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Title: Anthony, Book One Summary: AD Walter Skinner receives an unexpected package in the mail. Could it be that the wife he thought he'd buried more than seven years earlier was still alive? And was it possible that he had a child he knew nothing about? Book One contains the first four segments of my Anthony series. This is an alternate universe series about AD Skinner and his son. It was first written prior to Avatar and although revised, it still doesn't take the events of that episode into account. The stories are rated as follows:
The first story, 'Anthony,' technically takes place over a seven-year period, and the events of the other three take place primarily within the context of this story, expanding on it and filling in more details. 'Anthony' is also somewhat disjointed, laying down the background for the stories to follow. Flashbacks are indicated by the following characters: + + + + + + at the beginning and end of the sequence. This first story doesn't go into the characters' heads very much, but there will be plenty of that in other segments. And for those of you who have read this story before, I've altered the format of this one and 'Six Weeks' so that the entire series is written from the third-person perspective. Plus, the other two stories have been re-edited and slightly changed. Cancerman is referred to by several other names, depending on the situation -- they are 'boss,' 'mentor' and 'Tom.' And finally, much thanks to my beta reader, Elizabeth -- who endeavored to keep me on the straight and narrow when I veered off :-). The X-Files and its characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television; all other characters were created by me. |
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Title: Anthony, Book One. 01. Anthony Summary: Skinner receives a mysterious package and enlists Scully and Mulder to help him potentially locate his thought-to-be-deceased wife, Clare. Introduces Skinner's son Anthony. Tuesday, June 13, 1989 The airport was crowded as the man walked up to one of the airline monitors, looked around and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He turned to walk away and bumped into a woman who put her hand on his arm and looked apologetically into his face. "Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me," she said pleasantly. He smiled nervously at her. "That's all right." The woman raised her hand, looked hesitantly into the man's face, smiled and walked past him. She continued to the opposite side of the area and stopped next to Alex Krycek. His expression showed disbelief. "You didn't do it," he accused. The woman closed her eyes briefly, then set her jaw. "Yes, I did," she countered. "Then why is he still moving?" "Not everyone reacts instantly. Let's get out of here," she replied testily. She turned and started to leave. Krycek cut her off and was visibly irritated. "Damn it, Clare, this isn't a game." He grabbed her wrist, which she pulled away. "Give it to me." She shook her head. "No." The two struggled and he removed a ring from her hand. Clare's voice took on a pleading tone. "Alex, don't do it." Krycek shook his head right back, glancing around them to see how much attention they'd attracted. "We don't have time to argue about this, he's getting away." Krycek ran after the man. When he was close to him, he called out, "Sir!" twice to get his attention and stopped next to him. He brought one hand down on the man's arm and in the other held a 20-dollar bill. He breathlessly spoke to the man. "You dropped this." "Ouch!" The man rubbed his arm and started to deny that the money was his, then changed his mind. "I didn't -- uh, thank you. That's very honest of you." Krycek smiled easily back. "No problem. Enjoy your flight." The man walked on, while Krycek looked back to Clare as she shook her head and started walking toward an exit. Alex slowly walked back toward the same exit. Behind him, the man clutched his heart, gasped for air and collapsed, a small crowd of people gathering around him as he did. Unknown location Cancerman sat at his desk and lit up a fresh cigarette as Clare came through the door. He puffed on it thoughtfully. "You wanted to see me?" Clare coolly asked. "Yes, Clare. Close the door and have a seat." She did as bidden and sat with her arms crossed. He gave her an assessing look and his tone, as usual, was quite emotionless. "I'm concerned about your recent behavior. Failure to execute orders is a very serious matter." "I'm no longer comfortable killing innocent people," she replied with narrowed eyes. "No one is innocent, you should know that by now." "What would it take to, shall we say, 'release me from my contract?'" He paused to gaze at the end of his cigarette, wondering what she was up to. "There's only way to leave the playing field before the game is over. You know that." She shook her head, realizing her ploy wasn't going to work, knowing the inevitable outcome of their exchange and regretting anew her lack of a solid, available bargaining chip. Clare was unwilling to give in immediately, though, and refocused the conversation. "Alex took care of the target. There was no harm from the organization's point of view." Cancerman executed a thin smile. If she wanted to ignore his previous comment, he'd comply... for now. "He shouldn't have had to step in, it increased the exposure of the assignment; an agent who refuses to follow orders is considered unstable, a liability. If I can't control you, my colleagues might feel it in their best interests to cut their losses. I'm hoping that won't be necessary; as my protégé, I had high hopes for you. I even thought you could potentially take my place." "And now?" she baited. "I can't trust you. You were told to break your involvement with SAC Skinner and instead you've married him." Clare smiled faintly to cover the distress she felt, knowing she was already under observation. "I hope whoever you had follow us had better luck at the tables than we did." "You don't seem to be taking this very seriously," he replied, oddly pleased that she was standing her ground. Clare got up and walked around the chair before facing him again. She spoke with sincerity and a sharp tone. "I fell in love, all right? I couldn't just break it off." "You broke one of the unwritten laws of this business," he responded, sending another plume of smoke into the air. Clare smiled as she sat down again, determined to withhold the satisfaction she knew another emotional outburst would give him. "Which one? Falling in love, or admitting it? Do you have something against him personally, or is it just that he's an honest agent?" "Maybe both. At any rate, you're forcing me to take disciplinary action by ignoring your orders. You've given me leverage, and it's seldom a good idea to do that in this business. You'll need to prove to me that taking action against your," he paused to smile, "husband is unnecessary." Clare sighed, briefly closed her eyes and then forced a smile. "I suppose I would be greatly out of line if I asked for some time to think your proposal over." "Not at all. I expect your answer by tomorrow morning." "Thank you," she answered, her thoughts already miles away. Clare got up and left the room, closing the door behind her. Krycek was outside. He looked at her anxiously and his tone betrayed some concern. "Were you able to smooth things over?" Clare's voice and expression were deadpan. "Business as usual." Cancerman thoughtfully took a few drags on the cigarette, put it out and reached for the phone. "Get me Cardinal." Just before 7p.m. Clare had some take-out food on a plate. She ate as she dialed the phone and waited for an answer. She continued to eat while on the phone, also fingering a heart-shaped pendant around her neck. Walt picked up on the other end. "Skinner." "Hi, am I interrupting you?" "No, but I'm about to leave for that meeting." Clare shook her head. "That's right, I forgot." She paused to chew. "Guess you'll have to heat up dinner." Walt could hear her chewing and was amused. "Well, from the sound of it, you weren't waiting for me anyway." She laughed in response. "Sorry, it's really spicy take-out. You'll love it." Clare started to cough; it lasted about 10 seconds. "Are you all right?" She replied hoarsely, "Yeah, I'm fine. It wanted to go down the wrong pipe, I guess. So when do you think you'll be home?" Walt's tone was warm. "I like the sound of 'home,' almost as much as 'Mrs. Skinner.'" Clare mildly protested. "Yeah, well, I still haven't agreed to change my name." Her tone became more serious. "My superiors weren't very pleased when I gave my, uh, two-week notice." Walt was irritated at this news. "It's none of their business if you want to quit." He paused to frown. "I hope they don't try to exert pressure to get you to stay." Depends what you mean by pressure, she silently answered. "I doubt it." His voice relaxed. "By the way, news of our marriage seems to have traveled through the grapevine already." Clare had another coughing fit; this one lasted longer, and when she spoke again, her voice was hoarser. Walt was concerned this time. "Maybe you should stop eating that stuff." "Yeah, you're probably right," she croaked. Walt glanced at another agent tapping his watch. "I gotta go. I love you, see you in a couple of hours." "I love you, too. 'Bye." Clare hung up the phone and thoughtfully continued to eat. A shadow was visible outside the window behind her. Several Hours Later Walt arrived at Clare's apartment. After he entered, he casually called her name, then took off his suit jacket and laid it across the sofa, shivering slightly at the chill in the air. He loosened his tie, unfastening the top button of his shirt and started to walk toward the light in the kitchen. "Clare?" He reached the room and saw Clare crumpled on the floor, her head toward him, the food and a plate around her. "Oh, my God!" He hurried to her, knelt down and turned her onto her back as he checked for a pulse. He shivered again, this time in response to her cooler body temperature, as he tilted her head back and checked for any obstruction in her throat. He removed a piece of chicken from her mouth and started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. "Breathe," he implored. He laid his head against her chest anxiously, then started CPR. "Breathe, damn it! You can't die now. I need you. There's too many things we haven't done yet!" He stopped again after several minutes, placed his fingers shakily against her carotid artery and then laid his head against her chest another time. He slowly returned to his kneeling position, removed his glasses, wiped tears from his eyes and then cradled Clare's body against him as he cried out in anguish and pain. Several Days Later A small group of people were gathered around a grave site. The minister had just finished speaking. In the distance, Krycek and Cancerman watched; Krycek seemed uncomfortable. Walt stood resolutely by himself as the minister approached him and offered his condolences. The members of the group each placed a flower on the coffin. Walt's mother and mother-in-law gave him a compassionate squeeze on the arm. They and the minister walked slowly away from the grave. Walt placed a single yellow rose on the coffin as a solitary tear fell from his eye, then he stepped back. The coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. Present Day The autumn breeze blew through the air, rustling the changing leaves. Walt looked at the headstone; it read 'Clarissa Elizabeth Hoffmann, 1960-1989.' He squatted before the headstone and laid a bouquet of yellow and cream roses on the ground. He reached out and briefly touched the stone, then stood up and walked away. Monday, September 30, 1996 Walt entered his apartment complex and stopped to retrieve his mail; along with various small envelopes was a large, padded manila one with a child's over-sized handwriting. He reached his door, unlocked it and stepped inside, being so used to the spartan furnishings that he no longer noticed them. Following the retrieval of the key from the lock, he put the mail down on the dining table, took off his overcoat and suit jacket and tossed them both over the back of the sofa. After Walt loosened his tie and unfastened the top button on his shirt, he picked up the manila envelope. He looked at the postmark (Brooklyn, IA), shrugged and opened the parcel. A heart-shaped pendant fell out; Walt looked at it with surprised recognition, turned it over and found the inscription he knew would be there -- 6/10/89 CEH WSS. He quickly checked the envelope, but there was no thing else inside. Walt shut his hand tightly around the pendant and closed his eyes. Tuesday, October 1, 1996, 9a.m. Walt was standing by the conference table looking at a map of Iowa as agents Scully and Mulder knocked on his partially open door; the pendant, envelope and a photo were laying on his desk. He looked up at the sound of the knock. "Come in." "You wanted to see us, sir?" "Yes, Agent Scully. Would you get the door, Agent Mulder?" He complied and joined the other two by the table. "Planning a trip, sir?" Mulder's words were delivered blandly. Walt slowly replied, "Yes, Agent Mulder." Walt walked over to his desk, retrieved the three items and walked back. "I need to ask you and Agent Scully for assistance in a personal matter." He handed Scully the photo and put the envelope on the table. Mulder picked it up and briefly examined it, before looking over Scully's shoulder at the photo. The image showed a woman in her late twenties, long, auburn hair softly falling around her face. "Who is she?" Scully asked. Walt's tone became quiet and had a tiny amount of pain mixed in when he finally answered. "My wife." Both Scully and Mulder were clearly surprised. Mulder was taken aback as he stumbled through his words. "I didn't realize you were married, sir." "Officially, I'm widowed, Agent Mulder. Clare died four days after we were married. That picture was taken on our honeymoon." Both Scully and Mulder murmured condolences before Scully continued sympathetically. "May I ask how, sir?" Walt looked across the room for a few seconds, remembering. "She choked to death on a piece of chicken." Scully and Mulder exchanged a dubious look. "Yesterday, I received this in the mail." He held up the pendant. "May I?" Scully asked. Walt handed the pendant to her. She turned it over and read the inscription aloud as Mulder looked at the envelope again. "6/10/89 CEH WSS." She looked up questioningly. "I gave that to Clare the day we were married. She was wearing it when I buried her." "How did you two meet?" Mulder asked, suspicion and paranoia already surfacing. "We were introduced -- Clare was a field agent." "What did the autopsy reveal?" Walt turned to look at Scully. "There wasn't one." Scully's expression was one of incredulity. "There were no signs of foul play; when I'd spoken to her earlier, she'd been coughing as she ate. Her doctor said she'd had an allergic reaction; there wasn't any reason to believe her death was anything but accidental." Mulder chewed his lip. "How long did the two of you know each other?" "Six weeks." "Would she have had any reason to fake her own death?" "Mulder!" Scully's tone was sharp. "It's all right, Scully." Walt paused. "I don't know. I'm hoping to find the answer to that question in Iowa." Later That Day Walt, Scully and Mulder were showing people the seven-year-old photo of Clare and having little success. Scully was looking discouraged as she met up with Mulder. "Any luck?" Mulder shook his head, a faint smile crossing his face. "No, although the last guy thought he saw her on 'America's Most Wanted.'" Scully shot him a spare me look before shaking her head. "Think this is a wild goose chase?" Mulder shrugged in partial reply. "I don't know. Someone had to send that package." "The handwriting was clearly that of a child." "Yes, but the $64,000 question is *whose* child, Scully." She frowned. "I hate to see him get his hopes up." The subject of their conversation came running up to them, breathless. "I just spoke to a woman who thinks Clare works at the Grinnell Public Library," Walt said tensely. Grinnell Public Library They entered the main entrance and purposefully approached the woman behind the partition. Walt held out the photo and his voice was calm, despite his hopes. "Excuse me, do you recognize the woman in this photo?" She took the photo and looked at it, screwing her eyes up in concentration. "That's Trish. Of course, the hair is different and she doesn't usually wear that much make-up." Her eyes rose suggestively. "Or wear clothes like that." "Trish?" Scully inquired. The woman, whose nametag read 'Jane,' replied, "Our head librarian, Patricia Cartwright." She handed the photo back. "Are you from the FBI?" Walt's eyebrows instantly went up. "Why do you think we're from the FBI?" Jane leaned forward and spoke in a loud whisper. "Well, Trish is part of the Witness Protection Program, isn't she? That's why I've always assumed she reads the Washington, DC, papers." Mulder was amused -- especially since the US Marshal's Service administered that program -- but endeavored to keep it out of his voice. "Is Ms. Cartwright here? We'd like to speak to her." Jane shook her head. "No, it's her day off. Hold on a minute, I'll get her address." She returned quickly with a slip of paper, which she handed to Walt. "Here you go. Uh... is Trish in some sort of trouble?" Walt wasn't sure if he was amused or irritated by her interest. "We're really not at liberty to say." He was about to thank her when a thought came to him. "Does Ms. Cartwright have a husband or children?" Scully and Mulder both unconsciously winced at that, while Jane instantly smiled. "A little boy, Anthony; he's about six and a half. No husband, though; as I understand it, he died before she knew she was pregnant." Walt wasn't sure how to react to the news and kept his expression blank from long practice. "Thank you." "If anybody asks, you were never here, right?" Jane loudly whispered as they turned to go. Mulder managed to refrain from commenting until they were outside again. "I guess what they say is true -- everything you need to know *is* at the library." 259 Asbury Lane The three stood on the back porch, unsuccessfully peering through the windows. "Doesn't look like anybody's home," Mulder said, stating the obvious. Scully looked at Walt. "Think the woman at the library tipped her off?" Walt shook his head. "If Clare were going to run, she'd have taken the car." He paused. "Wait -- listen." Anthony stopped his bicycle when his mother yelled his name a second time. She was walking about a house length behind him. "Walk your bike up the driveway and then you can help me with dinner." "Okay, Mom." Anthony got off the bike and started walking it toward the driveway. His mother smiled and ambled toward the house. Anthony saw three people standing at the other end of the driveway. A look of recognition crossed his face as he dropped his bike and started running toward Walt. His voice was happy and excited. "Dad!" His mother, having heard his outburst, stopped dead in her tracks, a look of concern on her face as she yelled his name again and started running after him. Walt, Scully and Mulder weren't surprised to hear the little boy call out. Walt squatted and caught Anthony when he reached him. His mother appeared at the other end of the driveway and abruptly halted when she saw Walt and the others. Skinner was now standing and holding Anthony; the woman and Walt locked eyes momentarily. He murmured, "Clare," as he put Anthony down and started moving toward her; she closed her eyes briefly and looked down. When she raised her head, tears were starting to fall; her expression was a mix of apprehension and joy as she met him. Scully and Mulder waited by the car as Walt and Clare hesitantly held hands. Anthony ran up to his parents and wrapped an arm around Clare's leg. "How did you find me, Walt?" Clare softly asked. In response, he took the pendant from his pocket and handed it to her. She shook her head again as she looked at their son. "Anthony." She gazed back at Walt. "We'd better go in before the neighbors get more curious." All five of them -- four adults and the boy -- stood in the living room now that introductions were completed. The awkward silence was broken by a ringing phone, and a temporarily reprieved Clare moved to answer it. "Excuse me. Hello?" The others heard her side of the conversation. "Jane, it's not a good time to talk right now... What?... They're here, that's fine... For the hundredth time, Jane, I am not in the Witness Protection Program. good-bye." Clare hung up and nervously tried to joke with her guests. "God help anyone in that program who ever comes in contact with her." She paused. "Have a seat." Scully and Mulder sat down, uneasy about being present at this reunion, now that their quarry had been found. Walt sat on a sofa next to where Clare was standing, Anthony sitting next to him. "Can I get anyone anything?" Clare asked, wringing her hands. Walt took her hand and tugged her closer to the sofa. "Cl--, Trish, we're fine." She smiled before sighing. "God. Where do I even start?" She turned to her son. "Anthony, go upstairs and play in your room for a while." He whined, not at all happy about being banished, even for a little while. "Aw, Mom, I wanna stay with Dad." She smiled and gave him a push. "He's not going anywhere." Anthony reluctantly acquiesced and left. Clare sat on the sofa, leaving space between herself and Walt. A thought came to her and she hastily called after her son. "And no eavesdropping." She waited a few seconds till she heard his feet hitting the stairs with exaggerated force before speaking to her guests, looking specifically at Walt. "Apparently, I didn't adequately explain to Anthony how dangerous it was to contact you; children let their curiosity get the better of them sometimes." She paused, as though weighing her words. "I'm not altogether surprised you haven't moved in seven years." Walt felt an annoying confusion of emotions but managed to answer her quietly. "If contacting me represented such a danger, why tell Anthony who I am?" Clare shook her head. "I didn't at first, but he'd been asking a lot of questions about you lately; he has your persistence." She took a deep breath before continuing, looking at Mulder. "I'm very sorry for the loss of your father, Agent Mulder. I owed him a large debt of gratitude; I stayed with him until I was sufficiently recovered from my, uh, death." Mulder was clearly surprised to learn of his father's involvement. "He helped you fake your death?" "No, he helped take care of me after the fact." Clare tried to tell her story without emotion; she also tended not to look Walt in the eye, as he seemed to be telegraphing various feelings to her, not the least of which were hurt and betrayal. "I contacted a man named Michael Bennett... your Deep Throat. Since he's now dead, and you're already familiar with him, there's no harm mentioning him by name." Mulder's paranoia jumped perceptibly. "How do you know I called him Deep Throat?" She allowed a tiny smile to cross her lips. "You shouldn't assume there's a conspiracy behind every door, Agent Mulder -- some of them, yes, but not all of them. He, Bennett, kept tabs on me, he mentioned your nickname; he was amused by it. He -- he arranged for a certain drug to be delivered to me, one that would suppress my respiratory system to the point where I would appear dead and keep me in that state for a specified period." Scully looked at her. "What drug?" Clare was slow to respond. "It was referred to as Compound Z5, an experimental and controversial combination of substances, among them tetrodotoxin." "Which is?" Walt asked with as detached a tone as he could manage. Scully volunteered the information before Clare could speak again. "It's a powerful paralytic found in the ovaries of pufferfish and is believed to be used in Haitian voodoo potions, for the zombie ritual." Clare nodded before slowly going on. "Convincing the undertaker not to fill my body with formaldehyde was a problem." "I'll bet," Walt muttered. Clare ignored his comment. "Bennett put his life in great jeopardy to