chapter in our lives.  
She didn't like being fussed over.

She was a strong, independent woman who had learned to take 
care of herself and not need anyone.  I respected that.  I had done 
the same thing.  The alarming thing was that I did need her. And I 
was terrified of losing her, even more so since her abduction.

I always felt intense relief when she called me each night, knowing 
that she had gotten through another day out of my sight, and she 
was all right.  I knew this obsession with her well-being wasn't 
healthy.  I should probably talk to someone about it.  But again, 
who the hell would I talk to?  I didn't want to go to a psychiatrist.  I 
certainly wasn't going to go to a social worker at work.  I didn't 
want anyone there knowing my personal business.

Maybe I could talk to Mulder.  He'd gone through things like this 
with Scully.  And since they had become a couple, he seemed to 
have gotten over his hovering tendencies.  I'd have to ask him how 
he did it.

I realized, somewhere in the back of my mind, that if I didn't take 
care of this, it might cause the very thing I was trying to prevent.  
It might cause her to leave me, no longer able to stand my 
unreasonable concern and possessiveness.

But I was human for Christ's sake.  I was in love and happy for the 
first time in twenty years.  I was so conditioned to having only bad 
things happen to me that I was having a hard time believing that 
this wasn't all going to go up in smoke. Clara told me that I 
deserved happiness as much as the next person.  And I believed her, 
intellectually.

Emotionally was another story.  Believing it in my heart was much 
harder than I ever imagined.  I was glad to know that Dr. 
Krenshaw was one of the best. But still, having Scully tell me 
everything was in order had reassured me.  I determined to try and 
relax and do whatever I could for her.  I'd have to break the news 
tomorrow that I was taking some time off to help her recover. She 
wasn't going to like it.  Timmy was right about that.

But I wasn't taking no for an answer.  I wanted to be less 
concerned, but that simply wasn't going to happen until I saw her 
recover from this.  No matter what they said, I would have to see it 
for myself.  I knew she wasn't out of the woods yet.

I removed my glasses and laid them on the nightstand.  I laid my 
head on the edge of her bed, still holding her small right hand in 
my left one.  I kissed the back of her hand and she hummed in the 
back of her throat, making me smile.  I closed my eyes and tried to 
sleep.

To my surprise, I yawned almost immediately and pushed the top 
of my head against her slender hip.  Just being able to touch her 
soothed me immeasurably. I placed my hand right on her abdomen, 
careful not to disturb any of the rigging going on around her.  I was 
comforted as I felt her breath smoothly in and out.  And I drifted 
off to sleep, concentrating on the rhythm of her breathing.

XXXXXXXXXX

PART 3 (PG-13) 
D.C. GENERAL HOSPITAL 
THIRD FLOOR - ROOM 304 
FRIDAY MORNING
5:00 AM

I awoke to find Walter sleeping with his head on the edge of the 
bed, his hand on my tummy, his other hand gripping the fingers of 
my right hand.  I felt a wash of affection and love for him.  He 
couldn't be comfortable in that position.  I briefly admired the way 
his tee shirt stretched taut over the rippling muscles of his broad 
back.

I gently pulled my hand out of his and he smacked his chops 
gently.  I caressed the side of his face, and ran my fingers through 
the strip of hair on the side of his head.

One eye opened lazily and he smiled at me.  He lifted his head, 
wiping the sleep out of his eyes and reached for his glasses, 
placing them on his head. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

"Pretty good, I guess.  My chest hurts," I admitted.

He nodded.  He wrinkled his nose and said, "I need a shower."

I grinned.  "Go home and take one."

"I can take one here."

"And put the same clothes back on?"

He shrugged.

"Walter, I want you to go home, shower, and put some clean 
clothes on."

He looked at me for several long moments and then said, "What 
time is breakfast?"

"Around 7:00 AM."

He glanced at the clock and stood.  "All right.  I'll be back by 
breakfast to help you."

"I'll be fine.  Take your time."

"I'll be back before breakfast," he reiterated.

I sighed.  "O.K."

He stretched his arms over his head, his vertebrae popping with 
decompression.  I watched his tee shirt stretch over his chest.  God, 
I loved his physique.  He jerked his head to the right and left, 
snapping it also.  I cringed.  "Damn," I muttered.

He smiled and rolled his shoulders.  "I'm an old man."

"You're a very sexy man," I teased.

He waggled his eyebrows at me.  "You think?"

"You know I think," I replied.

"I'm glad you think so."  He grinned and leaned over to kiss me 
softly, lingering as though hesitant to leave.   "I love you," he 
whispered.

I closed my eyes and hummed. "Hmmm, I love you too.  Now go -
- you may be sexy, but that tee shirt is ripe."

He chuckled, straightening up.  "Yes, ma'am.  See you soon."

He turned and exited the door, turning to wave as he left the room.  
I must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I knew, I 
was waking up to the sound of voices.  Agent Scully and Dr. 
Krenshaw were standing at the foot of the bed.

Agent Scully was saying, "I was glad to hear you were the 
surgeon."

He replied, "Thanks.  So Clara is a friend of your's?"

"Yes, she is.  And Walter Skinner is my boss at the FBI."

"I still can't believe you're in the FBI."

Agent Scully chuckled.  "Lots of people can't believe it." She 
noticed I was awake and turned to me.

"Hey there."

"Hey there yourself," I replied.

"Where's your sentinel?" she asked in a teasing tone.

I smiled.  "I insisted he go home, shower and put on some clean 
clothes.  He was getting ripe."

They both chuckled.  "I'll tell you one thing, that fiancé of yours 
was beside himself when I first saw him.  He loves you very 
much."

I gasped.  "Fiancé?" I asked.

"Yeah, that Walter Skinner guy.  I saw him first while you were in 
recovery.  I asked him who he was and he said he was your 
fiancé."

I just stared at him, dumbfounded.  What the hell?  Why would he 
say that?  I swallowed harshly, not wanting to look stupid by 
denying it.  I smiled at him, but could feel my lips trembling.  I 
glanced at Agent Scully and she jumped into the awkward 
moment, bless her heart.

"Well, I came this morning to take a look at that tube.  As it turns 
out, Mulder and I have to go out of town and I didn't know if I 
would have time to stop by later.  Now Dr. Krenshaw is here so 
we'll both take a look."

"You two know each other?"

"Yes, we were in medical school together.  He was a couple years 
ahead of me though.  You caught yourself one of the finest 
emergency surgeons on the east coast, Clara."

Dr. Krenshaw beamed a smile at Agent Scully, obviously pleased 
with her observation.  "Good to know," I replied.

She pulled back the blanket and they both peered at the tube.  I 
winced when she gently raised my arm, feeling a shooting pain rip 
through my side. "Sorry," she whispered.

I breathed out forcibly.  "S'okay."

I concentrated on my breathing as they poked and peered. Dr. 
Krenshaw said, "I'll get some more paper tape to anchor that a little 
better.  It's loosened up.  But it looks wonderful, Clara.  No 
infection.  The wound is nice and pink.  We'll be taking you down 
for x-rays soon."

"Why?" I asked, gritting my teeth as Scully lowered my arm, 
which was still in the sling.

"We have to monitor the progress on your lung."

I glanced at the little machine next to the bed from which the air 
was being pumped into my lung via the tube in my chest.  It made 
me a little queasy if I thought about exactly what was going on 
here.

"Are you breathing easier?" he asked.

I pulled air into my lungs.  "Yes, definitely better than yesterday.  I 
still can't take a deep breath, but it's better."

"Good, don't try to take a deep breath until I tell you to. I'll want to 
see that the lung is fully inflated before we try that.  Right now 
though, I'm going to let Dr. Scully give you a breathing treatment 
while I go fetch some more tape for that tube."

I nodded.  He left and Scully picked up an odd device with a tube 
on it.  She connected it to a small box and turned it on.  
Moisturized air began hissing into the device and out of the end of 
the tube that was fitted with what looked like a giant cigarette 
holder.

She held it up to my mouth.  "Take the mouthpiece into your 
mouth and seal your lips around it. Then just breath.  I want you to 
inhale slowly at first. As soon as you feel discomfort, stop.  Then 
exhale slowly.  Do not rush, and do not force your inhale beyond 
the point of discomfort."

I nodded and followed instructions.  I began breathing in and out, 
feeling the warmed, moist air flowing into my mouth and into my 
lungs.  It felt good. There was probably medicine in it but I didn't 
ask.  Scully smiled and said, "That's it.  Perfect. We need to do this 
for about five minutes. Later, we'll try it for ten before dinner."

I knew she didn't expect me to respond.  She was just talking to 
keep me distracted.

She looked at me.  "So A.D. Skinner told them he was your fiancé, 
huh?"

I widened my eyes but kept breathing.  I shrugged my shoulders.  
She smiled.  "I bet he was saying that to make sure they wouldn't 
kick him out."

I nodded gently, but not enough to dislodge the mouthpiece. I felt 
tears sting my eyes and I blinked rapidly, cursing internally at this 
display of emotion.  Damn, I didn't want for him to just be 'saying' 
it to gain access.  When Dr. Krenshaw had said that, I'd felt my 
heart turn over in my chest.  Damn him, if he was going to pretend, 
he should have told me!  Probably some dumb rule about only 
immediate family being able to visit in recovery or something.

Then again, I hadn't been awake much I realized.  Scully looked at 
her watch and then pulled back gently as I opened my mouth.  
"That's enough," she said.

She twisted a dial and shut the machine off, disconnecting the tube 
and laying both items on the nightstand.  She turned to me.  "I 
didn't mean to upset you by mentioning that."

I swallowed.  "I wish he'd told me he'd said that.  I almost had a 
heart attack."

She nodded solemnly.  "Maybe it's true," she said gently.

I stared at her and shook my head.  "Not yet."

She smiled. "Maybe he wants it to be true," she suggested.

I felt the tears sting my eyes again.  "Damn," I muttered, and she 
handed me a tissue.  I blew my nose delicately, unable to put any 
force behind it without causing myself pain.

"I don't know," I muttered finally.  "It just shocked me."

She nodded.  "None of my business," she said.

I swallowed.  "It's all right.  I don't mind talking to you about us.  
In fact, you're one of the only people I do feel comfortable talking 
to about us."

She smiled at that.  "I'm glad.  But why's that?"

"Because you don't judge."

She looked at me quizzically.  "What do you mean?"

"You really don't care that I'm black," I said carefully.

She smiled, shaking her head in amusement.  "Of course I don't."

"Well, that's not the norm."

"Well, that's a shame."

"Yeah, in more ways than one."

"Is there more going on here than I know?" she asked.

"I've had some minor problems at work."

"Oh shit."

"Yeah, not from my partner.  I've repeatedly told him that Walter is 
wonderful, loves me and treats me like gold and that he's different.  
But he was skeptical at first.  But he came around."

She nodded, encouraging me to go on.

"Walter's come to pick me up at the squad room a couple of times.  
He is so unselfconscious. He'll scoop me up around the waist and 
plant one on me right there in the squad room."

Agent Scully laughed then.  "I think that's great."

I smiled.  "I did too, at first."

"At first.  But not now."  It was a statement.

I nodded.  "I got some rude comments from some of the other 
officers.  It's made me want to, I don't know.  I don't want to hide 
my relationship with Walter and I'm certainly not ashamed of it.  I 
love him to pieces.  But I don't need the added aggravation if you 
know what I mean.  My job is stressful enough."

"I understand.  You wish he wouldn't be quite so demonstrative in 
front of others.  Fewer PDAs."

"PDAs?"

"Public Display of Affection."

I grinned.  "Maybe, I don't know what I want.  Well, I do. What I 
want to do is NOT deal with it all, but that's not reality."

"What is reality?"

"I need to make a stand and say something to these people instead 
of letting the comments and the murmuring grow.  It could get out 
of hand and start affecting the way I do my job.  It's distracting to 
hear it at work."

"What about at home?"

I sighed.   "A couple of neighbors have asked me, 'Who's the 
honky?' after seeing him visit me."

"That's pretty rude."

"Yeah, but they didn't seem malicious, just surprised."

"Still, I hate name calling, labeling, of any kind."

"Me too, but I put up with a certain amount of it.  They literally 
don't know how else to say it."

"That's sad," she replied.

"THAT'S reality," I stated.

We stared at each other for a moment and then she said, "You 
could ask him to tone it down in public.   Maybe give him some 
boundaries."

I shook my head.  "I don't want to do that. I  don't want him to feel 
like he's causing me trouble. That's what he'll assume right off."

"Well, he is, effectively."

"No!  My coworkers are being ignorant assholes."

"Maybe, but we can't change the world."

"I know, but maybe I want to change my little corner of it."

"I don't know what to tell you, Clara.  I'm not going to pretend I've 
ever been in that kind of situation.  And I realize that people are 
quick to give advice on something they know nothing about.  I 
don't want to be one of those 'experts' that's never been there and is 
talking out their ass."

I smiled.  "I know you don't.  I wouldn't take anything you said the 
wrong way anyway.  I know you mean well and I know you're one 
of the few people who truly isn't prejudice."

"No, I'm not.  And maybe that makes me the worst person to ask 
advise from."

"How so?"

"Because I don't understand racial prejudice.  I can't predict that 
behavior or what triggers it.  I don't understand hating for the sake 
of hating, because somebody told you that you should.  I don't 
understand being frightened of something that's different.  I've 
always been intrigued by things that are different, not frightened."

She nodded.  "Me too.  But it's not that way for most people.  They 
are taught by their parents to be distrustful of other races.  They 
have all the negative things pointed out and none of the positive.  
They concentrate on their own oppression rather than on bridging 
the gap.  We become our parents."

"I know.  I don't know how to change that.  I'm not sure we will 
see that change in our lifetime."

"I don't know what to do.  I love him so much and I was thrilled in 
the beginning when he wasn't circumspect when we were in public.  
I took it as a sure sign that he truly was not embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?  Why would he be embarrassed?"

"I don't know.  Maybe I was afraid he simply wouldn't want to deal 
with the ridicule that might come our way."

"He's a stronger man than that."

"I know that now.  But old habits are hard to break.  I believed him 
when he told me what he believed.  But sometimes you need to see 
it in action, you know?"

"Yeah, I know.  So him smooching you in the squad room proved 
his words to you?"

"Yes, it did.  I realized he wasn't going to hide us.  He truly wasn't 
afraid to stand up for us and tell the rest of the world to go to hell."

"Not always easy to do that, though, is it?"

I sighed.  "No, it's not.  Not when those people are in your face 
everyday."

"Like your coworkers."

"Like my coworkers.  We depend on each other out there.  We 
don't need any extra tension between us."

"And this is causing tension."

"I think so.  I mean, they don't say so to my face, but I get weird 
looks all the time.  Usually Timmy stares them down for me, 
daring them to say anything and they back off."

"Timmy's your partner?" she asked.

Just then Timmy entered the room, beaming me a smile. "Yup!  I 
sure am!" he announced cheerfully.

Scully turned and involuntarily took a step back.  I grinned, being 
used to people having this reaction to Timmy.  He was a big man, 
six foot, six, and had broad shoulders and a muscular physique.  
He wasn't as muscular as Walter, but he was big nonetheless.  He 
had a wirier musculature.  Walter was very compact and solid.  
Timmy was solid but in a more stretched out way.

He stuck out his hand to her and said, "This must be Agent 
Scully."

She shook his hand, her eyes traveling up his torso and smiling at 
him.  "Yes, I am."  She paused.  "Damn, you're big."

He threw back his head and laughed.  She turned to me, "I can see 
why people back down."

"Have you been telling tales out of school?" he asked me.

I grinned.  "Only good ones."

"Good, I'd hate to have to kick your ass."

"You couldn't if you tried, buddy."

He laughed good-naturedly, and pulled up a chair, plunking 
ungracefully into it and leaning forward.  He wasn't in uniform yet.  
"Bet I could now," he rejoined.

I grinned.  "Well, yeah, now you probably could."

We were all silent for a few moments and I realized I hadn't really 
spoken to him since before they took me to surgery.  I vaguely 
remembered him in the recovery room, but my memory was hazy.

"So?" he inquired.  "How are ya?"

I smiled.  "Better today, thanks.  And Timmy, I never got a chance 
to thank you."

His expression darkened and he shook his head.  "For what?"

"You saved my life, Timmy."

He shook his head.  "No, I didn't.  I screwed up.  I should have 
seen that coming, damn it.  We should have gone in the back door 
or something.  I should have charged him right off.  I should have," he
said, hesitating and second-guessing himself.

I cut him off.  "Stop it!"  He looked at me, frowning deeply.

"I'm sorry, Clara.  You shouldn't have taken that bullet."

I shook my head.  "Timmy, no one's to blame here.  But I know 
this.  High or not, that guy was a good shot.  Two inches the other 
way, and I would have caught that bullet in the heart.  If you hadn't 
pushed me, it would have been all over," I finished quietly.

He took up my hand and squeezed it.  "I didn't push soon enough 
for him to miss."

"But you pushed soon enough to save my life.  This wasn't your 
fault, Timmy.  I want you to stop thinking like that.  If we screwed 
up then that's the way it is.  WE screwed up, not you."

He swallowed reflexively.  He opened his mouth and closed it a 
few times.  "I'm sorry, Clara.  I'm just sorry this happened at all."

"Me too, but no more blaming, O.K.?"

He nodded.  "I'll try."

I looked up from his face to find Walter standing inside the 
doorway taking in the entire exchange. Timmy followed my line of 
sight and snatched his hand back from mine as though he'd been 
burned.  I smiled at his nervous reaction.

Walter wasn't scowling for once, he was smiling.  "I didn't get a 
chance to thank you either," he said to Timmy.   I wondered how 
long he had been standing there.

Timmy stood.  "No need.  Nothing to thank me for, no matter what 
she says."

"I think there is," Walter replied and stuck out his hand.

Timmy shook it.  "You're both crazy," he deadpanned.

We all smiled.  Walter's smile faded and he looked Timmy in the 
eye.  "I mean it.  That's my life over there in that bed.  I don't know 
what I'd do if I lost her."  He paused and I felt myself tear up, once 
again overwhelmed by his willingness to express his feelings for 
me in front of others.

"I'm glad you're her partner," he said finally.

It was an affirmation, an acceptance and I could see the surprise 
and genuine happiness on Timmy's face.  He licked his lips and 
said, "Thank you. That means a lot."

Walter nodded and then walked over to me, bending down and 
kissing me softly.  Timmy said, "I'll be going now. I just wanted to 
check in.  I'll stop by later after my shift."

"Bye, Timmy."

"Bye now," he said, waving over his shoulder.

Agent Scully said, "I have to be going now too.  Mulder and I have 
to drive to West Virginia.  But I'll try to stop back later tonight.  It 
will depend on what happens.  We may have to spend the night out 
there."

