TITLE: Secret Admirer 
AUTHOR: Kristen K2 
SUMMARY: Kimberly's got a secret admirer. Schmoop alert. 
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: Nobody in this story (hail, hail, the 
gang's all here) belongs to me, except Emma and Andy the 
Pandy. They belong to CC, Fox and 1013; I just borrowed 
them for a little bit. The use of these characters is not 
for profit or any other form of compensation. I also swiped 
a poem from Maya Angelou, but I think it's worth borrowing.  
CATEGORY: Skinner/Other Romance
SPOILERS: All up to Requiem. This was written before Season 
8 started, so in this story, there's no Doggett, and Mulder 
came back unharmed, I don't know how. 
NOTES: Beta-free for your viewing enjoyment.
E-MAIL ADDRESS: K2_fanfic@yahoo.com 
RATING: NC-17




Kim didn't know what to think when she walked into her 
office that first Monday morning. She'd come in a bit 
early, which was unusual for her. Mornings were always the 
most difficult; between feeding and bathing and showering 
and getting dressed and making lunches for both herself and 
Emma, the hands on the clock moved much faster than the two 
attached to her arms. Didn't matter how early or late she 
woke up either; it was always a race to the finish line. 
But she made up for her frequent tardiness by pulling lots 
of late nights. Her mom took Emma in after day care closed 
at 5, so Kim could stay as late as needed. And she often 
did; the overtime money stretched her paycheck in a much 
appreciated way. Plus her boss worked far more hours than 
she did, and her gatekeeper position right next to his 
office door, barring unwelcome interruptions, allowed him 
to focus on his work so he could get home at a decent hour 
too.

Somebody in the coffee room the other day, Mulder it might 
have been, had asked the group milling about if they were 
happy with their lives. Of course, Scully had said yes 
right off the bat, since she was just starting her second 
trimester. Just wait until she had a squirming baby in her 
hands, demanding, and deserving, every second of her time, 
Kim had wanted to inform her. But then, Scully was going to 
have some help with that. Mulder was already overly 
attentive to her every pregnant craving. Kim had been doing 
it all by herself for over five years. 

When the question had swung around to her, she hadn't 
really known what to say. Happy was a pretty broad term. 
She enjoyed her job, and Emma really was a delight. Raising 
her bubbly, sweet daughter was the proudest accomplishment 
of Kimberly's life. So there were too many nights that she 
crashed and fell asleep on the couch, her arms full of 
unfolded clothes, her sink still full of dishes. So there 
were too many mornings that she just couldn't take another 
person jostling her aside on the Metro, or the last day of 
the month, when she balanced her checkbook and allowed 
herself a few deserved tears.

But happy? Kim had only given a Mona Lisa-like smile to 
Mulder, and said sure, she was happy. Why bother anyone 
else with the exhausting whirling tornado that was her 
life? Certainly no one was volunteering to be bothered. 
<And that's what truly lies behind your frustration, isn't 
it, Kimberly?>  Men didn't really look at a woman, still 
hanging onto to some annoying pregnancy weight, with a 
small child balanced on her hip, a perma-worry wrinkle 
between her eyebrows, and say, yeah, I wanna take that hot 
number to bed. But that train of thought only got her 
depressed, so she let it go. She'd made her bed, so to 
speak, and now she was lying in it. Alone.

So she didn't know what to think when she spotted the 
enormous bouquet of flowers on her desk.

It wasn't her birthday or Secretaries Day, and besides, 
Walter Skinner didn't give her flowers for either of those 
two occasions. He was usually more practical than that. One 
year it had been a beautiful pen set, another time a 
leather appointment book. Last year for her birthday, he 
had even taken her to lunch at a very expensive French 
restaurant. That hadn't gone well; she'd felt very out of 
place there, afraid she had dried snot on her shoulder 
since Emma had had the flu that whole week, and the waiter 
had looked at her very haughtily. But it had been such a 
sweet gesture on Skinner's part, and it warmed her heart 
that he'd gone to the effort, so she covered her discomfort 
as best she could. He wasn't a person who engaged in a lot 
of small talk, so she could see the toll it took on him to 
converse lightly as they ate their meals. 

But he was, as always, ever-so-polite to her, even after 
the strange lunch, asking after her daughter, remembering 
small details she told him. He'd even bought a card with a 
crisp new five-dollar bill inside for her to give to Emma 
when she had lost her first tooth a few months ago. And 
every year he insisted she take her daughter's birthday off 
from work, with pay. Not to mention how attentive he'd been 
to her during her pregnancy, she suddenly recalled, making 
sure she stayed off her swollen feet as much as possible 
during the last few months, and keeping her job open for 
her during her maternity leave. She'd been such a mess 
during the whole thing, still adjusting to the idea of 
raising a fatherless child, she'd been sure he was going to 
re-assign her to a less-stressful post.

The flowers took her attention away from her rambling 
thoughts. As far as she knew, there wasn't anyone in the 
Bureau, or in any portion of her life, who would send her 
such a beautiful gift. Not beautiful, she amended as she 
looked closer, *exquisite*. Breathtaking. The colors of all 
the blossoms varied; there were rich, vibrant hues of 
purples, oranges, magentas, blues, and a smattering of 
brilliant yellows. A bouquet that immediately made her 
think of autumn, which was just around the corner. Of 
crisp, cool air and dried leaves crackling under her feet. 
Her favorite time of year.

As she began walking toward it, the dazzling scent they 
gave off made her sigh in pleasure. She resisted the urge 
to bury her nose amongst the petals. Instead she dropped 
her purse in her bottom drawer, removed her coat and hung 
it on the hook beside her filing cabinet, and slowly sat 
down so the tops of the flowers were over her head. The 
vase they were in was just as expensive as the flowers, she 
noticed. Heavy cut glass, with a graceful swirling pattern 
etched into its thick side. Might even be crystal. The 
healthy green stems were blurred by the clear water and the 
glass. They would last for at least a week before wilting, 
her forever-practical side informed her.

Kim just looked at the flowers for a long time, unable to 
fully wrap her mind around the concept. It took about five 
minutes before she even noticed the un-addressed envelope 
sitting next to the vase on her blotter. A heavy ivory-hued 
stationary, the paper felt like raw silk against her 
fingertips. The envelope was sealed, and there was a blank 
card inside. When she opened it, she didn't recognize the 
handwriting, but it was written in a very carefully traced 
looping penmanship, the likes of which she hadn't seen 
since grade school, when she was taught that skill by 
Sister Mary Catherine.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. 
I'm not cute or built to suit 
A fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them, 
They think I'm telling lies. 
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms 
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step, 
The curl of my lips. 
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

On her third reading, once she got over her awe-struck 
giggles, she recognized the poem. It was the first stanza 
of Maya Angelou's "Phenomenal Woman". One of her favorites. 
She couldn't remember the rest of the verses, though; it 
had been a long, long time since she'd had an opportunity 
to read poetry. She used to read it in her tub, while 
soaking in a hot bubble bath. A luxury she rarely allowed 
herself anymore.

The phone rang sharply, jolting her out of her reverie.

"Good morning, Assistant Director Skinner's office."

"Good morning, Kim. Please let AD Skinner know the Deputy 
Director is calling."

Her eyes shot over to his open door, but from this angle, 
couldn't see his desk except the outer edge. She hadn't 
even checked to see if he was in yet, she'd been so 
enraptured by the flowers. "Certainly, Grace," she told the 
DD's secretary. "Please hold one minute." Clicking the hold 
button, she scampered up to see if her boss was at his 
desk. To her utter embarrassment, he was, his focus 
directed at the report in front of him. He must have been 
in for a while now, she realized with dismay, since he'd 
already removed his suit jacket. His red tie sliced the 
broad expanse of his white starched shirt neatly in two. 
The glass of his wirerims flashed in the sunlight when he 
turned to look in her direction, the glare hiding any 
expression in his eyes.

"Good morning, sir. I didn't realize you were in yet. The 
Deputy Director is holding on line one. Would you like me 
to get you some coffee while you take the call?" she asked 
hurriedly. She didn't want him to get angry at her for 
delaying an important caller. Not that he would, he never 
yelled at her the way everyone assumed he did. One of the 
things she liked best about working for Walter Skinner was 
how courteously he treated her.

He sighed, and as his hand reached for the phone, he 
replied, "Good morning, Kim. Coffee would be great, 
thanks."