save mine. He was forced to leave me buried until the second night because my grave was being watched. After he, uh, dug me up, he administered the necessary counter-measures immediately and transferred me to your father's house." She absently smoothed the fabric on the sofa's arm. "Bennett assumed my grave would be watched, so he managed to have a specially designed coffin used, one with tiny concealed oxygen tanks that operated on a timer." Clare looked down into her lap, trying to mask her unhappy expression. "I didn't at first respond very favorably to the counter-measure; your father wanted to take me to a hospital, but Bennett and the nurse talked him out of it. After seven days, I regained consciousness, but it was another week before I was strong enough to leave. Your father wanted me to wait longer, but I didn't want him exposed to the danger I represented any longer than was absolutely necessary." With a tremendous effort, Walt managed to keep his voice level and quiet. "Why didn't you tell me you were in trouble?" Clare looked uncomfortably into her lap again. "Because you couldn't help me." She raised her head and looked directly at him. "You *know* that." "Why Deep Throat?" Scully inquired. "I'd had previous dealings with him; I leaked information to him that someone close to him was in jeopardy." She sighed heavily. "He also indicated we were of a similar opinion." Mulder prompted her when she failed to go on. "Which was?" .".. That certain secrets shouldn't remain that way." "And my father?" Clare took a deep breath before replying. "Your father understood the position I was in. He somehow felt we were kindred spirits. He seemed very concerned for my safety, very protective. I spoke to him only twice after that. The first time to tell him about Anthony." She hesitated, looking at Mulder's eyes. "And the second time... was the day he was murdered." Those words got a definite rise out of Mulder and he dug his fingers into his thigh, trying to stay in control. "He said my mentor had visited him, that sensitive files had been compromised and that he planned to tell you of his involvement in a certain project." Mulder briefly held his breath, anticipating finally getting to at least some of the truth. "What kind of project?" Clare lowered her head and was reluctant to reply. Mulder got more agitated. "Tell me." Her voice was soft. "Combining alien DNA with human DNA." Scully's reaction was one of dubiousness. "He told you that?" Clare shook her head. "He didn't have to, I once came across a portion of the MJ documents that wasn't entirely encrypted. I saw his name with reference to the 'merchandise' and inoculations; it also mentioned a submarine, the Zeus Faber." Walt got a strange expression on his face, which Clare couldn't help notice. She rolled her eyes and stood up. "Excuse me." Walt focused his attention back on her. "Where are you going?" She kept her voice casual. "To check on Anthony." She left the room and hurriedly climbed the stairs. "Zeus Faber," Mulder angrily said while shaking his head. Walt got up and walked to the base of the stairs, he saw Clare first reprimand then hug Anthony. Scully, forever the skeptic, voiced her opinion. "Mulder, your father wasn't old enough to be involved with the sub's attempt at retrieval. She said the page was partially encrypted, maybe she made a mistake, or--" Walt reentered the room. "I'm sorry, sir, but maybe she's making all this up." Mulder took a cleansing breath and calmed down a notch. "No, Scully, if she'd come to us with this story I'd maybe agree, but we came to her; she has no reason to make this up." He turned to Walt. "I'm sure listening to this isn't easy for you, sir." Clare reentered the room just before Walt agreed. "No, Mulder, it isn't. Maybe you and Scully should go get some dinner, come back in a few hours while I stay here." Scully wasn't sure that was a good idea. "Are you sure, sir?" Walt allowed a faint smile to surface. "I'm certain, uh, Trish will feed me." Clare was cutting up salad vegetables while Walt stood in the doorway, watching Anthony play with a truck across the hall. Anthony stopped for a moment and waved uncertainly to Walt, who smiled back at him. He turned his attention back to Clare. "He looks just like you." "Really? I always thought he looked like you." "He's telepathic, isn't he?" Walt asked without warning. Clare's attention immediately left what she was doing and she nicked herself with the knife. Walt tried to help her but she waved him away and ran water over her finger. "It's just a small cut," she muttered. Walt leaned against the counter as Clare turned off the water and opened a cabinet to retrieve a box of bandages. "Why did Anthony really contact me?" he quietly asked. Clare avoided his eyes. "I told you, he was curious." Walt took the Band-Aid from her and applied it to her finger. "I don't believe you." Neither noticed that Anthony had walked to the kitchen doorway until he spoke with a child's seriousness. "Mom's dying." "Anthony!" He walked over to his mother and wrapped his arm around her leg; she wrapped her arm protectively around his shoulder. Walt was startled by what Anthony said. "How?" Clare kindly trailed her fingers along Anthony's jaw. "Anthony, please go wash up for dinner." When he didn't move, Clare led him to the doorway and detached his arm from her. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Sweetpea. Go on, it'll be all right." He left. Clare leaned against the door jamb and tilted her head back against it before looking at Walt. Her tone became serious. "Six months ago, we were involved in a car accident. Anthony had just taken his seatbelt off to reach for something he dropped on the floor. I told him to rebuckle his belt, but before he could, we were broadsided." She paused. "He suffered numerous broken bones and was bleeding internally. His spleen had to be removed. I-I was afraid I was going to lose him... I felt so guilty." Walt took her in his arms and held her as she cried. After a while, she detached herself from him and walked away; she turned to look at Walt as she spoke, her tone skeptical. "My injuries didn't appear serious. In fact, I barely had a scratch on me. The doctors didn't foresee any problems; but now they have reluctantly decided that I must have hit my head harder than they first thought, and it caused a blood vessel in my brain to weaken." Walt took a few more seconds to absorb this information before slowly speaking. "You don't sound like you believe them." Clare looked past him, an almost guilty expression on her face. "I left out a few things about Compound Z5." Walt was instantly suspicious. "Like what?" "Like... like I was the first human subject," she whispered. Walt had an incredulous expression on his face as she continued. "During my time at the Academy, I assisted in the creation of the first two versions, Z1 and 2; I kept tabs on the experiments. Z5, unlike the earlier versions, proved to be 100 percent stable. The drug was tested on laboratory rats. It was determined that the maximum safety time to remain under the effect of the drug was 73 hours; between 73 and 77 hours, the subjects suffered some brain damage; after 77 hours, the brain damage was severe. None of the subjects survived past 80 hours." Clare's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "It was hoped that human subjects would have a longer survival window, due to the more complex nature of the human brain." Walt felt his anger building at her recklessness. "Why use a substance that for all intents and purposes was untested?" Clare nearly bit his head off in response. "Because there had to be no doubt it was my body, and I had to try to avoid an autopsy." She took a deep breath and regained control. "I called you that night to set up the choking pretense. I was under the effects of the drug for 75 hours, what was called the yellow zone. It's more than likely the drug weakened the blood vessels and the accident simply accelerated the damage. Whatever the actual cause, I now have an aneurysm; the doctors can't operate; and they can't tell how much longer I'll survive." Clare saw Anthony in the doorway and inclined her head toward Walt to indicate that he was behind him. "Mom?" Clare absently rubbed her forehead. "Yes, honey." "Are you and, uh, Dad, finished talking?" He looked uncertainly at both. Clare forced a smile. "Yes, we are. Are you hungry?" Anthony slowly nodded, his large, round eyes still radiating concern. "Why don't you and Walt go set the table then." He narrowed his eyes and reluctantly complied. Anthony went to a drawer and removed some flatware while Clare took some plates and bowls out and handed them to Walt. The younger Skinner walked out and Walt followed him to the dining room. "Dad?" Walt made no effort to stop the smile spreading across his face. He liked the sound of the word his son had just used. "Yes, Anthony." He frowned, not understanding everything that was going on. "Is Mom a bad person?" Walt put the dishes down and looked at Anthony in surprise. "No, Anthony, she's not." His son screwed his eyes up in confusion. "Then why are you mad at her?" Walt wasn't sure what to say as he protested. "I'm not mad at her. I just -- I just disagree with some of the things she's done." "Does that mean you don't love her anymore?" Walt shook his head, and the look on his face became distant. "No, I still love her." Clare entered the room carrying the salad and main dish. She eyed them suspiciously. "What are you two talking about?" Anthony got a big, bright smile on his face. "Guy stuff." Clare was clearly amused. "Oh, yeah? Well, how about bringing in the rolls, Mr. Guy Stuff." Anthony flashed a bigger smile and left. Walt took Clare's elbow as she turned to leave; she looked at him questioningly as he gently pulled her toward him and kissed her. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" He replied with a soft tone. "To let you know I still love you." Several hours later Scully rang the doorbell. "Think she knows who Mr. X is?" Mulder nodded with no hesitation. "Yes, but I'm equally sure she won't tell us." Clare opened the door and invited them in. Scully looked around, suspicious at her boss' absence. "Where's Assistant Director Skinner?" "Upstairs giving Anthony a bath." Mulder didn't make much effort to keep the acerbity from his voice. "He seems to have adapted to fatherhood fairly quickly." Clare sighed, disheartened that Walt apparently kept himself so distant from people. "Agent Mulder, there's a lot you don't know about Walt. You only see his work persona; his personal side is quite different." At least it used to be, she silently thought. "Did either of his sides happen to mention why he asked for our help?" His eyes suggested another meaning to the question. "Mulder!" Scully scolded. Clare shook her head. "I don't expect either of you to like me; hell, I still have trouble looking in the mirror after seven years. Walt asked for your help because he wasn't positive what he'd encounter when and if he found me; he trusts you both, and that's not something to be taken lightly in this game." Walt came down the stairs and Clare turned to him. "How'd it go?" He finished rolling down his sleeves. "Fine. I tucked him in bed but he's waiting for you to kiss him good night." Clare smiled and went upstairs. Scully, Mulder and Walt moved back into the living room, Scully and Mulder retaking the seats they had been in previously. Walt continued to stand. "Before Clare comes back, I want to warn you, you're not going to like what she has to say. In fact, I tried to talk her out of telling you anything more, but she feels you deserve to know the rest." Clare reentered the room; she and Walt sat on the sofa, this time closer together and holding hands. Scully and Mulder remained seated throughout most of the conversation, exchanging occasional glances. Clare alternated between looking at them and Walt. *He* remained composed throughout the conversation. Clare's voice initially was resolute. "Before I start, I want to say that I won't reveal the identities of people you've given colorful nicknames to... it's as much for your protection as theirs." "I was recruited in 1984, by the person you know as Cancerman. I became his protégé. I spent two years in Research before another year of handling routine cases. Over the span of that year, I became an assassin. Cancerman was grooming me to eventually take his place in the organization; he exposed me to more information than most operatives. My specialty was promoting accidents for various targets, mostly injecting them with an untraceable chemical that would cause a heart attack. Around the beginning of 1989, I started to have doubts about what I was doing. That's when I started my dealings with Bennett." "A few months later, Cancerman provided me with a partner. I became more disillusioned with the assignments and had trouble holding my tongue. The day of my faked death, I refused to execute a target. I was called into Cancerman's office. He wasn't happy with my behavior; it was the second time I'd failed to follow orders in as many weeks. The first time was... it was..." Clare looked at Walt apologetically. "When she refused to murder me," Walt quietly finished. Scully and Mulder were extremely surprised. "What?" Clare slowly continued. "There were three candidates for the Assistant Directorship. Cancerman and his colleagues had a definite preference for who got it, but they agreed not to interfere. My boss, however, decided to act on his own, feeling confident that the others would back him after the fact. They didn't want Walt or Ben Latham to get it. They wanted Cal Jarvey in the position because they felt he most closely mirrored their objectives. Walt was the most likely candidate but the one they least wanted." "Why?" Mulder queried. "Because they rightly believed I wouldn't blindly follow their politics," Walt replied. Clare was distinctly unhappy as she went on. "I was to seduce one and set up a triangle with the other. Engineer an unfortunate incident that would kill both of them. I had no way of knowing I'd fall in love with Walt. At the end of the fifth week of the assignment, I told Cancerman I wouldn't go through with it. He wasn't happy; he had me detained while he consulted with the others about how to proceed. In actuality, he was in trouble for orchestrating the plan and had been ordered to put a stop to it." Scully found this statement incongruous. "How do you know that?" "Because I received an anonymous note telling me the plan hadn't been sanctioned but assuring me I wouldn't be disciplined for my involvement. At that point, Cancerman told me to break all ties to Walt... the sooner the better." "I think I tried once. Walt proposed and I put up a brief 'not ready for marriage and motherhood' front." Clare looked fondly at Walt. "Then I caved in and we were married in Las Vegas the next day." Her expression suddenly shifted to a frown. "Cancerman had us followed. When I next spoke to him, he gave me a thinly veiled option: commit suicide or be eliminated. He implied that failure to accept one would result in grievous injury to Walt. I couldn't take the chance he was bluffing." "Why didn't you copy files as protection?" Mulder asked. "Clare did. She had three copies," Walt interjected. "What happened to them?" Scully queried, an eyebrow askance. Clare briefly closed her eyes. "A string of bizarre and unforeseen incidents." "Just what exactly was on the disks?" Clare turned toward Scully. "The names and locations of the principal players and operatives. Some have recently died, or are at least assumed dead; people like Alex Krycek and Luis Cardinal." Scully and Mulder both reacted strongly to the names, sputtering and shaking their heads. Mulder stood up before speaking, a bitter tone lacing his words. "Did you *know* them or just *of* them?" "Cardinal I knew by reputation; in fact, he was the one Cancerman had following me my last, uh, day. He was outside my apartment window that night. I put on a special death performance just for him and nearly did choke on that chicken." "What about Krycek?" There was a long pause. "Alex was my partner." This news drew a more animated response from Mulder and he loudly banged his hand on the fireplace mantle, nearly toppling a photo. "I guess Cancerman didn't trust him to kill me -- I don't know, seven years ago there was still some compassion in Alex, but I certainly didn't trust him enough to help me." Mulder took a deep breath and pursed his lips in irritation. "Do you know who Mr. X is?" Clare shook her head. "I can't tell you anything you don't already know." "But you know who he is," Mulder persisted. "From the description Walt gave me, yes. But exposing his identity won't do you any good; he'd end up like Bennett." "Clare was able to recreate 95% of the information on the disks," Walt abruptly stated. Scully turned her head in question. "How is that possible?" "One of the main reasons Cancerman recruited me was because of my near-perfect photographic memory. When I contacted Bennett, I told him I could recreate the files, but he advised me to forget everything I knew. After I spoke to Bennett, Cardinal tightened his surveillance; I just hoped he'd wait long enough for me to take the drug. By the time I'd fully recovered and recreated the files, I realized I was pregnant; my focus shifted entirely to the baby and keeping us both anonymous." Scully hadn't noticed anything wrong with Anthony, but felt compelled to ask her question anyway. "Have you noticed any signs that the drugs have affected him?" Clare and Walt looked hesitantly at each other before Walt slowly replied. "Anthony is telepathic." "Excuse me?" "I assume he's had the ability since birth, but it's only been in the last year that it's become obvious," Clare explained. "Has he shown signs of being telekinetic?" Mulder asked, interest piqued. "No, and I've haven't pursued it either. He's just a little boy, he barely understands the telepathy; he thinks it's a game. He's gotten quite good at reading thoughts, although he's not too subtle about projecting them. In fact, that's why I went to check on him earlier tonight; I could tell by the look on Walt's face that Anthony was trying to project something." "Is that how he got Assistant Director Skinner's address?" Scully asked. "No. I've been thinking about Walt a lot in the last two weeks and Anthony picked up on that. I wrote Walt a letter, had it addressed, but ripped it up. Anthony told us tonight that he found it and pieced it back together." Mulder felt his paranoia rising again. "Why so much in the last two weeks?" Clare looked down and Walt quietly answered for her. "Because she's dying." Scully and Mulder showed a mix of expressions, not the least of which was skepticism. Clare slowly filled them in. "Two weeks ago, the doctors were able to make a diagnosis regarding my persistent headaches and backaches. The aneurysm is located in such a place that surgery isn't possible. I could live anywhere from one week to one year, nobody knows. I made arrangements for Anthony to be adopted by one of my co-workers after my death. She's the only other person who knows about his telepathy. I didn't contact my family or Walt because I was afraid of the consequences of my reappearing." "And now?" Scully gently probed. Clare looked at Walt as he squeezed her hand. "Now everything has changed." Walt cleared his throat. "We have reluctantly decided to use the disk to guarantee Anthony's safety." Mulder was both surprised and disappointed. "You're not concerned with repercussions against yourselves?" Clare shrugged, "I'm already dying. What more can they do to me? As to Walt's well-being, his position as Assistant Director more or less safeguards him." Scully slowly responded, not actually agreeing with Clare. "Then you believe Cancerman was acting on his own when he had Cardinal try to kill him." "Yes. If Cancerman's colleagues weren't behind him before, it's very unlikely they would sanction an attempt on Walt's life now; his profile is too high." Mulder didn't believe this line of reasoning and protested. "But when I met with one of these 'colleagues,' he warned me that AD Skinner's life was in jeopardy." Clare smiled faintly. "The fact that he warned you proves my point. I'm fairly certain I know which of them you met with, and I know how to contact him." Mulder couldn't exactly force them to turn over the disk, but felt obligated to voice his opinion once more. "Making that disk known would cripple their organization." Clare didn't agree. "It wouldn't destroy it; I'm sure they've recruited plenty of new operatives in the last seven years. If only my safety were an issue, I wouldn't hesitate to make the contents of the disk public; but I have to be concerned with the continued safety of my child. Certainly you understand the necessity of making sacrifices to protect the people you care about, Agent Mulder." Clare stood next to her bed wearing a nightshirt. She rubbed her forehead with one hand and her back with the other. After a moment, she opened a bottle of ibuprofen, took a few pills, closed the bottle and placed the pills in her mouth. She picked up a glass of water, drank some and swallowed while Walt came through the doorway. He was without his glasses, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. She turned around to look at him as she rubbed her back and forehead again. He walked toward her. "Bad dream?" she asked tiredly. "Yeah." She sighed and rubbed harder. "He's been having a lot of nightmares lately." Walt took one of her hands and softly kissed the back of it. "Are you all right?" She smiled faintly at his concern. "Usual aches and pains." He smiled back, more broadly. "Turn around." She gave him a questioning look and complied. Walt proceeded to massage her shoulders and back with a firm, gentle pressure. After a few moments, Clare sighed deeply. "I'd almost forgotten how well you do that." The massage lasted a bit longer before Clare took his hands and turned around. She looked deeply into his eyes. "It's not the only thing about you I've missed." Their eyes lit up with feelings they had thought were buried long ago as they leaned close together and shared a kiss reminiscent of their early days -- searching, passionate and fulfilling. When it was over, they briefly rested their heads against one another before looking into each other's eyes. Walt spoke with a seriousness that underlied his feelings. "Promise me one thing." Clare recognized his seriousness and cautiously replied, "If I can." "From now on, no more secrets." She smiled mischievously. "There goes your surprise birthday party." "I'm serious." She nodded somberly. "I know; I promise." He pulled her tighter against him and had a contented/protective look about him while she raised her eyes heavenward and briefly closed them. They looked at each other again and kissed. Wednesday, October 2, 1996 Clare entered the premises alone and immediately ignored the man at the desk as she walked to the entrance of a large drawing room, scanning it for someone. The man, with practiced politeness, informed her of her transgression. "Excuse me, madam, but this is a private club; women are only allowed if they are guests." He started to take Clare by the elbow when she turned to him and smiled with tremendous charm and apology. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure my uncle was here." The man had heard that euphemism before and responded warily. "Which man is your, uh, uncle?" She pointed to the Well-Manicured Man (WMM.) "That's him. I just flew in as a surprise. Would you mind giving him this note?" Clare handed him a folded piece of paper, which he reluctantly took. "Please? We haven't seen each other in such a long time." He was persuaded by her earnest expression and walked to the WMM. The man handed the note to the WMM and pointed back to Clare. She waved to him and the WMM, with a surprised expression, waved back. Without reading the note, he got up and walked back to the entranceway. He opened his arms wide to embrace Clare. "My dear, this is indeed a pleasant surprise." He turned to the man who had followed him back. "David, I'll need to use one of the private suites." 