I nodded.  "Thanks for all your help and concern."

"No problem," she said, and turned to leave.  She stopped and said, 
"Hope you feel better. You're doing great.  At this rate, you might 
even be able to go home day after tomorrow."

I smiled at her.  I didn't know if she was saying that for Walter's 
benefit or not, but I appreciated it. She exited and I turned my 
attention to Walter.  He was silent for a little bit and then sat in the 
chair and asked, "Is he blaming himself still?"

"Still?"

"He was last night.  I told him I was sure he did all he could do."

"You did?"

"Yeah, I made a stupid comment about not calling for back up and 
he told me that you did but they hadn't arrived yet.  I felt bad as 
soon as I said it and saw how guilty he felt.  It was just my fear 
talking.  I apologized and told him not to blame himself."

"Thank you for that."

"No problem.  After I thought about it for a minute I realized that 
was stupid thing to say.  I just wanted someone to blame for a 
minute."

I nodded.  "I really believe he saved my life, Walter," I admitted.

He nodded.  "I do too.  I'm forever in his debt for that."

I looked at him and smiled gently.  My smile faded when I 
remembered the question I needed to ask.  "What's this business 
about being my fiancé?" I asked, springing it on him out of the 
blue.

He paled and sat back in his chair.  "Oh God," he muttered.

I raised my eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

He took a deep breath.  "It just slipped out."

I tried to hide my disappointment but he must have seen it even 
though I looked away.

"Clara," he said softly.

"What?" I asked, my voice sounding flat.

"Look at me."

I turned tentatively to look at him.  He was smiling softly.  "I love 
you."

"I know.  But Walter, when the doctor said, your fiancé, I nearly 
choked."

"Big mouth, that guy."

"That's not the point.  Why did you say it?  To make sure they 
wouldn't kick you out?"

"No."

"Then why did you say it?"

"Because he asked me if I was your boss."

"My boss?"

"Yeah, he thought I was your boss.  I don't know.  I was 
unreasonably pissed that he didn't even consider for a second that I 
was anything other than your boss."

"So you wanted to lay it on thick," I said, guessing at his motives 
and his strange need to announce to the world that I was his.

"Look at me," he said again.

I turned to him again and he said, "I said it because yes, I wanted 
to make a point with him.  But I also said it because," I added, pausing.

"Because?"

"Because I wanted it to be true," he said quietly.  Then he looked at 
his lap, lacing his fingers together and bending them backwards, 
cracking  his knuckles.  I winced every time he did that.

He lifted his head to peer at me, his eyes lifting but his head still 
down.  "You do?" I asked, hearing my voice sounding a bit 
strangled.

I sucked in my breath and winced at the pain in my ribs. He 
winced right along with me and I smiled, feeling like I was going 
to cry at the same time. "Is that something you want, Clara?"

"I don't know how to answer that."

"Yes or no would be good," he said, licking his lips, looking 
absolutely adorable.

"I think we need to talk about this after I'm out of here."

He seemed to deflate in the chair, that obviously not being the 
answer he wanted to hear.  Why was I hesitating?  Because of the 
recent trouble at work? That wasn't fair.  I wanted to be as brave 
about this as he was.  Here I was the one that had asked him 
whether our races would be a problem at the beginning of our 
relationship.  Now I was the one making them a problem, not him.  
How hypocritical was that?  I bucked up my courage and said, "I 
do want that, Walter."

His head snapped up to meet my gaze.  

"I just can't process it right now," I added.

He stood and leaned over the bed.  He buried his nose in my neck, 
nuzzling my hair.  I loved it when he did things like this.  He 
murmured into my ear, supporting all his weight on his arms, 
careful not to put any weight on me.  "I love you so much, Clara.  
It doesn't matter to me.  I mean, it matters, but what I'm trying to 
say is that I don't NEED a piece of paper or marriage vows. I'm 
committed to you no matter what.  That's the way I feel."

I sighed, letting a few stray tears fall and swallowed around the 
lump in my throat.  How could I keep questioning this?  How 
could I keep worrying if something was going to happen to make 
him think this wasn't worth it?  That I wasn't worth it?  He loved 
me.  Why couldn't I accept that?

Maybe because I didn't have much experience with being loved.  
My father didn't love me.  My brother had always competed with 
me for my father's attention.  My ex-husband had abused me and 
didn't know what love was.  Now there was Walter, this great 
huge, block of a man.  He made love to me like I was his own 
personal Goddess and loved me with a passion I'd never known 
before.  I guess I had trouble wrapping my mind around it.  We 
faced a formidable rocky road and yet, he had never once 
hesitated.

It was me that was hesitating.  I raised my good arm, careful of the 
I.V. and cupped his cheek. He raised his head to look at my face 
and I said, "I love you, Walter.  Whatever happens, don't ever 
doubt that."

He smiled gently.  "I know.  I don't doubt it.  And it's okay to 
have reservations.  I'm not exactly the Catch of the Year."

I smiled then.  "I think you are."

"Yeah, well, you've always been a bit nutty," he teased.

I put pressure on his cheek and he lowered himself to capture my 
lips, kissing me softly and chastely, but with so much love I felt 
my heart break in two.  I was getting too emotional and I pulled 
away, turning my face to the side.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm getting choked up."

"That's O.K.," he said.

"No, it hurts."

"Oh! Sorry!" he exclaimed, leaping away from me.

I shook my head, reaching out my hand. "No!  you weren't hurting 
me.  I just don't want to cry. That would hurt."

He tentatively took my hand and sat in the chair again.  "I love 
you, Clara.  And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my comment to 
Dr. Krenshaw."

"I'll forgive you this time."

He grinned.  "I guess I should tell you now that I'm taking a couple 
weeks off from work to take care of you when you get out of here."

"Oh, no!  Walter, No!"

His face grew stern. "I knew you would object.  But this is non-
negotiable.  I'm taking the time off and I'm staying at your place 
with you.  You can stay at mine if you want, but I figured you'd be 
more comfortable at yours.  The doctor said you would be weak 
and would need quite a bit of help when you got out of here until 
you regained your strength."

I was shaking my head, trying to think of an argument and at the 
same time, wondering why I was doing that.

He shook his head slowly in response to mine.  "I'm not taking 'no' 
for an answer.  I know you hate me hovering, but you are going to 
need help whether you like it or not.  I'll promise to try and not 
hover if you'll promise to be honest with me and admit when 
you're in pain or need help."

I sighed, wincing again at the pain in my ribs.  I met his gaze, 
reading the implacable look on his face.  I needed to stop resisting 
being vulnerable in front of him.  It was going to drive a wedge 
between us eventually.  I didn't want that to happen.  But a lifetime 
of habits was hard to break.  I was just going to have to keep 
talking to myself and reminding myself that no matter how 
unbelievable it was to me, Walter Skinner was in love with me.

"O.K., deal," I said finally.

He broke out into a smile and leaned over to brush his lips over 
mind, capturing my bottom lip playfully and tugging on it gently 
with his teeth.  Just then Dr. Camy entered and cleared his throat.  
Walter stood up and smiled at him, totally unselfconscious about 
being caught smooching.

The doctor smiled.  "Hey, none of that in here!" he joked.

I felt myself warm and blush but Walter just chuckled. "Don't 
worry, I won't get fresh for real."

The doctor smiled.  "We need to take you down for X-rays now."

"Why?  What's wrong?" Walter asked, his eyes darting from the 
doctor to me.  I realized he'd missed that discussion earlier this 
morning.

"Nothing.  They need to check on the inflation of my lung each 
day is all."

He blew air out of pursed lips.  I said, "You have to stop panicking, 
Walter.  I'm going to be fine. And if you don't believe him, you 
heard Agent Scully this morning.  I'm probably out of here in a 
couple of days."

He nodded and said, "I'm going to go grab some breakfast and then 
come back up here to help you with yours."

I nodded, feeling sleepy again.  He walked me out into the hall 
after the doctor and a nurse carefully placed me into a wheelchair.  
Walter walked my little box that was pumping air out into the 
hallway, while the nurse pushed the I.V. stand.  He bent down to 
give me another quick peck on the cheek and said, "See you in a 
bit."

XXXXXXXXXX

PART 4 (R ) 
D.C. GENERAL HOSPITAL 
FRIDAY MORNING 
6:45 AM

He went to the elevators and we turned the other way toward the 
service elevators that would take us into the basement where the 
Radiology Department was.  The nurse, a young black woman 
said, "He's a hunk."

I held my side as I tried not to laugh, groaning slightly as my 
muscles spasmed.  Dr. Camy said, "Don't make her laugh."

The nurse said, "I didn't mean to.  I was serious."  I turned to look 
at her.  She was 25 if she was a day.  Knowing women that age 
looked at him and saw what I saw was a bit disconcerting.  And 
she was a black woman too.  Now why did that surprise me? 
Damn, was I becoming exactly what I accused others of being?  
Was I making the same assumptions that other people made; the 
ones that made me so mad?

I shook myself internally.  I couldn't sort all of this out right now.  
Instead, I said, "Don't even think about it.  He's all mine."

She laughed a musical sounding laugh and said, "I gathered that 
much.  He can't take his eyes off you, sister."

I grinned.  "Yeah, I know," I said smugly.

She laughed again.  "Don't worry, he's old enough to be my 
father."

"I know," I said.

"But that doesn't mean I don't look.  That body's damn fine, no 
matter what his age."

I smiled.  "I think so."

We left it at that.

XXXXXXXXXX 
CLARA JORDAN'S APARTMENT 
GEORGETOWN, D.C. 
2 DAYS LATER

I got her settled and hit the grocery store to stock up on easy to 
cook foods.  I was actually a decent cook but I didn't think I'd have 
time to be too fancy.  But I wanted her to have nourishing meals.  I 
felt very domestic cruising through the aisles of Stop & Shop, 
selecting vegetables and fresh meat, milk and gourmet coffee.  I 
rather liked the idea of shopping for two.

Ever since my slip of tongue, telling the doctor I was her fiancé, I 
kept thinking about marriage. My first one was destroyed because 
of me, not her.  The first couple of years while I was climbing the 
ladder in the Bureau weren't bad.  We went places, we did things.  
Then I became married to my job and things started to go 
downhill.

Sharon found interests that kept her busy and I worked. She made 
friends at the Church and through community activities, and I 
worked.  She made money at her job, used it to redecorate the 
house, and I worked.  I realized now that I had put emphasis on all 
the wrong things.  I loved Sharon with youthful enthusiasm in the 
beginning, but something died along the way when I became 
obsessed with making it in the Bureau.

For years, we were roommates, friends always, but rarely lovers 
near the end.  It wasn't all my fault.  She didn't make too much of 
an effort either.  She asked me about my job and I didn't want to 
talk about it.  She never pushed.  I couldn't blame her for the lack 
of effort.  I hadn't been an easy person to talk to.  Still wasn't, for 
that matter.

But there was something about Clara that brought out all these 
things in me that had lain dormant for many years.  I wanted to be 
domestic.  I wanted to be affectionate.  I wanted her to know me. 
Not the ME that I presented at work, the real me.  I had tried 
really hard to open up to her and I think I'd done well. I was 
determined that this relationship was not going to be like my 
marriage.  It was not going to fall into disuse from simple neglect 
or a lack of priorities.

The downside of this was that I became vulnerable for the first 
time in twenty years.  I had something I'd spent my whole life 
looking for and now I was terrified of it being taken away from 
me.  I guarded my relationship with Clara jealously.  I made time 
for it everyday, determined not to make the same mistakes twice.

In the process though, I think I'd become a bit smothering at times.  
I needed to let go a little.  I needed to trust that she loved me as 
much as I loved her. I needed to have faith that she was not put in 
my life just so I could lose her.  I hoped to hell that she would 
survive her job for many years to come.  This incident had brought 
into sharp focus just how precious time was and just how 
precious she was to me, even more so than her being abducted.

In the blink of an eye, she could be gone and I would be alone 
again.  The thought terrified me. I depended on her now.  I needed 
her for emotional support. She made me want to get up in the 
morning and face another day.  She made me want to be a better 
man.  Without her, I just knew that I would back slide in a hurry.  
There would be no more reasons to keep going.

I don't think I would become suicidal or anything, but I know that I 
would be unable to summon the courage to ever take a chance 
again with my heart. This was it.  I had taken my one and only 
chance.  If this were to end, that would be it for the rest of my life.  
I knew I would never be able to risk it again.

So what else was there?  We were at a crossroads.  Our 
relationship had reached a point of do or die.  We knew we loved 
each other.  We realized that we had societal obstacles to face.  
The question was if we both had the courage to take that final step.  
I wanted it.  I wanted her to be my wife.  What I didn't know is if 
she really wanted to be. I knew she loved me, but would she want 
it to be that permanent?  Did she always want that way out that 
existed when there was no legal binding?  Just in case?

I didn't want to push or make her uncomfortable and I wasn't 
stupid.  I knew that there were a lot of people out there that 
frowned on interracial marriages. I'd never understood that kind of 
thinking, but then again, I'd never been ostracized, repressed, or 
brought up in an intolerant household.  I'd never had to face 
discrimination in any form really.  I was an adult, white, male, 
leader of the pack so to speak in this society.

Sometimes I almost felt guilty for being who I was, even though I 
knew that was irrational.  But that's what bigotry was, irrational, 
being blamed for simply being who you are.

I remembered Timmy asking me, 'Do you'?  Meaning, did I really 
understand where his discrimination had come from?  I wasn't 
sure.  I only knew that I didn't feel it towards him or anyone else.  I 
had answered truthfully.

I could understand it intellectually, but I'd never been there, so I 
wasn't going to pretend that I could relate to it.  I did know that I 
was willing to face whatever obstacles were thrown our way. Her 
father wasn't an immediate problem since he was in jail.  Not that 
he would have ever been a consideration in light of the relationship 
that Clara had with him previously.  Or should I say, 'lack of 
relationship'.  He'd disowned her because she chose to go into a 
profession he didn't approve of.  What a schmuck.

Him I hated, because he had hurt Clara.  Anybody who 
hurt Clara was on my shit list, big time.  She brought out all my 
protective instincts.  I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It 
would probably depend on the situation.

I'd never met her brother either, formally.  I'd seen her father as I'd 
sat through the Grand Jury hearing that indicted him for conspiracy 
to commit murder. He was being held without bond, being 
considered a flight risk.  His trial was months down the road.  That 
was another thing we had to look forward to.  I knew she would 
have to testify, so would Scully.  It was going to be a difficult thing 
for her to testify against her father, even if he was a scumbag.  She 
was crushed that they had never been able to work out their 
differences.

All this thinking got me absolutely nowhere.  It raised a lot of 
questions that needed to be discussed and ironed out.  But the 
major one was still the question of marriage.  Should I just buy a 
ring and ask, I wondered?  Would I be able to take it if she said no?

So many questions and I still had no answers.  I was going to have 
to talk to her again about it. That's all there was to it.  I just hoped 
to hell it wasn't going to be a sore subject.  I hoped that she didn't 
feel I'd been presumptuous.  It had obviously rattled her cage, but I 
wasn't sure if it had rattled in a good way or a bad way.

XXXXXXXXXX

He came into the bedroom carrying a tray heaped with stir-fry 
chicken and enough mashed potatoes to feed an army.  I chuckled 
when I saw all the food on that plate.

"What?" he asked, not sure what I was laughing about.

"You don't think I'm going to eat all that, do you?"

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders.  "I'm the human garbage 
disposal.  I'll eat whatever you don't finish."

"Where's your's?"

"I figured I'd wait and see how much you consumed first."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and laid the tray in my lap.  I 
still had a hard time taking deep breaths.  I tired very easily, but if I 
went slow and didn't move too fast, I didn't have pain.

I hated feeling weak like this but I resigned myself to the fact that I 
couldn't function alone at this point.  I did need someone here.  I'd 
thought of calling in the Visiting Nurses.  My insurance would 
cover it under my temporary disability policy.  But Walter had 
been adamant that he be the one to care for me.

Agent Scully had reminded me of my long ago discussion with her 
in the Emergency Room of D.C.General when she'd been shot in 
the shoulder.  I'd told her to let Agent Mulder take care of her.  I'd 
told her that he needed to feel needed and useful to her.  She'd not 
so gently reminded me of that, and suggested that I take my own 
advice.

I couldn't argue.  It still rankled a bit though.  On the other hand, I 
liked seeing the smile on his face that came when he felt like he 
was helping me.  It did indeed change his disposition for the better.  
I'd grown used to his surly public persona and his tendency to be 
grouchy when something was on his mind.  But I didn't want to 
have to worry about his mental state right now.  I needed to 
recover from this and get back to work.

I couldn't do that if I overdid myself and had a setback. I was 
acutely aware of the stitches in my back and knew there were quite 
a few inside, twenty, I think Agent Scully had said.  I was a little 
paranoid about tearing them loose.  I wanted to heal properly.

He sipped a glass of orange juice while he watched me eat. I 
groaned, loving the taste of real food for the first time in several 
days.  "Oh, this is good," I moaned with my mouth full.

He grinned.  "Good, glad you like it."

"I only had solid food one day, and that was last night and this 
morning, and that hospital food leaves a lot to be desired."

"I know.  I've had to partake of their cuisine on more occasions 
than I care to count.  It's not the greatest."

We were silent a few more moments and I could tell there was 
something on his mind.  "What is it, Walter?" I asked in between 
bites.

I was eating slowly.  Although I could have solid food, I'd been 
instructed to chew it thoroughly to make it as easy on my digestive 
system as possible.  I felt ravenous though.

"We'll talk later," he responded.

"Talk now."

"I don't think this is the time."

"Why not?"

"I don't know.  I want you to be settled."

"I'm settled, Walter.  I've slept half the day.  I'm in my own home.  
I have my personal handmaiden here ready to jump when I call.  
What more could a girl want?" I teased.

He smiled gently.  "Do you really like it?" he asked inanely, trying 
to change the subject.

"Walter, what's on your mind?  Spit it out."

He was silent for a few more moments and I raised my eyebrows at 
him.  He sighed deeply and said, "I've been thinking about 
marriage a lot."

I stopped in mid-chew and stared at him.  He simply stared back.  
"You asked," he said finally.

I finished chewing my mouthful and put my fork down. "What 
about it?" I asked carefully.

He cleared his throat.  "Is it something you want?"

"Someday."

"Someday," he repeated.  When I didn't say anything else, he 
added, "But not now."  It was a statement.

It was my turn to sigh and I took a drink of my orange juice to 
delay my answer.  I was so mixed up right now.  I needed to tell 
him about work.  It wasn't fair that I'd been keeping it from him, 
but I was a little afraid of his reaction.  I shouldn't be.  If I expected 
full disclosure than I was going to have to give it.  In our 
situation, communication was going to be critical.