She exited quickly, closing the door behind her. When she 
wasn't at her desk, she always made sure his domain was 
secure. He had so much responsibility bearing down on him, 
so much was expected of him. Her primary function at the 
Bureau was to slow down the unending tide of pressure and 
people so he could do his job as effectively as he did. For 
the most part, she was very good at that. She kept his 
office running as smoothly as possible. Until somebody, 
Scully or Mulder being the worst culprits, would burst in 
and ruin the calm atmosphere she worked so hard to create 
for him.

Ignoring her desktop, she scooted over to the break room 
and poured two steaming mugfuls of coffee. He liked his 
strong, and black. She had more of a sweet tooth, so she 
added two Sweet'n'Lows and a splash of skim milk to her 
own. She was still floating from the rush of the flowers, 
but caffeine was always welcome, and necessary. Walking 
carefully back to the office, so she didn't spill, she 
placed hers on her desk, before knocking quietly on his 
door. Since the phone buttons were unlit, she knew his call 
was concluded, but he'd looked pretty busy with his 
paperwork before she'd interrupted him a few minutes ago. 
It only took him about three seconds to re-focus, she knew 
after years of working for him. His intensity was legendary 
in the Bureau.

"Come in, Kimberly."

She brought the coffee over to him, which he took from her 
hand, his fingers brushing hers as they exchanged the 
weight of the mug from her grasp to his. He usually just 
let her set it on the desk, so the feel of his innocuous 
touch was something of a shock. A tremor rippled through 
her, warm and strong. <Just like his hands.> Jeez, what was 
the matter with her? One bouquet and here she was 
fantasizing about impossible things.

"So is it a special day? Did I forget something?" he 
inquired.

"Sir?"

"The flowers arrived soon after I came in this morning. I 
had the messenger leave them on your desk."

Kim felt her face flush, and resisted the urge to cool it 
with her palm. "No, sir. It's just Monday. Um...would you 
happen to remember the name of the delivery service?"

He smiled at her little joke, and shook his head no. 
Standing next to him, she could see past the glass lenses 
into his eyes. He had the warmest brown eyes of anyone she 
knew. It amused her that everyone quaked in fear of him. To 
be fair, Walter Skinner did have a foreboding, military-
style erect stance, his massive body and drill-sergeant 
voice creating an invisible circle around him that 
screamed, 'touch me only if you're willing to die'. But if 
you looked at his eyes, or his face, you could see it was a 
façade. For a man who was allegedly unemotional, the 
muscles of his face were almost always in motion, and gave 
everything he was feeling away. Kim had spent years 
studying him, and now could practically read him like a 
book. His jaw twitched when he was angry, he bit the side 
of his lip when he was anxious, his ears reddened when 
embarrassed, the lines on the sides of his mouth and 
between his eyebrows deepened when concerned. She rarely 
got to see what moved on his face when he was experiencing 
a positive emotion.

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch it. Is there something wrong 
with the flowers? Do you need to contact them?"

"N-no," she stuttered, slightly mortified to explain any 
further, "I just wanted to see if they would tell me who 
they're from. The card wasn't signed."

His eyebrow lifted in his instantly-recognizable amused 
facial gesture. "Unsigned? Why, Kimberly, I think you may 
have a secret admirer."

A secret admirer? The idea was so moving, and so 
preposterous, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She 
picked laugh.

"I doubt that, sir. But I wish I could thank whoever sent 
them. They're just what I needed to boost my spirits."

He looked like he was about to say something else when two 
lines on his phone rang at once. So they both got back to 
work, and the moment was soon forgotten in the flurry of 
the day.

But every time her gaze caught sight of a blossom, or when 
she turned quickly in her chair and a whiff of their 
lovely, heady scent invaded her nostrils, she found herself 
foolishly smiling and thinking of his words. A secret 
admirer.

And that was the same consensus reached by the people in 
the break room, as well, when the talk turned to her 
mystery gift-giver. Kim was rarely the center of attention, 
and frankly, she basked in the glow. A low-level buzz 
coursed through her veins all day.

When the second gift appeared two weeks later, once the 
flowers had died and been relegated to the wastebasket, you 
could have knocked her over with a feather. It took her 
five minutes just to unwrap the bright red ribbon and thick 
paper from the box, her hands were shaking so badly. The 
tissue paper crumpled easily under her touch, and she let 
the box fall back onto her desk with a small surprised 
gasp. It was a scarf, a gorgeous silk scarf, that when she 
draped it around her neck, matched both the forest green of 
her overcoat that she hadn't taken off yet, and the color 
of her hair. A soft gray, with delicate swirls of red, gold 
and green inlaid in the fabric. It felt wonderful, cool and 
sensual, against her cheek.

There was another blank envelope, the same stationary as 
the first, and the words blurred in her damp vision when 
she read the second stanza.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please, 
And to a man,
The fellows stand or 
Fall down on their knees. 
Then they swarm around me, 
A hive of honey bees. 
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes, 
And the flash of my teeth, 
The swing in my waist, 
And the joy in my feet. 
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Maybe she really did have a secret admirer, she admitted. 
And her curiosity as to who saw her as the woman in the 
poem was overwhelming. So she put on her thinking cap and 
started to play a little detective.

It had to be someone in the office, she deduced. Skinner 
told her, when she'd asked, that he hadn't been in the 
office to sign for the second package, so it had to be 
someone who worked here. Security was too tight around here 
for it to be a random person off the street. Plus she never 
wore her green overcoat anywhere but here. She'd paid a lot 
of money for it, and wasn't about to ruin it with food 
stains or dirt if she had it on when she and Emma ran 
around town on the weekends, running errands or going to 
the park. Her dry cleaning bills were high enough.

But who? She started watching the men whom she ran into on 
a regular basis more closely. Mulder she immediately 
crossed off the list; he was so obviously crazy about 
Scully, and they were having a child together. Not every 
man bolted for the door when you told them that you were 
pregnant, Kim reminded herself. Mulder was the kind who 
stayed, unlike Emma's father. The sperm donor, she called 
him in her head, when she was feeling particularly snippy.

But all the other agents seemed to basically ignore her, 
when she studied their reactions to her presence. Most 
didn't even know her name. She struck up a conversation 
with one likely candidate, Agent Johnson, but after a 
couple of minutes, started praying that it wasn't him. He 
was as dull as dishwater. When she got back to her desk, 
having made some excuse to extricate herself from the 
fourth circle of hell, she looked down at her front, and 
laughed. He'd been staring at her chest because she had a 
blob of left-over oatmeal from Emma's breakfast on her 
blouse. Not because he was enamored of her.

Next she examined Skinner's most frequent non-Bureau 
visitors. The three weirdos who followed Mulder around 
often might be candidates. The one with the beard was sort 
of cute. But when she mentioned in passing the poem, his 
eyes had glazed over and he'd dreamily commented that some 
woman named Suzanne had been a phenomenal woman. So she 
scratched him off the list too, and didn't even bother with 
the other two. If they were the guy sending her presents, a 
simple thank-you was all she was willing to give either of 
them.

Kim shuddered and sent a swift prayer skywards that the 
Smoking Man no longer came around. He hadn't been in 
Skinner's office since she bought her green coat, so he 
wasn't a possibility. And the idea of him thinking about 
her, in any way, shape or form, was enough to make her want 
to join a convent. That leathery skin and those cold, dead 
eyes, yuck. Not to mention the cigarette stench that reeked 
from his very pores. It used to take her days to air out 
Skinner's office after one of his visits.

But his lackey might be the one, and Kim wondered what the 
heck she would do if it was. She remembered Krycek from his 
Special Agent days, and had thought he was pretty hot back 
then, even though she was living with the sperm donor at 
the time. But when he'd jumped ship, and it was clear he 
was not a man you'd want to introduce your child to, she'd 
changed her opinion about him. He'd been hanging around 
Skinner's office lately, ever since Mulder had been 
returned from his ordeal in Oregon, and when Skinner kept 
him waiting on her office couch, she'd looked up from her 
monitor to find him staring at her so intensely she got 
goose bumps. On the other hand, he looked that way at 
everyone, she told herself. Didn't mean a thing.