'David' was used to this sort of thing and instantly obliged. "I must say, Clarissa, you're the last person I expected to see here," he uttered with politeness once they were alone. She faintly smiled in response. "You and my mother are the only ones who ever called me Clarissa." He nodded slowly and examined a book from one of the shelves. "Is Mr. Skinner aware of your, shall we say, rebirth?" "Yes." He put the book back and smiled at her. "I'm flattered that you trusted me enough to come here." "It would be more accurate to say that I distrust you the least." The WMM smiled broader as Clare took a photo out of a pocket and handed it to him. "Who is this?" She became quite serious. "His name is Anthony. I thought you might like to see a recent photo of him; he is, after all, your grandson." His eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "What an interesting thought. Exactly what makes you believe it to be true?" "Several things. The timing of the order to end my involvement with Walt. You'd had a heart attack days prior to the assignment; a rather severe one, if I recall correctly. You returned to duty, if you will, just prior to my refusal to complete the plan." "Tom failed to inform us about your refusal; it doesn't, however, surprise me since you continued to see Mr. Skinner. By the way, allow me to extend my belated congratulations on your marriage. Surely you've based your supposition on more than the coincidence of my return and that decision?" She smiled and elaborated more. "The anonymous note I received had the faintest aroma of your cologne. I also wondered why Bennett was able to dig me up so soon. My knowledge of Z5 wasn't a secret; the prudent thing to do would have been to watch my grave until the 80 hour mark was reached, except the agents mysteriously disappeared five hours earlier, giving me a chance to survive." "As I recall, testing at that point indicated brain damage at the 75 hour mark. You seem to be fine." "Perhaps it had something to do with the pure oxygen Bennett put in the coffin; I don't know. It was a risk I had to take." She paused. "Six months ago, Anthony was diagnosed with spherocytosis. The doctor said in 20 years of practice, he'd seen only one other case, when he did an internship in northern Europe. Apparently, it's quite rare and hereditary, although in this case, it seems to have skipped a generation." The WMM smiled faintly. "And why do you believe I have this affliction?" "I was with Tom when he visited you in the private hospital. A nurse had carelessly left your chart where I could reach it. There was a notation regarding the abnormal shape of your red blood cells. I also found mention of your spleen being removed as part of your medical history." He sighed and stopped examining the back of his hand. "Have you shared your conclusions with Mr. Skinner?" "I think Walt is having a hard enough time dealing with *my* involvement in the Consortium; he doesn't need to know it's a family affair." The WMM got an expression of fond remembrance. "Ah, the indiscretions of youth. Angelica was a lovely creature... it was a short relationship. I didn't discover she'd had our child and put said child up for adoption until a few years afterward. Odd how that theme has recurred with you and Mr. Skinner, except for the adoption." "It's amusing the way you call *me* Clarissa, but refer to your own son as *Mr.* Skinner." Clare's tone became quite serious. "When Walt was transferred in the ambulance and you warned Agent Mulder, how did you know that Agent Scully would reach him in time?" He replied slowly, "I didn't." Clare looked belatedly concerned and the WMM looked apologetic. "Well, this informative reunion aside, why have you chosen to resurface?" Clare make little effort to soften her grim expression as she slowly responded. "I'm dying and Anthony contacted Walt without my knowledge." "I see... may I inquire as to how? Your impending death, that is." "A brain aneurysm. Maybe I was under the influence of the drug too long, or maybe it's a long-term side effect. At any rate, I'm coming to you for a guarantee of Anthony's safety." He responded with true sincerity. "My dear Clarissa, I would very much like to comply. The last thing I want is for my grandson to be harmed. But--" She interrupted him. "But you need something concrete to convince the others to leave him alone." He nodded, "Exactly." Clare took a disk from her pocket and handed it to him. He understood its significance and sighed. "We seem to be having a recurring problem with security. What happens to be on this disk?" "The names of most of your colleagues and operatives worldwide, and how to contact them; granted, the information is slightly out of date." "Yes, but still very damaging; why only most?" "The original disk and its copies were destroyed by 'quirks' of fate before I could use them seven years ago. The disk you have represents the recreation of 95% of the files. Needless to say, there are more copies distributed nationwide. I hope the people in possession of them will never need to make them public." He nodded again. "Ah, yes, that photographic memory of yours. Tom was very careless to allow you access to this information." "How you care to deal with him isn't my concern." She paused, then went on. "I might have tried contacting you seven years ago, except I couldn't be sure how long Cardinal would wait before he killed me. And I couldn't risk injury to Walt by losing him and coming here." The WMM frowned with distaste. "Mr. Cardinal, yes. While he's no longer a problem, there are plenty of others to do his work. Where is Anthony now?" "Under the protection of Agents Scully and Mulder." He smiled faintly. "Scully and Mulder. Somehow, I'm not surprised to find them involved; I trust you didn't reveal anything to them?" "Nothing that they didn't already know or strongly suspect." "I'm surprised that Mr. Ski--, I'm surprised that my son allowed you to come here alone." "It took me quite a while to convince him it was safer and in his best interest for me to do this alone." The WMM walked to Clare and gently took her hand; his voice was sincere while he smiled. "I'm pleased to know that my son found someone who cares as deeply for him as you do; I wish it could have been under different circumstances. I'll call a meeting immediately, but it will take a little time to assemble everyone. Give me a number where I can reach you -- I'll phone you as soon as it's over." He gently squeezed Clare's hand. "I guarantee that my grandson will not be harmed and I'll make sure Tom receives instructions to likewise leave you alone; I wish I could do the same for my son." Clare squeezed his hand back and kissed his cheek. "Walt understands the field he's playing on." 46th Street, New York City The Associates were seated, waiting for the arrival of Cancerman; he entered and was assisted in the removal of his overcoat. The stout Associate, First Elder, began the discussion in a serious tone. "We've had another leak." Cancerman responded without concern as he lit up. "What sort of leak?" "One potentially more dangerous than the MJ documents." The WMM took over. "I had a visit today from one of your operatives, a charming, thought to be dead, operative, actually." Cancerman blew out the smoke with nary a change in expression. "Clare." "Yes, Miss Hoffmann, or should I say, Mrs. Skinner." Associate Two jumped in with an accusatory tone. "How could you let her have access to information about our operatives?" "What makes you think I allowed her access?" Cancerman smoothly rejoindered. The First Elder replied with surprise. "You're saying she broke into the files?" "Clare was very resourceful; the fact that she successfully faked her death should prove that." The WMM broke in. "Gentlemen. How she was able to get the information is immaterial. We need to concentrate on controlling the situation." "What does she want?" Cancerman asked, taking another drag on his cigarette. "A guarantee of safety for her son. I think we should agree." A2 shook his head. "We can't afford to let her blackmail us." The First Elder disagreed. "What we can't afford is for the contents of that disk to be made public." "How do we know that a copy won't surface?" A2 asked. "She's taken care of that." Cancerman looked with interest at the WMM. "Really... how?" "She didn't say, but as you earlier remarked, she is very resourceful. I think her request is reasonable." First Elder reluctantly nodded. "He's right." Associate Three entered the conversation with suspicion. "How do we know she won't 'request' something more later?" The WMM allowed a tiny frown to cross his face. "Because she's dying, a complication of Compound Z5." Cancerman raised his eyes. "She's managed to survive longer than the others." He puffed some more and abruptly changed topics. "This child, who is the father?" "Assistant Director Skinner." First Elder looked at Cancerman with a trace of disdain. "It would seem you had much to do with putting us in this situation." "I'll take care of it," he replied and snuffed out the cigarette. "No, you won't," First Elder countered. "You've done enough already." He turned to address all the members. "This child will be left alone." Cancerman started to light up another cigarette and had a thoughtful expression on his face. The WMM noticed it and spoke up again. "I think it would be prudent to leave Mrs. Skinner alone as well. After all, we don't want the Assistant Director embarking on a personal crusade to find us." First Elder nodded his head in assent. "Agreed, no one will interfere with Mrs. Skinner, either." Unknown Motel Location Walt was anxiously pacing the floor while Clare was laying on the bed, a wet washcloth and her arm across her forehead. Walt checked his watch impatiently again. "What's taking so long?" Clare replied with a tired voice. "Wearing a hole in the carpet won't make the phone ring any faster." He briefly stopped and looked at her with surprise. "I don't know how you can be so calm about waiting." "Getting worked up isn't in my best interests." He completely stopped this time and walked to the bed, sitting on the edge and taking Clare's hand. "I'm sorry. Can I get anything for you?" She sat up and removed the washcloth; she was about to say something when the phone rang. Both turned to look at it before Clare reached for the phone. "Hello?" Walt watched her tensely as she listened. "Thank you." She hung up and looked at him with relief. "They agreed. Anthony is safe." Thursday, October 3, 1996 Scully and Anthony were sitting around the kitchen table playing checkers. Each had a serious expression on their face. Mulder came into the room. "Who's winning?" he asked with amusement. "I am," Anthony happily responded. Scully sighed and made another move. "I thought playing checkers would be more even. He seemed to know what was in my hand when we played Go Fish." "The problem of playing cards with a telepath," Mulder murmured. "We could play chess," Anthony stated, a hopeful expression on his face. Scully cocked an eyebrow. "You know how to play chess?" He replied matter-of-factly. "Sure, Mom taught me." Mulder got more interested in the conversation. "Has your mother had your IQ tested?" Anthony shrugged and settled back into his seat. "She says I'm a genius." Scully and Mulder exchanged a glance just before they heard a car pull up. Mulder walked over to the door and looked out. "They're here." Anthony and Scully got up; he ran to the door and went outside as Clare and Walt left the car. He ran to Clare, who knelt on the ground to hug him. Scully and Mulder followed him outside. Clare got up, took Anthony by the hand and walked over to Walt; Anthony took his father's hand. "What happens now?" Scully asked. "I've arranged for a temporary leave of absence, effective immediately." "Sir?" Mulder met the eyes of his supervisor. Walt looked fondly at Clare and Anthony. "I've missed too much in the last seven years. I'm going to take the time to catch up while I can." Monday, October 14, 1996, 1a.m. Clare and Walt were laying on their sides, his left arm wrapped around her. He rolled back to his side of the bed and was woken up a few moments later by a crying Anthony, tugging on his arm. Walt turned on the lamp. "Anthony, what's the matter?" "Mommy." Walt was instantly wide awake and turned back toward Clare. He slowly turned her upper body toward him. Her skin was still faintly warm, but he felt no signs of respiration -- and like before, he knew CPR would be useless. He released her chin and her head turned away from him. He closed his eyes tightly as he lowered his face; Walt turned back to Anthony, picked him up and protectively embraced him, tears streaming down both their cheeks. Monday, October 28, 1996 Anthony and Walt were walking down a gentle slope to a new headstone; it was inscribed as follows -- Clarissa Elizabeth Skinner, beloved wife and mother, 1960-1996. Anthony placed a bouquet of chrysanthemums and asters in front of the headstone, then stood up and took Walt's hand. From behind them, the WMM approached. Walt turned at the sound of footsteps; his expression instantly changed to a scowl. He kept his voice gentle for Anthony's sake. "Anthony, please wait for me in the car." The boy complied, shyly releasing Walt's hand. Walt watched him walk away, and as soon as he had reached the car he turned back to the WMM angrily. "What are you doing here?" "I came to pay my respects, Mr. Skinner." "I didn't realize you people had any respect for other people's lives." "Mr. Skinner, I didn't come here to argue semantics." "Then why are you here?" "To reassure you that Anthony will not be harmed. I'm sorry about Clarissa, I liked her very much; I regret that she was involved in this nasty business." Walt narrowed his eyes. "I hardly think I need to tell you what you can do with your regrets." He turned and started to walk away. The WMM called out, "Mr. Skinner." Walt reluctantly stopped, but didn't turn around. "I know you don't approve of our practices, but remember one thing. If we hadn't interfered with your life seven years ago, you wouldn't have met Clarissa... and you wouldn't have Anthony now." Walt shook his head in disbelief and began walking to the car again. |
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Title: Anthony, Book One. 02. A Glimpse of Six Weeks Summary: Background story to Anthony I that details how the relationship between Clare and Skinner progressed. Thursday, May 4, 1989 She shook her head at the server when she was told her take-out order wasn't ready yet. Was anything going to go right this week? Damn it, getting Skinner to ask me out is taking too much time! The announcement for the Assistant Directorship is eight weeks away. With the way my luck's been going, when I finally do get him out and bedded down, he'll probably just be interested in a one-night stand and the plan will go out the window! She tapped her fingers impatiently on the counter. What the hell was taking this order so long? She sighed. She knew she could only accidentally bump into him so many times without arousing suspicion; okay, if he didn't ask her out by the end of the day, she'd have to take the initiative and hope he didn't say no. Why the hell had she taken this assignment? Not that she'd had much choice. Somehow, getting to play with these two before she had to kill them didn't thrill her to any great end. The server finally returned with her order. She tossed a five on the counter and said, "Keep the change." Then she turned to go and bumped into Skinner. "We seem to have developed a habit of doing this lately," he said with a smile on his face. "I guess that's true. I hope you didn't call for take-out, they seem to be backed up," she replied with a trace of sarcasm. "No, I didn't. I was going to get a table; I don't suppose you'd like to join me?" It's about bloody well time, she thought to herself, but lunch wasn't what she had in mind. "I'd say yes, but I'm due at a meeting," she said, quickly looking at her watch, "in 20 minutes." Was that a look of disappointment she saw in his eyes?"Maybe we can do this another time?" That's better, she thought. He looks more hopeful now. My God, could he just be shy? "I'd like that -- mm, maybe dinner?" She hoped her smile looked genuine and not triumphant. "I'm free tomorrow night." He immediately scowled. "Damn, I've got a meeting that'll last till at least eight." "I don't mind eating late." She scribbled her address on a napkin and smiled again as she handed it to him. "Come by when your meeting is over. I'll feed you." Skinner smiled back. "I'll see you tomorrow night." He watched her as her back retreated from his view. Why had he waited this long to ask her? They'd been formally introduced almost a week ago. And the thought of making love to Agent Clarissa Hoffmann was a very attractive one. She was so tall and willowy, almost fragile looking, and yet there was an aura of strength and tenacity about her. He hoped that carried over to sex. His thoughts were reluctantly interrupted by the server asking him if he wanted a table. Friday, May 5, 1989 Skinner stood outside Clare's apartment door, nervous at this first date but very much looking forward to it at the same time. He was carrying a bottle of wine and wondering if he should have brought flowers as well. Before he could debate the issue with himself, Clare opened the door. She looked very different from the way she looked in the office; her long hair fell softly around her face and the faded jeans she wore clung to every curve. As she turned and invited him in, he was struck again by her slenderness, her flat stomach. He wondered how it would feel against his own stomach; as he walked in and faced her, he thought how his mother would say she had good birthing hips -- now where the hell did that come from? The last thing he wanted to think about tonight was his mother. Clare's voice brought him back to reality. "You didn't have to bring wine, my cooking could hardly be called fancy." Skinner followed her into the kitchen, enjoying the view that tailored suits hid. "It was the least I could do. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." Jeez, Walt, could you sound a little stiffer, he thought. She smiled at him. "No. It's only 8:30 and like I said, I don't mind eating late." She retrieved a corkscrew and put it on the counter. "Why don't you open the wine? You know, you'd probably be more comfortable without the tie and jacket." As he smiled and removed the articles, she couldn't help but think, and the shirt and the pants, too, for that matter. Cool it, Clare, be patient, she told herself. He'll be where you want him soon enough. She turned her attention to removing the pot roast, potatoes and carrots from the crockpot as he opened the wine. "Wine glasses, um, Clarissa?" Clare pointed to a cabinet and he removed two stemmed glasses before pouring. "Oh, please. Only my mother calls me Clarissa... Clare. And what should I call you? Walter sounds too formal." "Walt is fine." He handed her a glass and she started to pick up the platter of meat and vegetables. "Can I carry that for you, Ag--, Clare?" She smiled mischievously. "Nice save. If you'd actually said 'Agent Hoffmann,' I would have had to boot you right back out the door." Yeah, right. Walt smiled as he took the food into the dining area and she watched him appreciatively from behind. Damn, he has a nice body, she thought. What a shame he has to die in a few weeks. She sighed again and removed a salad from the fridge and started to take it into the dining area, sipping the wine as she did so. Walt came back around the corner then and bumped into her, sloshing the wine onto her silk blouse and exposed skin. "Shit!" Walt muttered, wondering if he could manage to get this date off to a worse start. Clare put the salad and her glass -- by now mostly empty -- down as Walt quickly apologized, grabbed a towel from the counter and tried to dab up the liquid on both the blouse and her skin. It was a doomed attempt. She smiled coyly. "It might be easier if you just lick it off." Shit. She couldn't believe she'd just said that out loud! Way to go, Clare, she thought, embarrass the guy. Talk about heavy-handed! Walt put the towel down and, with an equally roguish gleam in his eyes, proceeded to do just that. She stood there, stunned, as his tongue swept across her skin and she shuddered before grasping his head in her hands and pulling him up to her mouth. Oh, yeah, like hell this guy was shy. They smiled briefly at each other before pressing their lips together. It was hard to say who opened whose mouth first, but she let him take the lead, let his tongue explore her mouth slowly, carefully, learning its every contour. When he removed his tongue, she copied his movements exactly, surprised by her own eagerness, surprised by the desire she felt for this man. Oh, well, she reassured herself, you chose him first not just because you thought he'd be harder to draw in later, but also because you felt attracted to him. The more real the desire, the easier it will be to completely bewitch him. She reluctantly removed *her* tongue and grinned at him. "Just for the record, are you always so obedient?" "Depends on the command," he said, smiling back at her. "In that case, I think a bit of the wine is pooled in my bra," she challenged him. Without waiting for her to say anything else, he picked her up and placed her on the counter. My God, he's strong. Why stop there, why not just carry me into the bedroom, she thought. No, she had to let him believe he was controlling things, setting the pace. He stepped between her legs and unbuttoned her blouse, all the while managing to look her square in the eyes, meeting the challenge he read in them. With a quick wink he pressed his face against her bosom, his mouth and tongue seeking any hint of wine located there. Again, her desire for this man surprised her. His warm breath and wet tongue on her skin aroused her quicker than she would have thought possible. Then his hands reached up and unhooked her bra, beginning to explore her breasts, slowly encircling them, stroking them. When his mouth started to follow, she felt obligated to tease him. "I don't think there's any wine over there." He briefly stopped his progress to grin at her. "Humor me, I'm improvising." She returned his grin. "Then improvise a little harder." He didn't need to be told twice. While one hand fondled one breast, his mouth and tongue were manipulating the other, sending what seemed like electrical shocks through most of her body. My God, she thought as she moaned out loud, how powerful an orgasm will he produce if having him at my breasts makes me feel like this? She was suddenly quite happy to have taken this assignment. Clare ran her hands over his head, caressing it and his neck as he continued to suckle and nibble at her breast. Without missing a beat he switched sides and a new burst of stimulation shot through her body, as did another moan of pleasure. His fingers were tantalizing one very erect nipple while his lips gently pulled and his teeth gently bit the other one. She didn't know how much more of this she could take. Positioned as they were, she had little contact with the lower half of his body; she removed one hand from his neck and ventured south, pleased to discover an erection well on its way. He groaned softly at the pressure of her hand against his penis. She applied more pressure and began rubbing his cock through his pants, wondering why they were both still almost completely clothed. With her other hand, she pulled his face away from her breast. He looked questioningly at her. "Are you planning to take me here in the kitchen, SAC Skinner?" she asked him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. With amusement he returned her gleam. "With your permission, Agent Hoffmann." "Well, at the risk of ruining this glorious moment, I regret to inform you that without a note from your doctor or a prophylactic, you're not getting any further than this." Walt stood up, thankfully not offended by what she'd said and looked directly into her eyes, still with a hint of a gleam. "Do you not trust me or all men in general?" Relieved that he wasn't making a fuss, and actually knowing his medical history quite well anyway, she smiled. "All men in general." He