I set my glass down and said, "I haven't given it enough thought, 
Walter."

"Would you think about it?"

"Is it something you want?" I asked, instead of answering his 
question.

"Yes," he said without hesitation.  Then he continued, "But I don't 
want that knowledge to make you uncomfortable.  Like I said in 
the hospital, it's not something I need.  It's just something I want."

"Why?"

"Why?" he exclaimed.  "Because I'm in love with you, Clara."

"And?"

"And I want everyone to know you're mine," he murmured.

"So it's a possessive sort of thing?" I asked gently.

He shook his head, scowling.  "No.  It's that I want that commitment 
with you, Clara.  I want that symbol."

"Symbol?"

"The rings on our fingers.  That symbol of our love and 
commitment to one another.  It's not a one-way street.  I want to 
show you my commitment to you as well.  That's the best way I 
can think to do it."

I looked down at the food, no longer hungry.  I went to set the tray 
aside and he took it and stood, placing it on the bureau against the 
wall.  He returned and sat down on the bed, closer to me this time, 
our hips touching through the barrier of the comforter on the bed.

He placed his hands on either side of my thighs and gazed at me 
for a minute.  "I didn't make the decision lightly.  I've given it a lot 
of thought on and off over these last few months.  But more so 
lately, since your abduction.  I realized how important, how 
precious you are to me."

I leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips and sat back again, 
squirming to get comfortable.  He lifted his hands until I was 
settled and then put them back down, hemming me in again.  He 
wasn't going to let me off the hook.  I was almost sorry I'd pushed 
the issue.

But we did need to talk.

"I love you, Clara."  He paused.  "I was so frightened to say that 
the first time, afraid you didn't feel the same way."

"You know I love you."

"But I didn't then.  I thought so but I wasn't sure.  I was afraid.  
But once I said it, I realized that it becomes truer every day.  I 
love you more each day."

I felt tears sting the back of my eyelids and blinked rapidly.  
"Walter, you know I love you."

"Now I do, but something is wrong.  I can feel it. There's 
something holding you back and I'm not going to buy a ring 
unless I'm sure it's something you want.  I don't think I could hear 
you turn me down.  I don't think I would take that very well."  He 
licked his lips.  "It's taken me a long time to find someone I could open up my 
heart to.  I didn't think I would ever find anyone, but I did, and I 
don't want to lose you."

"You won't lose me."

"What are you not telling me?  Something's been bugging you 
lately.  I've felt it, but I figured you'd talk when you were ready.  
But now this happened and I'm scared.  I'm scared that one of us 
could be gone tomorrow and I won't have the chance to do all the 
things I want to do.  Say all the things I want to say."

I cupped his face with my right hand.  My left one was still in a 
sling and awkward.  I could take it off to sleep but it did help 
prevent jostling of my ribs and back muscles.  Time to come clean, 
I thought.

"I have had something on my mind."

He nodded, encouraging me to go on.  His gaze never left my face.  
His full attention could be disconcerting sometimes.  "Tell me," he 
urged.

"I've been hearing some things at work."

He sat back a little but didn't retreat.  "What things? About me?"

I nodded.  "Yes."

"I told you in the beginning that I'd had to do some things in the 
name of duty that might seem unethical and that you should ask 
me about them if they ever came up from another source."

"No, it's nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"It's more that I've been hearing things; about us."

"Us," he said blandly, waiting for more.

I sighed.  "Derogatory comments about us."

His face hardened. "What kind of derogatory comments?"  His 
voice was suddenly hard.

"Don't freak out on me."

He took a deep breath.  "I won't, but this is going to be an awfully 
long conversation if I have to drag every sentence out of you."

"Do you promise not to get angry?"

He was quiet a moment and then said, "I can't promise that. I don't 
know what you're going to say, but I can promise not to get mad at 
YOU."

I nodded.  "There have been some racial comments."

His face fell and I watched comprehension dawn on him.  "Oh 
God," he murmured.  "What?  Tell me the rest."

He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself.  I swallowed 
harshly.  "Just, you know?  Stupid comments."

"Be specific."

"I don't know.  Not much has been said to my face, a couple of things were, 
but mostly it's behind my back."

"What about the couple of comments to your face?"

I raised my eyes to him.  "Not worth repeating."

"I think they are.  If I'm going to understand what's going on and 
how it's making you feel, I need to know what's being said."

"It's juvenile."

"So, it's juvenile."

"And it shouldn't upset me," I said, stalling.

"But it does."  It was another statement.

I nodded.  "Yes," I whispered.

"You have to tell me, Clara."

I looked at him and saw that he was gazing at me with concern, not 
the anger that I expected. Why was I always prejudging people?  
Thinking I knew how they were going to react?  It was part of my 
job to do that.  My psych background predisposed me to it, but 
if I'd learned nothing else in the last year, it was that Walter 
Skinner was different.  He never reacted the way other people did.  
Why did I think he would be like everyone else when it came to 
this issue?

I sighed.  "One guy sidled up to me one day while I was waiting to 
go into the interrogation room with Timmy.  He was careful not to 
talk loud enough for anyone to hear but he said," I said, stopping 
to gather my courage.  I swallowed again, not wanting to say the 
words out loud, knowing how stupid they were going to sound.  

"Tell me," he urged gently.

"He said, 'well, they say once you've had black you never go back.'  
Guess that's not true for you, huh?"

"Oh, Jesus," he muttered.  "That is juvenile," he added.

I nodded.  "Another one said, 'What's up with the white dude, 
Clara?  Not enough brothers to go around?'"  I hung my head, 
hating the sound of those words coming out of my mouth.

He took a breath that I knew was to calm himself and said quietly, 
"There's more, isn't there?"

I nodded.  "Yeah."

"Tell me all of it."

He sat stock still and stared at me, waiting patiently while I 
organized my thoughts.  I was having difficulty putting anything in 
any kind of chronological order.  "I can't remember the order of 
things happening," I said, knowing that didn't matter.

As if he'd read my mind, he said, "Doesn't matter."

I forced myself to look at him again.  "Your various whispered 
comments of 'She got Jungle Fever' as I walk by."

"Isn't that a black guy for a white girl?" he asked, the corners of his 
mouth turning up quickly but then settling back into a frown.  He 
was trying for levity but I wasn't in the mood.

"It isn't funny."

He took my hands in his and ran his thumb over the back of my 
hands, making me shiver as his rough calluses scraped my skin.  "I 
know it isn't funny, Clara.  Go on."

"I guess the point is that it's made me tense."

"Tense at work."

"Yes."  I paused.  "Every time I walk into the squad room, I tense 
up now, waiting for the next comment.  I'm unconsciously trying to 
prepare myself, I guess.  Prepare myself to ignore it.  But it's hard 
sometimes."

He was quiet, letting me take my time, not interrupting. When I 
was silent for a while he asked, "Have you ever said anything 
back?"

I shook my head.  "I didn't want to dignify it with a response.  
They want a rise out of me."

"And they are close to getting one."

I nodded.  "I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me. I'd be lying if I 
said I can just brush it off."

"Are you scared?"

"Of them?"

He nodded.  "Of your coworkers," he clarified.

I shook my head, 'No.'  "I'm not afraid of them, Walter. I'm afraid 
for us.  I'm afraid for you."

"Me?"

I licked my lips, wondering how to say this.  "Some of the 
comments have led me to believe that somebody, or a few people 
are more upset about it than they are letting on."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't hear this myself, but Timmy overheard a couple of guys 
talking in the evidence room. They didn't know he was around the 
corner, signing some stuff in.  They were talking in code, you 
know like people do sometimes, street talk.  But Timmy 
understands it.  So do I.  And they were saying that it wasn't right 
that a cracker was 'taking one of our sisters off the street.'"

He stared at me and an incredulous expression came over his face.  
"Can they really be thinking that I'm what?  Stealing you out of 
the dating market? Is that what you're saying?"

"I wasn't saying it, they were.  Some men, some black men have 
a certain mentality."

"All men have a certain mentality," he said in a self-deprecating 
tone.  "We all think we are RIGHT all the time."

I smiled at that.  "I didn't really know what to think. Timmy 
assumed they were talking about me. I don't know for sure."

"But you're the only 'sister' that's dating a white man there, I 
assume."

I nodded.  "Yeah, so it doesn't leave a lot of room for doubt.  They 
could have been talking about someone else they knew outside of 
the department, but I doubt it."

"Why are you worried for me?"

"I'm worried that they might take it into their heads to save me 
or something."

"Save you?"

I looked at him.  "To some of them, it's a fate worse than death."

"For a black woman to hook up with a white man."

"Sounds silly when I say it out loud, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does.  But as frightening as I find it that there are still 
people in this day and age that are that ignorant, I know they exist.  
I'm just usually not exposed to them on any regular basis.  I can 
forget they exist.  I don't want to believe that people still go 
vigilante over stuff like this."

"Well, there's more.  The reason I worry is that one of those 
officers; Timmy said it was Jimmy Williams."

"I don't know him."

"No, you don't.  He's new to the detective squad.  Just got his 
shield about six months ago."

"And what's significant about this guy?"

"He split up with his wife about a year ago."

"So?"

"So she left him for a white man," I told him, my voice trailing 
off.

"Oh, boy.  So he sees you with me and he feels like the entire 
population of black women are defecting to white men?"

"I think it may be something like that.  He resents the hell out of it, 
anyway.  According to Timmy and what he gleaned from 
eavesdropping, the guy cannot understand for the life of him, what 
the hell 'those guys' have that he doesn't."

"Smarting ego."

"Big time.  If she left him for another black man it would suck, but 
it probably wouldn't be such a big deal.  But because he was white, 
all white men have become a target for his anger, a convenient one, 
I think.  I mean, it's easier to blame something you don't 
understand, isn't it?"

"He should be looking at himself."

"I know that and you know that, but he obviously doesn't. I'm sure 
it's never crossed his mind that the woman left him because he was 
an asshole."

Walter barked out a chuff of laughter at that but then shook his 
head.  "I don't know what to tell you, Clara.  I want to say ignore 
the asshole, but I know it's not that easy.  You work together in the 
same squad.  You might have work with him one day."

"Exactly, my life could depend on him if we catch the same case 
one of these days.  Lots of calls we get require more than one team, 
especially in southeast."

"I know.  I worry about you every day."

I smiled at him, sadly.  "I know you do, I wish you wouldn't."

"Not going to happen," he stated firmly.

I chuckled this time.  "I don't even know what all this means."

"It means that other people have made you uncomfortable about 
your relationship with me.  The question is whether you are going 
to listen to them and let them feed your insecurities or whether 
you're going to believe in US."

"Who said I was insecure?" I exclaimed, feeling a flash of anger.

He smiled sadly.  "Then what are these things making you feel?"

"Angry!"

"Afraid?"

"No!  Pissed, beyond pissed.  I don't."

"Don't what?"

"I don't want to have to deal with this," I said quietly. "I don't 
know if I'm strong enough."

He looked stricken and I was immediately contrite, realizing how 
that sounded.  "No! Walter, no!  I don't mean I don't feel strong 
enough to continue this relationship!"

He swallowed, breathing hard, obviously trying not get upset.  
"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean the work situation.  I wish it would all just go away.  I 
know I shouldn't care what anyone thinks.  I never have before.  So 
I don't really know what changed.  I guess I've just worked so hard 
to be accepted.  It's hard enough to be a woman on the squad.  And 
frankly, being a black woman is even harder, being two kinds of 
minority."

"You could transfer," he suggested.

"And what?  It would be same someplace else."

"Would it?"

I looked at him.  "I don't know.  I don't want to leave.  I like it 
there.  I like being with Timmy. We work good together."

He looked at the bed spread, sighing heavily again, obviously 
unsure what to say.  "What do you need from me, Clara?"

"I don't want to ask you this."

"Ask me.  I want to help."

"I feel like a hypocrite."

"Tell me what you need," he said firmly.

"I don't even know.  I guess it might help if it wasn't so obvious 
there at the station house."

He frowned.  "Explain."

"When you come to pick me up or whatever," I trailed off.

"You mean I shouldn't act like we're together?"

I felt a sob rise up in my throat.  "God!  I don't want this!  I was so 
thrilled the first time you came there and didn't even hesitate to 
kiss me in front of all those people."

"It's not like I stuck my tongue down your throat," he said flatly.

"I know!  That's not what I mean.  But I, I don't know. I was so 
sure that you would circumspect in public.  That you would be 
embarrassed somehow."

"You thought I would be ashamed to be with you in public?" he 
asked, sounding absolutely horrified.

"Not really.  I don't know what I thought."

"I took you out to a public restaurant for our first date."

"I know, but we didn't know anyone there so who cared what they 
thought?"

He looked at me incredulously again.  He stood up abruptly and 
started pacing.  "And you thought, you thought that in front of 
people I knew, or that you knew, that I would be, ashamed or 
embarrassed to have people know we were a couple?!  Do I have 
this straight, now?"

Oh damn.  He was insulted now and angry.  "I didn't mean it that 
way."

"Then what the hell did you mean?!" he nearly shouted, his eyes 
getting suspiciously wet.  "Why the hell would I have asked you 
out in the first place if that was a problem for me?"

"Damn it, Walter!   I didn't want to fight about this!  I didn't want 
to make you angry.  This isn't about you!"

"It sounds like it's all about me.  It sounds like an assumption.  
More than that.  It sounds like an accusation!  How could you think 
that of me?"

"I don't!  That's the whole point!  I didn't know how you would be 
and then you were so great, so unconcerned.  You almost seemed
proud,"  I trailed off.

He took a shuddering deep breath.  "I was proud, Clara.  I was 
damned proud.  You're a beautiful, intelligent, tough woman and 
you were with ME.  Me!  Walter Skinner.  The man who fucked up 
his first marriage beyond all recognition.  Me, the guy who didn't 
ever think someone as wonderful as you would ever look twice at 
him.  Me!  You were with ME!  And yes, I was proud.  I wanted 
the whole fucking world to know!"  He was shouting by the end of 
his little speech and panting with indignation.

I felt the hot tears scald my cheeks, no longer able to hold them 
back.  "I'm sorry!" I nearly yelled. "I'm sorry, Walter!  That was 
THEN.  Not now!"  I sobbed once, feeling my stomach heave, and 
grabbed my ribs with my right hand as pain slashed through my 
torso.

He was by me in an instant, running his hands gently up and down 
my biceps.  "Oh God, Clara. I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have upset you.  
I'm taking this all the wrong way, aren't I?  Shhh, shhh. Don't cry.  
Damn it, now I've hurt you.  Here you are trying to recover and I'm 
yelling at you."

I sucked in a noisy breath, swallowing another sob, wanting to get 
the pain under control.  He stood and darted out of the room and I 
covered my eyes with my hand, squeezing them shut tightly.  I 
knew we would fight over this.  I'd dreaded it. And I was saying 
this all wrong.  I knew that too.  It was coming out all wrong.

He was back quickly with one of my pain killers and a glass of 
water.  He kept his hand around the glass as my shaky hand raised 
it to my lips and I swallowed the pill.  I gasped gently a few times, 
shallow, feeling the pain recede.  "I'm so sorry, Clara," he 
whispered.  "I promise I won't get angry again.  I promised I 
wouldn't get angry with you, didn't I?  And I broke my promise."

XXXXXXXXXXX

PART 5 (PG-13) 
CLARA JORDAN'S APARTMENT 
GEORGETOWN, D.C. 
SUNDAY EVENING

He barely touched me as he wrapped his arms around me, afraid of 
hurting me now, but his big hands rubbed my back gently below 
my stitches.  He knew right where they were and he didn't go near 
them.  The warmth of his hands seeped into my back and I felt 
myself melting into a puddle, the way I always did when he was 
tender with me.

He raised his hands to my face and brushed my stray tears away 
with his thumbs.  He whispered, "Damn, I'm making a mess of 
this.  Just what I didn't want to do."  He leaned in and brushed
my lips gently once.  Then he whispered again, his lips brushing
mine as he did so.  "I love you so much, Clara.  God, I'm so 
sorry.  Forgive me, please."

He kissed me again, licking my lower lip this time and I opened 
my mouth to let him in.  He kissed me slowly and gently, but 
teased my tongue with his own and I felt the familiar arousal wash 
through me like it always did when he kissed me.  He pulled back 
and looked at my face.  "I love you," he said again.

I smiled, my tears now under control.  "I love you too, Walter.  
You have to believe that.  You know that.  It doesn't make this any 
easier though.  And it's coming out all wrong.  I'm saying it all 
wrong."

"No you're not, baby.  I'm taking it all wrong."

I lifted my free hand to palm his cheek again and he turned his 
head, kissing my palm.  "I need to say some things, Walter.  I need 
to get them off my chest and I need to know that you understand."

He nodded.  "I promise to listen."

I sniffled and he handed me a tissue.  I blew my nose awkwardly 
with one hand and he took it from me and threw it away in the 
wastebasket by the bed.  I took a fortifying breath, feeling pain 
wash through my ribs.  I leaned back some and winced.

"Maybe we should do this later.  You should rest now, Clara."

"No, I need to say this while I have the courage."

"Well, at least lay down."

He grasped my hips and tugged me gently down the bed, his arm 
cradling my shoulder as he lowered me to the bed, pulling a pillow 
under my head.  His hand rubbed up and down my thigh through 
the covers, soothing me.  I closed my eyes, thinking that this would 
be easier if I didn't watch every expression cross his face.

"I'm not used to having someone love me, Walter."

"Aww, Clara," he interrupted.

I held my hand up.  He quieted.  "It's a new thing for me. I didn't 
grow up in a loving household.  I didn't have a loving marriage."

"I know, I know sweetheart."

I shook my head, willing him to be quiet.  He seemed to sense it 
and didn't continue.  "I dreamed my whole life of that fairy tale 
romance that all girls dream of.  My knight in shining armor that 
was going to come and take me out of all my misery.

"Of course, he never came.  I realized soon enough that if I wanted 
a different life I was going to have to make it for myself.  I'd 
always enjoyed helping people.  It was the only thing that made me 
feel worthwhile. Being a cop to me is the ultimate in civil service 
and I want to believe I help a lot of people.  But my father thought 
that if I wanted that, I should be a nurse or in some kind of 'female' 
occupation.  He doted on Cam.  It was like he resented that I was a 
girl, but since I was, I shouldn't go into a man's profession.  I 
should stay out of the way of the men in the world. I think my 
father always blamed me for not being a boy!  Silly, huh?"

He was silent, knowing I didn't want a response.

"I went to college and got my degree in psychology and went to 
work for a prestigious doctor in Virginia.  But I wasn't happy.  I 
had good times, but I decided I didn't want to sit behind a desk all 
day or in an office all day.