Frustrated, she approached Holly and tried to find out if 
there was anyone who might have, well, a crush on her. 
Since Holly worked in Records, she talked to a lot more 
agents and staff than Kim did, and she had a finely-tuned 
ear for all gossip. But that awkward discussion yielded 
nothing; Holly hadn't heard any talk except the same 
speculation about her gift-giver that Kim had, and she kept 
attempting to shift the talk to Skinner and his personal 
life. Kim didn't like to talk about him to the rest of the 
staff. He was a private man, and she respected him too much 
to engage in tawdry innuendo about him. So what if he was 
divorced, and didn't date, as far as she knew. It wasn't 
anybody's business but his.

Kim didn't even allow herself to entertain the thought that 
Walter Skinner was behind her current situation. Sure, he 
was a gentleman toward her, courtly almost in his demeanor, 
but she was a pretty integral part of his success at work. 
It didn't necessary follow that he had some personal 
feelings for her. He just knew that snapping her head off 
would only ruin the comfortable relationship they had. And 
he was far too savvy about office politics to piss off his 
assistant. He knew, if she was *that* kind of person, she 
could damage his reputation easily. A few well-placed 
rumors about a peccadillo or a hint of sexual harassment, 
and that would be that. His previous assistant, the one 
that only stayed about two weeks before Kim was assigned to 
her current post, had done just that. It had taken her six 
months to assuage everyone on the staff that he wasn't the 
man that nasty woman had implied he was. It had taken 
another six months beyond that before Skinner had begun to 
trust Kim herself. 

But now that he did, and had for years, working for him was 
one of the most enjoyable parts of her day. He didn't shove 
her aside, like some agents did or like the other commuters 
on the train, he didn't nag her about dating like her mom 
did. Unlike her daughter, he talked to her in full 
declarative sentences, and he didn't ask her to read "Green 
Eggs and Ham" for the millionth time before bed. 

The thought of him asking her to read *anything* to him in 
bed was both one of the most erotic, and the most 
ridiculous, images she'd ever depicted. Sometimes her 
imagination ran away from her, she chided herself.

So she firmly put all of it out of her mind, and let her 
busy life do the thinking for her. Which was as easy as 
falling off a log. She and Emma went to the zoo the 
Saturday after she got the scarf, and Kim spent the ensuing 
week listening to her cheerful excited talk about how cool 
the pandas had been. Personally, she enjoyed the aquarium 
more; fish didn't squawk or roar, there were no phones 
ringing, or car horns bleating, or trains rushing by. It 
was silent except for happy chatter and the soothing sound 
of splashing water. But Emma thought the aquarium 'bo-ring, 
Mommy', so they didn't go as often as Kim would have liked. 

The following weekend was the one after payday, and Kim 
decided to splurge a bit after they ran errands all day 
Saturday. Usually, on Sundays, she cleaned the house, and 
cooked meals for the week, freezing them in small 
Tupperware bowls that were easy to re-heat each night when 
she got home from work. But this Sunday, she took Emma 
shopping. Not just any kind of shopping, either. To the 
store of all stores for a five-year-old, the grand high 
exalted holy Mecca of toy-dom: FAO Schwarz.

She'd only taken her there a few times, and usually 
regretted it. Emma's 'must-have' toys were usually out of 
her price range. But she'd put in a lot of overtime the two 
weeks prior, and it showed in her checkbook. So she planned 
on buying her daughter anything her precious little heart 
desired. Kim told herself it had nothing to do with the 
guilt of leaving her with her grandma for so many evenings.

Emma dragged her all over the store, ooh-ing and aah-ing at 
the dolls, the stuffed animals, the games, her grin as wide 
as the Grand Canyon. Kim soon got caught up in her 
overflowing enthusiasm.

"Oh Mommy, look! A pandy bear! Like at the zoo!"

Kim eyed the huge stuffed creature. The darn thing was 
bigger than Emma. "Just like the zoo. What would you call 
it, if you took it home? It has to have a name, you know."

Emma pursed her lips, thinking. A deep laugh suddenly burst 
behind Kim's shoulder.

"My goodness, she looks like you when you're lost in 
thought."

She spun toward the low voice, her brain not accepting that 
it was the person who her ears told her. But it was. What 
on earth was Walter Skinner doing in a toy store?

"Oh, hello sir. I mean, Walter," she corrected herself. 
He'd asked her, when they'd gone to the fancy French place, 
to please call him by his first name when they weren't in 
the office. She hadn't had an opportunity to take him up on 
that until this very second.

"Hello, Kimberly." His eyes danced behind his wirerims as 
he looked down at the little girl staring open-mouthed at 
him. "You must be Emma. I've heard a lot about you."

"You're bigger than a grizzly bear," Emma blurted out, and 
Kim winced. 

"Emma, that's not polite. Say hello to Mr. Skinner, 
please."

To Kim's utter disbelief, Skinner laughed again and 
crouched down so he was eye-level with her daughter. He put 
out his hand to her, and Emma placed her tiny one in it, 
and shook it politely. Her entire fist disappeared within 
the palm of his hand, and Kim stifled a giggle at the 
sight.

"Hello, Mr. Skinner, it's very nice to meet you," she said, 
then looked to her mother for approval. Kim nodded, and let 
them speak, ready to jump in when either Emma got to be too 
much, or Skinner ran out of things to say. Both were 
distinct possibilities.

"It's nice to meet you too, Emma. Have you decided on a 
name for the bear?"

She shrugged. "Maybe Andy. Andy the Pandy. But I don't want 
to take him home."

"And why's that?"

"My other animals might get mad at me. He's so big he might 
crush them when we had our tea party."

"I think Andy would be careful not to hurt them. Big bears 
don't always have to be scary, especially when the big bear 
wants to be friends with the smaller bears," he said, 
smiling.

Emma mulled that over, then returned his grin. "Like you?"

"Just like me," he said, as he stood back up to his full 
height. Emma craned her head up, then giggled at him, 
before her attention shifted back to the panda. Kim was 
amazed by the entire exchange.

"She's charming, Kimberly. You must be proud," he said once 
Emma was fully engrossed by the stuffed animals. Kim kept 
one eye on her, while the other tried to focus on the man 
addressing her. But it was hard to pay attention, 
especially since he wasn't wearing a suit. Today he had on 
a pair of khakis, and a dark-green chamois shirt, with the 
top two buttons undone. A little chest hair peeked out at 
his neck, and it sent her mind flying in all sorts of 
inappropriate directions.

"Thank you. You handled yourself well, considering the fact 
I doubt you spend a lot of time with five year olds," she 
said with a nervous titter. What the heck was she nervous 
about, she wondered.

He smiled in agreement. "Actually that's why I'm here. My 
niece's birthday is next week, and I'm at a loss as to a 
gift. I thought I'd put myself in the hands of 
professionals, begging for mercy, but the salespeople seem 
to be swamped at the moment."

"Not surprising for a Sunday. Maybe I can help with some 
suggestions. How old is your niece?" she asked, laughing at 
his woebegone expression, when Emma came back and tugged on 
her arm. Kim swung her up onto her hip, as Skinner spoke to 
both of them.

"She's five too. So I was wondering, Emma, if you could 
help a poor big bear find a good present to give somebody 
your size."

And somehow, hours later, Kim found herself sitting in an 
ice cream parlor, sharing a hot fudge sundae with Walter 
Skinner. They had combed the store thoroughly, Emma often 
dragging Skinner by two of his fingers, to show him a 
'really neat' gift. Eventually he settled on a Barbie for 
his niece, and Emma decided her special Sunday toy was 
going to be the board game Chutes and Ladders. Kim's 
foolish imagination kept bursting through her consciousness 
as she watched the two of them interact. Skinner was so 
serious and funny at the same time, asking Emma's advice on 
each toy, listening to her every word with a series of 
dignified nods, inspecting it carefully with her, before 
moving onto the next. And Emma was as enthralled by his 
focused attention as Kim herself was. He was just being 
kind, she told herself. Then he had shocked her by 
accepting Emma's impromptu invitation to the ice cream 
shop.  

He looked over at Emma fondly, who was resting against 
Kim's hip with a sleepy expression on her face. Her kid's-
sized scoop of mint chocolate chip was long gone, most of 
which had landed either in her lap or somewhere in the 
vicinity of her mouth. She'd been too busy talking to 
Skinner to see where her spoon was headed.

"Somebody looks like they're ready for a nap," he 
commented, as Kim shifted her arm so Emma could nestle in 
closer. Then his eyes scanned her own face. "Maybe two 
people," he amended.