smiled and his tone became more serious. "Despite how quickly things are moving tonight, I don't make a habit of sleeping around." He smiled again. "As far as a doctor's note is concerned, I don't have one on me, but I can assure you I just passed my biannual Bureau physical with flying colors." She smiled in response to his words. "I take it that you don't have anything to tell me?" Trying to mimic his tone, she shook her head. "Do you not trust me or all women in general?" He laughed. "If you want me to wear a condom, I will." "I wasn't expecting this tonight." Like hell she wasn't. "So unless you want to take the chance of having to add an exemption to your income taxes in nine months, it's probably best if you do." He laughed again and pulled her off the counter and into his strong arms. He brushed a stray piece of hair from her face. "As intriguing as that sounds, I'm not quite anxious to be a father just yet." And a good thing, too, she thought, since you wouldn't be alive when the child was born. They smiled at each other again and deeply kissed, only to be interrupted by the phone. When she continued to ignore it, Walt spoke. "Aren't you going to get that?" "The machine will get it," she breathlessly replied and pulled him back to her mouth for another kiss. All too quickly, her mother's voice, nearly unrecognizable, could be heard on the machine. "Clarissa, please pick up the phone. Something's happened to your father." Clare quickly pulled away from Walt and swore under her breath before moving to pick up the phone. He came with her, arms still wrapped around her body. "I'm here, Mom. What happened to Dad?" Her expression became frightened as she listened. "How serious a heart attack was it?" Walt released her and moved around next to her, a look of concern on his face as well. "Everything will be all right, Mom. I'll catch the next flight out." She hung up the phone, feeling weak; the lack of food didn't help. Walt gently took her hand. "How serious is it?" Hardly aware that she was even speaking, she answered him. "Pretty bad. The doctors aren't sure he'll last through the night." She was on the verge of tears; Walt held her, then gently kissed her lips. "Tell me what I can do to help." Barely thinking straight, she replied, "Can you take care of the food while I pack?" "Sure." He kissed her softly again and then released her. She started to walk out of the kitchen, then stopped and turned back to him. "I'm sorry about tonight." He knotted his eyebrows, assuming shock was causing her to offer an unnecessary apology. "Don't be silly. You couldn't have known this was going to happen. Besides, we've got plenty of time." She smiled weakly at him. Under the circumstances, even mentally disagreeing with him didn't seem right. Friday, May 12, 1989 Clare was standing outside Walt's apartment, tired. She'd just flown back from her parents' and would have preferred to be home in bed. But Tom was not happy with the week-long delay in the plan and she was reluctantly going to try to kick it into high gear tonight. After spending a week taking turns with her brother holding her mother's hand and spending nearly all her time in the cardiac ICU, she was wiped out and didn't care that she looked it. This was ridiculous. Why was she standing in front of this door? She was about to leave when Walt opened it, dressed only in running shorts with a towel around his neck. Amazing how the sight of a gorgeous, mostly naked guy could kick in the adrenaline. "Clare. Come in. I didn't know you were back. How's your father?" He wasn't in the least embarrassed for her to see him like that, looking like Adonis with sweat dripping from that massive chest, intermingling with all that hair. Jeez, he had a muscular set of legs and a fabulous ass and didn't he just ask her something? She shook her head. "I'm sorry, my mind was someplace else. What did you ask me?" He gave her an odd little smile, almost as though he knew what she was thinking; especially since he removed the towel and gave her an unobstructed view of his chest. "I asked how your father was doing." Focus, Clare, she thought, in this case it's not deadly if he did read you right, but later -- "Better," she said. "He was moved out of ICU this afternoon. With a little luck, a change in diet, habits and exercise and lots of TLC, he should recover pretty much fully. Although if he has to give up most of the foods he loves, smoking and has to start taking long walks every day, I think he'd rather be dead." Too bad he hadn't taken care of his body like Walt had. God, was it getting warm in here?"You look like you just finished working out. I should go." Ask me to stay and I'll show you my idea of a workout, she added to herself. "You don't have to go. I was just about to hop in the shower." And I'd love for you to join me, he thought. Hey, Walt, get a grip, she's had a rough week, she's tired, he finished to himself. He couldn't believe that the mere sight of her had started to arouse him. "I'll buy you dinner if you stay." "I still owe you dinner from last Friday." "No, you don't. You sent me home with everything, remember?" "Oh, yeah. I guess parts of that night are kind of foggy." But other parts were crystal clear. "All right, I'll stick around, but don't be surprised if I fall asleep on you." An interesting thought, and she meant that in every sense. Walt flashed a smile. "Give me 10 minutes," he said, and walked out of the room. A few seconds later she heard the shower running. She weighed her options. On one hand she was bone tired, but on the other... He was probably in the shower now, completely naked. Everything she'd seen of his body was perfect and tired though it was, her body was telling her to join him. She sighed happily and walked in the direction he'd gone. A few moments later, she opened the door to the bathroom as noiselessly as she could. His tub had one of those frosted-glass sliding doors; she could see his distorted image behind it. Clare couldn't stop the growing smile on her face as she walked stark naked to the tub, hair still twisted up on her head, and slid open the door. He looked briefly surprised to see her, but his expression changed quickly to pleased as she joined him. My God, he was magnificent. She hoped her eyes weren't popping out of her head -- what a tight set of buns and whoa, nothing to complain about on the other side. She dragged her eyes up to his face and found him taking in her body as well. Between the two of them, she was sure she had the better view; Clare had one of those bodies that looked better clothed, as far as she was concerned. She actually felt herself blush as he looked her over. He'd hoped she'd follow him in, and his penis had begun swelling at her arrival. He looked her body over from head to toe admiringly. He was used to women with more meat on their bones, not that she was anorexic or anything. He thought he was embarrassing her by staring, or was it the heat of the shower that was making her face turn pink? "Are you just going to stand there ogling me, or are you going to share the soap?" He grinned in response, pulled her against him and kissed her tenderly. Feeling his naked body against hers sent shivers up her spine; his fully erect penis against her abdomen did wonders for other parts of her as well. She was anxious to speed things up and firmly kissed him back. His lips parted easily, allowing her tongue entrance. While Clare marveled again at the taste of him, she turned him away from the water and pushed him against the long tub wall, till his back was flat against it. She pressed their bodies as tightly together as she could, forcing herself on him, her left side getting the benefit of the water's spray. He didn't seem surprised by her initiative, strength or desire. When she broke from his mouth and moved her lips energetically to his throat, he took the opportunity to speak. "I take it you've gotten a second wind." Clare stopped her ministrations to look at him with a suggestive smile. "Maybe even a third and a fourth." He smiled back with understanding. "Call me old-fashioned, but I'd like our first time to take longer." "Tough." With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he reached over to the faucet knobs and blasted her with cold water, remarking as he did, "This should cool you down temporarily." Clare mentally swore at him and herself for being so stupid, but hey, this wasn't her usual type of assignment. She sputtered at the cold water and tried to lean away from it, but he held her under it just the same a few seconds before reaching down and turning the water off entirely. She took a moment to compose herself and met his smile perfectly. "You're going to pay for that." And he had no idea how dearly. His grin became impish. "You'll thank me later." And with that, he moved past her, opened the sliding door and stepped out of the tub, turning around to take her hand and help her out. He picked up a fresh towel and gently patted it against her wet skin. "Turn around and put your arms up." Clare was immediately wary. "Why, so you can frisk me?" His expression was briefly thoughtful. "Maybe later. Just do it." "Now I feel like I'm in a Nike commercial," she joked but turned around as commanded. He placed the towel around her abdomen and briskly yet gently pulled it back and forth across her skin. Her first ridiculous thought was she could never look at a towel the same way again, a thought that didn't seem so ridiculous when he moved the towel up and placed it against her breasts. She lowered her arms and placed them behind her, caressing his neck. He slowed his tempo and varied the pressure, and almost immediately, every tiny hair on her chest was standing at attention as were her nipples; she groaned at the treatment. He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear and neck as he whispered, "Told you so." As he continued the rough, but oddly very pleasant treatment, she decided to share the torment and backed tightly against him, rubbing her buttocks and back against his erection. She lowered her hands still further and grabbed his muscled ass, kneading it with her fingers... his turn to groan. He responded by moving the towel again, this time lower, against her mons. Clare mentally swore at him once more for teasing her like that; she audibly groaned again, throwing her head back against his shoulder. His mouth immediately sought her exposed neck, kissing, sucking, and gently biting it. A strange thought crossed her mind. May was a little late to be wearing turtlenecks and she hadn't had a hickey in a hell of a long time. How long can he keep this up, she wondered as she pulled his mouth to hers and parted her lips for his tongue. He hungrily kissed her, seeming to take great joy in re-exploring her mouth. He dropped the towel, an action that part of her was sorry about, but he moved his hands instead to her breasts and started massaging them instead. His mouth effectively cut off her groans. Clare wriggled around to face him, bending over to pick up the towel. He seemed to know what she had in mind and made a grab for it before she could snap it, catching the end and playing a brief game of tug of war with her before she let go of the towel, causing him to step back a few paces to regain his balance. Clare took this opportunity to exit the bathroom, only to have him tackle her against the bed -- a far from unpleasant sensation. They laughed as they sorted themselves out. "So does this mean the games are over?" she asked after she got her breath back. He grinned. "You make it sound like an Olympic sport." She grinned back at him. "Somehow, I get the impression with you it could be." Good, Clare, stroke his ego, she thought, and while you're at it -- He rolled her over onto her back and climbed on top, his massive body delightfully crushing her in the process. His erection was digging into her hip and abdomen, again a far from unpleasant sensation. He looked her squarely in the eyes and uttered one word. "Baby?" She knew what he meant, but still teased him. "No, thanks, I'd just as soon not gain the weight." He lightly slapped her thigh with the back of his hand and muttered, "Smart ass." The slap aroused her and she didn't hide it very well. He looked at her quickly, surprised, and then he smiled deviously. Uh, oh, she might regret revealing that later. "I meant do I need to get anything." His voice brought her back to the situation at hand. "I know what you meant, and no." He smiled and kissed her again, his tongue probing deeper into her mouth with a passion she eagerly met. He released her wet hair from the constraints of the clip she had forgotten she was wearing, and soon his hands were lost in it. Her hands were all over him, his muscled back, that tight ass; the harder she rubbed, the more he responded, moving his mouth to kiss her eyes, cheeks and chin. He playfully tugged on her lower lip before moving to her ear, wrapping his tongue around every contour. This was all very fine and good -- actually, that was a significant understatement, she thought -- but she wanted him inside her. He raised himself off her and moved one hand to her breast, vigorously yet gently rubbing it, playing with the nipple between his fingers. Within seconds his mouth was on the other one, licking it, kissing it, suckling. She felt the electrical shocks again, stronger this time because of the closeness of their bodies. Maybe she was looking at this the wrong way; yes, this man was a target, but she didn't have to kill him for several weeks yet. It would be *much* more pleasant to put that thought aside and really allow herself to enjoy his touch, scent and taste. She was happy to realize that while she was musing this point, several groans of pleasure had escaped her lips. She guessed her body had made the decision for her. Walt switched breasts again and just as before the shocks swept through her body. His free hand reached lower and began massaging her clitoris. Jesus H. Christ, she thought, how long can this build? Around her moans she barely managed to speak, "Get inside me now." His response wasn't what she'd had in mind, and she told him so. To this, a second finger joined the first inside her while his thumb continued on her clitoris. She was already so wet with anticipation she wondered what the hell he was waiting for. He smiled at her. "Patience." "Is not my middle name," she countered. "I've noticed that." His mouth went back to her breast while he continued slipping his fingers in and out of her. She was both prepared and unprepared when the first orgasm hit. Clare arched her back and groaned loudly with appreciation... and she could feel his smile against her skin. Still, he didn't stop and she was completely surprised when a second orgasm ripped through her body. She all but tore the sheets off the bed, she was gripping them so tightly. It had been far too long since a man had managed to bring her to orgasm twice so close together and even then, it hadn't been anywhere near as good as that. She consciously tried to control her breathing as she opened her eyes to find Walt laying next to her, a very pleased expression on his face. Clare arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you through fiddling around now?" "Maybe." "Then, SAC Skinner, get inside me before you burst," she commanded. "Is that a direct order, Agent Hoffmann?" She smacked him on the shoulder in response. He grinned again and knelt before her spread legs, expertly slipping his penis inside her. But he wouldn't stay put; he slipped himself slowly in and out, torturing her still. Two can play that game, she thought, and tightened her vaginal muscles almost into a vise, preventing him from leaving again. He looked at her in surprise and smiled again. She released him briefly before retightening her muscles and smiling back. "I get the point," he said grinning. She let him set the pace, since this time was for him -- or so she thought. Clare could feel another orgasm building and her breathing became ragged in anticipation -- three? *Three?* Was this guy human? He seemed surprised at first when instead of thrusting with him, she alternated between that and counter-thrusting. She'd been told by previous partners that it was a strange sensation; it was also a maneuver difficult to maintain. Impossible with Walt, once he covered her body with his and hungrily kissed her again. She gripped his body tightly against her once more; again her hands sought out his marvelous ass as she abandoned the counter-thrusting. She felt orgasm number three go searing through her body and couldn't stop the whimper escaping her lips. Walt gave her a moment to recover before he kicked his thrusts into high gear. For about the hundredth time she wondered how he managed to control himself for so long. Their bodies were writhing against one another like a piston gone mad. When he removed his tongue from her mouth, she guessed he was finally able to hold back no more and quickly moved her fingers from his ass to the hollow at the base of his spine, mentally thanking her reading habits. Walt exploded deep inside her with a force even he seemed surprised by; his groan was long and low. After what seemed like a glorious eternity, he stopped thrusting and flopped down next to her, completely drenched. "Jesus, where did you learn that?" he asked between breaths. Clare smiled and traced the outline of his face with her finger before gently kissing him. "Courtesy of a mystery writer I'm fond of reading." He smiled back. "Just what kind of mysteries does this person write?" "They all revolve around horses." "Horses, huh." He looked thoughtful. "I thought you needed time to rest," she said arching an eyebrow again. Her words were met with another grin as he flipped her onto her stomach. "I got my second wind." Saturday, May 13, 1989 Clare awoke slowly; with the events of the last week, it took her a while to focus on her surroundings. Oh, yes, how could she forget? Her head was resting on Walt's beautiful chest, the soft curly hair tickling her cheek; her arm was draped across his chest while his arm was wrapped around her. Their legs were jumbled together under the covers. She laid there quietly, listening to him breathing and remembering the previous night. God only knew where she'd found the energy, where *they'd* found the energy, to have sex three separate times. She smiled to herself; what they did couldn't be referred to as making love, at least not from her perspective. She had at most five weeks to finish the assignment; she'd have to publicly cut Walt loose in another two. Publicly humiliate him, let it be known that he liked to hit her. In her mind, she could already see the look of betrayal in his eyes, the hurt, the confusion. Getting the bruises would be no problem, Alex would help with that. And drawing in Latham wouldn't be a problem either, he was a bit of a ladies' man, at least in his mind. He'd bad-mouth Walt quite vigorously once she broke down in front of him, playing on his sympathy; getting him into bed after that would be simple. The animosity that would fester between Skinner and Latham, even after only a week, would lend tremendous credence to her tearful story. How Walt shot Latham, how she struggled for the gun with him, got shot in the process and had to kill Walt in self-defense when he drew his own weapon on her. As her stomach began to loudly growl, she realized she'd been unconsciously stroking Walt's chest. He shifted beneath her and spoke into her hair. "You have a very loud stomach." Clare turned her head to look at him, this gentle man who she was going to ruin and murder. She smiled back at him and softly kissed his lips. "You know, of all the things you promised me last night, you never did feed me." "You didn't seem to object last night." "I'm not objecting now. I'm simply saying that if you expect me to keep up last night's pace, you're going to have to take care of my nutritional needs first." "Fair enough." He slipped out of bed and picked up a pair of sweat pants lying on the floor; he was all the while conscious of the fact that she was watching his every movement. It seemed to please him that she liked looking at his body; he slowly pulled on the pants and she briefly thought how she'd like to be those pants -- hugging his lower body -- whoa, Clare, she thought, you need a glass of reality thrown in your face. He walked back to her and sat on the bed. "What do you want for breakfast?" "Anything, I'm easy to please." He started to say something, then changed his mind. "I suppose you expect me to bring it to you, too." "I won't press my luck that far. You get it started, I'll be there in a minute." He kissed her forehead and left. Clare climbed out of his bed and made her way to the bathroom, feeling sore. After relieving herself, she looked at her face in the mirror, anxious to see if the reflection was that of a prostitute. She was relieved to see it wasn't. She picked up his toothbrush and figured why not. As Clare brushed her teeth, she thought about her future. Maybe she'd make this her last assignment. With the leverage the disks provided, Tom would have no choice but to let her fade into the great unknown. What would she do? Probably find some sweet, gullible guy, settle down and raise some kids; anything that was the opposite of being an assassin. Clare rinsed her mouth and went back into the bedroom. She pulled a brush from her purse, which was still sitting where she'd tossed it the night before, and absently removed the knots from her hair. She really didn't feel like putting on her clothes... then she had an interesting thought. She walked over to Walt's closet, opened it and took out one of the white shirts inside. She held it against her and judged its length. Just long enough to cover everything but still short enough to torment him. Clare took it off the hanger and put it on, imagining his strong arms wrapped around her instead of the shirt. Enough, Clare, she told herself. You're never going to get through this assignment if you can't keep your objectivity. Go back to thinking of him as a target... a target with a gorgeous body, she thought as she bit her lip. She finished buttoning the shirt, tossed the brush back into her purse and walked to the kitchen. "There you are. I was almost ready to call out the National Guard," he joked without actually looking up at her. He was concentrating on the eggs. "I didn't take *that* long," she protested as she leaned suggestively against the fridge. Clare smiled when he did look up and he swallowed hard at what she was wearing. "I hope you don't mind," she said, fingering the shirt. "No, uh, no. Not at all." He handed her the food scraper as he walked past her. "Where are you going?" "To the bathroom while I still can," he called around the corner. Clare smiled triumphantly. When he came back she was kneeling in front of his open refrigerator, rummaging. A pair of sweat pants landed across her. "What are these for?" "For you, so I can eat in peace." Clare turned her head to look at him, smiled deviously and slowly stood up, allowing the shirt to reveal various portions of her anatomy. Walt endeavored to keep his eyes on her face, but they strayed south anyway. She leaned over and kissed his lips playfully. "I'm quite comfortable, thank you." He sighed quite audibly. "Then you have no right to hold my actions against me." She laughed and said, "Noted." He picked up a plate and started eating, all the while watching her legs as she crossed and recrossed them, leaning against the counter, also eating. The shirt was barely covering her intimate parts. Some of the ketchup from the eggs dripped onto her thigh. Clare looked at Walt as he paused in mid-bite; she teased him by removing only part of the drip with her finger before noisily sucking it off. "Damn you," he muttered under his breath as he put his plate down and walked over to her. "Something bothering you?" she asked innocently. He put his arms around her waist and hoisted her onto the counter, all the while looking directly into her eyes. "Are you planning to leave the rest of that ketchup on your thigh?" he demanded. "Did I miss some?" she said, looking down. Walt arched an eyebrow at her. "Well, it's not hurting anything and if it gets on your shirt, I'll wash it. If it really bothers you, do something about it." Meeting the challenge in her eyes, he sighed resolutely. "You are insatiable." "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to eat my breakfast." The fact that she was swinging her legs gently back and forth against Walt as he stood in front of her suggested otherwise, as did the gleam in her eyes. Walt grinned hungrily at her and stopped the motion of her legs. "Like hell you're innocent." He placed his hands on her hips and scooted her forward a few inches. "Hey!" Clare protested. "Do you mind? I'm trying to eat here." She tried to make her eyes agree with her words; she didn't know if she was successful. Walt leaned down and determinedly licked the errant drop of ketchup off her thigh. He placed one hand between her legs, under the ends of the shirt. Clare pretended to disregard him, but the darkness of her eyes betrayed her. As his hand began manipulating her, his eyes challenged her to ignore him. Clare shoveled the food into her mouth quickly to cover any noises his ministrations were causing. Walt spread her legs further apart and stepped between them; he took the plate away from her with his free hand. She tried to retrieve it, but his hand stopped her. "Excuse me, but I'm not quite finished," she lied. "To use your own words, *tough.