"So I became a cop against the wishes of my father, I enrolled in 
the academy.  He threatened to disown me.  I don't know if I 
believed him or not.  I didn't really care.  I really didn't.  He 
couldn't seem to get it through his thick skull that I didn't give a 
damn about his business or his money. He thought I did it out of 
spite because Cam was his favorite.

"I did it because I needed to have something that was just mine.  I 
needed love, acceptance and respect.  I didn't want or need his 
inheritance. He never understood that because his entire life 
revolved around it.  So does Cam's.  I didn't want his ready-made 
business.  I wanted to build my own future and be able to say that I 
had built it and nobody had handed me anything.

"I succeeded for a while.  Then I met and married my macho 
asshole husband.  He was prince charming when we were dating, 
but once we were married, all bets were off.  He immediately 
began treating me like a possession and ordering me around like I 
was some kind of slave. Naturally, I didn't take that so well.  He 
only put up with so much of my resistance and then he began to 
beat me."

I could hear the flatness in my voice and I couldn't bear to look at 
him, knowing this was going to make him angry.  He wanted to 
protect me from all the evil in the world, but that just wasn't 
possible.

"Needless to say, I put up with it for a while, trying to make it 
work, trying to do what he wanted for the sake of peace.  But then 
he started in about me quitting the job and that was the last straw.

He accused me of trying to be a man.  By then, I knew he was 
cheating on me and I didn't even care anymore.  All I could hear 
was my father ranting and raving about what an unladylike 
profession it was.  That it was for men and women had no place 
there.  That was the last straw and I finally found the courage to 
leave him and serve divorce papers."

I sighed, assembling my thoughts.  Where was I going with this?  
There was a point but I was losing sight of it.  I'd told him some of 
this before, but now I needed to make him understand why I was 
hesitating.  It had nothing to do with him.  It was all about me and 
my hang-ups.

"So I was gun shy about relationships for a long time. I dated here 
and there but nobody struck my match if you know what I mean."

He chuckled.  "I'm glad," he said softly.

I grinned, keeping my eyes closed.  "I was determined not to make 
the same mistake again.  I vowed to never date another cop.  I 
made a place for myself on the job - and then I got promoted to 
detective and I thought my life was complete.  My father was out 
of my life, but I didn't really miss him if you want to know the 
truth.  I made enough money to support myself and pay my bills 
and that was enough for a while."

"But?" he asked softly.

"But after a while, it wasn't enough.  I got lonely. But I knew 
that was the wrong reason to jump into a relationship.  I wasn't 
going to go into a relationship needy, or just to satisfy a 
loneliness."

I paused.  "Then you came along."

I could hear the smile in his voice.  "And?"

"And you lit my match," I said as blandly as I could.

His low baritone laughter bounced off the walls and warmed me, 
making me shiver.  I loved to hear him laugh.  He didn't do it 
nearly enough.  I smiled, just enjoying the sound.  When he 
quieted, I continued.

"Every time I looked up that day, you were looking at me. It 
freaked me out a little."

"Sorry," he said, not a hint of remorse in his voice.

I grinned.  "No you're not."

"I thought you were beautiful.  But God, Clara when you smiled 
and showed those dimples I felt my knees give out.  Damn," he 
muttered.

I smiled again.  "I couldn't stop sneaking looks at your body," I 
admitted.

He laughed again.  "You're incredible.  Unlike most women, *I* 
personally have no problem with being a sex object," he joked.

"Shhh," I warned him.  "So were you, incredible that is. You were 
so great with the young testosterone studs that day.  You were 
older and so much more mature than they were."

"Thanks a lot," he said with a teasing tone in his voice.

"I mean that in a good way.  You made them look like immature 
idiots.  And I was impressed with the way you supported Agents 
Mulder and Scully.  Later, I was impressed with how 
understanding you were and accepting of their situation.  I was 
glad they had you for a boss, for their sake.  I hope they know how 
lucky they are."

He snorted, but otherwise stayed quiet.

"And then I talked to Agent Scully about you.  I was, I don't 
know.  I needed to know if you were available, so I asked her if 
you were single.  She said you were and I told her I thought you 
were a hunk."

He chuckled again.

"Then I couldn't stop thinking about you.  Every day I was 
wondering if I would run into you or if you would need to come to 
the station house again for something, to follow up, or for 
anything.  I knew that was stupid.  But then I started dreaming 
about you and that really disturbed me.  I hadn't dreamed about a 
man in years."

I heard him gasp a little and delighted in it.

"I spent a couple of weeks trying to get up the courage to call you 
but I was so afraid of making an ass out of myself.  When you 
finally called me, I was so surprised I nearly peed my pants."

He chuckled a little louder this time, clearly amused.

"I was so excited.  And that first date, God, the way you looked at 
me.  You made me feel beautiful without making me feel cheap or 
like a sex object.  That's what most men made me feel. I was so 
drawn to you.  I'd never experienced that feeling, like a 
gravitational pull, before.  I couldn't walk away from you.  And 
then you let me touch you."

"I enjoyed that."

I snickered.  "Me too.  You stood there so docilely, I was amazed.  
I was intrigued by you as a man.  I'd never met anyone so 
unaffected by their position of authority.  But I'd be a liar if I didn't 
admit that your body fascinated me.  And you were so warm when 
I touched you."

"You made me crazy in seconds," he whispered.

"Then you kissed me and it was all over but the curtain call."

He laughed out loud again.  "I'll never forget that night, Clara.  It 
was the beginning of a new life for me.  And I owe it all to you."

I opened my eyes finally.  "I guess I'm so used to being screwed 
over that I'm afraid of messing this up.  My former relationship 
was wonderful too, until I got married.  Then everything changed 
in what seemed like an instant."

He frowned at me.  "I'd never hurt you, Clara," he said, his voice 
filled with conviction.  "You have to know that I would never raise 
a hand to you."

I nodded.  "I know it, intellectually."

"But?"

"But I associate marriage with anger, hurt and pain."

"I'd change that for you," he said quietly.  "Let me replace a bad 
memory with a good one, Clara."

"I don't want you to change your behavior either.  I'm just looking 
for an easy out, because I'm tired.  I want it all, Walter.  I want a 
husband, a family, a home.  I want it so bad I can taste it.  And I 
want it with you.  I do.  But I'm so afraid," I whispered the last.

"I'm sorry I was such an ass before, Clara.  I don't want you to be 
afraid of me.  You don't need to be afraid of me.  I realize yelling 
at you and being all insulted isn't the way to convince you of that. 
But I'd never hurt you physically, and I'd never hurt you any way, 
not intentionally.  I'm not your ex, Clara.  I've never even pushed 
a woman."

"I know.  I need to conquer my fear."

"We can work on it together."

I opened my eyes and looked at him, feeling a rush of affection for 
him.  No one had ever wanted to work on anything with me.  I'd 
never been in a relationship where there was equality, where my 
partner wanted to hear what I had to say.  It was refreshing.  It was 
also scary because it was uncharted territory.  I needed to have 
more faith in this relationship.  I needed to stop judging him based 
on the actions of the men in my past.  I wasn't sure how to explain 
what I felt at work but I needed to try.

"All this stuff at work, Walter, it seems so silly and superficial 
when I talk about it here, at home. It seems so far away and I leave 
here convinced that I can ignore it or tell those assholes to go to 
hell.  But then when I get there and I'm in the midst of it, it 
changes.  I'm suddenly unsure of myself.  I've worked very hard to 
be a cop, and a good detective and earn the respect of my peers."

"And now this is taking that respect away, reducing you to an 
object of controversy," he said calmly.

I nodded.  "It's like all my accomplishments are forgotten and I 
have only one feature now - 'dating a white man'."

"I'm sorry I've done this to you," he said solemnly.

"No!  That's just it. You haven't done anything wrong. They are 
wrong.  And I'm wrong for not standing up for myself and trying to 
put a stop to it.  I could go to the Lieutenant too.  I'm just thinking 
that now, but I don't want to get him involved unless it's out of 
hand.  And they haven't really 'done' anything."

"Unfortunately, we can't be the thought police."

I smiled. "I wish."

"Yeah, well, if I ran the world," he trailed off, smiling.

"It would be a wonderful place, I'm sure," I added.

He smiled back and leaned over to kiss me gently on the forehead.

"I need to make a plan for when I return to work," I said.

"Don't worry about it now.  You have plenty of time."

"I know, but I want to go back prepared.  Prepared to say 
something if I need to and having a plan if things go bad."

"Clara, hopefully if won't come to that.  I know they want a rise 
out of you.  But I don't think ignoring it is a good thing either.  It 
will just fester and grow.  I think maybe the trick would be to say 
something but not in anger, something that would cause them to 
feel stupid if they were to continue harping on the subject."

 "Like what?"

"I don't know yet.  Let me think about it."

I nodded, feeling weariness wash over me.  I wanted to stay awake, 
but the painkiller was kicking in and I could feel my eyelids 
drooping.

He said, "You sleep now.  I'll keep watch."

"Why don't you climb in here with me?"

"I will, but I need to clean up first.  Relax and sleep."

I nodded and closed my eyes, letting my body relax into sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

The phone rang and I leaped for it, hoping it wouldn't wake Clara 
up.  She was sleeping soundly within minutes.  I'd dumped the 
plate in the sink, fixed one for myself and nuked the now cold food 
in the microwave.  I sat at the kitchen table and ate and then went 
to check on her.  She was snoring gently and I smiled, just 
watching her sleep for a while.

I had just finished washing the dishes when the phone rang. She 
has a phone mounted on the wall in the kitchen and I leaped for it.  
"Hello, Jordan residence."

[Ooo, so formal.]

"Agent Mulder?"

[The very same.]

"I was going to call you tomorrow.  I'm taking a couple of weeks 
off, but feel free to call me on my cell phone."

[Scully told me you were taking some time off.  Is this a bad 
time?]

"No, I just didn't want the phone to wake Clara.  She's finally 
sleeping.  My cell phone is quieter."

[But will you have it on you?]

"Most of the time.  It's never far away.  Try that first anyway, from 
now on.  If I don't answer, then call here."

[You got it.  I just called to check and see how things were going.  
Is there anything we can do to help?]

"No, not really."

[Well, Scully said to tell you to call for any little thing.  We should 
be office bound for the next couple of weeks anyway.]

"The case in West Virginia?"

[A bust.  Nothing there.]

"Sorry about that."

[It's all right.  I was kind of relieved.  We could use a little down 
time.]

"Yeah, us too.  I just wish this weren't the reason for it."

[Me too.  Believe me, I know how you feel.]

"Yeah, uh, I was wondering if I could talk to you sometime."

[Of course, anytime.]  He paused.  [How about now?  What's up?]

"I need some advice," I admitted sheepishly.

[Right church, wrong pew.  Maybe I should put Scully on the line,] 
he joked.

I chuckled.  "You're the psychologist."

[Five cents, please,] he joked glibly.

"No, I need to ask you how you went about, I don't know."

[I don't know either,] he said smoothly.

I smiled, finding myself amused despite how upset I was about 
what was going on here.  "I need you to be serious here for a 
minute."

[O.K., sorry.]

"No, it's all right.  Something's brewing with Clara and I want to 
nip it in the bud, but that's another issue.  Before that even came 
up, I was trying to work on letting go, you know?  I worry about 
her constantly and I tend to hover a bit.  I know it annoys her, but 
I can't seem to stop myself. It's like I'm so relieved to see her every 
night and I'm so afraid of," I trailed off.

[Losing her?] he asked quietly.

"Yes," I hissed out, feeling myself get choked up.

[It's not easy, I know.  I can still be a pain in the ass if Scully is 
hurt.]

"How do you do it, Mulder?  I don't want to smother her.  I can't 
lose her."

[Do you feel like you're in danger of that?] he asked, his voice low 
and soothing.  I smiled internally.  He was sliding into therapist 
mode, despite his protestations to the contrary.  He loved giving 
advice.

"Sometimes."

[Has she said anything to make you think she's not happy?]

"Tonight she did."

[What did she say?]

"She's not unhappy with ME.  But she's been hearing some 
negative comments at work, some hurtful racial comments and she 
admitted to being bothered by them.  I think she's conflicted. She 
doesn't believe what they believe, but working along side those 
people becomes tense when you know that they don't approve, or 
have taken an unhealthy interest in your relationship - which is 
none of their business - but still."

[That is sticky.  You want to tell people to go to hell.  I know the 
feeling.  Believe me.  And my reputation at the Bureau is a tenth of 
what you two are up against.  My reasons are not the same as hers, 
but the concept is the same.  You can't fight with these people 
because it only raises the animosity.]

"Exactly.  We've been talking about marriage too.  And because of 
her first marriage she also relates that type of commitment with 
verbal and physical abuse and the beginning of the end of a 
relationship.  Her first husband had a serious personality change 
after they were married."

[And she's afraid the same thing will happen with you?]  I could 
hear the incredulity in his voice.

"No, I think intellectually she knows that's not true.  But the fact is 
that she's never really had a healthy, loving relationship and so she 
has nothing to guide her. She's afraid."

[Are you afraid?]

"Of what? Marriage?"

[Yeah.]

"No.  I want it.  I'm only afraid of making a wrong move and 
ruining this.  I'm only afraid of losing her if I don't handle this just 
right."

[Hmmm.  Centuries of rage in a racial culture is a hard thing to 
combat.  Clara's so independent that she has learned to form her 
own ideas.  She thinks outside the box, Walter.  Most people don't, 
especially those that have no exposure to other races and culture in 
their private lives.  It's one thing to deal with it in a working 
environment.  It doesn't impact your life that much at work. But on 
the home front, it's difficult.  When people feel oppressed, taken 
advantage of, condescended to, whatever, they immediately look 
for someone to blame it on.  It's easier than taking responsibility 
for their own lives.  And if another race or culture is involved, 
that's the easy thing to blame.  Hatred for superficial things is an 
excuse not to take responsibility for yourself.]

"I agree.  I think Clara does too.  I'll talk to her some more.  We 
almost fought about it tonight because I took something she said 
the wrong way.  I need to be very careful.  This could blow up in 
my face big time.  All I have to do is say something wrong, one 
time, and it could change her whole perception of me and the way I 
think.  I don't want her to think I'm hiding some veiled prejudice.  
My being defensive could suggest that."

He was quiet for a few seconds.  Then, [I think you need to give 
her more credit than that, Walter.]

That comment stopped me cold.  Was I assuming that she was 
looking for a flaw in my thinking. Was I assuming that she was 
digging for some buried prejudice I didn't know I had and would 
throw it in my face if she thought she found an indicator in that 
direction?  Maybe I was.  That was disheartening.  That would 
mean that I didn't trust her to listen to me and take things I said in 
the spirit in which they were meant.

"What do I do, Mulder?" I asked quietly.

[I can't tell you that, Walter.  But I think you need to talk to her 
some more.  I think you need to ask her what her fears are and do 
your best to put them to rest.  If I were you, I would, well, tell 
her that you are afraid of her taking something the wrong way.  If 
you trust her, you shouldn't have to watch every word you say.]

"Back to trust, again, eh?" I asked.

[Yup, doesn't it always come back to that?]

"I guess so.  But what if she doesn't trust me as much as I trust 
her?"

[You're projecting.  And that's a waste of time.  There's only one 
way to find out.  You have to talk to her some more.]

XXXXXXXXXX

I cleaned up and stripped naked.  I found Clara laying on her right 
side, her left arm cradled to her body and still in a sling.  I slipped 
into bed carefully behind her and spooned up, laying my arm 
across her hip and my hand on her thigh.  I didn't want to jostle her 
arm.

She hummed and snuggled backwards into my chest.  I smiled and 
sighed.  It always felt so good to hold her.  Somehow, curled 
around her like this, I felt like I could protect her.  I could rest easy 
knowing she was right there and any harm would have to go 
through me first to get to her.

I fell asleep and slept the sleep of the dead.  I was so tired and 
emotionally wrung out.  Being afraid for her life, then afraid of 
others coming between us had sucked a lot of energy out of me.  I 
was exhausted.  I woke in the early hours of the morning. I had 
reclined onto my back, but Clara was still laying with her back to 
my side.  It didn't seem that she had moved all night. 
Subconsciously, even in sleep, she must be aware of her arm and 
her hurting left side.

She woke, yawned and stretched a bit.  She pushed herself into a 
sitting position and awkwardly turned to me.   I rolled onto my side 
and supported my head in my hand, my elbow on the bed.  I 
cupped her face and we merely stared at each other for a bit.  She 
smiled and said, "I feel grubby.  Would you help me take a 
shower?"

"Of course."  I cleared my throat, after hearing myself sounding 
still sleepy.

"We don't have to get up yet."

"Whenever you're ready."

"Can you come over on this side of the bed?"

"Sure, what do you need?"  I was already sliding out of my side.

"I just want you to be over here.  Then I can turn and lay on my 
good side and still snuggle you."

I eagerly trotted to her side of the bed as she scooted over to the 
side I had just vacated.  The air was cool and I felt goose bumps 
raise up on my skin.  I quickly slid under the covers again and lay 
on my back, extending an arm to her.  She carefully crawled into 
my body, laying in the cradle of my arm and putting her head on 
my chest.

My fingers ran idly through her kinky hair and she shivered, 
turning her head to kiss me chastely on the chest.  I hummed to let 
her know how good it felt. We fell asleep again and awakened 
some two hours later.  I usually didn't sleep this late.  I glanced at 
the clock and saw that it was 9:00 AM.  I tried to slip out without 
waking her, but she roused anyway.

"Shhh, go back to sleep," I whispered.

She shook her head.  "Shower," she muttered.

"Do you want me to make breakfast first?"

"No, shower."

I chuckled and pulled on a robe that I kept there at her place as I 
sat on the edge of the bed.  I was reaching for her robe, which was 
laying on the bureau when I heard the doorbell ring.  It startled me 
and I turned to look at Clara.  She shrugged her shoulder as if to 
say she didn't know who it could be and then winced as the action 
caused her pain.

"Shit, that hurts." she muttered.

"Then don't do that," I admonished.

She grinned, shaking her head in amusement.  "Go get the door."

The bell rang again, as I made my way into the living room. I 
hollered, "I'm coming.  Just a second."

I peered through the peephole and saw a man standing outside the 
door dressed in a D.C. cop uniform.  It wasn't Timmy.  I opened 
the door, leaving the chain lock on and asked, "Who is it?"

He gave me a dirty look through the two-inch crack in the door and 
said, "Officer Williams."

Officer Williams.  Officer Jimmy Williams? I wondered.  The one 
that made all the spectacular comments and had lost his wife a year 
ago.  I imagined it had to be one and the same.  I went on alert 
instantly, feeling my body tense.  "Can I help you?" I asked, trying 
to appear unconcerned.