Kim sighed, and dug her spoon into the parfait glass 
between them. "Yeah, but this sundae's too good to waste. 
We'll go in a bit, okay, honey?" she said to her daughter, 
who mumbled a drowsy "okay" back.

"I want to apologize to you, Kim," he said sotto voce, and 
she looked over at him, confused. "I don't think I realized 
until today how selfish it is for me to ask you to put in 
such long hours as you do."

"That's okay, sir," she quickly responded. "I don't mind, 
and ah...the money comes in handy," she confessed, a little 
color staining her cheeks.

He bit the side of his lip, in the gesture she knew from 
experience meant anxious. She immediately regretted making 
him think she didn't know how much he appreciated her.

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I didn't 
mean that the way it came out. I'm not angling for a 
raise."

"Oh, I know that. But I still think you deserve one."

"Sir--"

"Walter," he gently corrected her.

"Walter," she repeated, "really, I'd rather you didn't. I'd 
just feel guilty every two weeks when payday comes. My 
regular raises are fine, honestly. Please don't make a 
fuss."

He nodded, and looked hard at her all of a sudden. Kim 
didn't know what was the matter. 

"Nobody really makes a fuss over you, do they, Kimberly?"

The blush came so fast to her face she actually felt dizzy. 
"Not really," she agreed, "but that's okay. I don't think 
I'd know what to do if they did."

His eyebrow arched. "Is that why you get so flustered over 
your secret admirer?"

"Maybe. It's embarrassing being the subject of everyone's 
discussion on breaks. But on the other hand, it's kind of 
nice, to know someone thinks about me once in awhile."

"So are you going to keep trying to figure out who it is?" 

"How...how did you know I was doing that?"

He laughed, and leaned back into the booth, waving his hand 
to indicate she should finish the last of the sundae. 
"Kimberly, I was a field investigator for a long time. I'm 
a fairly observant person."

So much for being subtle about her little detective 
excursion, she thought with a little laugh. "Well then, 
Sherlock Holmes, so who do you think it is?"

He chuckled. "I haven't a clue, my dear Watson." Then he 
got serious, his dark eyes watching her carefully behind 
his lenses. "But maybe the point is, who do you *want* it 
to be. Let the man remain a mystery, and just enjoy the 
attention. Besides, you might not like the person behind 
the gifts, and that would spoil his intent. Perhaps, 
whoever it is, just wants you to feel special."

"You mean, you think the person doesn't care for me?"

He shook his head. "No, he obviously does. Let's look at 
the evidence," he said in his AD Skinner tone, and Kim bit 
back a laugh. It sounded very out of place here. "The 
flowers would appear to be a general affectionate 
statement. And sending them to your place of work, rather 
than your home, says that he is marking his territory, in a 
way. Letting other men around you know that there is 
someone who thinks you're worthy of being treated well. The 
scarf, because it matches your coloring and coat so well, 
tells us that he's watched you, and he pays attention to 
detail. But sneaking something into the office under both 
of our radar indicates that he doesn't want to be found. 
So, in the final analysis, we could conclude that your 
secret admirer's true agenda might just be to encourage you 
to dream. To indulge in a fantasy."

She waved her hand at him, and tucked a stray curl of 
Emma's hair behind her ear. Sweet little thing had fallen 
asleep right on her lap. "Who's got time for that?"

"Maybe you should make the time," he said, his voice as 
dark and rich as the hot fudge she licked off the edge of 
her spoon. "Maybe he wants you to take a little time for 
yourself."

"You're one to talk, Walter. I think *you* need a secret 
admirer," she scoffed. She tore her eyes away from his 
suddenly mesmerizing ones, and grabbed at some napkins to 
clean off Emma's face and overalls before the ice cream 
took root. A bath had not been on today's agenda, and 
laundry wasn't until Wednesday night. 

He moved so fast, and so gracefully, she didn't realize he 
was holding onto her forearm until she felt his fingers 
clamped around her bare skin. "Look at yourself, Kim," he 
said sternly, his jaw twitching. "You're doing three 
different things at the same time, and you're probably 
thinking about two others that you didn't have time to 
tackle yet."

She blinked, shocked. He'd never raised his voice to her 
before. And he sure as hell had never touched her.

"So what if I am? Is there something wrong with that?" she 
asked, on the verge of being offended. And inexplicably, on 
the brink of tears. <God, pull it together, girl. Maybe she 
did need a nap.>

He gentled his tone and his grip as he continued. "Kim, you 
work yourself down to the bone. I'm...I'm just concerned 
about you. Please don't take it the wrong way."

What other way was she supposed to take it, she thought, 
thoroughly frustrated. A dozen angry retorts were on the 
tip of her tongue, when Emma stirred against her and got 
her back on track. She dug through her wallet for some 
money, ignoring his protests to pay for dessert, and 
scooped her purse, a still-sleeping Emma, and their 
shopping bags into her arms as she rose. He stood up as she 
did, grasping her elbow firmly to stop her hasty escape.

"Kimberly, I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

She forced herself to smile. "You didn't. I just have to 
take her home and really let her nap or she'll be cranky 
all night. Thank you for a lovely afternoon." He dropped 
his hand, and she turned to leave. Then she reconsidered, 
and faced him again. He wasn't just nibbling his lip, he 
was practically swallowing it whole. "You probably have a 
point, Walter. And I do appreciate you trying to help. I 
shouldn't have over-reacted. It just...touched a nerve."

Then she closed her eyes, and let loose what she'd really 
been thinking. "I guess I was hoping that maybe my secret 
admirer wanted me. As a woman. I didn't tell you, or 
anybody really, but there's this poem that he's been 
sending snippets of, and..." She stopped, mortified that 
she was even discussing this with him. Oh God, she'd 
practically announced she needed to get laid. To her 
*boss*. 

When she worked up the nerve to open her eyes, he was 
staring at her with the most unreadable expression she'd 
ever seen on his face. She, who had become an expert on 
every unspoken need he had at work, didn't have the 
slightest clue what he was thinking.

"A poem?" he finally said, after the longest silence of her 
life.

"Yeah," she mumbled, squirming. "It's kind of, ah, well, 
sexy."

After another too-long beat, his mouth widened into an 
enormous smile. Kim had never seen a look of pure delight 
on his face before. It was probably the most beautiful 
thing she'd ever seen.

"Well, that throws my whole theory off, doesn't it? I 
didn't factor in a hot, lusty poem."

She giggled, relieved that somehow they'd gotten past their 
awkward moment unscathed. She didn't like almost-fighting 
with him. "It's not really that hot. It's just..." <Just 
what? Erotic? Empowering? Passionate?> "...flattering," she 
chose. 

"Kimberly," he said, "I think I misjudged both you and your 
mystery man. You should probably disregard everything I 
said this afternoon. He most likely has very deep feelings 
for you." His brown irises melted into hot fudge, as he 
emphasized, "As a woman."

When she got into work Monday, she nearly fell down onto 
the linoleum of the hallway in relief. Even though her 
brain kept telling her to be sensible, to not expect 
anything, her heart kept saying, "Two weeks. It's been two 
weeks since the last gift." She had tried very hard to 
ignore her heart, but it had been hopeless. And worth it. 
Because there was a brightly-wrapped, oddly-shaped bundle 
on her desk, waiting for her.

Once she got it open, she was more confused than ever. A 
basket of toiletries? Huh? But she had to admit, this guy 
had great taste. The bubble bath and the soaps were from 
Crabtree & Evelyn, and in some of her favorite aromas. A 
sweetly-scented spring bouquet, and a more musky one. 
Sandalwood, when she looked the label. Of course, the best 
part was the third stanza. 

Men themselves have wondered 
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch 
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them 
They say they still can't see. 
I say,
It's in the arch of my back, 
The sun of my smile, 
The ride of my breasts, 
The grace of my style. 
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

She was so involved in reading, she didn't hear him come in 
until he was right up next to her. Kim jumped about six 
feet in the air when she saw a plastic hand reaching for 
one of the bubble baths sitting out loosely out on her 
desk.

"What's this?" Krycek asked, his green cat's eyes drilling 
into hers.

"Nothing. A gift," she babbled, then took a deep calming 
breath. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Skinner?"

His eyebrow shot up. "A gift? Someone sent you bubble bath? 
That's sexy as hell." He picked up the bottle and sniffed 
around the cap. "I bet this will smell great on you, too."