* " His voice had a rough edge to it. To show her he was serious, he brought both hands up and placed them in the open section of the shirt. In one fluid movement, he ripped the shirt wide open, buttons flying everywhere. Her mouth dropped open at this show of bravado, but she quickly recovered. "I hope you don't expect me to sew them back on." He placed one hand behind her head to steady it and then kissed her hard, almost savagely. He leaned her head back against the cabinet and taking both of her wrists, pinned her arms behind her as he kissed her again. Clare was taken off-guard by this show of force, but she was aroused by it. She was also pleased that her orchestrations had provoked this response. She had two options, submissive or aggressive. "Ouch." Walt removed his tongue quickly from her mouth and touched a finger gingerly to it. His finger had blood on it. "You bit me," he said incredulously. Her eyes positively glowed with provocation -- submissive wasn't her style. Clare hopped down off the counter and looked him in the eye. "If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the..." He grabbed her by the wrist, pulled her back to him, pinned her arms behind her once more and kissed her again. This time, it was her turn to say 'ouch.' Good, Clare thought, lose control, let a primitive side surface. They stood several feet apart, looking at each other, both tenderly touching their tongues, their eyes gleaming in a battle of wills, neither of them wanting to give in first. I could grow very fond of playing games with you, Walter Skinner, she thought, looking down at the obvious desire his sweat pants couldn't hide and smiling wickedly... too wickedly, she belatedly realized. The timing of this exchange was all wrong; the glimpse she'd seen of this feral side could prove very useful to her in two weeks, though. But she needed to defuse the current situation; she'd started this, now had to successfully resolve it -- sexually resolve it. Clare deliberately softened her expression, her eyes; she walked toward him slowly and dragged her fingers gently across his chest. He visibly relaxed and took her hand in his, pulling it to his lips and kissing the fingers softly. He looked at her with those big brown eyes kind, apologetic; you are so easy to manipulate, she thought as she led him to the sofa. "Clare, I--" She placed her hand tenderly across his mouth to stop him. "Just make love to me," she whispered quietly into his ear. Clare reached up and pushed the shirt off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She took his hands, put them on her breasts and hoped her eyes looked pleading, sincere, submissive. His eyes registered relief. This is too easy, she thought. He's almost eating out of my hand. Maybe I missed my true calling. She immediately shuddered at the thought. He moved his hands from her breasts to gently hold her face and carefully, tenderly kiss her. Clare felt herself become lost in this compassionate kiss, his gentle caresses of her shoulders and neck. Damn it, why are my feelings, my thoughts so erratic, she began to herself. You're an assassin, Clare, you kill people on the orders of others. You could never deserve a man like Walt; if he knew what you really did, how you really worked for the Consortium, he wouldn't hesitate to turn you over to the authorities, she finished. His convictions were too strong to forgive her past, she was sure. He'd stopped kissing her. The gentleness of his voice bore straight through to her heart. "Clare, I don't know why I acted that way, I--" Clare stopped him again, this time with a gentle kiss. "Walt, please, don't say anything more. Just make love to me." He smiled at her as she took his hand and sat invitingly on the sofa. He pushed the coffee table back with his foot before he kneeled down in front of her, gently spreading her legs before he moved inside them. Walt tenderly pulled her head forward and kissed her. His tongue was hesitant against her lips, hesitant again when she parted them and allowed him entrance to her mouth. As much as she wanted him to kiss her with the urgency of before, she knew she had to let him be in control; maybe she should have chosen submissive earlier, after all, since she seemed to be right back here again. Apparently, he felt more sure of himself, because his kiss became more passionate, more urgent, but nowhere the way it had been before. Clare was happy to return his passion; he kissed her lingeringly before he left her mouth and started kissing her eyes, eyebrows, the bridge of her nose. He worked his way around her face before softly tugging on her lower lip; of their own accord, her hands started to caress his neck, shoulders and back, trying to impart to him without words how much she wanted him. She longed to have his tongue back in her mouth, to feel his powerful hands stroking her body, but his hands were occupied with supporting her in this upright position. It seemed easy enough to correct that; she leaned back against the sofa, pulling him with her. He licked her chin and, after pushing her hair out of the way, began to nuzzle her ear, pressing his tongue in and around it. Clare realized she was groaning and wondered for how long. This assignment would be so much easier if he had been a clumsy or inept lover, but, she smiled and knew, it wouldn't have been nearly as pleasurable. She gasped as Walt's attention wandered to the recess at the top of her breastbone, his firm kisses and flickering tongue making her tremble. While she wondered why his hands were still inactive, she discovered through wanderings of her own that he'd somehow managed to remove his sweat pants, or at the very least, push them down to give his ample erection room to breathe. Then she felt his hands on her breasts as he continued to suck at her breastbone; they moved slowly and firmly, rubbing and teasing. His mouth moved to one and the now-familiar electrical sensation swept through her again as another groan escaped her lips. While his mouth and tongue stimulated her breast, pulling on and gently biting her erect nipple, she felt his free hand starting a southern journey. His fingers lightly circled her stomach in ever-widening motions, then reversed as the circles he traced became smaller and smaller. He did that several times as he switched breasts and suckled greedily at the second one. When his first hand reached between her legs and started fondling her clitoris, she briefly thought she'd go insane from the triple treatment. Clare moaned and nothing more intelligible came from her lips. His second hand joined the area of the first and he easily slipped two fingers inside her. She bit her lip at the feel of him inside her as he slid his fingers in slowly and then just as slowly pulled them out, over and over. His head moved lower and he tugged on her outie belly button for a delicious moment. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Two orgasms screeched through her body, one right after the other. She arched against the sofa, beating her arms against it and flinging her head from side to side. She was just barely aware that he was watching her. Clare could faintly see his smile through the haze in her eyes... and she knew dimly that he wasn't finished. His head moved between her legs as he began kissing her thighs, inching closer to her swollen labia and clitoris. She mentally swore at him and thanked him for this treatment at the same time... she groaned out loud some more. Her body was writhing under his mouth and tongue as he licked her clitoris briefly before finally putting his tongue inside her. Multiple orgasms flooded her body with such intensity that she thought she'd pass out. She thought she actually *had* stopped breathing momentarily. The sounds coming from her mouth were completely unrecognizable and ended with a gasp, as her breathing struggled to right itself. She fell sideways on the sofa, her body limp and drenched. Clare felt completely spent and exhausted, but there was one more thing she wanted. Walt was looking anxiously at her when she opened her eyes. "Are you all right?" "Never better," she managed to whisper, still trying to regain control of her breathing. Clare rolled onto her back and smiled up at him. "I don't think we're finished yet." He started to shake his head, but read something in her eyes. "Are you sure?" What are you, an idiot? she thought. Do you think I'm trying to be polite here? She forced herself to simply reply, "Yes." He smiled almost gratefully at her -- grateful? -- had she made him feel so guilty that now he was grateful she was allowing him inside her? Clare didn't see how that could be right. But seconds later, she didn't care as he slowly and gently inserted himself in her body. He reached behind himself and took her ankles, wrapping her legs around his back. That maneuver would make her little trick difficult to pull off, but not impossible. Clare didn't bother trying to counter-thrust; in fact, she put her hands up onto his chest, rubbing his nipples and applying enough pressure to let him know she didn't expect him to cover her with his body. Her head was resting on a pillow and she watched him with rapt enjoyment as he chose a rhythm and pace that were best for him, his eyes screwed shut in fierce concentration. What was digging into her back, she briefly wondered, when to her surprise she felt another orgasm building within her. She smiled thinly, thinking that women in general would be very disappointed when he was gone. They kept a steady, yet rapidly more frenzied pace up a few moments longer. The moans coming from his mouth changed in intensity and she endeavored to pull herself up enough to reach that sweet spot on his lower back; she used her legs as leverage and had barely begun massaging the area when she felt both their orgasms explode simultaneously. Her fingers continued on his skin as if on autopilot as he thrust deeply inside her and finished emptying his seed. Afterward, neither of them spoke for several minutes. Walt had moved underneath her and she lay cuddled up on top of his still-steaming body. She raised herself up on an elbow and looked at him carefully, her tone serious. "If we are going to continue this relationship, I have one comment to make about the events of this morning." Walt looked at her seriously, expecting her to address his behavior in the kitchen. Clare arched an eyebrow and said with humor, "You are going to have to fix the broken spring in this sofa." The lines of tension around his mouth relaxed and he softly laughed. "Done." Walt shivered slightly as the heat from their entwined bodies dissipated. He reached up and pulled a quilt off the sofa and carefully, so as not to disturb her, laid it over both of them. He chastised himself for his earlier behavior. What came over me, he thought. I've never been like that before... sure, Clare was definitely testing my patience, but not to the point where my response was justified, he finished. And yet, she hadn't seemed afraid of him, of this darker, more primitive side. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead and sighed before he whispered to her sleeping head, "I could easily fall in love with you, Clarissa Hoffmann." Saturday, June 3, 1989, 1:38a.m. Clare was in her bedroom, naked, and wasn't alone. Stretched out in front of her, blindfolded and hands tied to the bedframe, was Ben Latham. He was groaning in enjoyment as she rode up and down on him. She couldn't help but think to herself that he was not in the same league as Walt. The bruises on her back and legs, courtesy of Alex, were healing nicely. The plan had worked so flawlessly; Walt had been utterly stunned when she'd told him to leave her alone in front of all his colleagues. Completely speechless when she'd accused him of repeatedly hitting her, when she'd removed her jacket and the bruises on her back were evident through the thin white blouse. He'd tried to talk to her, find out why she was doing this, but she'd run from him... run right into Latham. It couldn't have been more perfect. He hadn't known what was going on, but had instinctively shielded her from Walt; he'd growled at him to keep his distance when she'd blurted out the 'truth.' Later, alone with Latham, she'd told him the whole story -- the S&M sex that Walt had forced her to participate in under threat of termination once he became AD, the beatings, the mental manipulation. She'd shown him the bruises, lowering the back of the blouse to give him a good look; he'd hesitantly touched them and she'd collapsed tearfully in his arms. He'd talked her into filing charges against Walt, getting him suspended, ruining his chance to be AD. She'd acted so grateful for his help, his support; pulling him into the triangle had been so easy. The last she'd seen of Walt was when they'd been in front of the OPC board. He'd been haggard and his eyes had pleaded with her to explain. She'd cowered under his look, leaning on Latham for support. Walt's dislike of Latham had been obvious, perhaps he'd even suspected Latham had something to do with her lies, an added bonus. Walt had been forced to give up his gun and ID, pending an internal investigation. When he'd gone back to his desk to retrieve his personal items, Latham had laid into him, calling him every name in the book, threatening him to stay away from her, stop calling her, stop harassing her. Clare wished she'd seen the whole display... that was hours ago. She'd sounded so upset, so apologetic when she'd spoken to Walt on the phone, begging him to come over, promising to explain everything, hinting that Latham was involved and would potentially hurt her. She knew he would come and she knew he would bring his personal weapon. The sound of her door opening brought her back to the present. "What was that?" Latham asked. "I'll find out," she answered, getting off him and the bed. Clare walked over to the dresser and picked up Latham's gun; she held it behind her, waiting for Walt to enter the room. She heard his voice calling her name as he approached. "What's he doing here?" Latham demanded, trying to free himself from the restraints. Walt entered the room; his expression showed disgust when he saw Latham. Clare brought the gun forward and held it on him. "So glad you could join the party," she said icily. "Put your hands up and keep moving over here." Then both he and Latham wanted to know what was going on. When Walt was positioned where she wanted him, she raised her voice, "My, God. Walt! What are you doing? Oh, God, DON'T!" With that, she callously shot Latham through the heart and screamed "No!" at the same time. Walt had that same stunned look on his face. She turned the gun on him, ordering him, "Put your hands down." He complied; and looked like he was about to try something. She fired a round into his chest at the same time screaming out, "You shot me!" Before he could fall, she quickly went to him and dragged him back to where she'd been standing. "My, God, Walt. Have you gone crazy? Don't make me do this," she yelled. Clare could hardly support his weight, but she wrapped his hand with hers around the gun and aimed it back at herself. "Walt, please!" She fired the gun, shooting herself in the shoulder and letting Walt's body fall with a thud to the floor. His voice was barely audible. "Why, Clare? I loved you." She leaned over his body. "Tough. Orders are orders." She stole his last breath with a kiss. She woke up screaming a few seconds later, the reality of the dream too much. Walt was instantly awake and wrapping her in his arms as she sobbed uncontrollably. He made no effort to ask her what the dream had been about and simply held her tightly against him, cradling her head on his shoulder and stroking her hair to calm her. Clare clung to him fiercely, shutting her eyes at the still too vivid images before them. The dream had been so completely accurate, she shuddered to think how accurate. She was suddenly afraid to look at Walt, afraid her eyes would betray something she couldn't explain. Clare mumbled something unintelligible to him, broke from his embrace and bolted for the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She sank to the floor, shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. She heard a knock at the door and Walt's gentle voice as he tried to open it. "Clare... please let me in, you're scaring me." With great effort she steadied her voice to answer him. "I'm sorry. I just need a few minutes to myself. Please, Walt." The tone in her wavering voice didn't reassure him, but he honored her request and reluctantly wandered back to the bed. The last three weeks with Clare had been phenomenal. He'd never met a woman like her. They were so evenly matched, their few differences scarcely noticeable, more a product of the nine-year difference in age. He loved every inch of her and couldn't consider his life complete without her. He'd startled even himself by professing his love for her a week ago. It didn't seem possible that they could only have met five weeks earlier. He smiled as he remembered following her to that restaurant, the feeling of disappointment when she couldn't stay for lunch, the feeling of relief when she'd said yes to dinner. Walt knew something was bothering her; she'd been distracted all evening, evading his questions. She'd started to say something once about bad timing but didn't finish. Then she'd gone to bed early, alone, only the fourth time they'd gone to sleep without making love -- the other three times had been understandable. He remembered how great their desire was at the end of those three long days, and yet the lovemaking had been somehow different after the period of abstinence. He'd sensed a change in Clare after that; an openness, uncertainty, even a vulnerability that grew steadily in the following two weeks. God, how he wanted to hold her now, feel her skin against his, run his fingers through her luxurious hair, even feel her cold feet against his legs. Clare pulled herself off the floor and splashed some water in her face... it didn't help. The day had been long, too long and too draining without the damn dream to top it off. Meeting with Tom had been hard, even dangerous with her refusal to carry out the plan. She smiled as she remembered the events of the last three weeks. The incredible sex, the trouble she'd had keeping her objectivity. She hadn't expected Walt to be so wonderful, so thoughtful and caring. She'd had to repeatedly remind herself that he was just another target, something her mind had had more and more trouble accepting as time wore on. She'd studied his profile, of course, prepared to tailor her likes and preferences to meet his, but found it really wasn't necessary, and after thinking about it, realized it wouldn't have been believable anyway. He was so easy to talk to, to be around; she'd allowed herself to like him that first week and by doing so had inadvertently set the stage for stronger feelings to follow. This wasn't her usual type of assignment; she wasn't used to spending so much time around a target, allowing them to become a real part of her life. Then her monthly cycle had kicked in and the three long days of abstinence had forced her to get to know him still more. All of their differences were small; she preferred mystery writers like Dick Francis, Dashiell Hammett, Ellery Queen, Agatha Christie and Lillian Jackson Braun; he preferred more serious writers like Hemingway, Steinbeck, Vonnegut and Hesse... she remembered cringing when he'd mentioned Hesse. She'd tried at least half a dozen times to read 'Steppenwolf' before finally giving up. Musically, she leaned toward top 40 and strangely, Big Band; he leaned toward jazz and rhythm and blues. He was a wine aficionado; they all pretty much tasted the same to her, she drank hard liquor. They shared a keen interest in sports and discovered their political views were quite similar. They'd talked about their childhoods, ambitions, careers. At the end of the three days, she remembered wishing they could have met five years earlier, before she'd joined the Consortium, before she'd been assigned to ruin and kill him. When they'd made love again, she'd realized her feelings had changed. He was no longer just a target with a great body... he was a person with intelligence, humor, sensitivity... he was a person. After that, she'd scarcely thought of him as anything but another human being. She could tell his feelings were growing stronger and whether she cared to admit it, her feelings were becoming genuine. That change was both welcome and frightening; welcome because it meant she could still feel compassion, that she hadn't been with the Consortium so long she was no longer capable of caring. That what had happened earlier in the year hadn't been a fluke after all. Frightening because she didn't know how it could work. She'd wrestled with her conscience quite a bit lately, more so than when she'd been ordered to terminate another target the previous week... and she'd barely been able to carry out her orders then. Walt's decency was rubbing off on her. She'd nearly been asleep when she'd heard Walt whisper in her ear that he loved her. She'd unconsciously started at the words and he'd seemed surprised that he'd uttered them out loud. Clare had wanted to feel satisfaction at bewitching him so completely but instead had found herself repeating his words back with genuine feeling... she hadn't realized just how completely she'd fallen for him until that moment. And then there was today. Right after she'd told Tom that she wouldn't go through with the plan, he'd left for New York. She'd considered retrieving one of the three copies of the disk to bring with her, but had known she could rattle off the information stored on it just as easily. Having a near-perfect photographic memory was very useful. Tom had ordered her detained while he supposedly consulted with the others about how to proceed. Four hours later, she'd been handed a phone and told the plan had been terminated -- to end her contact with Walt as soon as possible... the sooner the better. She'd been tremendously relieved that the plan was terminated, but hadn't wanted to give up Walt. Three hours later, as she'd left the Hoover Building, she'd found a note *in* her car. There was no signature and it had been typed. It had briefly said that the attempt to discredit Walt and kill him and Latham had never been officially sanctioned by the Consortium, that it was a maverick plan. Her heart had skipped a beat as she'd realized the implications of that statement. The note had further said that because she'd had no way of knowing the origins of the plan, no retaliatory actions would be taken against her. Maybe it was the way it had been worded, the use of 'retaliatory' instead of 'disciplinary,' she didn't know; she had no reason to trust the last statement, but for reasons she couldn't explain, she did. Walt clearly knew something was bothering her but