"I stopped by to bring some things to Clara," he announced, 
holding a card and flowers out in front of him.  "From everybody 
in the squad."

"Walter Skinner," I said, by way of introducing myself.  I 
unhooked the chain and opened the door, backing behind it to hide 
my state of undress as best I could.  No need to rub it in the guy's 
face if he was sensitive.  His eyes looked me up and down anyway 
as I closed the door.

"I've seen you before," was his only response.

"Hold on a second, let me get some pants on," I mumbled and 
turned to go back to the bedroom.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye before entering the 
bedroom.  He was standing docilely in the center of the living 
room in front of the couch.  Just as I turned to enter the bedroom 
Clara called out, "Who is it, baby?"

I smiled internally, unable to stop the flush of pride at hearing her 
call me, baby, in front of others, especially this asshole.  I swung 
the door closed behind me and rooted in the drawer for my 
sweatpants as I answered her.  "It's Officer Williams. Says he's 
stopped by to drop some things off for you from your coworkers."

I looked at her over my shoulder and she frowned.  "He's never 
been here before."

"Probably volunteered so he could scope out the situation."

She cracked a smile but then frowned again.  "Oh God, and you 
answered the door in your bathrobe."

"Does that bother you?" I asked, wondering what her answer 
would be.

She cocked her head to the side and said, "No," she said finally.

"Good, because I don't mind people knowing who sleeps in your 
bed," I said.

"Probably didn't float his boat."

"I don't care what floats his boat," I said, as I sat on the edge of the 
bed and pulled my pants on.

She frowned again.  "Don't take this the wrong way, Walter. I just 
meant that we don't need to intentionally antagonize people.  We 
aren't going to change the world."

I sighed wearily.  "You're right, sorry.  I guess I'm a little defensive 
now.  Do you want to come out or should I tell him you're not up 
to it?"

"I should probably try to come out or he will think you're trying to 
keep him from seeing me."

"I am," I said, a little tease in my voice.

She smiled and threw the covers off, sliding to the edge of the bed.  
I reached for her robe and helped her put it on, draping the left side 
over her bad arm and tying it in front.  She smiled and ran her hand 
over my head as I did so.  I decided, despite not wanting to 
antagonize the guy that I wasn't going to put a shirt on.

She didn't say anything, so we went to the door and I opened it for 
her, holding it aside as she came out.  She grinned. "I think I like 
having you wait on me," she teased.

I chuckled, smiling back at her.  We turned to find Officer 
Williams scowling at us.  He forced a smile onto his face that 
didn't reach his eyes and said, "I brought you a card, flowers, 
and some candy from the guys at work and the secretaries.  We all 
pitched in."

She smiled and walked to him.  "Thank you for bringing it by."  
She paused.  "Excuse my appearance, Jimmy."

"No problem at all, Clara.  I'm surprised you're up and about 
already."

"Yeah well, Walter's been taking great care of me."

He swallowed but made no comment.  He handed her the card. 
"Here, open it.  It's from everyone."

She smiled at took the card.  "Put the rest on the coffee table, 
would you?"

He nodded and laid the flowers and the box of candy on the table.  
I decided me standing there staring wasn't going to help so I 
offered, "Want me to put those in water, Clara?"

She smiled at me.  "Please."

I scooped them up and went to the kitchen, searching the top 
shelves of her cabinets for a vase while I tuned in with one ear.  
She opened the card and laughed.  "Oh, this is great!"

I heard Officer Williams chuckle.  "We hoped you wouldn't be 
offended by it."

"No!  It's perfect.  Thank you for bringing it by."

"What does it say?" I asked loudly from the kitchen.

She said, "It's a picture of a car with a flat tire and thermometer in 
it's mouth, the grill.  And it says, "Sorry you had a blow out!  Hope 
you're on the road again soon."

I chuckled as I found a vase and filled it with water.  The flowers 
were a variety of cut wild flowers. I put them aside and went about 
putting on a pot of coffee. I wanted to give them as much time as 
they needed.  "So," he began.  "How are you feeling?"


"A bit like I've been run over by a truck," Clara responded.

"Is there anything you need?  Everyone said not to hesitate to ask 
them for any little thing."

"No, I'm fine.  I'm a bit weak.  Here, take a seat.  I can't stand for 
long." I heard the rustling of them sitting down.  

"Is he?"

There was silence for a moment and then Clara asked, "Is he 
what?"

"Is he staying here with you?"

"Yes, he took some time off from work to help me recover."

"Oh."

"Yes, I thought it was very sweet of him."

I had to laugh at that.  That was the last thing she thought it was.  
She had fought me all the way, but finally gave in when she saw 
that I wasn't changing my mind.  I finished starting the coffee and 
went to the kitchen doorway and leaned one shoulder against the 
doorjamb, still not wanting to intrude but not wanting to seem 
sneaky in my eavesdropping.

His back was to me on the couch.  Clara was sitting in her easy 
chair.  She saw me and flashed a smile.  He didn't seem to notice.

He fidgeted with the box of candy for a moment and then said, 
"Can I ask you a personal question?"

I tensed, but remained silent.  Clara said, "I guess so. Can't 
guarantee I'll answer it, but you can ask."

He nodded.  "I was just wondering, this guy."

"Walter," she supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, him.  I mean, why him, Clara?"

She smiled gently.  "Why does anyone end up with anyone, 
Jimmy?  You're attracted to one another, you date.  And the rest is 
history."

"But there are so many guys more your age," he hedged, and 
then stopped.

She tilted her head to the side as she looked at him, her expression 
becoming serious.  I loved it when she did that.  It made her look 
so inquisitive and serious.  But there was something adorable about 
that expression.  "My age?  What does age have to do with it?  
Actually,  I like mature men that are secure about who they are and 
their place in the world.  Most younger guys are bit too peacock 
for me, if you know what I mean?"

"Peacock?" he questioned.

"Yeah, they are arrogant, insecure.  But mostly, they just don't 
float my boat.  I don't know. You're attracted to who you are 
attracted to.  There's no logic to it."

I quietly backed into the kitchen and leaned my back against the 
wall.  I wanted to listen, but I didn't want him to know I was 
listening.  Maybe if they talked she could nip this thing in the bud.  
I had a feeling all the negative comments at work stemmed from 
this guy.  Perhaps if she could shut him up, the rest would calm 
down too without him to stir them up.

"But, there's so many guys that would love to date you.  I know 
that some of the guys at the Precinct have asked you out."

"Yes they have," she replied calmly.

"Why did you always turn them down?"

"Many reasons.  Some of which are none of your business."

"I don't mean to pry."

She laughed then, a soft, amused laugh.  "Of course you do."

He chuckled then.  "Tell me if I'm out of line."

He was trying so hard to be polite.  "Not now."

"What do you mean by that?"

Here it comes, I thought.

She sighed deeply.  "You were out of line last week though," she 
said softly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Timmy heard you," she said, giving that time to sink in.

"I'm not sure."

"In the evidence room, Jimmy.  Timmy overheard you talking 
about me.  THAT was out of line."

I heard him stand and peeked around the corner just to make sure 
he wasn't standing over her or anything.  He wasn't.  He was 
pacing.  After several long moments of silence, he said, "I'm sorry 
about that."

"Are you?" she asked quietly.  "Or are you just sorry that I know 
about it?"

XXXXXXXXXX

PART 6 (R ) 
CLARA JORDAN'S APARTMENT 
GEORGETOWN, D.C. 
MONDAY MORNING
9:30 AM

He let out a deep breath and sank down onto the couch cushions 
again.  I ducked back into the kitchen, hoping Clara wouldn't be 
angry with me later for eavesdropping.  She probably expected it 
though.  There was nowhere for me to go.  The only exit from the 
kitchen was into the living room.

Finally, he said, "A little of both, I guess, if I'm honest."

There was no sound for several more moments.  Finally, Clara 
said, "I don't appreciate you talking about me like that, Jimmy.  My 
personal life is none of your business.  I need to count on my 
fellow officers out there on the street, just like you do, Jimmy.  I 
don't need to be worried about whether their personal opinions 
about the way I live my life are going to interfere with their 
willingness to help me out."

"I would never NOT help you, Clara!"

"How do I know that, Jimmy?  You said some pretty rotten things 
about the man I love."

He gasped.  Then asked quietly, "You're really in love with him?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.  "But that's none of your 
business either, Jimmy.  I'm only discussing it with you at all 
because I want to put a stop to the talk."

He said nothing and she continued.  "Cops are a close bunch and I 
realize that we are always going to be privy to aspects of other 
cops' personal lives. But we need to respect their privacy too and 
realize that just because we know about it, doesn't mean we have a 
right to judge. Everybody knows what happened a year ago, 
Jimmy."

"What are you saying?" he asked.  I could hear a note of anger 
creeping into his voice.

"I'm saying that I know your wife left you.  I know you had a long, 
bitter divorce."  She paused.  "I know she left you to be with a 
white man."

"Damn it!" he said suddenly and I heard him stand again. "It's not 
fair!"

Clara continued as if he hadn't reacted.  "Life isn't fair. You're 
situation with your ex-wife may not be fair.  But that has nothing 
to do with me, Jimmy."

"How can you say that?  You're doing the same thing!"

"Because it's the truth.  And I'm not doing the same thing. I didn't 
leave anyone.  I've been single for a long time.  You're looking for 
some nefarious plot at work, because you don't want to accept 
what happened.  But the sooner you do, the better your life will be.  
There's someone out there for you, Jimmy.  She just wasn't the one, 
that's all."

He said, "And you're not the one either, are you?"

I sucked in my breath hearing that.  This was the first indication 
he'd given that he was interested in Clara personally.  She'd never 
said that.  Judging by her next comment, she didn't know either.

"Me?  Well, no.  I'm afraid I'm not.  Why, Jimmy?"

"Because I wanted," he started to say.

"What?"

"I was going to ask you out a long time ago, but it was too soon 
after my divorce and I knew you'd turned down everyone else so I 
was going to try and become friends first and I," he said, stopping,
obviously at a loss for what to say.

"I had no idea you were interested in me, Jimmy."

I'd kill him if he ever touched her, I thought.

"Would it have made a difference?  If you'd known?" he asked.

I wondered what she would say.  I didn't have to wait long.

She sighed.  "I don't know.  Probably not," she said honestly, 
managing to tell the truth and say 'I'm sorry' with those two words.

"Why not?"

"We can't choose who we fall in love with, Jimmy.  It doesn't work 
that way."

"And now?  Can we at least be friends?"

"I don't know, that will depend on you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I have no room in my life for bigotry and 
intolerance on either side of the fence. And I have no use in my 
life for people who are going to judge the decisions I make based 
on that prejudice, rather than the facts."

"The facts?!  The facts are you are in a relationship with a white 
man!"

"Yes, I am.  And this affects your life; how?  If you can't accept 
me for who I am, Jimmy, then there's no way we can be friends.  If 
you can put aside our differences and accept the decisions I've 
made, and stop talking about me behind my back, then we can.  
Friends don't talk about each other behind each other's back."

He was silent.  She waited a few moments.  When he said nothing, 
she continued, "My relationship with Walter, it's none of your 
business, Jimmy.  I don't owe you or anybody else an explanation.  
But I want to be able to do my job and get along with all the others 
on the squad.  I don't want a difference of personal opinions to 
come between us and our ability to work together. We need to be 
able to put any differences aside."

"When we're on the street, I promise to put my differences aside.  
That's the best I can do for now."

Clara sighed.  "Then that will have to be enough.  I don't want 
anyone harassing Walter either."

He spoke a little too quickly.  "What would make you think we 
planned that?"

"We?"

He was silent.

"Did you?"

"No!" he answered again, a little too quickly.

"Who's WE, Jimmy?" she asked.

"Nobody, just a turn of phrase," he replied.

Clara's voice dipped down low and she sounded menacing even to 
me.  "I mean it, Jimmy.  I find out anybody has caused Walter grief 
and this will no longer be personal.  It will no longer stay between 
the two of us."

"Meaning what?" he asked, sounding belligerent again.

"Meaning I'll go to the Lieutenant."

"Why?"

"And if I find out who it is," she continued as if he hadn't asked 
a question.  "I'll press charges. You can believe that," she ended 
with conviction.

"That won't ever be necessary," he said, seemingly acquiescing.  I 
didn't trust his easy acceptance of her scolding.

"I hope not.  It's not something I would want to do."

"Cops stick together, Clara.  They don't squeal on each other."

"When it concerns the job, you're right.  When it concerns my 
personal life, which I remind you is none of your business, that's a 
whole other story."

There was silence again and it stretched out.  I decided now would 
be a good time to reenter the fray.

I walked calmly into the living room and stared at him. "Are you 
done, Clara?"

She nodded.  I could see the worry and exhaustion on every line of 
her face.

I looked at him and he was scowling at me from where he stood 
between the couch and the door. "She doesn't need this, Officer 
Williams.  She tires easily and will for a while.  I understand that 
you needed to talk.  But I need to ask you to leave now."

He nodded curtly and I followed him to the door, opening it for 
him and saying, "Thank you for bringing the gifts."

He mumbled, "Yeah, whatever," and slipped out the door, leaving 
me to close it behind him.

I sighed deeply and turned to Clara.  She was leaning forward in 
the chair, her head resting against the palm of her good hand.  I 
approached her and knelt down in front of her.  She looked at me, 
smiling sadly.  "You obviously heard all that."

"I didn't want to interrupt, but I couldn't help hearing it."

She nodded.  "Maybe that will make him think twice, but I don't 
trust him, Walter."

"Neither do I."

"I don't think he's the only one."

"At the squad you mean?  With his prejudices?"

She nodded again.  "I want you to be careful when you go out, 
Walter."

I didn't think this guy was that much of a threat.  He had to know 
that he'd be risking his shield and maybe his badge if he 
perpetrated a crime against a Federal Officer.  I assumed he knew 
that I was FBI.  "I don't think he'll do anything, Clara. He knows 
he'd be risking a lot.  Besides, guys like that are a lot of talk 
mostly.  Most of them that talk, don't do anything.  It's the quiet 
ones you have to watch out for."

She smiled at that.  It was an old expression that the quiet ones 
were always the dangerous ones.  The noisy ones you could at least 
keep track of, they didn't come out of nowhere when you weren't 
looking.  "Still, be careful for a while, all right."

I kissed her nose.  "I will.  I'll check over my shoulders."

"I don't want to be paranoid."

"We can't, Clara.  We can't live in fear.  But there's a difference 
between fear and being cautious. I promise to be cautious."

She reached out with her good hand and braced it on my shoulder, 
leaning forward and kissing me gently.  "I love you," she 
whispered.

"I love you too."  I paused.  "I made coffee.  Do you want breakfast 
now?"

"Shower first."

"Oh yeah, forgot about the shower."

She grinned, made an exaggerated motion of smelling her armpit 
and wrinkled her nose.  "I didn't!"

We chuckled and I helped her gently to her feet.  She swayed 
slightly.  "Are you sure you don't need to lie down again."

"Shower first, then I'll lay down."

"Breakfast?"

"How about breakfast in bed."

"You're on."

"You're becoming quite the little nursemaid, babe."

I grinned as we made our way back into the bedroom.  The 
bathroom was off the bedroom. There was a half bath off the living 
room, but this one had the shower.  I gently undressed her, taking 
off her robe and night shirt, and slipping her panties down as she 
stepped out of them.

We took off her sling, but she kept her arm tucked into her side.  
Even injured, the sight of her body had the ability to awaken my 
libido.  I felt myself harden and turned away from her, sliding my 
sweatpants down.  She giggled and I turned to her after stepping 
out of them.  "What?"

"How can you be excited?"

I grinned and shrugged.  "One look is all it takes."

She shook her head in amusement.  "I'm disheveled and dealing 
with bedhead, not to mention stitches in my back and my ribs."

"And?" I asked jauntily.

She laughed.  "You're a piece of work.  I must look like I crawled 
out from under a rock."

I approached her and put my hands on her hips, my dick refusing 
to acknowledge her comments and growing steadily with every 
beat of my heart that fed blood through my body.  "You're 
beautiful to me, Clara.  No injury is going to change that. I like 
what's inside too."

She leaned her head gently against my chest.  "Shower," she 
muttered.

"Let's go," I urged and gently guided her into the bathroom with 
my hand on her lower back. 

XXXXXXXXXX

After we showered, I made us breakfast: scrambled eggs and 
sausage and toast.  I put hers on a tray and carried it into the 
bedroom, perching on the end of the bed to eat mine.

"What's on the agenda today?" she asked.

"If you can be alone for a bit, I thought I'd run to the grocery 
store."

"You spent $200 on groceries yesterday!"

"I know, but I forgot a couple of things."

"I can't imagine what.  My cupboards haven't seen this much food 
in a decade."

I chuckled.  "I also need to run to the bank and check in with my 
secretary.  Even though I have the week off, I want to make sure 
she knows she can call for any emergencies."

Clara nodded and shoved her tray away, her food only half eaten.  
"You all right?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, "I'm just not that hungry."

"You have to eat to get your strength back up."

"You made enough for three people, Walter.  I don't eat that 
much."

I frowned, unsure whether to believe her or not.  It seemed she 
used to eat more, but then again, how many times had I really paid 
attention to how much she ate for breakfast.  I decided to let it go.

"O.K.  I'll just make a phone call to Kimberly and then I'll scoot 
out to the grocery store."

Her eyes drooped and then popped open.  "God, I'm tired.  I need 
to nap again.  I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry.  Sleep when you need to.  Tell me to get lost if I'm 
keeping you awake."

She smiled and slid down on the bed onto her good side. "No, it hit 
me suddenly, probably cause my belly's full."

"I don't know how, you didn't eat enough for a bird."

She grinned.  "Quit picking on me," she teased.

I stood up, leaned over and kissed her chastely on the forehead.  
"Sleep now."

I picked up the dishes and went back to the kitchen.  I had just 
finished loading the dishwasher when the doorbell rang again.

"Sheesh!" I uttered, wondering who it was now.  I hoped Officer 
Williams had not returned.  If he had I was going to turn him away 
this time.  Clara needed to sleep.

I was fully dressed now in jeans in a golf shirt when I went to the 
door and peeked out the peephole.  I spied a splash of red hair and 
smiled.  I opened the door, smiling down at Agent Scully.  She 
didn't smile back.  In fact, she was frowning.

I opened the door as the smile slid off my face and she entered the 
apartment and then spun on her heel to look at me.  "What's 
wrong?" I asked.

She sighed.  "That black Mercedes out in front is yours, right?"

"Yeah.  What about it?"

"All four tires are flat," she said dully.

"All four?"

I turned, hearing Clara in the doorway to the bedroom. "You're 
supposed to be in bed," I scolded, sounding harsher than I 
meant to.