She stood up, and snatched the bottle out of his hand. 
Suddenly she felt very dirty, and not in a good, raunchy 
way, either. The idea that maybe Krycek had sent the lovely 
gifts cast a bleak pallor over everything. An image of him 
standing in the store, sampling different scents while he 
pictured her in her bathtub, made her sick to her stomach.

"Don't touch that," she spit. "Do you have an appointment 
or not?"

His sharp eyes raked over her, and he gave her a wicked 
smile. "Yes I do. My, aren't you touchy this morning, Kim. 
Does this mean you're not going to invite me over to help 
scrub your back?"

"Krycek, leave her alone," Skinner barked from the outer 
door of her office. In four fast strides, he loomed over 
the younger man, and quickly hustled him into his office. 
Skinner gave her a brief glance, then closed the door 
behind him without saying another word.

An hour later, both men emerged from Skinner's office, and 
Krycek sauntered past her without speaking, thankfully. 
Skinner leaned against his doorway, his arms folded across 
his chest. He looked both concerned and tired. The lines by 
his mouth were very deep.

"Did he say anything to you before I got here, Kim?"

She shook her head and shifted her gaze to her empty 
blotter. She'd put away all evidence of her gift, feeling a 
little soiled by her mini run-in with Krycek. "No, sir."

In the space of a heartbeat, she felt a warm hand on her 
shoulder, and her eyes followed the white cotton of his 
sleeve up to his face. "Then what's the matter?" he 
persisted.

"Do you...do you think maybe he's been sending the gifts?"

Skinner dropped his hand, and folded his arms back up. 
"What makes you think so?"

"I don't know. He looks at me strangely sometimes, and 
well, he was here lurking around. You and I weren't. He 
could have sneaked in and left them here for me."

By the tight look on his face, Kim knew he was taking her 
anxiety seriously. "I doubt it," he replied, the words 
coming out slowly through his clenched jaw. "Krycek doesn't 
strike me as someone who cares very much about anyone 
except himself. I've completely misread his character if 
he's capable of doing anything that's brought such a string 
of delighted smiles to your face in the last few weeks."

She gave a valiant effort at one just because he was being 
so sweet, but fell far short of her mark. "I hope your 
analysis is correct, sir."

"May I ask what was in today's gift?" he inquired politely.

"Toiletries. Bubble bath and soaps and stuff."

He pondered that for a minute, frowning. It was so weird, 
but for a second there, Kim got the impression that he was 
just a tiny bit...jealous? Impossible, she decided. "It's 
actually a very nice gift, from whomever the source. I'm a 
big fan of bubble baths," she said hurriedly, determined 
not to think about Alex Krycek again. He just couldn't be 
her secret admirer. She was going to take Walter's advice 
from yesterday and not try to uncover his identity anymore. 
She was just going to let it be whomever she chose it to 
be.

Skinner peered into her face carefully, then smiled. "I 
hope you enjoy it then."

And enjoy it she did. A few days later, Friday night to be 
exact, after she'd managed to get in and out of work on 
time, after she'd cleaned up after dinner, and long after 
she put Emma down for the night, Kim drew herself a nice, 
hot bath. She selected the spring bouquet bath oil, and 
hunted unsuccessfully for her Maya Angelou book while the 
water ran. Faintly annoyed when she couldn't find it, she 
instead took the three cards out of her dresser drawer and 
took them with her into the bathtub. The stupid sperm donor 
must have swiped her book when he packed up and moved out; 
now that she thought about it, she hadn't read the poem 
since before Emma was born.

Kim let the water and the heat and the bubbles surround her 
until she felt loose-limbed and relaxed from the 
luxuriousness of it all. When she was good and ready, she 
picked up each card, in order received, and savored each 
individual line. Indulging an instinct, she sniffed at the 
paper. She didn't recognize the scent, but it was 
tantalizing. Clean and clear, like rain. 

She imagined a man's large hand, holding the black pen 
loosely, the edge of his palm raised over the paper, 
brushing against it occasionally as he copied this lovely, 
alluring poem. To her. Thinking of her with every stroke of 
his...pen. She let the cards fall to the floor, and ran her 
fingers through the bubbles, then below, along the contours 
of her body, imagining that same man, with a wide chest and 
an even wider smile, wrapping his strong arms around her in 
the tub. Touching her, kissing her, whispering sweet 
nothings in her ear as he made slow, passionate love to 
her. Kim tipped her head back against the cool enamel of 
the tub and sighed with pleasure.

It was the last enjoyable moment she experienced for a 
week. Her car broke down on Saturday, stranding her and 
Emma in the parking lot of the supermarket. When she got to 
the mechanic's where she'd had it towed, the estimate for 
repairs nearly depleted half her savings account. But no 
car wasn't an option, so she agreed, after negotiating only 
a pittance off the price. Sunday brought more disasters. 
She burned her hand while pulling the lasagna out of the 
oven, Emma scraped her knee badly while playing hopscotch, 
and her mom came down with a nasty head cold. So she re-
organized her schedule for the week so she could get out of 
the office on time each night. Pity, too, because she had 
hoped the overtime would give her a head start on 
replenishing her savings.

And the entire week at the office was no better. Skinner 
was out of town for most of it, mopping up some mess Mulder 
had created down in Florida. She could hear the tightly 
reined-in strain in his voice every time he called in for 
messages. Her computer crashed, twice, and the tech guy she 
called couldn't retrieve the reports she'd been working on, 
so she had to re-type all of them. The corner of her desk 
decided to become a pantyhose magnet, shredding four pairs 
of them in the space of two days. All in all, she had never 
been so happy to see Friday appear in her life.

When she stopped in Skinner's office at the end of the week 
from hell, he looked as exhausted and wrung out as she 
felt. He'd gotten back to DC that morning, and had spent 
all day plowing through the pile in his in-box that had 
been threatening to topple over from neglect. But his smile 
was warm and engaging as she entered.

"Is it quitting time already?" he asked as she approached 
the side of his desk.

"Yes, sir," she replied with an answering smile. He'd been 
doing it a lot more lately, and it was hard not to return 
them. "I'm sorry I can't stay longer to help you dig 
through some of this."

He gave her a wave of dismissal. "Don't worry about it. 
Emma is probably thrilled that she's getting a chance to 
spend more time with you."

"Thanks. My mom said her cold is almost finished, so next 
week I can stay as late as needed. I've appreciated you 
being so patient about all this." An impulse struck her, 
and she gave in to it without thinking. "Would you like to 
come over for dinner tonight?"

<Oh my God. What did she just say?> She added, her words 
spilling out quicker and quicker as she went, "It's just 
Emma's been talking about you non-stop since the day at the 
toy store, and since you haven't been home all week, you 
probably don't have anything to eat in your fridge, and-"

"I'd love to, Kimberly," he interrupted her insane 
babbling. Then he glanced at his still-towering in-box, and 
his smile quickly down-shifted to a frown. "But I've got to 
make a bigger dent in this before I leave for the day. 
Would eight o'clock be okay, or is it past Emma's bedtime?"

Her eyes were as big as saucers as she realized what had 
occurred. He'd just accepted her offer of a date, as 
quickly and impulsively as she had asked it. "No, eight 
would be fine, Walter. Let me write down the directions for 
you."

On her train ride home, Kim's brain went into over-drive, 
as she started to plan what needed to be done first. And 
when she got into the house, she rolled up her sleeves, and 
turned into a human cyclone. By the time eight o'clock 
rolled around, her house almost didn't look like hers. Gone 
were the random toys scattered around, there was a fresh 
bouquet of flowers in the beautiful cut-glass vase, candles 
were lit invitingly all over, her garbage can was full of 
boxes that the Pampered Chef had packed the dinner she 
ordered in, and the house was strangely, blessedly silent 
except for a Stevie Wonder CD playing quietly on her 
stereo.

And Kim looked, well, phenomenal, she decided as she took 
one last glance in the mirror. She'd showered using the 
sandalwood soap, and let her hair dry naturally so it had a 
little curl in it. She'd changed from her work-day outfit 
to a dress that had been hiding in the back of her closet 
for eons. Made of a dove-gray fabric, so soft it felt like 
a cloud against her skin, it had a long line of front 
buttons that ran down the entire length. Purchased on a 
whim before Emma was born, the lines of the dress were 
classic and still stylish: simple, full-skirted, nipped at 
the waist, with a scoop neckline that was low but not low 
enough to expose anything too racy. Kim was thrilled when 
she put it on to see that it fit perfectly; she actually 
bought it a size too big, because it had been on sale and 
too beautiful to pass up, which was one reason why it had 
never been worn before tonight.