hadn't pushed her to talk about it, just as he hadn't pushed her about the dream that had so terrified her. Her beloved Walt. He would forgive her anything, anything but the confession she couldn't bring herself to make to him. Knowing who she really was, the damaging information she had, would put him in too much jeopardy. It would be so much safer for him and her to break it off as she'd been ordered. She'd started to tell him the timing of their meeting wasn't good, but hadn't been able to complete the thought, the lie. She shuddered at the thought of not having him in her life. She wanted to feel his strong arms around her, protecting her from the miserable choices she'd made. Clare started trembling, realizing he was far too good for her, and that she could never adequately explain to him why without both hurting him deeply and endangering his life. Her few minutes were past being up. She needed him to make love to her. She wasn't surprised to find him standing just outside the door when she opened it. He spread his arms wide and she gratefully stepped inside his embrace. "Are you ready to tell me what's bothering you?" he gently asked. Clare looked into the warm brown eyes of the man she loved, the man who loved her. She delicately traced the outline of his face with her finger and shyly smiled. "Make love to me." She took his hand and tried to lead him back to the bed, but he wouldn't move. Instead, he gently but firmly pulled her back to him. "Clare, please don't shut me out." "After." "Now." Clare pulled her hand from his and walked to the bed, sitting down, wondering what lie she could tell him that he would believe. She settled for an unfortunate coincidence. "Eddie Hamilton." He raised an eyebrow. "The agent who was killed today?" He walked to the bed and joined her as she nodded. "I knew him; we graduated together. He was good, very careful, very methodical; he was getting married at the end of the year,.".. and thank God for my memory to be able to know this, she thought. "I couldn't help but think, what if it had been you or me?" Walt put his arm around her and kissed her head. "But it wasn't. People die from natural causes every day, but that doesn't stop us from getting up each morning. Our profession exposes us to more risk than the average person. You know that and Hamilton knew it." "I dreamt you were shot, killed; and that I was the one who killed you." The words spilled out of her mouth, her eyes tearing at the image. Walt was taken aback, his voice not completely convincing. "It was just a dream, Clare." She shook her head as more tears slid down her face. "You don't understand. I shot you in cold blood, without remorse, as if you meant nothing to me. It was so vivid and so strange. I was both watching what was happening and participating. You had such a look of betrayal, of hurt and confusion on your face as I fired." He took her hand tenderly in his but simply said, "Why?" A chill went down her spine. "That's just what you said in the dream, just before you died." He cupped her chin with his free hand, smiled and gently kissed her lips. "I'm right here, safe and sound, and I don't believe in the slightest that you could ever be a cold-blooded killer." He kissed her again, with more feeling; she returned the passion but at the same time thought how wrong he was and how close he'd come to finding that out. A bit later, they were snuggled together under the covers, contented smiles on both their faces. The love they'd just made was the gentlest kind she'd ever experienced; Clare still felt a warm glow all over her body. She absently stroked his chest while he did the same to her back. She smiled as she remembered that halfway through the act, she'd realized she'd forgotten to insert her birth control device. Sighing contentedly, she thought to herself she couldn't imagine a more perfect way to conceive a child than the way they'd made love just now. She lifted her head off Walt's chest and softly kissed his lips. And she couldn't think of any man she'd rather have a child with. Clare drifted off to sleep, her head full of visions of them in a big old house with several children running around, the bulge in her stomach indicating another was shortly to arrive. It was a very pleasant thought. Clare woke up slowly, on her stomach, alone. She reached for Walt and was surprised he wasn't there; for a second, she wasn't sure which had been the dream and which had been reality. Then she saw the rose on his pillow; she reached for it, smiling, savoring the sweet scent and wondering where he was. She glanced at the clock. It was almost 11a.m. -- she hadn't slept that late in ages. She heard the bathroom door open -- of course, he'd gone for a run... too bad she'd missed the shower. "Hey, sleepyhead, it's about time you woke up." He was still wet from the shower, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Why was he so good at drying *her* body with a towel, but so bad at drying his own, she wondered. "You shouldn't have let me sleep so late," she told him after he'd walked across the room and kissed her good morning. "You obviously needed the sleep," he countered, sitting down beside her. Clare rolled over and grimaced. His face registered concern. "What's wrong?" "Stiff." She tried to find a comfortable position. "From last night?" She smiled at him and shook her head, "More like from yester*day.* " He smiled back, pulled the covers down away from her and rolled her to her stomach again. He straddled her hips and leaned down to whisper in her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "Lay back and relax." "Don't worry, wild horses couldn't drag me away." Wild horses? Walt smiled again as he started massaging her back. "I'll keep that in mind." She sighed contentedly as his marvelous fingers and hands worked their magic on her tension-filled muscles. God, he was good at this, she thought for the hundredth time as he kneaded gently but firmly, applying just the right amount of pressure. His hands moved to her neck and slowly progressed downward to her shoulders, shoulder blades, down her spine, finally to just above her ass. She was putty in his hands and knew it; curious how the touch of his hands on her back could both relax and arouse her at the same time. Clare felt him remove the towel around his waist before he leaned over her, trailing wet kisses up her spine as shivers went in the opposite direction. He uttered one word, in French: "Mere." She chuckled softly into the pillow. "If you're calling me a female horse, then I guess you're ready to move on." He leaned over her again and whispered into her ear, "Mon amour." "I hate to correct your French, but the word for horse is 'cheval.'" "I know that," he said moving his body off her and laying down next to her. Clare turned to look at him, a puzzled expression on her face, "Okay, I understand 'lover' but why 'mother?'" He had an amused expression on his face, though his tone registered no reprimand. "Because you didn't use any birth control last night." She smiled back at the growing smile on his face. "What were you doing, taking inventory? I honestly forgot." She started to crawl off the bed but he gently grabbed her ankle. "Forget again," he said softly. Clare was frankly surprised; she was relieved he wasn't upset but hadn't expected him to say that. He released her ankle and crawled next to her. She teased him to cover her surprise. "I thought you said 'as intriguing as that sounds, I'm not quite anxious to be a father just yet.'" He stroked her arm gently. "Maybe I changed my mind." He stopped abruptly, an odd expression on his face. "That's damn close to what I said to you, what, three weeks ago, isn't it?" Clare smiled mischievously and kissed him playfully. "It's exactly what you said. I guess I never mentioned my photographic memory." He smiled again. "I'll have to be more careful when I speak. I'd hate to have you using my words against me in 40 or 50 years." He leaned forward to kiss her, knocking her onto her back in the process. Clare wanted him now more than ever; she was thrilled that he thought they'd still be together in 50 years. He stopped kissing her and arched an eyebrow. "So where were we?" "I believe it was horses," she said, eyes dancing with both amusement and desire. "Oh, yeah. Roll over." She complied and balanced on her forearms and knees, leaning forward to provide him better access; she stayed in the position, waiting, tapping one foot impatiently on the bed, wondering what he was up to. "Uh, Walt?" "Yes." Clare rested her head on her hands to look under her body, in the direction she'd heard his voice. She saw him looking back at her with a silly grin on his face. "What are you doing?" "Enjoying the view." She quickly flipped a foot up and kicked him playfully in the ribs with her heel. "Ouch." "Knock it off and get inside me." Clare lifted her head off her hands and felt him moving, changing to a kneeling position between her legs. She felt his hands on her hips pulling her back, changing the angle. She felt his erect penis poised just outside her entrance; he moved it slowly back and forth, but didn't venture inside. She groaned at this stalling technique and dropped her head down again. "Now what?" He grinned wickedly. "I'm waiting for you to beg." Simultaneously, she pummeled his ass with her heels and sarcastically replied, "Oh, please." "Close enough." And in one fluid movement he was inside. She gasped slightly as he entered, deeply sighing as he began thrusting; she moved her hips rhythmically against him. He leaned over, covering her back with his upper body, placing his hands down on the bed, one on either side of her, and whispered triumphantly into her ear, "Happy?" Clare answered by thrusting back against him with more vigor... he groaned softly into her ear. She lifted one arm off the bed and flipped her hair to one side, making her neck and ear accessible for his kisses. He responded by showering the areas before continuing down her spine. She could feel his grin against her skin as a long moan came from her lips. Partway down her spine, his hands began manipulating her breasts, teasing them with his fingers and palms; more moaning escaped from her lips. The pace of their thrusts became more urgent, more frenzied; one of his hands moved to stroke her clitoris. Her breathing was completely erratic as she gasped. A second later, the orgasms hit and her entire body was on fire. Walt lifted his upper body off of her and moved his hands to her hips, gripping them tightly and increasing the intensity of his thrusts a few moments longer until he erupted deep inside; he cried out sharply. Clare fell limply onto the bed as he left her body and plopped down next to her. They didn't attempt to speak until their breathing began to return to normal. She looked at him through her hair, still slightly breathless, "You know paybacks are hell." He ignored her words and smiled. "How about a matinee?" She groaned as she raised herself up on her elbows. "What do you think that just was... and you had the nerve to call *me* insatiable." His brown eyes danced in amusement. "I meant at an actual theater." "Oh. What did you have in mind?" "There's supposed to be a very good foreign film playing." "What language?" "Dutch." Clare rolled to the edge of the bed, sat up and sighed. "You would pick one with a language I don't know." He laughed softly. "For the record, how many languages *do* you know?" She looked back at him. "I'm fairly fluent in Italian and Russian, and can fake my way through most of the other Romance Languages; I also know a smattering of Arabic." He looked at her, clearly impressed. "Where'd you learn all that? Was your father a dock super overseas or something?" She shook her head. "We never left the States, but I was exposed to foreign workers when I visited him and it made me want to learn more. My father used to refer to me as a female Lawrence of Arabia because I could pick up languages so fast." "Uh huh. So what else are you hiding in that photographic mind of yours?" Clare smiled. "Lots of unimportant stuff. Sure I can't talk you into a different movie?" "Like?" "I hear Wes Craven has a new movie out." He shook his head. "I'd just as soon not sit through a horror movie." Clare got off the bed, still smiling at him. "Well, if you're going to subject me to several hours' worth of subtitles, the least you can do is make me something to eat while I shower." At the Movie My, God, she thought, this is every bit as agonizing as having a root canal. She couldn't believe he actually liked this stuff. Clare wondered if he'd notice if she fell asleep right here on his shoulder. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. She looked at his lap and put her hand on his zipper; he shifted under her. She started rubbing his penis through his jeans, rubbing harder as he squirmed beneath her. He continued to ignore her until she started to unzip the jeans; he put his hand on top of hers. "Clare." She looked at him innocently. "Yes?" "Behave." "I'm bored." He sighed, but he removed his hand. Clare finished unzipping the jeans and undid the button; she slipped her hand inside his underwear and began stroking his growing erection. He muttered, "Damn you," under his breath and shifted in his seat again. She twisted her head to look at him with the wicked gleam back in her eyes. "Payback time." Clare slowly lowered her head into his lap; she hadn't even moved his underwear out of the way before his hands pulled her head back up. "Clare!" his tone was exasperated. "For God's sake, we're in a public place." "I thought you said you had a thorough physical. Look around, Walt, we're the only ones in a darkened theater, the projectionist probably can't see anything and this stupid film has been running for five hours; no one else is going to come in." "The film has been running thirty minutes," he answered weakly. "God, is that all? I dare you to tell me you don't find the prospect of this arousing." He didn't answer her. Regardless of what he might say in words, his body told her to go ahead. She lowered her head again, released his penis and dragged her tongue along the shaft. She delighted in his squirming and the low moan escaping from his parted lips. She savored the taste of him as she licked the length of his erection several times before lightly tonguing the tip and taking him into her mouth. One of his hands was on her head urging her to go on; she glimpsed the other one tightly gripping the arm rest. Clare had barely begun to suck when the door opened behind them. In a flash, Walt pulled her head up and against his shoulder; he pulled his shirt down over his erection and further covered the area with a hand. The couple didn't even notice them as they walked by and took seats several rows in front of them. Walt seemed to think that the company would force her to behave... he was wrong. As anyone who's ever spent two long hours in a cramped movie theater seat knows, it's nearly impossible to be comfortable. Walt replaced his left arm around her shoulder, she reached up and held it with her left hand at the same time taking his other hand in her right. No doubt with both her hands accounted for, he felt he was safe. Clare leaned back in her seat and draped her legs over the seat in front of her, letting the full skirt of her casual dress inch up her legs. Gravity was aided by the fact that she had to shift legs every five minutes or so to prevent losing circulation. Her dress also hit mid-calf and buttoned down the front -- and she'd left the last five buttons open. After about a half an hour of shifting, the skirt was well up her thighs. She kept her head on Walt's shoulder, holding his hands and slowly pulling the right one closer to her lap. She'd managed to stay awake by mentally reciting the periodic table backward and forward... she did, after all, have a graduate degree in organic chemistry. Clare carefully relaxed her hands and let them slide out of Walt's, leaving his right hand alone on a bare thigh. At the same time she let her head drop a little on his shoulder and made her breathing mimic that of sleep. She stayed that way a few minutes more before casually turning on her side, her left arm falling across Walt's chest and sliding down into his lap. By turning on her side, she managed to both slide the skirt the last few inches up her legs so that it was pooled in her lap, and caused the top of the dress to gap, exposing her cleavage. Walt's hand stayed put briefly, but just as she'd hoped, he started stroking her thighs; she noted his other hand was straying to her partially exposed breast, as well. With the greatest amount of concentration, she forced her body not to respond but noted with her well-placed hand that Walt wasn't faring so well. This wasn't the sort of payback she'd had in mind, but it had its merits. There's just one problem with faking sleep for too long a period... you do fall asleep. Just before she drifted off, she mentally thanked him for pulling her legs down before she had no circulation at all. Clare couldn't have been asleep much more than half an hour, but she awoke to the credits and Walt's voice. She almost missed his edgy tone in her newly awakened state. He was anxious to leave the theater; they left via one of the doors exiting to the rear parking lot, and she noticed that he kept her close in front of him. After the last of the sleepy haze left her brain, she realized what was going on; her payback was prompting another appearance of Walt's primitive side. He opened the car door for her and hurriedly walked around to the driver's side. In those few seconds, she decided to keep the stimuli going; she might regret this, but she wanted to explore this side of him. Clare yawned as they drove off and crossed her legs, allowing the skirt to hike up and fall away from one thigh. She ran her fingers sleepily through her hair. "So was the movie as good as you expected?" He grumbled a reply; she yawned again, stretching her arms. "I should have known better than to fall asleep in the afternoon, it takes me forever to really wake up again." She smiled sweetly at him and rubbed her hand against his bristly cheek... he hadn't bothered to shave this morning. Clare dropped her hand back into her lap, bunching up the skirt in the process. She kept her gaze unfocused and looked out her window until they pulled up in front of Walt's building. She wasn't surprised that he'd driven there, since his place was closer to the theater. Just before he got out of the car, she noticed that the bulge in his jeans had diminished. As soon as they were in his apartment and the door had closed he spoke. "Are you awake now?" His tone was gruff. Clare shrugged. She knew that it was coming. "I guess. Why?" "Because we need to have a serious talk." He looked her dead straight in the eyes. Not what she was expecting and to be perfectly honest, she was disappointed. "About?" "Number one, your game of playing innocent and number two, your apparent need to provoke me." Clare suddenly felt like she was 16 again and her father had caught her -- well, suffice to say she felt like a child being reprimanded. "If S&M sex is something you're into, we'd better come to an understanding right now." This was definitely not the direction she foresaw the afternoon taking. Clare turned away from him momentarily before looking at him again. "I'm not 'into it,' as you so nicely put it, but since we're having this discussion, I'd like to point out you started it." Oh, great, Clare, that sounded mature, she thought. What are you, 29 going on 10? "I'm sorry, that wasn't very fair. What I meant was the first time we made love, you smacked my leg. I'll admit I was aroused, you saw it." "So from that one brief instance you got it into your head that I liked violent sex?" He shook his head at her. "No." She sighed, she was having trouble collecting her thoughts in a logical manner. "Look, believe it or not, I wasn't consciously trying to provoke a response from you in the theater." "What about the kitchen?" he asked suspiciously. Clare hesitated, "That's not a question with a clean-cut yes or no answer. Provoke you, yes, provoke a primitive response, no. I had no idea that side of you existed until I saw it." "And it didn't frighten you?" Walt's voice had an incredulous tone to it. "Do you remember me looking frightened?" Clare said it too acidly; she looked down a moment before she spoke again, purposely softening her tone. "Look, all I'm saying is that this side of you exists and I'm willing to, I want to explore it." "Well, I don't." He started walking away, but she grabbed his arm; as far as she was concerned, this discussion wasn't over. "Why not?" He turned back around to face her, exasperated. "Because whether it frightens you or not, it scares the hell out of me." He shook his head and briefly closed his eyes. "If I hurt you, I couldn't live with myself." A chill went down her spine as she inadvertently thought how truly devastated he would have been if the plan had been carried out. "I can handle myself; I'm hardly some 90-pound soaking wet weakling." "And what if you can't handle things, what if I get completely out of control? I have to outweigh you by at least 55 pounds." Clare smiled. "Flatterer, try 50." He shook his head again. "Seriously, I calmed you down before with a single stroke. I can do it again, if need be." "You don't know that," he countered. "And you don't know that I'd need to. Walt, I love you, I can't force you to pursue this, but I really think you should... exploring it might help you understand it, maybe even diffuse it." He turned away again. Clare suddenly wished the conversation had never taken place; Walt seemed so confused, uncertain. She was offering him the most prized item in their business -- trust, complete and unfathomable -- but he had to trust himself before he could accept it. "All right." He said it so softly she almost didn't hear him. Clare walked around in front of him and took his hand. "Are you sure?" He slowly nodded. "And you truly believe I'm participating of my own free will?" She really couldn't stress that enough. He nodded again. She started to take her hand away, but he gripped it tightly. "Clare, promise me you'll stop me if..." "I promise." He released her hand and she walked away from him. Now that subtlety wasn't an issue, she had other avenues open to provoke him. She just had to emotionally and mentally prepare first. If her eyes showed anything but desire, she'd be sunk. God, she hadn't done this in at least five years... she hadn't lied, she wasn't 'into it,' but she also wasn't new to it, either. The sex itself could be very explosive, but unfortunately, one's body tended to forget 10 seconds of intense pleasure when it faced up to a week of healing. All right, Clare, focus, she told herself. Find your mindset, breathe. She heard Walt say her name from close behind her. She took a deep breath, turned around sharply and vehemently slapped him across the face. He looked stunned; it took him a second to realize that they'd started. Clare roughly pushed him back against the wall, holding his arms away from his body and jamming her body against him; she savagely kissed him, forcing her tongue into his mouth... this time, she bit his lip. She moved her head back away from him, knowing instinctively that her eyes were black and in all likelihood glowing. His were on fire, half-crazed; she had succeeded in reaching the primitive side. She realized almost immediately that she'd underestimated his strength and swore at herself for failing to remember that her previous partner had not been as powerfully built. In a split second, Walt broke free from the wall and, grabbing her by the shoulders, threw her back against it, pinning her wrists by her side and returning the savage kiss several times, biting her tongue in the process and brush-burning her mouth with his stubble. Clare was surprised that her head wasn't reeling from the force of hitting the wall. She kicked him in the knee and he backed up briefly, releasing her wrists. They stood as before, several feet apart, nursing their wounds, their eyes looking wholly unnatural. He ripped open her dress... it took two attempts before he got it completely open, but then, it had more