She looked at Scully.  "Are they slashed?" she asked quietly.

Scully nodded curtly.  "Yes, I checked."

I saw tears well up in Clara's eyes and went to her side 
immediately, shuffling her back into the bedroom.  "Don't worry 
about it, I'll get it fixed."

"I'm not worried about that."

"I know, I know," I muttered, petting her head as I guided her back 
into bed.  "It's just a car.  You sleep now and don't worry about it."

"Damn it!" she exclaimed, feebly punching the mattress with her 
good hand.

"Shhh, calm down.  Don't get excited about this."

"How can I not?  That bastard slashed your tires."

I turned to see Scully standing in the doorway to the bedroom.  
"What bastard?"

I frowned at her.  "In a minute."

She nodded again and turned and walked away.  I turned Clara's 
face to meet mine.  "It will be all right.  I promise."

"How can you promise?"

"Because I can.  And we don't know it was him."  Although I was 
sure that it was.  The question was whether he did it before or after 
his talk with Clara. That would tell me whether her talk had 
calmed him down or pissed him off even more.  It was hard to tell.  
"I'm a big boy and I can take care of myself."

"I know that!" she pouted, as if I'd insulted her.

"I want you to rest and concentrate on getting better. I'll deal with 
this.  I don't want you dwelling on it."

She frowned.  "I can't help it."

"I know.  But try to put it out of your mind for a while. I'll get this 
fixed, do my errands and be back shortly.  I'm going to ask Agent 
Scully to stay here until I get back."

"That's not necessarily, Walter.  I'm not an invalid!"

"I know that, but you are weak and you couldn't fight someone 
off."

"Do you think he'll come back?"

"No, but better safe than sorry.  You never know what form anger 
will take.  Right now it's directed at me.  But you effectively 
rejected him this morning.  His anger could turn on you."

She pulled in a shuddering breath.  I didn't want to frighten her or 
make her believe things that weren't true.  But if I'd learned 
nothing else from this relationship and talks with Mulder it was 
that hiding things and thoughts from her was a very bad thing to 
do.  She needed to deal with them in her own way.  Not knowing 
was worse.

She nodded and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes where 
a few tears had leaked out.  I kissed her cheek and stood up.  
"Sleep now."

"Be careful," she whispered.

"I will."  I stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door softly.

Scully wasted no time.  "You want to call the cops, or should I?"

I smiled a humorless smile at her.  "I guess I should."

"Good and while we wait you can tell me what this is all about."

I could see by the determined look on her face that she wasn't 
going to be put off with a few pat answers.  I was going to have to 
share this with her.  I didn't want to involve her in my personal life, 
but now there was no help for it.  Sure, I could tell her to go away 
and handle it myself.  But if I wanted to be friends with her and 
Mulder, and I did, I was going to need to take a chance with 
sharing parts of my life.  I'd already done that with Mulder and was 
now comfortable talking to him.  But Scully was another matter.

She was different from Mulder.  Unlike Clara and Mulder, she 
didn't have the psych background. She was a good listener but a 
different kind of listener. She saw things in a much starker way 
than Mulder and Clara did.  But if it wasn't for Scully, I wouldn't 
be with Clara at all and I had to remember that too.  It was hard to 
shift the relationship with subordinates to friends.  But I really 
wanted to do it.  I didn't have enough friends.

I said, "Let me get them over here and we'll go downstairs and wait 
for them."

She nodded and waited patiently while I placed the call to the 
Georgetown Police.

XXXXXXXXXX

I didn't want this whole thing to escalate.  I wondered if I just 
ignored it and pretended it never happened if the perpetrators 
would decide that it was no fun if they weren't going to get a rise 
out of me.  The logical part of my brain knew that was ridiculous.  
They didn't care about getting a rise out of me, that would be 
secondary.  They wanted me out of Clara's life.  Or at least there 
was one person who did.

I gave his name to Officer Beverly Ashton of the Georgetown 
Police Department.  She was a tall, slender blonde woman with her 
hair tied back in a severe bun at the base of her neck, and her 
uniform cap pulled low over her brow.  She was all business and 
very efficient.  Once she'd taken pictures and a report, I asked her 
for a ride to the local garage to get some tires.

She then squired me back to Clara's apartment where I changed the 
tires, and headed out to the bank and grocery store while Scully 
stayed with Clara. While we'd waited for the cop, I'd told her about 
Officer Williams and later, had given his name to Officer Ashton.  
She'd frowned heavily and asked, "Another cop?  Are you sure?"

I'd said, "No, I'm not, but he's had some minor altercations with my 
girlfriend and he doesn't like that I'm seeing her.  They argued this 
morning and he was right here this morning.  I can't imagine who 
else it could be."

"Why doesn't he like you seeing your girlfriend?" she asked.

I'd almost repeated Clara's words and told her it was none of her 
business.  But I realized she was only asking to get a handle on 
how serious the altercations I was referring to were.  I finally said, 
"My girlfriend is African-American, so is this cop, Williams.  He 
doesn't like the fact that I'm white."

She nodded sharply, thankfully not pursuing it any further. She had 
a knowing look on her face. Apparently that was all she wanted or 
needed to know.  It was enough for her.  "I have some friends in 
D.C.  I'll see if they can do a subtle flip of his cruiser and see if 
anything turns up."

She'd left, obviously disturbed that another cop would do 
something like this.  I was finally back and had all the groceries 
put away when the doorbell rang again.  I came into the living 
room where Scully was on her cell phone with Kimberly, 
retrieving my messages for me.

"This place is like Grand Central," I muttered as I made my way to 
door.

I opened it to find Mulder standing there looking like the 
quintessential G-Man in his gray Armani suit, black trench coat 
and wrap around sunglasses.  He swept by me without 
preliminaries, saying, "So I hear we had a little excitement here 
this morning."


"Word travels fast," I said, making a face.

He chuckled.  "Scully called me while you were out on your tire 
hunt."

"I figured as much."

Scully hung up her phone and turned her attention to us. "You 
didn't have to come, Mulder. We've got everything under control."

"I know I didn't have to come," he stated blandly.  "I wanted to.  
Besides, I thought maybe I'd take Walter's car and let him drive 
mine."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, I'm an armed Federal Agent about town.  If somebody's 
following the car instead of the man, maybe I can see something."

"Good point," Scully said.

Mulder held out his keys.  "That SUV is onlytwo months old.  Be nice 
to it," he deadpanned.

I smiled.  "I guess I have no say in the matter."

"No," they said in unison.

I laughed.  "All right, but nothing says they aren't following ME.  
This Officer Williams certainly knows me by sight.  If he didn't 
before, he does now."

Mulder nodded.  "Yeah, but he may be having some friends help 
him out.  You told Scully he acted funny when Clara brought up 
the subject of planning to harass you."

"Maybe because he'd just slashed my tires before he came in here," 
I offered.

"Another good point," Scully said.  "But we don't know for sure.  It 
can't hurt to cover all the bases."

"Don't you two have a case to work on or something?" I joked.

They both smiled.  Mulder replied.  "No, I've been up to my 
eyeballs in expense reports and there's more to come.  This is the 
most exciting thing that's happened to me in a week."

"I'm sorry," I said with a straight face.

They both laughed at that.  Scully stood up and held out her hand.  
I slapped it as though she were giving me a high five.  She shook 
her head, amused, and said, "Keys, sir.  Where are your keys?"

I yanked them out of the front pocket of my jeans and held them 
out.  Mulder took them, saying, "I'm taking his car, not you."

She rolled her eyes.  "You just want to drive a Mercedes."

"Damn straight, woman," he joked.

I was still smiling when they shuffled out the door, saying they'd 
check back later that evening. They were so comfortable and easy 
with one another.  I wanted that with Clara.  Of course they had six 
more years to build a friendship then I'd had.  I hoped one day, 
Clara and I would be that way together, teasing each other and 
amused by one another on a regular basis.  I realized part of 
Mulder and Scully's easiness together was because of the 
incredible trust they had in one another.  They NEVER took things 
the wrong way.  They always assumed the best, rather than the 
worst about what the other one said.

It was now 1:00 in the afternoon and I was hungry.  I went to the 
kitchen and made a ham and cheese sandwich and carted it into the 
living room, picking up the remote and turning on the TV. I kept 
the volume low so as not to wake Clara.  I wasn't really watching it 
anyway.

My mind drifted over the events of the last few days again, trying 
to put all the pieces together. The searing question remained, 
would Clara marry me if I asked?  In light of the events of the last 
few hours, I could understand her hesitation a little better now.  
But if we married, we would have to be prepared to deal with that 
sort of thing for the rest of our lives.  That was a heavy 
commitment to make, one that went beyond the commitment of 
marriage.

It would require a lot of talking and a lot of understanding.  I 
would need to change some of my behavior as well.  I was still 
prone to taking things she said the wrong way.  I knew it stemmed 
from the fear of losing her.  As I had discussed with Mulder, I 
needed to have faith in her and our relationship.  If I trusted her to 
do what it took to keep this relationship going, I wouldn't need to 
fear losing her, not over internal issues anyway.  I would always 
worry about her being hurt on the job.  This shooting was going to 
do nothing to calm my fears on that front.

But I had to stop fearing that she would reject me because of some 
imagined slight.  And that door swung both ways.  I needed to 
make sure that I didn't take offense when there was none to be 
taken.  This was such an explosive issue to most people. I rarely 
discussed it with anyone for that simple reason.  Passions run high 
on the subject of race, creed and a few other touchy subjects that I 
had spent my life avoiding rather than discussing, simply because I 
didn't want to become embroiled in arguments that nobody wins.

Not choosing is making a choice as well.  And I realized as with 
most things in life, nothing happens if nothing happens.  In other 
words, if nobody takes action, nothing changes.  If nobody takes a 
chance, evil is allowed to grow unchecked.  And in my mind, 
bigotry really was evil.  It was a poison that insidiously crept into 
peoples' lives and ate them up from the inside out.  I didn't want 
that to happen to me, Clara or anyone that I knew.

If I were to combat that, I needed to take a stand and stick with it.  
I needed to voice my opinion regardless of the outcome and have 
faith that what was meant to be was meant to be.  The fear that 
what was meant to be was NOT what I WANTED was what had 
always held me back in these situations.  What if Clara and I 
weren't meant to be?

I shook my head to dislodge the thought.  I couldn't think like that, 
even for a second.  I needed to believe that we were meant to be.  
In my heart, I felt that.  So my fears had held me back for years.

And what had that gotten me?  Forty-eight years old, divorced, 
alone, lonely and bitter about the hand that life had dealt me.

Then came Clara.

I was now one year into a relationship with a woman that had 
stolen my heart the first time she smiled and showed her dimples 
and told a bunch of rookie cops to put their dicks away after a 
territorial squabble concerning Mulder and Scully.  Her perceptive 
gifts and her ability to laugh at herself had only endeared her to me 
more as the days went by.

I was completely in love with her and there was no way that was 
going to change.  So now what? Marriage was the next step.  I 
didn't need it, but I wanted it and I'd be lying if I said I didn't.  But 
I needed to know that she was as sure as I was.  I needed to know 
that she was willing and had the courage to go the distance with 
me in a relationship that would surely meet with obstacles from the 
outside world from time to time.

Nothing happens if nothing happens, if nobody takes a 
chance.  I'd taken a chance on her. I'd taken a chance with my 
heart.  So far, she hadn't let me down.  At that moment, I made 
the decision.  I was going to buy a ring.  I might not ask right 
away, but I needed to have it so that when the moment was right, 
I would be prepared.

I knew that we needed to work out this situation with her work 
first.  I would be much happier if Officer Williams was 
transferred out of that squad. Considering his situation, I could 
almost understand his bitterness in one way.  We always look for a 
target when we are angry and hurt.  None of us wants that 
target to be ourselves.  That didn't make it any easier to tolerate 
his attitude of prejudice and his unjustified anger.

I sighed, not coming up with any profound solutions, except that I 
was going to buy a ring.

I brought my plate back into the kitchen and left it in the sink, 
wondering what to do now.  I went to the bedroom and sat on the 
end of the bed watching Clara sleep.  She was so beautiful to me.

I whispered into the silence of the room, "I love you so much, 
Clara."

She made a murmuring sound in the back of her throat and then 
whispered, "Walter."

I smiled, knowing she was thinking of me, even in sleep.  I stood 
and stripped, and carefully climbed into bed and snuggled up 
behind her.  It was the middle of the afternoon and I didn't care.  I 
needed to hold her.  I needed to be close and just relax, holding her 
warm skin against my chest.

I buried my nose in her hair, carefully slipping an arm under her 
pillow above her head.  She hummed in the back of her throat and 
snuggled backwards into my chest.  I felt contentment wash 
through my body and I sighed, kissing her hair.

I must have been more tired than I thought, because the next thing 
I knew, I was waking up to the shrill sound of my cell phone 
ringing on the bedside table. I glanced at the clock, seeing that it 
was 5:00 PM.  Shit, I'd slept for nearly three hours.

It was Mulder checking in again.  I managed to slip out of bed and 
dress while we were talking.  I made my way into the kitchen to 
decide what to make for dinner while I talked with him.

XXXXXXXXXX

PART 7 (R ) 
ONE WEEK LATER 
TWO BLOCKS FROM FOX MULDER'S APARTMENT 
ALEXANDRIA, VA 
5:30PM

I was really enjoying driving this Mercedes.  You never realized 
how much difference there was between a pedestrian car like the 
government issue Ford Taurus and the Mercedes, until you had the 
fortune to tool around town in a luxury vehicle like this.

I stopped at a stoplight, wondering what we could do for dinner.  
Scully was coming over after going home to change her clothes.  It 
had been another boring day in the basement plowing through 
paperwork and old expense reports.  We did need to get them done.  
The job owed me a lot of money for back expenses.  It didn't really 
hurt me that much.  Money was one thing I had. But Scully didn't 
and I hated that she was hung up for her reimbursement because of 
my laziness.

Just as the light turned green, three black men in street clothes 
wearing gang matching jackets fanned out in front of my car.  I 
reached over and hit the switch that locked all four doors.  I revved 
the engine in warning.

One of them began drumming on the hood of the car.  Let's call 
him Punk # 1.  I inched forward and he hopped back, continuing 
his drumming with a maniacal look on his face.  The other two 
were laughing.

I hit the gas, lurching forward and knocking the young man to the 
pavement.  The laughter ended abruptly as the man popped back 
up, obviously unhurt.  I heard a shout of "God Damn, Man!" and 
"Mother Fucker!"  I revved the engine once more, but just as I was 
about to speed out of the intersection, one of them standing to my 
side now, pulled a pistol out of his jacket pocket and aimed it right 
at the car.  Punk # 2.

I threw the car in park.  Unless I wanted to run the men over, I 
wasn't going anywhere.  The car behind me pulled a U-turn, 
squealing its tires.  The driver must have seen Punk # 2 with the 
gun.

"Get out of the car, mother fucker!" Punk # 2 yelled, pointing the 
gun directly at my head.  His hand was nice and steady.  No 
stranger to weapons, this one.

Reflex made me leap to the side, flattening myself against the 
plush brown leather seats as the driver side window shattered 
above my head, spraying safety glass everywhere.  I felt the little 
squares of glass raining down on my head.  I lifted my torso just 
enough to get a grip on my weapon and yanked it out of my holster 
as I heard the distinctive 'thunk' of the door locks disengaging.

I sat up, spinning around and bringing my weapon to bear at the 
same time I felt the driver door being lurched open.  I kicked 
fiercely with both legs and sent the door opening must faster than 
the little bastard anticipated.  It caught Punk # 1 in the abdomen.

I heard him grunt and the air whoosh out of his lungs as he sailed 
backwards, landing on his back on the cement sidewalk.  I 
hollered, "Don't move.  I'm FBI! Drop your weapon!"

As I shouted, I emerged to stand up, keeping my weapon trained 
on Punk # 2, with the gun.  I saw Punk # 3 go slightly pale under 
his brown skin but then he ducked his head and rushed me, 
apparently knowing that I wouldn't fire without good cause. His 
head caught me in the solar plexus, sending me flying back into the 
side of the car.  I grunted, feeling my chest explode in pain.  I 
shook my head trying to stay conscious as I dragged air into my 
chest, feeling the burning sensation of bruised ribs and realizing I'd 
dropped my weapon.

I looked up to see that he had retreated and bent over the young 
man on the sidewalk.  He said, "Ty, he's out cold.  Hit his head.  
Let's get out of here."

"Hey, Uncle Asshole didn't tell us he was a fucking Fed! Shit, 
man," my attacker responded.

Now I knew he was called Ty.  Who was Uncle Asshole?  I looked 
to him to find him pointing a Glock 9mm and my Sig Sauer at my 
chest.  "What do you want?" I panted.

"Your hide, white boy," he said.

The young man on the ground was groaning and coming around. 
His companion said, "SequinMan, can you get up?"  The man 
grunted and hauled himself into a sitting position as the ringleader 
with the guns glanced nervously between us.

It was amazing how traffic just went along its merry way as I 
stood there on the sidewalk with my back against the car with a 
punk waving two guns in my face.  People just didn't want to get 
involved these days.  Can't say as I blamed them.

I tried to distract him.  "What did I do to you?" I rasped out.  "You 
want my wallet, take it!" I spat out.  I extracted my wallet and 
tossed it at his feet.

He laughed at me and said, "No, I think we're going to go for a 
ride.  In the back, hot shot."  He grabbed my arm, spinning me 
away from the car after jamming my Sig into his belt.  He opened 
the back door of the car and shoved me hard.  I lost my balance 
and went sprawling face first onto the upholstery with my legs 
hanging out the door.

"Up we go," he chortled.

Behind me I heard one of them say.  "Let's just get out of here Ty."

Tyrone? Tyler?  I wondered what the kid's real name was.

I scrambled into a sitting position, wondering what the hell I was 
going to do to get out of this one and feeling not a little bit stupid 
that I'd dropped my weapon and been taken over so easily.

Ty turned to his companions and said, "We got paid to do a job and 
we're going to do it.  Get in the fucking car."

The two men struggled to get up, one helping the other. The 
injured man was slid into the car and over into the passenger seat.  
The other got behind the wheel.  I still didn't know his name, the 
one that had head butted me.  Ty slid in beside me.  I opened my 
mouth to tell him there was no way to get away with this when his 
fist flew into my face without warning.  My head snapped back on 
my neck and I felt the skin on my cheek split and warm blood 
begin to trickle down the side of my face as pain blossomed in my 
head.  I leaned my head against the window and grasped the door 
handle, trying not to pass out as dizziness assailed me.