It was her fantasy dress. And since she was fairly certain 
she was about to make a long-denied fantasy come true, it 
had seemed like the ideal opportunity to wear it.

After almost six weeks of mulling it over, she realized she 
knew who her secret admirer was. When she ran over the 
chain of events in her mind, she saw a bunch of clues she'd 
missed when they'd been dropped. How had she been so blind?

And she thought she had a pretty good idea why her admirer 
didn't want to be discovered. But honestly, his reasons 
were nonsense, if Walter had been correct in his theory. 
Fear of rejection? Please. Her mystery man was more than a 
little handsome, and strong, and smart, and rather sexy. 
Okay, very sexy. In doing all this for her, he'd displayed 
a heretofore unseen romantic side to his otherwise stellar 
character. So because she *was* a phenomenal woman, she was 
prepared to take the risk and unmask him. If she was wrong, 
well, so be it. For the first time in far too long, 
Kimberly Cook was throwing caution to the wind, putting 
aside her responsibilities, her obligations, and her duties 
as mother, daughter, housekeeper, cook, chauffeur, typist, 
scheduler, and secretary. She was giving herself the 
ultimate indulgence as a woman. A lover.

Both Walter's and Kim's mouths dropped open as she opened 
the door when he buzzed promptly at eight on the dot. But 
it wasn't how he looked that stunned Kim, although he did 
look magnificent. He'd changed too, into a creamy off-white 
sweater that clung to his chest, and chocolate brown slacks 
that matched the color of his eyes. <He looks like a 
vanilla ice cream cone>, her mind thought wildly. But that 
wasn't the thing that blew her away. It was the huge panda 
bear in his arms.

"I...I brought this for Emma," he stammered. "As sort of a 
thank-you for inviting me."

Kim took the bear from him, and escorted him inside. When 
he accidentally brushed against her as they clumsily 
negotiated the narrow hallway, an over-sized stuffed 
animal, and two very nervous people, she caught a whiff of 
his cologne, and her suspicions were confirmed. That clean, 
clear, rain smell from the cards. He didn't wear cologne at 
work.

"Emma's not here tonight," she said, putting the panda down 
on the couch as he stood in the middle of her living room, 
turning to face her with a slightly confused but eager 
expression in his eyes. It dawned on her that he wasn't 
wearing his wirerims, so she could see him without the 
glass barrier that kept him a safe distance from everyone. 
"My mom insisted she spend the night with her, since she 
hasn't seen her all week."

It was a small white lie; Kim had been the one who made the 
request, but her mom had easily agreed the second she'd 
told her why.

"So...it's just us?" he asked. When she nodded, he stared 
at her for a long beat, then apparently made a decision. 
His eyes crinkled up as he gave her a slow, easy smile. 
"You look beautiful, Kimberly. You should wear gray more 
often, it's a very flattering color."

"Thank you, Walter. I figured you liked it, since it's the 
color of the scarf you gave me."

No sense in beating around the bush, she thought. If she 
was wrong, then he could hightail it out of there before 
either one of them did something regrettable.

His mouth gaped open again, then closed. After a few 
nervous fidgets, he spread his hands in a helpless gesture. 
"How did I give it away?"

Beaming, she took a step closer to him, and raised her 
hands to tick off her points on her fingers. "You were very 
discreet, actually. It took me forever to put the pieces 
together. But first, the card that came with the flowers 
wasn't addressed to me, which hinted that maybe there never 
had been a messenger at all. And on my way out today, I 
took a quick peek at the visitor's log at the guard station 
downstairs to confirm it. Second, the entire discussion we 
had over ice cream after I received the scarf."

"I thought I was going a bit overboard with that," he 
chuckled. 

"No, you hit just the right note, because I still didn't 
think it was you. It wasn't until you got such an unusual 
look on your face when I asked you if it was Krycek, that I 
started to really wonder."

"I was jealous as hell," he sighed. "Seeing you two 
standing so close when I got to the office, and then you 
asked me, it threw me completely off-balance. I spent the 
entire meeting with him trying to decide if I should either 
clean his clock or tell you the truth."

"Too bad you didn't ask me," she giggled. "I would have 
picked clean his clock, just because he's so slimy."

Walter let out one of his rare deep laughs, and stepped 
closer to take her hand gently in his. "Kimberly..." he 
breathed.

"See, that's clue number four. You always call me by my 
full name when you speak to me about non-work related 
things. When, I think, you don't just see me as Kim, your 
secretary. Separating who I am at the office, and who I am 
personally."

"Like the difference between 'sir' and 'Walter'," he 
suggested, and she nodded in agreement. They stood so close 
together now she had to tilt her head up a little to look 
into his eyes. He was a very large man, but she wasn't 
petite, like Scully was. Still, though, he was taller by at 
least a half-foot. 

"Exactly. Would you like to know how I finally figured it 
out?"

"Yes, my dear Watson, I would," he grinned.

Placing her hand on his broad chest, which she'd been dying 
to do forever, she looked directly into his hot, dark eyes. 
"I took your advice. While I took a little time for myself 
in a bubble bath, I let myself imagine who I wanted my 
secret admirer to be. The picture that came into my head 
when I did so, was of you. Once I allowed myself to see us 
like that, as lovers, instead of as friends, or boss-
assistant, then everything came together."

He groaned, and dropped his chin so his mouth was a breath 
away from hers. "I think that's the sexiest vision I've 
ever had. Buying you the bath oils conjured up all sorts of 
images like that."

Kim's hand roamed up from his chest to his neck, where she 
slid the palm of her hand along his nape, fingering his 
fringe of hair. Still not kissing, but just about to, she 
felt his arms come around her waist, and he pulled her 
closer to his long, firm body.

"I've got lots of bubble bath left over, by the way," she 
offered in what she hoped was a seductive tone. "Would you 
like to join me there tonight?"

She felt, rather than heard, his answering "yes" as he 
covered her mouth with his. Kim soon learned that his kiss 
was a perfect reflection of who Walter Skinner was, at his 
core. Both strong yet tender, forceful yet giving, 
masculine yet romantic, sweet yet erotic. His lips played 
along hers, experimenting, tasting, then his tongue ran 
along the inner line as she parted them to invite him in 
even further. As they deepened the kiss, tongues and 
breaths exploding in a potent combustion of long-held-back 
desire, his hands traveled up and down her spine, warming a 
delicious path from her hair to her waist.

When they broke the kiss, both panting and glassy-eyed, she 
stepped away from him, and led him to her bedroom. He let 
her guide him, his eyes smoldering a passionate black. Just 
outside the door, he stopped suddenly, biting his lip. 
"Kim, wait."

"What's the matter?" she asked, very alarmed.

"We need to talk about this first. It's not that I don't 
want this to happen, but..."

"Are you afraid this will affect our work relationship?" At 
his frowning nod, she reached up and cupped his face in her 
hands. "It won't, Walter. I need my job as much as you need 
me to be there. I'm not Rebecca, I won't--"

He interjected, "I didn't sleep with her, Kim. She only 
said I did because I wouldn't respond to her overtures. I 
don't make a habit of seducing my secretaries."

Even though she knew it was probably not the right reaction 
to his scowl, Kim couldn't suppress her laugh in time. "I'm 
well aware of that. I've worked for you for almost eight 
years, and if I hadn't asked you here tonight, I'd still be 
waiting for you to make a move."

His eyebrow lifted. "You think you know me that well, hmm?"

"I think I'm an expert on you."

"Really?" he laughed, and folded her into his arms again, 
his fears apparently appeased. "You know, there's one more 
verse of the poem left. So tell me, Kimberly, what was 
going to be the final gift that came with it?"

He had her there, Kim realized. She hadn't considered that. 
Closing her eyes, she pursed her lips to help focus. When 
she re-opened them, he was holding back a laugh at her 
expression. Maybe her face was as easy to read to him as 
his was to hers.

"An invitation to lunch," she said, half-guessing. "At the 
French restaurant you took me to last year."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Damn, woman. Maybe you 
should have been an agent. Your powers of deduction are 
much better than half of my staff."