buttons than his shirt had had. He tore both her bra and panties off and pulled the dress off her shoulders -- it fell to the floor. He suckled ravenously at her breasts, burning both and the skin between them. Clare cried out at the force of his ministrations and he stopped, looking into her eyes. She responded by taking his head in her hands and guiding it to the side of her neck where he eagerly provided her with a hickey. She was now totally naked, except for her shoes, while he was still fully clothed... she needed to take control again. With help from her adrenal glands, she reached forward, grabbed him by the shirt, spun around and threw him against the wall. Clare brutally kissed him and ripped his shirt open; she moved her mouth to his chest and deposited several 'love bites.' He moaned at the bites and she reached down to tear into his jeans; within seconds he was totally naked. She kicked her shoes off to join their pile of discarded clothing. They stood again staring at each other, this time only inches apart. Their bodies were slick with sweat, the signs of their mutual arousal apparent. Walt reached for her, picked her up; she wrapped her legs around him and he carried her to the bedroom. He threw her on the bed and she spread her legs wide; with one forceful thrust, he entered her. As their bodies violently rammed each other, he deposited his own 'bites' on her abdomen before not so playfully digging into her shoulder; she cried out again and dug her fingernails into his back, scratching him for several inches. The blinding fury of their orgasms came only seconds apart, both of them yelling loudly. It was a wonder the neighbors didn't call the police, she mused, dazed. Walt collapsed on the bed next to her while she sprawled there, dripping wet. She brought her hands to her eyes to wipe away the sweat. Clare winced as the muscles in her shoulder contracted around the bite he'd left. He looked at her with a sickened expression and opened his mouth, but no words came out; he staggered to his feet and walked to the bathroom. A few moments later, he returned with various first-aid supplies. He silently applied antiseptic to her various bites; she cringed at the stinging sensation. After rubbing ointment on her shoulder bite, he placed a bandage on it and handed her the supplies before lying on his stomach. She'd done some damage with her scratches; his body twitched under her ministrations and he winced several times. After she'd applied some ointment and covered the worst of the scratches, she rolled him over to swab the bites on his chest. They looked like two soldiers emerging from a battle... which in some ways they were, she thought. She briefly wondered if his tour in Vietnam could have had something to do with the emergence of this side. Walt rolled off the bed, picked up a pair of sweat pants and left the room. Clare gingerly stood up, various portions of her body already protesting the treatment it had just received; she steadied herself against the bed, waiting for some strength to return. Her mind drifted back to three weeks previous, when an exchange like this was what she'd hoped to provoke in the future... it would have been perfect. But now, using this against her beloved Walt was the last thing she'd do; she'd go to any length to protect him, she realized. Clare smiled weakly, thinking that in the space of less than 24 hours, they'd hit both extremes of lovemaking, gentle and violent. Her body clearly preferred the former, and her mind had to agree. She sighed loudly, then quietly dragged herself to the bathroom. Her face looked haggard; there was dried blood at the corner of her mouth, and she could already see her skin turning pink from the brush burns. Clare cleaned her mouth and went to the tub to run the water for a bath. She would have preferred Walt's hands massaging the strained muscles of her body, but seriously doubted he'd touch her again that day. She swallowed some ibuprofen and climbed slowly into the steaming tub, her body silently crying out as the water reached her burns, bites and ravaged muscles. She twisted her hair behind her and used it as a pillow against the tile. Clare stayed in the tub until the water was quite cold, oblivious to everything. When she finally got out, she took his robe from a hook on the door and put it on. Clare opened the door and walked out to the living room. He was sitting on the sofa, his hands covering his face; he slowly removed them and stood up as she approached. Her heart nearly broke seeing the regret and shame in his eyes. He tried to say something, but she placed her fingers tenderly against his lips. "Not yet." They sat down on the sofa and she automatically put her head on his shoulder while he wrapped his arm around her. They sat in silence for quite a while. He spoke quietly, hesitantly. "Why didn't you stop me?" Clare took a deep breath. "Because there wasn't a need to." He wasn't convinced; he moved his hand from her arm and touched her shoulder bite -- she winced. "You expect me to believe that doesn't hurt?" Clare looked up into his eyes. "It's a temporary nuisance, nothing more." He removed his arm and got up, walking away from her before he turned around and spoke again. "A little deeper and that 'temporary nuisance' would have required stitches." Well, she'd gone through that once, too. Clare stood up and went to him, taking his lowered chin gently in her hand and raising it to look into his eyes again. "It goes with the territory," she told him softly. He looked at her surprised. "You said you'd never done this before." She shook her head. "I said I wasn't into it, not that I hadn't done it before." Clare walked away from him, sighed deeply and decided to tell him of this brief chapter in her life. "I was 24, finishing my grad degrees; Peter was fun, exciting... he was into S&M. He didn't push or force me to participate; I willingly experimented." She remembered the night in the hospital, when he'd gone too far. The sickening feeling she'd had when she realized his concern was for whether she'd bring charges against him, not for how she was. Clare shrugged and faced Walt. "When it got to be more than I could handle, we broke up." He looked at her with disbelief. "If you'd already been hurt by this, why allow me, why *encourage* me to do it?" It was a valid question. "Because you're not Peter. He purposely wanted to hurt me... I knew you wouldn't." And if Peter had had Walt's strength -- she shuddered at the thought. Thankfully, Walt realized she wasn't shuddering because of him; he took her into his arms, gently embracing her, his voice soft. "What did he do to you?" Clare held her breath; she really didn't want to tell him but reluctantly did. "He dislocated my shoulder and broke my arm." It had been an accident, she'd known that at the time, more a matter of the position she was in than of physical strength. She recalled she couldn't even cry out, the initial pain and shock were so strong. What had frightened her most, however, had been the look in Peter's eyes... sheer supremacy, sheer pleasure in the pain he'd caused. It had lasted only a moment, but it had taken her weeks to get over it. Ironic that she was now in a profession where she caused others grievous harm... or was it? Walt had held her tighter after she'd told him, gently rocking her. Now he said softly into her ear, "Clare, I'm sorry." She wasn't sure whether he meant for what Peter had done or for what they had done, but it didn't matter. This was supposed to be about him, not her. She looked up into his kind and gentle face. "Tell me what you were feeling." He released her and walked away; well, at least they were getting their exercise walking back and forth. "It was strange," he said at last. Clare sat on the sofa, curling her legs under her as he continued. "It was like I was watching myself, from a distance, and yet I was fully conscious of what I was doing." "Like my dream." "Yes." He seemed relieved that she understood. "And like your out-of-body experience in Vietnam." She'd been surprised when he'd told her about it, not that he'd had it, but that he'd share it with her. He frowned a moment, considering. "Sort of, yes." Like any normal, sensitive man, the brutality of the war had left its mark on him. "I had that same feeling of being in control and yet not being in control; of doing something unconsciously, reflexively, without stopping to think about the consequences." He was quiet, reflecting on his experiences; she didn't intrude. After a few moments, he sat down beside her, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers. He gently pushed a stray piece of hair from her face. "I don't think you'll be able to provoke me again." He said it sincerely and Clare wanted to believe him, but as he pulled her against him, the tension still in his body made her wonder if *he* believed it. Sunday, June 4, 1989 Clare finished washing the breakfast dishes, dried her hands and sighed as she leaned against the counter. The previous day had passed just as she'd figured it would. Walt hadn't touched her past putting his arms around her; he'd kissed her lips good night, but barely touched them. He'd slept fitfully, tossing and turning most of the night before finally giving up and leaving the bed. She'd wanted him to talk to her, but he'd seemed to feel he had to face what was still bothering him alone. He came out into the living room, carrying his gym bag; he looked haggard. "Want me to come with you?" "No." He put the bag down as she walked to him and lightly kissed her. "I shouldn't be long." That was five hours ago. Clare roamed absently around the apartment again, straightening up what didn't need to be straightened. She finally sat down on the sofa and held a throw pillow tightly against her chest. Walt's behavior worried her; he was usually so strong, so able to handle anything. Yesterday had changed him, seeming to have awakened a personal demon thought gone. Maybe she shouldn't have pushed him to confront that side. Certainly yesterday had forced her to reconsider her motivations for joining the FBI, for joining the Consortium. Clare couldn't blame Tom for turning her into a killer, but she didn't want to believe it was some character flaw that he'd exploited either. Why did he have to recruit me, she thought, make me party to horrible secrets? She shook her head at the childish response of blaming others for choices she'd made, and like it or not, she had to admit that she chose the path she was on. Killing people, destroying lives, ruining careers; she had considerably more to feel guilty about than Walt, and yet he was the one who was suffering. How had this weekend gone so wrong? She'd been so happy yesterday morning and now was so miserable without Walt there, by her side. The emotional pain she was feeling was far greater than any physical pain he'd inflicted. Clare jumped at the sound of his key in the door. He still looked tired, but he also looked calmer and more relaxed. She looked over the sofa at him and smiled. "Feel better?" He smiled back. "Yes, and no." She noticed he was walking stiffly. "Why are you walking funny?" He shrugged. "Overdid it at the gym." Clare arched an eyebrow. "How long were you lifting weights?" He answered hesitantly, "Two hours." "Walt! Are you trying to kill yourself?" she said, exasperated. Clare shook her head, thinking he'd chosen to abuse *his* body as some sort of penance. "Did you at least spend some time in the sauna?" "No." She stood up, took his hand and began leading him to the bathroom. "What are you doing?" "Getting you into a hot bath before your muscles stiffen up any more." Clare tested the temperature one last time and turned the water off. Walt was still dressed, leaning against the sink; he had a faraway expression on his face. "Did you suddenly become shy or are you too stiff to get out of your clothes?" He focused on her and sheepishly smiled. "Maybe both." She smiled back. "Do you need help?" "I'm not looking forward to bending." She rolled her eyes and bent to take off his shoes. "Do you think you can manage to get your shirt off?" she teased. "I'll try." Once his sneakers and socks were off, Clare stood up and started to undo his jeans. His body was still damp from the exertions at the gym. He gently stopped her. "I can get those; maybe you should get the bandages off." "You're better off letting them soak off." She started to leave, to give him privacy, but he caught her hand. "Clare, please stay," he said it quietly, with a pleading tone. She turned and looked into his warm brown eyes. "You just want me to soap your back," she gently retorted. He smiled softly. "Guilty as charged." "Well, you're not making any headway with those jeans." This time, he didn't stop her from removing them; as she eased them off, she noticed the bruise on his knee -- where she'd kicked him. Instinctively, she kissed the bruise; Clare felt him shudder at the touch of her lips to his skin. She stood up and kissed the bites she'd left on his chest as he shuddered some more. "Time to get you in the tub." He climbed into it and slowly lowered his beautiful, overextended body into the water, gasping at the heat. "Is it too hot?" "No, it's fine." She sat on the floor next to him, watching him; he reached out to take her hand. "Join me?" Clare smiled on the outside and grimaced on the inside. She'd carefully worn one of his over-sized shirts to bed, to cover the bruises that were now apparent on her back and shoulder blades from repeated contact with the wall. With make-up she'd been able to mask the brush burns around her mouth, but the ones on her chest, breasts and neck wouldn't be so easily covered. The hickey was pretty obvious and she'd already wondered how she was going to cover it for work. Finally, the bite wounds had begun showing their own rainbows of color. It all looked worse than it was and she was hesitant to let Walt see. He sensed that. "Clare, let me see what I did to you." She kissed his hand before slowly standing up. Clare stripped off her clothes, leaving the T-shirt for last; she turned away from him as she quickly removed it, knowing her hair would not cover the bruises. She heard his sharp intake of breath and inwardly cringed. Clare unhooked her bra and slowly, reluctantly, dropped her arms, letting it slide to the floor. She'd never felt so self-conscious in her life; without thinking she covered her chest with her arms. "Turn around." She complied and as she turned, caught sight of her back in the mirror... the coloring had intensified since morning. Clare didn't want to lower her arms, but did it anyway. The angry patch of pink extended from one breast to the other and moved upward toward the base of her neck; the skin itself was rough from the burn. She felt tears welling up in her eyes as she saw the shame in Walt's; Clare quickly got into the tub and settled in front of him. She felt his hands moving her hair out of the way, exposing the bandage on her shoulder. If her back looked that much worse, she could only imagine how the bite would look. He started to gently remove the bandage; she wanted to stop him but didn't. He winced at the sight; Clare glanced back at it and understood. Despite the temperature of the water, she felt herself trembling. Walt's voice was full of emotion. "Clare." She snuggled back closer to him, still fighting the tears. "Just hold me." He tenderly wrapped his arms around her abdomen and kissed her wounded shoulder. "I am *so* sorry." "It's not your fault." They laid quietly in the tub until the water cooled, each lost in their own thoughts, each grateful for the contact. When they climbed out, he dried her off with infinite care before dropping the towel and kissing her slowly, tenderly. She parted her lips for him and he hesitantly entered her mouth. His penis started to stir as he withdrew from her. Clare opened her eyes and said softly, "Make love to me, Walt. I need you and you need me." Clare had thought the love they'd made so early Saturday morning had been gentle, but it had been nothing compared to what they'd just shared. Walt's touch had been feather-like; he'd been determined to avoid her injured areas and because of this they'd discovered new erogenous zones -- the soles of her feet and the backs of her knees. Clare held him tenderly against her body, smiling as she thought how they'd gone from one extreme to the other and back; it had been a good weekend, after all. Friday, June 9, 1989 Clare walked slowly to her apartment, juggling mail and briefcase, happy that another weekend was starting. She would have been happier if Walt hadn't been called out of town for the last day and a half; she was scheduled to pick him up at the airport in a few hours. She opened her door and stepped inside, tossing the briefcase over the sofa as she walked to the table. She looked through the mail as she kicked off her shoes and settled on a letter with large childlike writing; her six-year-old niece was always sending her artwork for the fridge. She was concentrating on the short note Emily had written, when she felt arms encircle her. Without giving her mind time to recognize the owner of those arms, her FBI training automatically kicked in. Clare thrust both elbows hard into a stomach, simultaneously kicking a knee; she heard a surprised groan and reached behind her to grab a neck and flip her assailant over her shoulder. Her gun was drawn an instant later, and only then did her other senses finally register. "Jeez, Clare, I thought we agreed not to beat each other up again," Walt said breathlessly and with a grin from his supine position on the floor. She unclenched her Smith and Wesson revolver and returned it to the holster. "Sneaking up on me is an excellent way to get yourself shot, you know." She reached a hand down to help him up, but he had other ideas. He pulled her down on top of him, a certain playfulness about him as he kissed her. Walt rolled her off, stood up and extended a hand to *her.* Clare arched an eyebrow at him. "You know, for someone in as good a shape as you are and who weighs 50 pounds more than I do, you were fairly easy to flip." He pulled her to a standing position, the playfulness still apparent. "You took me by surprise and by the way, I'm thankful you have carpeting." Clare smiled at him, shaking her head. "I thought you weren't due back until 10p.m." "Change in plans. Speaking of which, do you have any for the next three days?" She looked at him warily. "Outside of going to work on Monday, I suppose not. Why?" "I thought we could take a little weekend trip and call in sick on Monday." She looked at him with surprise; it wasn't like him to not take his job seriously. Clare reached forward and placed her hand on his forehead. He said, laughing, "What are you doing?" "Checking for a fever." "I assure you, I'm feeling just fine." "Hmm. Let me get out of these clothes and we'll talk about it." Clare smiled as she started to turn around; he gently pulled her to him, kissing her again with a smoldering passion. "Need any help?" he said suggestively. She smiled seductively back at him. "Maybe." They hurriedly made their way back to the bedroom. When they reached the room, she saw her open suitcase sitting on the bed, a few items already tossed in. Clare turned to look at him mischievously. "Awfully damn sure of yourself." She got a grin in return. "You can be annoyingly persistent when you want to be." "I prefer to think of it as persuasive." She looked in the suitcase, noting only a few underthings, and glanced back at him. "Unless you're planning to keep me locked in a hotel room all weekend, I take it you haven't been here long." "Beat you home by a few minutes," he agreed. Clare sat on the bed; he knelt down in front of her and took one of her hands in both of his, bringing it to his mouth and softly kissing it. He was kneeling on one knee as he looked seriously into her eyes. *ONE KNEE?* Her mind flashed the implications of the position he was in a split second before he spoke. "Clare, I love you, will you marry me?" The simplicity of his words, combined with the look of sincerity and love in his eyes, went straight to her heart. She wanted to say yes automatically, but what she did was stammer, "Walt... I... I," she gave up. All sorts of thoughts started running through her head, each competing for attention. The man she loved more than anything else in the world wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Tom would be as furious as he ever let himself get. A lifetime of Walt's strong arms around her. Protocol -- she hadn't stopped seeing Walt; she'd disobeyed orders by failing to break it off; Tom and the Consortium would never agree to their union -- unfortunately marrying him didn't violate *official* FBI protocol. "I... don't know that I'm ready to get married," she weakly replied. He instantly looked perplexed. "Come again?" Clare willed her mind to come up with a more tangible excuse. "We've only known each other six weeks... we should wait... longer." Oh, God, she thought, that was *hardly* better. Walt shook his head, unable to comprehend her reluctance. "Clare, my proposal can't be that big a surprise to you. I'm still old-fashioned enough to believe that two people who love each other and are playing around with having a child should be married." Her mind still wasn't coming up with anything of use to further argue against getting married. "Just for the record, how many kids were you thinking of?" He smiled, "I don't know. Enough to fill a house." Shit, Clare, *think.