Just then I heard the squealing of tires as a green Ford Taurus 
flashed by the window and parked kiddy corner in front of the 
Mercedes, preventing us from making an escape, forward anyway. 
The driver slammed the car into reverse and hit the gas, spinning 
the tires as he backed up.

My heart sank as I saw Scully exit the car, weapon drawn. As we 
picked up speed in reverse, tires bumping on and off the curb, she 
went into a firing stance, took aim and fired.

It sounded like an explosion went off under the car and we spun 
around out of control, all of them cursing.

"Fuck! Man!"

"Oh, shit!"

"Damn, get out of here, G!"

I was gripping the headrest of the passenger seat to keep upright as 
we spun and our driver jammed the car in and out of drive, trying 
to find a way to accelerate away from the scene. Smoke from the 
spinning back tire billowed up past the window of the car, filling 
my nostrils with the stink.

We couldn't go anywhere; the front rim of the car was hung up on 
the curb.  Scully had fired out the front driver side tire.

Two black and white patrol cars came flying onto the scene.

Scully was jogging awkwardly in a crouch as she approached the 
car as one patrol car approaching from the side street and another 
from the oncoming traffic boxed in the Mercedes.

Four officers emerged from the black and white patrol cars and 
surrounded the vehicle shouting, "Police!  Put your weapons down 
and exit the car with your hands on your head!"

I heard a chorus of "Shit, shit, fuckin' honkies, pigs," and other 
such epitaphs as they conceded defeat and opened the doors of the 
car.  The patrolmen were grabbing them and cuffing them when I 
remembered my gun.  He'd put his on the floor of my car but my 
pistol was still in his belt.

"He's got my gun in his belt!" I shouted to the officer as I stumbled 
out of the car and went down on all fours as pain ripped through 
my chest.  Scully was beside me in an instant.

I was too late.  I heard the shot reverberate in the air, and let out a 
cry of horror and frustration. Scully was on her feet and firing at 
the young man before the cop had crumpled to the ground. She 
fired out his shoulder and he dropped my gun.  More sirens and 
cruisers approached the scene, stopping traffic and assisting in 
rounding up the three young men as they called over the radio that 
they had two 'Officers down'.

Two Officers down?  Oh yeah, that would be me!  I wasn't used to 
being referred to as an officer.

Ty was transported to the hospital in an ambulance with a police 
escort.  The Officer had been hit in the chest but off to the side.  
Hopefully no vital organs were hit.  He was still conscious and 
breathing as they took him away, lights flashing and sirens 
squealing.

A third ambulance came for me although I insisted I was all right.  
Scully wouldn't hear it and went with me in the ambulance to the 
hospital.  I gave a statement in the ambulance as we left the black 
and white to take care of towing the cars and cleaning up the glass 
off the street.

Turns out I did have two cracked ribs which did not make me a 
happy camper.  Although I had enjoyed my down time, I was 
starting to itch to get back out in the field.  That was not possible 
until my ribs healed.  I knew Scully would forbid it.

Turns out the three young men were indeed gang members. I'd 
never heard of the Panther Skulls gang, but then again, I didn't 
work the streets and was by no means an expert on gangs. There 
were new ones popping up every day.

There names were Tyrone Brown, Cashus Sequin, and George 
Williams.

George Williams being a nephew of one, James Williams, 
D.C.P.D.

Shit.

I went down the police station after being patched up and 
accompanied Scully into the observation room while two 
detectives went to work on the three of them in separate rooms, 
playing one off the other expertly.  Tyrone had been stitched up 
and released.  He sat sullenly with his arm in a sling.  Under the 
crunch, it came out that George's uncle had hired them and paid a 
hefty sum to have the three of them beat up one, Walter Skinner, 
who drove a black, Mercedes, license plate AD583.

They all looked a little more worried after they were told that not 
only was I a Federal Officer but I wasn't Walter Skinner.  And that 
Walter Skinner wasn't just a Federal Officer but he was an 
Assistant Director with the FBI.  After thinking one had ratted the 
others, they each began to rat on each other and the whole story 
fell into place. Assaulting a Federal Officer was a serious enough 
offense.  Add to that possession of a deadly weapon, possession of 
an unregistered handgun, destruction of property, grand theft auto, 
attempted kidnapping of a Federal Officer, discharge of a deadly 
weapon on a public thoroughfare, conspiracy to commit assault, 
and the list goes on, these boys were looking at some serious jail 
time if they didn't start singing.

Meanwhile, Scully had placed a call to Clara and Walter. Skinner 
showed up near the end of the interrogation and waited for us to 
give him the whole story.  When they boys were in lock up we all 
went down to see them.  My ribs were killing me even though they 
were taped up and my head was pounding from the sock I'd 
received to the head.  I just wanted to go home.

The boys were in separate cells and we escorted Skinner as he 
peered into each of the cells and took a good look at each young 
man, having a staring contest with each one.  He won each staring 
contest and then announced that he was Walter Skinner and if they 
were going to beat anyone up, they should at least know who they 
were looking for and why.

No responses came from the dejected three as they sat in their jail 
cells and stared at Skinner. His base voice and calm delivery made 
him seem  more menacing than if he'd yelled at them.

After issuing a warrant for the arrest of Officer Williams for 
conspiracy to commit assault on a Federal Officer, we left the 
downtown precinct and headed back to Alexandria.

Skinner gave us a ride home.  His car was impounded and being 
cleaned up for evidence.  Then it would go into the shop for 
repairs.  He requisitioned a car for himself and said he would drop 
mine off at my apartment tomorrow.

Scully and I climbed into bed exhausted.  She was fussing over me, 
which I didn't mind at all.  But I'd never tell her that.  It was the 
one advantage of getting hurt.  I got Scully's undivided attention. It 
had been one exciting day.  At least now they had the evidence to 
take Williams off the force. The guy had some serious personal 
issues to work on, I thought.  That was the understatement of the 
year.

XXXXXXXXXX 
CLARA JORDAN'S APARTMENT 
GEORGETOWN, VA 
LATER THAT EVENING

I no sooner shut the door when she appeared in the doorway to the 
bedroom, wearing one of my tee shirts that hung like a gunnysack 
around her slight frame.  I could see the pale blue outline of her 
panties through the shirt.

I smiled softly at her and went to her, not saying a word. I took her 
gently in my arms, careful not to jostle her injuries.  She laid her 
head on my chest and said, "Tell me everything."

"Later, love."

"No, Walter, I need to know now and the waiting has been killing 
me already."  She paused. "Please, Walter."

"O.K., but go put some warm sweat pants on or something. It's 
chilly in here.  I'll turn up the heat."

She nodded and turned back into the bedroom saying, "I made 
some spaghetti.  There's some left in the pot.  You just need to 
warm it up."

"Thanks," I mumbled, realizing how hungry I was.  I'd skipped 
dinner during all the excitement. She must have been starved to get 
up and make herself spaghetti.  I felt guilty that I hadn't thought to 
leave something easy for her to eat before I left.

I put some spaghetti into a bowl and popped it in the microwave 
while I waited for her to put on some warm clothes.  I turned up 
the thermostat a bit.  When the microwave dinged, I took out my 
bowl, grabbed a fork and went into the living room, setting up a 
TV tray.  She emerged and sat down on the sofa with me, reclining 
into the corner.

She sighed.  "What happened and how bad was it?"

All she knew at this point was that some people had tried to beat 
up Agent Mulder and they were now in custody and it probably 
had something to do with me.

I chewed and swallowed and then said, "Three men accosted him 
at a traffic light, drumming on the hood of the car, not letting him 
pass.  He tried to threaten them with the car but it didn't work. 
Then one of them fired out the driver side window.

"He had a gun?!" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, there were three of them.  Somehow Mulder was missed by 
that bullet.  I don't think they meant to hit him.  They wanted to get 
into the car.  He managed to hurt one of them by kicking the car 
door, but the other one attacked him and the guy with the gun 
somehow got a hold of his weapon."

"Jesus, Walter.  Did they think he was you?"

"It looks that way.  They were told to look for my car and given 
the license plate number.  But they weren't told what I do for a 
living."

"Shit, told to look for your car.  What do you mean by that?"

"They are gang members, Clara."

"Oh God."

"They were hired."

"Hired?  To beat you up?  To kill you?"

I held up a hand to settle her down, took another bite of my 
spaghetti, chewed and swallowed. Then I said, "No, they didn't 
want to kill me, or him.  But I think they were going to take him 
someplace secluded and beat him up, rough him up good.  The idea 
was to scare him off."

"Who hired them?"

"I'll get to that in a minute."

She nodded.

"Scully was on her way to Mulder's and came upon the scene. He 
was only two blocks from his apartment building.  She blocked 
their escape and fired out a tire so they couldn't take off.  She says 
she'd had no time to call the cops, so some concerned passerby 
must have called the local P.D.  Because some patrol cars showed 
up and helped apprehend them all.  One of the patrolman got shot 
and Scully shot the shooter.  It was a real mess.  The cop was shot 
with Mulder's stolen weapon."

"Real mess doesn't begin to describe it.  Are they known 
criminals?"

"Yes, petty stuff.  They are all gang members.  None of them 
convicted of anything serious.  But they have some breaking and 
entering and larceny charges in the past, stuff like that.  This is 
much heavier than they have ever faced.  One, they didn't know 
that Mulder, or I, as they thought he was me, was FBI.  They didn't 
know that I was an A.D. And they got pinched for the illegal 
weapons, discharging, assaulting a Fed, etc.  There's a whole list.  I 
think they were really frightened for the first time in their lives."

"Who hired them?"

I ignored her question, wondering how she was going to take it 
when I told her.  She obviously suspected as she kept going back to 
that.

"Mulder has two cracked ribs and a split cheek but he's going to be 
fine.  All three of these kids were young, 21, 19 and 23."

"What are their names?"

I sighed. " Tyrone Brown, Cashus Sequin, and George 
Williams."

She swallowed and said softly, "George Williams?"

I nodded curtly.

"Any relation?"

I nodded again.  "He's his nephew."

"Oh shit.  God, Walter, I was afraid something like this was going 
to happen.  Damn it!"

"Calm down.  Everything's going to be all right."

"How am I supposed to calm down!?" she exclaimed.

"Because he's no longer going to be a threat."

"What do you mean?"

"He's the one that hired them, Clara.  Jimmy Williams' nephew is 
in a gang and he hired them to come after me.  There's a warrant 
out for his arrest right now."

Her face crumpled and she lowered her head into her hands. I 
pushed my TV tray away and scooted down the couch to wrap her 
in my arms. She leaned on me heavily and cried quietly for a few 
minutes.

When her sniffling signaled the return of her control I gently pried 
her head off my chest and gazed at her tear stained face.  "I love 
you, Clara.  I don't want us to go through this, obviously. But if we 
are going to make this relationship survive, we may have to 
come to terms with some ugly facts."

She sniffled again, reached for the tissue box on the coffee table 
and blew her nose as I let her pull out of my arms.  When she was 
finished, she turned to look at me.  Quietly, but with conviction she 
said, "I did a lot of thinking in the last few hours while you were 
gone."

I felt a pulling sensation in my chest, and unfamiliar fear rose up in 
me.  I was still afraid she was going to tell me to take a hike.  
Instead she said, "I love you, Walter.  I decided that nobody 
is going to take that away from me."

I smiled gently, feeling tears sting my eyes.  I blinked rapidly and 
they didn't fall.  I kept my eyes glued on her face.  

"I have spent my whole life looking for a relationship like the 
one we have -- one based on love and respect, not neediness and 
ridiculous expectations.  I'm not willing to hand that over easily.
It's worth fighting for, that's what I decided."

I smiled wider now and asked, "And what does that mean to you 
exactly?  Fighting for it?"

"It means that this relationship is more important than any job, any 
comfort zone with my coworkers, more important than everything 
else.  I don't want to live in fear, but I realized I'm being stubborn.  
I'm bringing some of it on myself."

I felt bewildered now.  "What do you mean?  You're not being 
Stubborn, and it's all right to be afraid.  I am sometimes too."

"I mean that I cling to this idea that if I don't meet things head on, 
I'm being a coward."

"I'm not following you," I told her.

"I'm going to request a transfer."

I sucked in a little gasp.  "Clara, I don't want you to leave 
something you love and then resent me for it later."

"No, I won't.  I love being a cop and that I won't give up. But I 
thought about it.  I mean, does it really matter where I do it?  Why 
not Georgetown?  Why not downtown D.C.?  Why not capital hill?  
There's lots of jobs out there."

"And what about Timmy?"

She swallowed.  "That's the hardest part.  I really love him, Walter.  
Not the way I love you," she grinned and then continued, her face 
returning to a serious expression.  "But he's the best partner I ever 
had and it's hard to change and learn somebody new."

"Yes, it is. Would he consider transferring with you?"

She looked at her lap. "I don't know.  He thinks we do the most 
good in the Southeast.  He's an idealist, no matter what he tells 
you.  He's said he doesn't want a 'wimp' job, that's not why he 
became a cop."

"He told me you inspired him and reminded him of why he became 
a cop in the first place."

She smiled a sad smile then.  "That's sweet of him, but that door 
swings both ways."

"He obviously respects and likes you, Clara.  He considers you his 
partner, but he considers you his friend too.  I think he will respect 
any decision you make.  And so will I.  If you think you need to 
stay where you are, I won't give you trouble about it."

"But you won't like it."

"No, but I won't try to convince you to go elsewhere.  As I said, if 
you make a decision to move, I want it to be because you want to 
move and it will make you more comfortable.  I don't want to be 
part of that equation because you'd only resent me for it later."

"But you are part of that equation, no matter what."

I sighed.  "I don't know what to tell you, Clara, except that I will 
support you in whatever decision you make."

She smiled then and leaned over slightly to place a peck on my 
lips.  She pulled back and smiled. "I'm going to transfer.  I don't 
want to live in fear."

"What about your thought that there are bigots everywhere?"

"There are, but they are more vocal and willing to act out in some 
places."

"Like your precinct."

"Yes, poverty and oppression breed hatred and an attitude that you 
just don't care anymore."

"You've always said that we need more cops in Southeast, not 
less."

"Yes, I have.  But do I have to be one of them?  It makes me sound 
slightly hypocritical I know. But is my pride and integrity, and 
standing up for my beliefs worth the price?"

"That's the big question."

She swallowed harshly again.  "Like I said, I've spent twenty years 
defending what I believe in and becoming my own woman.  But 
like you said, 'you have to pick your battles.'  I've waged mine for a 
long time now and I'm tired.  I think I deserve a little happiness 
and a little piece of mind."

"I agree.  Just because you opt for something to make your life 
easier doesn't mean your giving up your ideals."

"Doesn't look like I'm selling out?"

I shook my head in the negative.  "Not to me.  Some people might 
see it that way, but again, it's all about what you believe and how 
much you care what others think."

She hung her head. "I'm tired of proving myself.  I'm tired of 
worrying about what other people think.  If staying here, living in 
fear, and possibly losing you is the price I need to pay to be true to 
my ideals then it's just not worth it to me anymore."

"Maybe it's time to let some young bucks take over.  Fresh blood, 
fresh conviction and attitudes and all that," I pondered aloud.  "I 
think we've both paid our dues.

She nodded in agreement.  "I'm too old for this shit, Walter."

I laughed then and she chuckled with me.  It was good to see her 
smile and I noticed that she didn't wince.  I caught her eyes and 
said, "Are you feeling better?  You didn't wince when you 
laughed."  I was changing the subject and we both knew it.

She cleared her throat.  "Yes, as a matter of fact I am.  I felt more 
energetic today and had less pain. I did take my pain pills though."

"Good, you should.  If you're in pain, you will heal that much 
slower."

"I know, I just don't like the way they make me feel sometimes."

"It's a trade off, but it's not for much longer."

"Another three weeks or so."

"So," I began.

"So," she said, grinning.

"Where do we go from here?"

"I'll call my Lieutenant tomorrow and request that he send me the 
transfer papers to fill out.  I'll call Timmy and ask him to come 
over so I can discuss it with him and ask him if he wants to come 
with me."

"No doubt you'll get the transfer?" I asked.

"I don't know, but in light of everything, I think Lt. Stein will 
understand."

I nodded.  "He won't like losing both of you if Timmy decides to 
make the request as well."

"No, he won't, but he's a fair man.  He'll understand."

"He'll be losing Williams too.  That's three detectives in one blow."

She sighed.  "I can't worry about that.  There's plenty of people 
wanting their gold shields that were passed over when the last 
positions came up.  They'll be no shortage of candidates to take our 
place."

I nodded.  "Should I make some calls?"

"To influence his decision, you mean?"

I shrugged.  "I know people that could make it happen without the 
red tape."

"No, Walter.  I know what you want to do, but I'll go through all 
the proper channels.  I don't want special treatment.  People are 
going to frown on this as it is."

"Do you care?"

"Not really, but we don't need to do anything to add ammunition to 
their opinions."

"O.K., then what?"

"Huh?"

"When you get a transfer.  Let's assume that you do.  What then?"

"Now I'm not following you."

I let silence fill the room between us and licked my lips, feeling a 
flutter of nervousness.  Was it the wrong time to broach this 
subject? I wondered.  But it was all connected.  If she were going 
to make a change, maybe making them all at once would be a good 
thing.

I met her gaze again and said softly, "Live with me, Clara."

Her eyes widened for a second and then she looked away and 
sniffed.  "Walter."

"Did you mean it?"

"What?"

"That this relationship is worth fighting for?"

"Of course, but living together is a huge commitment."

As if realizing what she had just said, she raised her face to mine 
and pressed her lips together.

I smiled sadly, a little hurt, despite my efforts not to be.  Slowly, I 
said, "Yes, Clara.  A huge commitment is what I want.  Haven't I 
made that clear by now?"

"You're right.  I didn't mean to imply that I don't want to."

"Advance this relationship?"

She just looked at me in silence, looking confused and unsettled.  I 
held out my arms and she carefully came into them.  I leaned back 
against the armrest of the couch and pulled my legs up, gently 
pulling her between my legs to rest on my torso. Her arms went 
around my waist.

"Think about it," I said.  "I was just thinking that if you were going 
to make changes, maybe we could make them all at once.  You're 
going to have to make some adjustments anyway."

"Yes, but can I handle them all at once?  That's what I want to 
know."

"I'm being selfish.  I know that.  But I can't help it.  I want you 
with me, Clara.  I want to come home to you every night.  I want to 
be a couple in every sense of the word."

"We aren't now?"

"We are but we still live apart.  We shuffle between apartments, 
we maintain two homes.  What for?  One of us is always with the 
other anyway."

"That's true.  We do spend most nights together."

"I know it's different when you know that you have a place to go if 
you need to leave.  But I'd hoped we gotten past that.  I hoped we 
had gotten to the point where we had no doubts that we could both 
make that commitment to one another.  To live together, to get 
engaged, to start thinking of this as a forever thing."