Laughing, Kim slipped out of his embrace to lead him the 
rest of the way into her bedroom. "You're not the only 
observant person in your office, Assistant Director 
Skinner."

"I'm beginning to realize that, Ms. Cook," he replied, 
grinning from ear to ear as he got to work on the small 
buttons of her dress. Despite the largeness of his hands in 
comparison to the daintiness of the buttons, he was able to 
loosen them to her waist in very short order. Kim couldn't 
even imagine how nimble those fingers were going to be on 
the rest of her. "And, while this dress is outrageously 
sexy on you, I think it's going to look even better as it 
comes off."

"Would you like me to start running the bath?" she asked 
breathlessly, once he let her up for air from another 
lingering, lusty kiss.

"Later," he murmured against her neck, nibbling along her 
collarbone as his hands slid the dress off her shoulders. 
"Emma's at your mother's until tomorrow, right?"

"Right," she gasped as the night air left the tiniest of 
chills along her bare back.

"Then we've got all night. I plan on making the most of 
it," he whispered, his voice scratchy with desire. "I've 
wanted to be with you like this for a long time, Kimberly. 
You're not the only one with an active fantasy life, you 
know."

Kim's mind completely shut down as Walter Skinner began to 
make love to her. All thoughts, concerns, worries vanished 
entirely as her body did all the work for her numbed brain 
cells. Her skin sensitized under the heat of his lips, the 
blood beneath buzzing up toward the surface. When her hands 
fluttered up to touch him, he held them down at her sides. 
<Let me>, was his unspoken command, and the long years of 
following his directives compelled her to listen. Her dress 
soon slid down in a pool of gray at her feet.

When he lifted his head to look at her again, she could 
only stare up at him in wonder. He had to feel her heart 
thudding heavily under his touch, she thought absently, 
when his fingertips skimmed over the swell of her breast. 
His gaze, focused and hungry, caught hers, and he smiled 
that smile of pure delight she'd seen that day in the ice 
cream shop. She bit her lip to hold back the moan when he 
flicked open her bra hook. Fingers, hers and his, hooked 
under the waistband of her panties, which soon joined the 
rest of her clothes on the floor.

"Phenomenal," he said, his voice as hot and dark as burning 
charcoal, when she stood before him naked, and it was the 
first time Kim truly believed it. His thumbs skimmed 
rhythmically over her nipples, and this time, the moan 
escaped. Her knees shaky, she lifted her hands to his broad 
shoulders and gripped, and in response he brought his mouth 
to hers again, drawing the last of the air from her lungs 
until her head was reeling.

He pressed her against his solid chest, and her hands went 
to the bottom of his sweater to lift it off, but he growled 
in her ear, "Not yet."

Kissing her repeatedly, he nudged her with his hip closer 
to the bed, and sat himself on the edge of the mattress, 
cradling her on his lap. She'd always felt safe, even 
protected, with him, but here, like this...this was better. 
Much better. The strength in his embrace underscored the 
need in his kiss.   

Then his hands began to move.

Powerful hands, skimming, stroking over her skin. Strong, 
skilled fingers, exploring, caressing, arousing her beyond 
reason. Hands that had passed her an unending truckload of 
paper over the years. Hands that had fisted in helpless 
anger whenever one of his agents was injured. That had, 
just once, pressed against her back to hold her steady when 
she wobbled with morning sickness in their office. That had 
copied a poem of joy and pride to her. Those same hands 
were now threatening to drive her insane with lust.  

Impatiently, she pulled on the hem of his sweater, which he 
didn't resist this time. Desperate to return some of the 
pleasure he was bestowing on her, she found the scars and 
the muscles and the man. None of Kim's fantasies, or the 
years of looking at his chest hidden behind his white 
starched shirts and proper silk ties, remotely prepared her 
for the sight of him, all secrets laid bare. His torso was 
firm and planed, his skin tanned to the color of golden 
honey, his shoulders broader than seemed humanly possible. 
Her curious fingers and lips explored a full chest of hair, 
discovered more than a few imbedded scars, the wounds of 
both a long-ago soldier, and a constant fighter for 
justice. She caressed a pair of very sensitive nipples, 
felt a heart thumping hard under his warm skin. He groaned 
and sighed at multiple points during her thorough 
examination, and she struggled to memorize those hot spots 
for future reference. 

After a time, he shifted them so she lay across the bed, 
sweeping his fingers through her hair as he settled her 
against the pillow, then drew back to finish undressing. 
Kim had lit a few candles in here as well, as much for the 
ambience as for the silent votive prayer that this would 
happen, and now golden-tipped light swooped in and out of 
the curves and angles of his muscular back and arms. 
Unconsciously, her hand crept up to cover her breasts, and 
he paused long enough to take it and kiss her fingertips.

"Please don't," he murmured. "Looking at you is often one 
of the few pleasures of my day. And none of the fantasies I 
pictured comes close to the reality of you."

The honesty in his smile pushed away the last of her 
shyness. When his slacks and boxers slid to the floor, she 
had to remind herself to breathe. How did he get so tanned 
everywhere, she wondered dreamily. He looked like a bronzed 
statue of a Greek god come to life. And to her utter carnal 
glee, she discovered that Walter Skinner was...built to 
proportion. "Talk about phenomenal," she said, her voice 
thick.

He shot her a dangerous grin as her eyes ran up and down 
the length and breadth of his remarkable body. When he slid 
into her open arms, careful not to press his full weight 
onto her, she saw that the tips of his ears were a faint 
red. A little shyness ran through them both, she reflected. 
It touched more profoundly than anything else so far on 
this magical, mystical night.

When he twisted suddenly and rolled to the edge of the bed 
to grab at something on the floor, she fretted that he had 
changed his mind until he leaned back up, a condom in hand. 

His raised eyebrow and deep lines around his mouth gave her 
the dual amused and concerned reactions. "Did you think I 
was leaving?"

No, she wasn't the only one who'd learned to read the 
other's expression, was she? She smoothed her face back 
into a smile, nodding at the foil packet in his hand. "I 
forgot about that. I'm a little out of practice."

After placing the condom on the nightstand for later, he 
wrapped his long arms around her and whispered in her hair, 
"Not anymore, Kimberly."  

Walter Skinner taught her a very valuable lesson that 
night, one she never forgot. He showed her, in no uncertain 
terms, that there was much more to life than hard work and 
unending responsibilities. That she should always take time 
to have fun, to relish the playground of the human body. 
For long, thrilling minutes the only sounds Kim could hear 
were their pounding heartbeats and a series of sighs and 
murmurs. The outside world faded away as they explored each 
other, as they teased and aroused and learned more about 
each other than they had in all the years they'd worked 
together. He found where she was most sensitive, the hollow 
of her neck, the underside of her breast, the shallow oval 
of skin between her thigh and her hip. She discovered a 
ticklish spot along his collarbone, one particularly 
sensitive muscle above his belly button, a soft area at the 
top of his rear thigh that produced a hungry growl from him 
when pressed just so.  

As intense and thoughtful as only he could be, he was so 
fixed on her pleasure that his own need took him by 
surprise, his hips jerking toward her when she reached down 
to stroke him, feeling him thick and hard in her palm.

She shivered, responding instinctively to the edgier 
demand. With a throaty groan, he lifted his smooth head 
from her chest, his eyes enveloping her in their brown 
depths. His hand traveled down her belly to between her 
damp thighs, pressing firmly into her heat.

"I want to see you go over." That familiar tone of 
authority, coupled with a raw sexuality. His voice alone 
nearly pushed her over the edge.

He devastated her with his dexterous fingers, as her 
breathing pattern escalated well past his erratic one. 
Watching as pleasure, desire, need all raced over her face, 
his expressions mirrored hers. As his hand continued its 
relentless journey against her, she climbed higher, closer, 
with his name forming soundlessly on her lips, then 
releasing on a lusty moan as she came. She tried to focus, 
to capture this one moment in her memory for later 
inspection, but felt it slip away mindlessly. Lost in a sea 
of pleasure, only his rugged face was clear and familiar, 
his sensual grin shining like a beacon to guide her back to 
reality. 

Her entire body shuddered as his tongue paved a hot, wet 
path along her skin, tormenting her all over again. She 
wanted more. Wanted all of him, the last secret revealed. 
"Walter." She gripped his bicep, felt his muscles bunched 
up under his skin as he fought to keep his own cravings 
under control. "Please."

His fingers brushed a sweaty strand of hair off her 
forehead, while his lips covered hers in the most tender of 
kisses. "Yes," he murmured, and positioned himself between 
her legs. His hand left her cheek to fumble toward the 
nightstand, and soon he reared up on his knees to put on 
the condom. Missing the heat of his body, she sat up and 
took the wrapper from his fingers.

"Let me do it," she said, and he stifled a moan when her 
fingers rolled the latex down his hard length. He grasped 
her wrist to still her hand when she tried to stroke him.

"Do that again and the condom will be a moot point," he 
warned in a tone that blended his AD Skinner bark and his 
Walter gentleness. 

"Yes, sir," she teased. Their mutual laughter shifted into 
long, satisfied groans within moments of laying back onto 
the bed. That first shock of pleasure as he buried himself 
inside her rocked them both to their foundations. He 
touched her in places she didn't even know she had. When 
they began to move, they moved as one, smoothly, as if 
they'd only been waiting for the other to start the dance 
of intimate possession.

She stroked his shoulders, his back, ran her fingers over 
his scalp as he moaned against her neck, his teeth nipping 
and his soft lips soothing the tiny dart of pain. While he 
brought her closer to the edge, climbing higher with her, 
every muscle in her body tightened in preparation for the 
blissful fall into the abyss, and his even strokes rapidly 
increased in response, resonating deep in her as the last 
of his restraint ebbed away.

He watched her eyes as she bucked up to meet his thrusts, 
as she gyrated under his solid frame, as she took him in 
deeper, faster, his face a shifting kaleidoscope of 
emotions, all positive, that jumbled together in a blurry 
haze in her mind. Later, when she could think clearly, she 
would try to decipher each one.

"Oh God...Kimberly..." he shuddered against her as she 
came, then felt him pulse deep inside, like a heartbeat 
hammering wildly in time with her own. He followed her over 
the edge, pressing against her, in her, weightlessly. Their 
sweating, shivering bodies collapsed together in a tangled 
heap of limbs and breaths and dazed smiles.

Hours later, their bodies and stomachs sated, they lay 
together in a liquid embrace in her bathtub. The scent of 
sandalwood drifted across the warm air. Empty plates from a 
re-heated dinner sat on the floor by the claw feet of the 
tub. 

"Happy?" Walter murmured in her ear, his arms around her 
protectively, his wet chest hairs tickling her back.

Kim tipped her head against his shoulder. "Mmmmm...very." 
And giggled.

"Why was that funny?"

"Mulder asked that very question a few months ago. At the 
time, I didn't know how to answer it."

Skimming his mouth down the side of her neck, he mused, 
"Ah, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why he stormed into my office one evening, after you were 
gone for the day. He started ranting at me for treating you 
badly, said I couldn't see what was right under my nose. 
Challenging me to do something to let you know how I felt. 
But, honestly, Kimberly, even I hadn't figured it out."

She twisted so she could look into his eyes. His voice 
sounded regretful, and it caused a minor tremor of worry in 
her. "What do you mean?"

"I may be an observant person, but not when it comes to my 
own feelings," he explained, stroking her cheek. "I bought 
the flowers initially because I wanted to let you know how 
much I appreciated what you do in the office, thinking 
that's what Mulder was talking about. It was only going to 
be a one-time thing. But when I went to write the note, I 
blanked. Didn't know what to say. The next thing I knew, 
the first verse of the poem was on the card. I didn't even 
think about what I was writing, or what it meant. It just 
described you so well, it seemed ideal. But I didn't sign 
it because it seemed rather forward for an employer to give 
to his employee. Even his most favorite employee."

"Well, if it helps, you're my favorite employer," she 
teased. "And it's my favorite poem."

He grinned. "Mine too. When I saw the extraordinary look on 
your face as you came into the office that morning, it 
changed everything for me. I'd never seen you look so 
radiant. You were brimming with happiness, Kimberly, and I 
wanted to see that look on your face as often as possible. 
So I suggested the secret admirer idea to you. That way, if 
you didn't feel the same way toward me, I didn't have to 
cause either of us any embarrassment."

He curled a damp strand of her hair around his finger, his 
gaze dipping to the water line. "I really didn't have any 
intention of telling you it was me. But when you told me 
you thought the poem was sexy, well that just hit me like a 
ton of bricks. I don't think it was until that very moment 
that I realized what I truly felt for you. It wasn't just 
concern, or fondness, or appreciation, although I did, and 
do, feel all of that for you." His eyes lifted to meet 
hers, the brown sparkling with heat. "I wanted you badly, 
and I had for years."

"Y-years?" she repeated shakily, unable to believe they'd 
both been in denial for so long.

"Yes, years," he answered. "And it really bothered me that 
you didn't see how amazing you are. At least, that's what I 
told myself when I got you the scarf and the bubble bath. I 
wanted you to remember that you were a woman, and a very 
alluring one, at that."

"Well, it did the trick," she beamed. "You're right, I did 
forget that part of me. My life doesn't really have room in 
it for me. Emma's kind of a handful, and there's just so 
many hours in a day."

<Oh damn>, she realized with dismay, <I just opened mouth, 
inserted foot.> Bringing a harsh reality check into this 
wonderful fantasy, what was she doing? 

They both fell silent, and Kim turned so she lay against 
his chest again. He extended his arms out, resting them on 
her bent knees peeking out of the water, and she ran her 
hands down the soapy length of them until their palms lay 
flat against each other. Intertwining their fingers, he 
wrapped his arms back around her, hugging her tightly to 
him. 

"Do you think she'll mind if there's someone else around 
here now?" he asked.

While she'd been thinking about that quite a bit, she'd 
hadn't anticipated the uncertainty in his tone. Or the 
thrill that ran through her veins when she fully 
comprehended what he was asking. Squeezing his hands, she 
said firmly, "I think Emma and I would be thrilled to have 
a big bear in our lives. Two, actually, if we count Andy 
downstairs."

He laughed, his deep rich one, and Kim snuggled in a little 
closer. "Maybe an extra pair of hands in the morning will 
help you get into work on time, Ms. Cook," he teased.

"Maybe so, maybe so," she giggled, the thrill racing her 
pulse even faster. "I'm thinking you can probably make a 
mean PB&J for her lunch box."

For her joke, she was treated to another deep laugh 
vibrating against her neck. They sat that way for a bit, 
relishing the moment, the connection, and the utter 
decadence of the bubble bath. Both of them were practical, 
cautious, hard-working people, not familiar with 
indulgences or flights of whimsy. But, as both had learned 
over the last two months and especially tonight, there was 
a strong streak of sensuality that ran in each of them. Kim 
decided that she was going to have to thank Mulder heartily 
for prodding Walter to action. She knew exactly what to do 
for him, too.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said, one last mystery 
still unexplored.

"Mmmm...sure," Walter replied, absently rubbing his cheek 
against her hair.

"When did you change your mind and decide to tell me it was 
you?"

He chuckled against her ear, nuzzling her neck before 
answering. "While I was in Florida. Mulder made some smart-
ass comment about my rental car, that it was much better 
than the one that he and Scully had. Lots of leg room, and 
top of the line, he pointed out. I hadn't even noticed, 
because it was the type you always reserve for me. Then I 
started to really see the arrangements you'd made. I looked 
around the hotel room, and it was the nicest in the whole 
place. Room service brought me a fresh pot of strong coffee 
every morning without my asking. And I finally realized how 
much effort you put into making sure I was comfortable at 
all times, both in the office and on the road. I've had a 
lot of secretaries, Kimberly, and not one of them put half 
as much thought and care into my well-being. It occurred to 
me that perhaps I had a secret admirer of my own."

"Perhaps you did," she agreed. "Jeez, I thought you'd never 
figure it out. Maybe if I'd included a hot, lusty poem you 
would have sooner."

"Told you I was not that observant when it comes to 
myself," he laughed. "But I still owe you something, my 
dear. Lean back and enjoy." As Walter Skinner held her 
tightly under the bubbles, he gave her the final gift as 
her secret admirer, and the first as her lover.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed. 
I don't shout or jump about 
Or have to talk real loud. 
When you see me passing 
It ought to make you proud. 
I say, 
It's in the click of my heels, 
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

THE END

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