"A forever thing," she repeated quietly.

"That's what I want it to be, Clara."

"I contradict myself a lot, don't I?"

"Sometimes."

"I'm just realizing how often I do it.  I say I want to fight for this 
relationship and then I balk at the idea of living together.  I say I 
love you and then I hesitate to get engaged.  I say I don't care what 
people think and then I tell you not to help me get my transfer.  
Jesus!" she finished, sounding exasperated with herself.

I chuckled.  "You do confuse me sometimes.  But I don't doubt that 
your motives are pure.  I understand that you are feeling your way 
through this thing and this is all new territory.  For me too.  But I 
know what I want Clara.  I know that I love you.  And those things 
are not going to change.  For me, I don't see any reason to keep 
pussy footing around the real issue here."

"The real issue?" she asked.

"I want you to be mine, Clara, totally mine.  I don't just want to 
live together.  I want you to be my wife.  I want you to be Mrs. 
Walter Skinner."

She pulled air into her lungs and squeezed me around the middle.  I 
kissed her hair waiting for her response.  She repeated my words, 
"Mrs. Walter Skinner," as though trying it out.

I felt her lips smile against my collarbone.  "I like the sound of 
that," she added.

My heartbeat accelerated.  "Do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Will you marry me, Clara?" I blurted out, wanting to smack 
myself as soon as I did it.

Then I was blown away when she stretched up and put her lips to 
my ear and whispered, "Yes, I will."

I just started crying, unable to process the sweeping emotion that 
rolled through me as it hit me that she had actually agreed to 
become my wife.

She levered up on her elbows and brought her hands to my face, 
wiping my tears with her fingers.  "Shhh, shhh, Walter,"  she 
whispered.

She kissed me and I kissed her back, as silent, warm tears still 
coursed down my face.  Our kisses became hungry and I pulled 
away not wanting to get too excited.  She was still too fragile to 
make love.  But I knew she felt my erection surge against her 
tummy as our kiss had deepened.

"I love you, Walter."

"I love you, Clara, more than you'll ever know."  I paused, then 
remembered the ring.  "Oh shit!"

"What?" she asked, looking only slightly alarmed.

I sat up gently, extricating her from my body.  I mumbled, "Be 
right back."

"What's wrong?" she asked again.

"Nothing.  I'll be right back."

I darted into the kitchen where I had left my briefcase and popped 
it open, taking out the small black, velvet box.  I snapped my case 
closed and darted back into the living room.  Instead of sitting on 
the couch I kneeled in front of her on one knee. "Let me do this the 
right way," I said, my voice sounding gravel to my own ears.

She tilted her head to the side.  "What do you mean?" she asked, 
looking truly confused.

I held up the little box and popped it open to reveal the ring that I 
had bought, a marquis diamond set in a thick, white gold band.  
She gasped and I asked her again, clearing my throat dramatically 
first, "Clara Jordan, will you do me the honor of becoming my 
wife?"

It was her turn to cry tears of joy.  I smiled broadly and she 
tentatively reached for the ring and popped it out of the box, 
holding it up and looking at it. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

"Are you going to wear it or just stare at it all night," I teased.

She barked out a laugh and then I took her hand and we both slid it 
onto her finger.  It was a perfect fit.  I'd pilfered one of her other 
rings from her jewelry box to get the size.  She curled her hand 
into a loose fist and I cradled her hand in between mine.  We both 
looked at it for several long moments and then she said, "I'd be 
honored to be your wife, Walter."

Then she looked at me and said, "I can hardly believe this," as if 
truly not comprehending what we'd just done.

I smiled again and rose up on my knees to be face level with her.  
"Believe it," I whispered and leaned in to kiss her again.  I couldn't 
wait to make love to her.  The waiting was going to be torture.

XXXXXXXXXX

PART 8 (NC-17) 
FOUR WEEKS LATER 
WALTER SKINNER'S APARTMENT

We'd picked out a townhouse together and put a down payment on 
it this morning.  The closing was next week.  I was on Cloud 9.  
Clara had stayed with me these last three weeks while we looked 
for a place, finally finding a beautiful, two-bedroom townhouse in 
Georgetown.   We had decided not to use either apartment that we 
currently maintained.  Her place would always be her place.  And 
my place would always be my place.  We'd lived in our respective 
apartments for too long.

We wanted a fresh start and wanted a home that would be OUR 
place.  Clara's transfer had been granted.  Timmy had decided to 
follow her.  I had asked the Chief of Police in D.C., a friend of 
mine, to see what he could do about getting Timmy and Clara 
transferred together into the same squad.  Timmy had said he 
would only make the move if he could remain Clara's partner.

It had all gone through with a minimum of fuss.  Mulder and 
Scully had been very supportive and overly happy when we 
announced our engagement.  They decided to throw us an 
engagement party, which was scheduled for next week.  We all 
wanted Clara to be completely healed so she could enjoy herself.  
I'd wondered out loud whom the hell they were going to get to come 
to a party for me since I didn't have that many friends.

They'd rolled their eyes and told me to leave it all to them.  I was 
happy to do that.  I was a little taken aback that they wanted to 
throw a party.  But then again, I had no problems with the idea of 
announcing to the world that Clara was going to be my wife.

We even went to a picture studio and had a formal picture taken of 
us, me sitting behind her sideways on a bench and us both turned 
to face the camera. The picture along with the engagement 
announcement went into three different newspapers.  I'd gone back 
to work last week to find a stack of messages and cards as people 
expressed their congratulations.  I was a little stunned at the 
response.  I figured most people at the Bureau wouldn't care 
enough to say anything.

Clara was starting work next week on her new job at Precinct Two 
in Georgetown.  The other advantage of transferring was that she 
would be working close to home once we moved into our new 
place.  We would stay in Alexandria in my place till that time 
came.  We had already been clearing her place out and putting her 
stuff in storage so her landlord could rent the place again as soon 
as possible.

As we got ready for bed, I smiled at her and said, "I can't wait to 
move and have it all over with."

"Yeah, the anticipation is fun, but it's a lot of work arranging all 
the logistics."

"It will all be over soon."

"I know.  Are we going to set a date?"

I spun around and looked at her as I kicked my pants off and stood 
in front of her in only my boxer briefs.  "Do you want to set a 
date?"

She grinned.  "I think I do."

I grinned at her.  "All right. Any ideas?"

"Not really.  Let's sit down with our calendars tomorrow and figure 
it out.  I've been thinking that it would be fun to announce the date 
at the engagement party."

"Good idea."

Her eyes roamed over my chest and down over my legs.  I felt my 
groin tingle under her perusal. It had been seven, long frustrating 
weeks of mere cuddling and kissing and I was masturbating in the 
shower on a regular basis now to keep my libido under control.  I 
didn't want to be pushy but I was going crazy waiting for her to 
heal.  She'd seemed back to normal for about a week now but I 
knew she still experienced twinges of pain here and there and I 
knew her energy level wasn't one hundred percent yet.

She sat up and pulled her tee shirt over her head, tossing it onto the 
floor, revealing that she wasn't wearing any panties under her tee 
shirt.  I let out a little hum in the back of my throat and she grinned 
like the cat that ate the canary.

"Tease," I admonished as I felt my dick grow steadily harder as I 
let my eyes travel over her lush breasts and flat tummy.  She laid 
back slowly on the bed, putting her hands up above her head and 
stretching her torso, making her breasts stick up in the air.

I watched her nipples pucker in the cool air and yanked my boxers 
off, crawling onto the bed on all fours.  I was hard as a rock and 
throbbing already with anticipation.  This had to be an offer.  I had 
told her she needed to tell me when she was ready to be intimate 
again.  She wouldn't tease me like this.  Would she?  Was she 
telling me she was ready?

As if she'd read my mind, she looked at me and deliberately raised 
her knees, placing her feet flat on the bed and holding out her 
arms.  She let her legs fall open and I groaned, sliding between her 
wide open thighs.

When my engorged cock touched her center, we both moaned and 
I covered her mouth with mine.  She kissed me passionately and 
played with my tongue.  I supported my weight on my elbows and 
moved down to suckle on her neck.

She hissed and arched her pelvis against me, making me grunt with 
the added pressure on my aching cock.  I pulled away and rasped 
out, "If you're teasing me, Clara, you're being very cruel."

Her delighted laughter bounced off the walls and then she 
swallowed her mirth and said, "No, I'm not teasing, silly.  Make 
love to me.  It's been too long."

"I'll second that," I replied and kissed her again.

She moaned when I sucked her turgid nipple and flicked it with my 
tongue.  My name fell over her lips like a prayer, "Wwaalltteerr."

I asked, "Do you want to be on top?"

She opened her eyes and shook her head.  "No, I want you to do 
the work," she replied, a tease in her voice.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't, I'm like brand new."

"Tell me if anything is too much."

She reached between us and grasped my cock.  I groaned. She said, 
"Shut up and take me."

I grunted.  I loved it when she said things like that.  I braced 
myself on my elbows, as she pulled me gently, lining me up with 
her entrance.  Her legs came up to wrap around my waist, her 
ankles locking together just above my ass.  She pulled her legs 
down against my back, showing her impatience and I chuffed with 
amusement and sank into her slowly.

I moaned like I was dying as I felt my engorged cock sink into her 
wet warmth for the first time in almost two months.  I whispered, 
"Awwwwww, God help me, I'd almost forgotten how good this 
feels."

"Mmmmmm," she hummed.  "Oh, fill me up, baby."

I grunted again, gave up the slow slide inside and snapped my hips, 
burying myself deep in her well.  We both groaned and just lay 
there, still, enjoying the feeling of penetration.  It never ceased to 
amaze me how snug she was, even after having made love to me 
for nearly a year.

But when we hadn't made love in a while it was even more 
apparent.  I began to move and muttered, "Oh man, you're always 
so tight, Clara."

She actually giggled and said, "You forget how big you are."

"I know but, oh god, I thought you would, stretch."  I gave 
up trying to talk as she lifted her hips to meet my thrust and I felt a 
aching throb wash through my cock that robbed me of my speech.

After a couple more slow strokes she said, "I do exercises so I 
don't get, stretched, loose."

I groaned and felt the wonder of it all wash over me again. I was 
making love to the woman of my dreams.  I still couldn't believe it 
sometimes, how much love I felt for her.  How in tune we were 
with one another.  It blew me away sometimes.

She gasped out, "You won't hurt me.  Faster.  Harder."

I moaned and sped up, feeling my orgasm coil at the base of my 
spine and my balls twinge with the impact against her ass.  It felt 
so good.  I whispered in her ear, "So good, Clara.  Oh, you're mine.  
You're really mine."

"Yes, I'm your's.  Oh, a little faster. A little harder."

I sped up again, careful not to impact her too hard, despite her 
assurances that she was totally healed.  No need to tempt fate.  I'd 
never forgive myself if I hurt her.

She began to whimper and toss her head as I ground my crotch 
against hers at the bottom of every stroke.  I bent down and sucked 
her hardened nipple into my mouth.  She shouted, "Oh YES, suck 
it!  Make me come!"  I sucked hard and lapped with my tongue.  
"Oh, don't stop!"

I sucked hard and ground myself against her harshly while fully 
embedded.  She moaned out, "Oh yeah, that's it!  I'm coming!"

I felt her thighs vibrate against my hips as her inner walls waved 
around my aching cock, squeezing with exquisite pressure.  She 
shouted, "Oh Goooddd, Yes, Yes, Walter.  Oh God, don't stop!

I shouted as I plunged my cock into her waving tunnel.  I couldn't 
hold out and my own orgasm washed over me, her tight walls 
continuing to convulse and milking my throbbing cock for every 
drop of cum.  I sagged, but hitched up so as not to put my weight 
on her.  Her arms pulled me down and I gasped out, "Don't want to 
crush you."

"You won't.  Stop worrying.  I want to feel you on top of me."

I sagged lower, sliding my elbows up the bed, but still holding 
some of my weight.  She sighed at the contact and pressed her 
breasts against my now sweaty chest.  She mumbled, "It's always 
so good.  How can it keep being this good?"

I smiled and kissed her gently.  "Because I love you," I answered 
and buried my nose in her hair.

"We're really are going to be O.K." she said.  It was a statement.

"Yes, we are," I replied firmly.

She tightened her internal muscles and I groaned as my flaccid 
penis slid out of her, creating a big wet spot on the sheets.  I rolled 
off her and pulled her into my side.  She cuddled up to me and 
pressed her breasts to my side.

"I'm sorry I had so many doubts before," she said softly.

"Forget about it.  We're together now and that's all that counts."

"I feel bad that I doubted that we could overcome these things."

"We can overcome anything as long as we love each other and 
keep talking."

She nodded and I shivered as her hair brushed over my sensitized 
nipple.  "I know we're not the first black and white couple to brave 
the odds," she added.

"And we won't be the last."

"No, but sometimes it feels like we are the only ones."

"We're not, I'm sure."

"I heard about this group in Falls Church, VA."

I tensed.  "What kind of group?"  I wondered if it was some other 
hate group that I knew nothing about.  There were so many.  I'd 
been doing research lately and unearthed some really disturbing 
information about various neo-Nazi groups, KKK groups still in 
existence and other types of groups that vented their rage on 
foreigners, gays, interracial relationships, etc.

She surprised me when she said, "It's called the Salt and Pepper 
group."

I laughed, realizing I had totally misinterpreted her question.  "The 
Salt and Pepper Group?"

She chuckled.  "Yeah, it's sort of a support group."

"Uh oh," I said, not being able to see myself in a support group, 
saying 'Hi, my name is Walter and I'm in an interracial 
relationship.'  I laughed to myself.

She said, "No, it's not what you think.  They are just a group of 
interracial couples that get together about once a month to have 
dinner and talk about life."

"Sounds interesting."

"My friend Marcia told me about them."

"And you want to join them?"

"I thought we might want to check it out.  It might be nice to be 
able to talk to people who understand our situation and don't judge 
us."

"That would be a switch."

She chuckled, "Exactly.  I mean, we are friends with Mulder an 
Scully and I think Timmy and his wife want to start going out with 
us and getting to know us better, but even so."

"They empathize but can't relate."

"Exactly.  And that's good.  I mean, I don't want our race to be 'the 
issue' whenever we are with other people.  I don't want to talk 
about it all the time. The less attention we give it I think the less 
attention everyone else will too."

"You're right.  If we don't make a big deal of it, others feel stupid if 
they do harp on it."

"Right, but then again, once in a while, it would be nice to talk to 
people that can relate and have been where we are."

"And can tell us how they handled it."

"And what worked for them and what didn't."

"Sort of a 'get it off your chest' session once in a while."

"Exactly."

"Sounds all right to me.  Call them if you want to.  Let's find out 
when they meet and at least check it out."

She lifted up and smiled at me.  "Really?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I thought you would protest."

"Why would I protest?"

"You never want help with anything," she stated matter-of-factly.

I smiled.  "I'm trying to change that and reach out a little more."

"Good."

"Good, that's settled then?"

"Yup."  She flopped back down and asked, "So how long for you 
to reload?"

I laughed.  "How quickly we forget," I teased.

She kissed my chest and snuggled in.  Her hand wandered down to 
my crotch and latched onto my flaccid member.  She fondled me 
gently and cupped my sacks, rolling my testicles between her 
fingers.  I began to harden again, always amazed at my age, that 
anyone could excite me like this.  It took a few determined minutes 
on her part, but when her mouth descended over me, I groaned and 
stiffened to fully erect.  She sucked on me for a minute or two but 
then straddled me and sank down onto me, wiggling to seat herself 
firmly.

We made love to each other slow and easy this time, savoring the 
feeling, watching me slide in and out of her.  She leaned down and 
we kissed languidly, our tongues dancing in the air between us.  
She hummed and sat up again.  I pinched her nipples lightly, 
loving to watch the dark brown areola pucker up and her round 
nubs become hard between my fingers.

She moaned and leaned forward again, pressing into my hands, 
begging for more contact.  Then she surprised me by putting her 
legs together between mine and straightening her legs out behind 
her.  This squeezed me tightly and changed the angle of my 
penetration.

"Ohhhhh," warbled out of her as I moved my hands to her hips to 
assist her.  She didn't have a lot of leverage this way so my thrusts 
were shorter but I stayed mostly embedded in her.  I slid my hands 
down and cupped her ass, loving the feel of her warm, soft skin 
under my callused hands. I tugged her pelvis to me and let her fall 
away.  She whimpered and I kept tugging her to me and letting her 
fall away, our pace increasing.  I lifted my knees slightly so I could 
thrust into her.

We came together, unexpectedly and shouted each other's names 
as I spurted into her in slow motion waves.  It was slow but intense 
and long lasting and very satisfying.

She keened and then flopped down onto my chest.  We kissed and 
then merely laid there, silent, enjoying the intimate contact.  I was 
still entrenched inside her and kept my knees bent so I wouldn't 
slide out.

"I love you," I whispered.

"Hmmm?" she hummed, and shook her head slightly as though 
trying to stay awake.

I chuckled at her.  "Sleep," I whispered.

"Love you, Walter."

"Love you too, Clara."

I looked down and was struck by the beauty of her dark skin 
pressed against my body.  She lifted her head lazily and asked, 
"What are you doing?"

She peered down to the side trying to see what I was looking at.

"I'm looking at us."

"And the verdict?"

"I think we look beautiful pressed together like this, black and 
white."

She looked again.  "What are you saying?"

"I like it," I said, shrugging, unsure what I meant, now feeling a 
little embarrassed.

"I like it too.  I've never told you that but it does excite me."

"What does?" I asked her clarify.

"Seeing my skin against yours, seeing us come together. Black and 
white.  I don't know."  She shook her head.  Now she was 
embarrassed too.

"Don't be embarrassed.  I know what you mean.  It's the contrast 
or something.  Maybe because it's unique, I don't know.  But it 
excites me too."

"Glad you didn't take that the wrong way."

"Why would I?"

"I don't know," she shrugged.

I kissed her gently.  "Stop worrying about how I'm going to react," 
I scolded gently.

She smiled softly.  "I'm working on it."

I cupped her head and brought it back down to my chest. "You're 
black and beautiful, baby."

She chuckled, "You're white and handsome."

"Now that we have that figured out.  Let's get some sleep."

She smiled against my chest and hummed.  "Deal."

Minutes later I heard a light snore and smiled, squeezing her 
gently.  I tucked the covers around us and we fell asleep that way.  
Yes, she was black and I was white.

But beyond that, we were just two people, a man and a woman in 
love.  I hoped that part would never change.  I would fight with 
everything I had to preserve that one thing.  Me and Clara together 
as a couple.  We were going to be all right.  I was sure of it.

THE END.