* The disks... but would they be enough? Could she 'resign' from the Consortium *and* stay above ground? She didn't see how, especially if her husband continually had to deal with 'them.'"Raising several kids is a big responsibility," she hedged, stalling some more. Walt relaxed his expression, wrongly thinking the prospect of parenthood was making her hesitate. "Raising *one* child is a big responsibility." He wrapped his fingers around hers. "We don't have to have kids right away, Clare. We've got plenty of time." What if I can convince Tom that marrying Walt is in *his* best interests, Clare postulated. That might work -- use my 'influence' over Walt to get him to toe their line... And you'd never betray Walt like that, you idiot, she scolded herself. "Having kids well into your 40s is no picnic," she murmured. "I can handle it," he replied, hoping he was wearing her down. "Besides, it's not *my* age that matters." When she continued to be silent, he turned her chin up, puzzled over her shifting eyes. "Clare? What's wrong?" She forced herself to gaze into his eyes and felt her heart melt at his soulful expression. God, I love him so much. How can I hurt him by saying no, she thought. Her positive reply came out before she could stop it. "Yes -- I will marry you." Walt emphatically beamed at her before kissing her with a breathtaking deliberation. She took a few seconds to gather what was left of her senses and hoped he'd agree to what she'd decided to say. "I wanna quit the FBI, Walt." He gazed at her, completely dumbfounded. "I could be pregnant already," she continued, "and the field is no place for a morning-sick agent." "But you don't know--" "It doesn't matter. I've -- I've been thinking of resigning for weeks. My heart just isn't in it anymore." What a perverse variation on the truth, she thought. She felt her spirits lift as he slowly smiled. "Well... I know this sounds highly chauvinistic, but I'd love to have you be a stay-at-home mom." Her face broke into an unconscious smile. "And I think we can survive just fine on my salary." She leaned in to kiss him, releasing all the emotions and concerns she was suppressing. "Mmmmm. So where are you taking me this weekend?" "Vegas." Clare stared at him, stunned. "You want to get married this weekend? We haven't even met each other's families." He unleashed a cocky sort of a smile. "There'll be plenty of time for that later; besides, I told my parents all about you and they've given us their blessing." She noted his expression and arched an eyebrow. "You've got this all worked out, I see. So where's my engagement ring?" She was being facetious, so found herself gaping when he reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a box and handed it to her; she opened it and gasped. It was the most beautiful opal she'd ever seen. "It was my grandmother's; I remember you made a comment about not being fond of diamonds, but if you'd rather--" She kissed him to shut him up. "I love it, don't you dare buy me a diamond instead." She tried it on; it was actually a little loose. "I take it your grandmother was no petite little thing." He laughed. "Actually, she was, but her fingers kept swelling as she got older so she had the ring enlarged twice." Clare got a suggestive gleam in her eyes. "So when does our flight leave?" He looked at his watch. "In three hours." They barely made the flight. Saturday, June 10, 1989 Clare stepped off the elevator carrying numerous packages. In their haste to leave the previous night, she never had gotten packed. She smiled thinking how fortunate it was that Las Vegas hotels had all-night boutiques; her body said it was 10, but of course they'd lost three hours en route. She was also quite tired, having not slept well. Clare had discovered something incongruous about her husband-to-be -- he snored like a lumberjack when he was nervous. Least she assumed it was nerves that had caused the reverberating noises. No matter how many times she'd jabbed him on the plane, he hadn't stopped for more than a few minutes at a crack. Even though she'd just shown some restraint, her credit card had taken a heavy hit -- nothing, she was sure, compared to Walt's after the plane fare and hotel. As she entered their room, she thought again that he was a hopeless romantic. Clare dropped the packages on the bed, grabbed the two that she wanted and headed for the bathroom. Walt was shaving, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. He leaned over to kiss her, getting the shaving cream on her chin. She laughed as she looked in the mirror and rubbed it off. "Where were you off to this early?" He went back to shaving. "Shopping." He rolled his eyes. "Hey, don't give me that look. It's every bit as much your fault I arrived with no luggage." He laughed. "True. So what's in those?" She placed the packages on the counter. "I bought you a new shirt and tie." He paused in mid-stroke and looked at her. "Something wrong with the ones I brought?" Clare grinned back at him. "You are *not* marrying me in an FBI white shirt -- and don't even get me started on your ties!" He laughed and splashed the remaining shaving cream off his face. She eyed the towel and was about to yank it off when he looked at her sideways. "Don't even think it." She made a half-hearted attempt to pout and teased him, "We're not even married yet and our sex life is already out the window." He scooped her up into his powerful arms; there was a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm saving myself for tonight." Clare rolled her eyes. "Oh, please." She did, however, yank the towel off. "Clare." His tone was more amused than exasperated. She smiled slyly at him, holding her hands up. "I promise to keep my hands in plain view at all times." He laughed again, taking her hands and kissing them, "It's not your hands I'm worried about." Indeed, she was already rubbing her knee against him. "Clare." He took her knee and pushed it gently away. She sighed at him, "Your lips say no, but your--" He kissed her to shut her up. "Now go away and leave me alone," he said, grinning. "Just the words every bride wants to hear on her wedding day." She turned around and left. He picked up the towel, wrapped it around himself and followed her out. "So what all did you buy?" He plopped onto the bed and started peeking into bags. There was a knock at the door; as she went to see who it was, she called over her shoulder, "Stay out of the bags or you won't be surprised later." The person at the door handed her the two dresses she'd bought and left; they were both in see-through garment bags. Walt rose off the bed when he saw the one in front; it was short, sleeveless, had a low scoop neckline and was fire engine red. He swallowed audibly. "Are you sure that dress isn't missing something?" Clare looked at him as she draped the two over a chair. "Like?" "Like the rest of the dress." Okay, it wasn't her usual style, but she'd liked it as soon as she'd seen it. As far as its lack of fabric went, she'd pretty much healed from the previous Saturday, and even though the shoulder bite was still apparent, she'd made sure the dress covered it before she'd bought it. "You're not wearing that for the ceremony, I hope?" Clare smiled wickedly as she walked back to the bed, sat down and looked at him. "Why, think it's inappropriate? He arched his eyebrow in response and they both laughed. Six hours later, they were married; 30 minutes after that, their nice clothes lay in a heap on the floor. Clare got out of bed and picked up her new, now-crumpled dress. "What are you doing?" he asked her in jest. "For as much as I paid for this, I'd like to be able to wear it again." She smoothed it out and laid it across a chair. On her way back to the bed, she picked up their sole wedding picture. She snuggled back against Walt as they looked at it. " *That* is a terrible picture." "Well, that's what you get when you have a quickie wedding; if you'd been willing to wait a few months, we could have had a full-blown affair with professional photographers." He grimaced. "Is that what you wanted?" Clare smiled at him and kissed him softly. "No, small intimate gatherings are more my style." She sighed and looked at the rings on her finger, lightly running her thumb against the back of them. Walt watched the action a second before reaching under his pillow and pulling out a small box. "I bought you a little wedding gift." His eyes dared her to reprimand him. She took the box from him and softly laughed. "You'd better get the promotion, because after this weekend, you're going to need the raise." She opened the box; it held a heart-shaped pendant. Clare gasped as she carefully removed it. "Turn it over." On the back was inscribed -- '6/10/89 CEH WSS.'"You really were sure of yourself." She softly laughed. He took the pendant from her and fastened it around her neck. She reached down to look at it again. "So you like it?" She turned around and kissed him. "I love it and I love you. And I have something for you too." She reached down under the bed and handed him a rectangular package. "Now, it's not nearly as nice as your gift, but I saw a shop while we were running around this morning and I had them rush it through." He opened the box; inside was a nameplate -- 'Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner.' He smiled. "Do you know something I don't?" Clare smiled back at him. "Wishful thinking." "Thank you." He leaned over and lightly kissed her. "So, Mrs. Skinner, what do we do until dinner?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "I don't recall agreeing to take your name." He teased her back. "Something wrong with my name?" She smiled at him impishly. "Not really, but after 29 years, I've gotten rather attached to Hoffmann." He smiled, tossed the covers back, knocking the boxes off the bed in the process, and moved his body on top of hers. "Besides, you know as well as I do I'll be referred to as 'Mrs. AD' once the announcement is made, provided you get it." Walt wasn't listening to her anymore; his attention had wondered in the direction of one of her breasts. She moaned as the first of the electrical sensations went through her. "Putting me under your jurisdiction?" He stopped suckling long enough to say, "Something like that," then raised himself off of her and took a long drink of champagne from the glass sitting on the nightstand. He didn't swallow as he lowered himself onto her again and sought her mouth. She smiled and parted her lips invitingly as his mouth opened to her and the wine flowed between them; it was quickly followed by his tongue. He explored her mouth as though he expected to find something new, probing deeper and deeper. Her hands were pressing against his back, lightly stroking the mostly healed scratches; he moaned as he left her mouth and pulled delicately on her lip. Almost instantly, she took his face in her hands and pulled his mouth back to hers, taking her own time to probe his mouth with her tongue. They exchanged kisses for a few moments more, each increasing in urgency and desire. Their hands were busy as well. Clare steadily applied more pressure to his back, shoulders and neck before moving her hands to grasp his firmly muscled ass. His hands were conducting a symphony on and with her breasts, directing them with precision as he rolled her erect nipples with his forefingers and thumbs. He withdrew from her mouth one last time and moved his lips to her neck, gently nuzzling the faint remainder of the hickey. Her hands moved to his spine as his mouth sought her breast once more. Using the first three fingers of each hand, she slowly, firmly, dragged them up his spine, and when she reached the top, she dragged them down again. He groaned appreciatively as he continued to lick his way slowly round her breast. She shuddered as the stimulation sent gentle shock waves across her body, which intensified as he tugged on her nipple and finally began suckling again. One of his hands continued its orchestrations on the other breast while his other hand began zigzagging across her abdomen. Her numerous moans of enjoyment were temporarily interrupted as she chuckled softly -- he was always trying new patterns. He switched breasts and repeated his movements in reverse while she continued to massage his spine. His fingers had barely touched her clitoris when the first orgasm roared through her; he responded to her sharp intake of breath by more firmly stroking the area and sent another orgasm reverberating through her body. At that point he moved his head lower, effectively taking his whole body out of range from her hands. Clare propped herself up on her elbows to watch him, knowing that he wanted her to. His mouth stopped briefly to play with her navel before engulfing her clit. She groaned at the sensation and threw her head back as he inserted two fingers into her. He'd only moved his fingers in and out a few times before another orgasm flooded her body; she arched her back sharply. Clare barely saw the grin he threw at her before he thrust his tongue inside her and moved his fingers back to her clit. Her overstimulated body came once more as she whimpered, too breathless to say anything coherent, and fell back against the bed soaked. Walt rolled her onto her stomach and laid on his side next to her, gently stroking her back, calming her down but keeping her aroused at the same time. She turned her head to look at him, still trying to catch her breath. "You know, if we keep this up, we may have to buy these sheets." He grinned. "I think I've got just enough room on my credit card to afford another wedding souvenir. Roll on your side." She complied, pressing her back and ass against him. He moved his swollen cock between her legs and gently entered her, placing one hand around her waist to pull her back into his thrusts. Clare moved her hand behind her to rub his back and ass once more. The pace of their thrusts picked up almost immediately; Walt leaned around her arm to plant a series of wet kisses on her shoulder before she contorted her upper body and head back to meet his lips with hers. They hungrily kissed each other as she felt his desire reaching its peak. He quickly rolled her underneath him, seizing her hips in his hands while he pulled her urgently back into his increasingly powerful thrusts. With a loud cry, he came, the force of his climax causing his body to shudder violently before he released her onto the bed -- she didn't have far to fall, since she hadn't actually made it to her hands and knees. He collapsed next to her, a dripping heap himself. "Wear yourself out?" she inquired breathlessly. He grinned back. "Just about." His expression turned reflective for a moment. "I don't seem to recall your coming just now." He started to move to rectify the situation but she stopped him, a sly gleam in her eyes. "I'm not *that* greedy, four was more than enough; and besides, you need to conserve your strength for tonight." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "And what happens tonight?" Clare leaned over to kiss him lightly on the lips. "You'll see," she said mysteriously. "But right now, regardless of the fact that the clock says three, my stomach wants food." He laughed. "Do you think your stomach can wait long enough for me to go for a quick run?" It was her turn to cock an eyebrow. "Just now wasn't enough of a workout for you?" "I need to exercise a few different muscles," he countered. "Besides, this will give you plenty of time to squeeze into that sliver of a dress you bought." She stuck her tongue out at him in response. About an Hour Later Clare flipped her head over and let her hair fly back, satisfied for the time being with how it looked. She resisted the urge to use the can of hair spray the hotel had thoughtfully provided. Walt liked to run his fingers through her hair and the spray would ruin the texture. He'd been miffed when she'd kept it twisted up all day, but she wasn't about to buy hot rollers, and twisting it was the only option she had if she wanted it to fall in waves around her face. She added another layer of red lipstick for good measure before sitting on the bed to put on the black pumps she'd bought. He came out of the bathroom after having taken another shower, and stopped in mid-stride as she stood up and faced him. "Seems like you're the one holding us up," she quipped. His mouth was open as he stared appreciatively at her. Clare smiled slyly at him and uttered a phrase from her childhood. "Take a picture, it lasts longer." He shook his head. "Sorry, you just don't look like the same woman I married a few hours ago." Considering she'd been wearing half as much make-up, her hair had been up and the mid-calf length cream dress had been twice as loose, she had to agree. Clare purred at him as he walked to her. "Disappointed?" He smiled admiringly. "Hardly. Turn around." She complied; the dress wasn't as tight as it was supposed to be, but after all, it was off the rack. He offered a long whistle of appreciation. She turned to face him; with the pumps, he was only an inch taller. "Thank you, now get dressed before I start eating the flowers." Having decided to let the sheets dry out for a few hours, they took their time over dinner. Clare tended to eat faster than Walt and continually stole food from his plate. "You know, it's a wonder you don't weigh 200 pounds the way you eat," he commented. She swallowed her mouthful and grinned. "High metabolism. My mother ate like a horse through two pregnancies and still only gained 20 pounds each time." "I'm looking forward to seeing that." He smiled as he drank his wine. Clare sipped from her glass and slowly put it down. "You know, for a guy who waited till his late 30s to get married, you seem to be pretty hung up on having kids," she said with a gleam in her eyes... but a sincere gleam. He flashed a broader smile at her. "Maybe it took me a while to decide what I really want." Clare laughed. "A house full of screaming maniacs chasing each other and knocking over the breakables." He responded with a deliberate smirk. "I was a very well-behaved child. You can ask my mother." She replied with pronounced sarcasm, "Oh, sure, and that's why your parents rushed right out to adopt another one." He laughed while her tone became more serious. "Have you thought about trying to find your natural parents?" He shook his head. "No. I just assume they had good reason for giving me up and leave it at that." A grin spread across his face. "And now, if you're finished grazing, we could try our luck at the tables." Clare laughed again. "You're just hoping my memory will make me a good blackjack player." Normally, it did give her an advantage, but tonight, she couldn't concentrate on the cards. And Walt kept hovering close to her, holding her hand and touching her skin, effectively telling her he didn't really want to be gambling either. They lost about a 100 dollars and called it an evening. Back in the room, Walt popped the cork on yet another bottle of champagne and poured it out into the glasses. Clare cocked an eyebrow at him as he handed her a glass. "If you're trying to get me drunk, I should warn you I have a high tolerance." He gave her an amused smile as he sipped the bubbly. "Just how high?" She returned his smile, "Suffice to say I defended my shot record three times at Georgetown." He laughed as he shook his head; she took his glass from him and with a devious smile uttered one word: "Strip." He arched an eyebrow at her as she sat on the bed and made herself comfortable. "You heard me." He grinned back at her and began to slowly undress. She laid back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, slowly sipping at the wine and tantalizingly crossing and uncrossing her legs. He painstakingly unfastened one button after another, exposing his magnificent chest, while his eyes wandered from her eyes to her legs and back again. With a flourish, he pulled his shirt out of his jeans and lowering his arms, let it fall to the floor. Clare gleamed appreciatively at the familiar sight of his broad shoulders, the powerful muscles of his arms. "Enjoying yourself?" She raised an eyebrow and smiled hungrily. "Quit stalling." He grinned as he balanced against the nightstand and removed his boots, then socks. He undid his belt leisurely, unfastened the button of his jeans and gradually lowered the zipper. Inch by delicious inch, he lowered the jeans, taking pleasure in tormenting her with his unhurried progress. Eventually, the jeans came off and his hands went to his briefs. "Leave 'em," she said huskily before standing up to face him. "Now what do you want me to do?" he asked, his eyes smoky. Clare turned around and moved her hair out of the way. "Unzip me." He willingly obliged, then started nuzzling her neck; she reluctantly stopped him and faced him again. "Hold my glass, get comfortable and keep your eyes closed until I say otherwise," she commanded and walked to the bathroom. A few moments later, she turned out the light and noiselessly opened the door. Walt was laying on his side facing her direction, eyes still closed. She took a few quiet steps toward him and stopped, standing with her feet shoulder width apart and hands on hips. "You can open your eyes now," Clare instructed with a seductive edge. He did and his jaw dropped. The red dress wasn't the only thing she'd purchased that wasn't her usual style. To put it simply, what she was wearing was black, very short, had a lot of lace and not much else holding it together. The effect was enhanced by black stockings held up by garters and the same black pumps she'd been wearing before. "I take it from your silence you approve of this purchase?" He gulped and hoarsely replied, "It's, uh, uh, very nice." He started to get off the bed. "Not so fast," Clare said, walking toward him, opening the nightstand drawer and removing one very long silk scarf. He instantly knew what she had in mind and offered little protest, his only question being, "Are you going to blindfold me, too?" Clare bent over and kissed him hungrily before tying his wrists to the bed frame. "I hadn't planned to," she purred. "Just when did you cook up this little idea?" "Oh, I've had it for a while," she said, and finished tying the scarf. "How's that?" He tried his restraints. "Tight enough to keep me from going anywhere, loose enough to keep the blood flowing." Her eyes were wickedly shining. "Good, now what shall I do with you?" Clare reached over, picked up the other pillow, cradled his neck in her hand and put it under his head. He gave her a questioning look. "I just want to make sure you can see everything." She got off the bed and picked up the container of ice he had so thoughtfully brought for the champagne. He got a worried look in his eyes. "Clare?" "Yes?" She said it slowly, without reassurance. "What are you planning to do with the ice?" She climbed on top of his legs and held the container loosely in her hands... she had that gleam again. "Maybe you'd rather have the blindfold." He started squirming as she picked up a cube. "Clare, this might be a good time to tell you that I happen to have my handcuffs and I could easily cuff you to this bed while you're sleeping. Jeez..." She'd dropped the cube on his chest; because of his slightly elevated position, it started to slowly slide downward as it melted. "Well, look at that," Clare said in mock surprise. "A built-in sliding board. Whoops, there goes number one." The cube had slid off his body. She picked up two more and placed them at the top of his chest. He shook them off before they'd gone too far. "You have a definite mean streak." "And you aren't cooperating. Oh, well, I guess I'll just have to guide them." Despite his protests, and they were numerous, she took two more cubes and held them on his chest. Clare slowly dragged them southward, with him squiggling, squirming and protesting the entire way. She stopped just short of his still-covered partial erection. He'd raised his head off the pillows, watching her, concerned. "Clare, don't you dare." She then said simply, "Okay." She put the melting cubes back in the container. He relaxed and dropped his head back on the pillows a moment before gasping. She'd taken a new cube and started running it along his inner thigh. "Jesus, Clare! I'm telling you right now you'd better sleep with one eye open." She put the cube back and sat on top of him. Clare took another, larger cube before putting the container aside and leaning forward, running the cube across his lips and around his mouth. He tried to turn his head away, but she just moved the cube along with his motion; he finally opened his mouth and let it fall in. Her eyes flashed at him as she deeply kissed him and retrieved it; she promptly swallowed what was left of the ice, an amused expression on her face. Walt wasn't quite in the same mood. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." She smiled, picked up the container and put it on the floor before leaning forward for another kiss. He was more receptive this time, no doubt feeling safer, and warmer, without the proximity of the ice. Clare kissed his eyes, cheeks and the cleft in his chin. She moved on to his ears, running her tongue around them and tugging on the lobes with her teeth. He responded with a soft moan. She felt his cock coming back to life under her as she moved to his neck and dragged her tongue across it, starting at the hollow of his breastbone and finishing at the tip of his chin... more moans. Clare flipped her hair over and drew it across his chest, tickling him a few moments before slowly but enthusiastically covering his chest with wet kisses. She gradually made her way south and took his almost continual moaning as a sign of appreciation. He jumped as her still-cold fingers touched his hips and started guiding his briefs down his legs. Once they were off, she began a northern trek with her kisses, concentrating them on his inner thighs, before arriving back at his now full erection. She was about to take his balls in her hands when she decided to have pity on him and went to the bathroom first to warm up her still-cold digits. Walt was relieved when she returned; whether he feared she was going to leave him tied up or was happy her fingers were no longer cold, she wasn't sure. Clare settled back on him and began rubbing his chest, playing with his nipples. She bent over and playfully tongued them while taking his balls in her hand and softly kneading them with her fingers -- he groaned at the double stimuli. She continued to manipulate both his balls and one nipple while her other hand began stroking the length of his erection, paying particular attention to the sensitive tip. She slowly worked her way down his chest with her tongue and held it poised over his erection. Clare looked at his face, his eyes were glazed over with desire. She gave him a questioningly look and he huskily responded, "Do it." She didn't... a different idea had sprung into her head. He loudly groaned as she shifted off him and leaned to reach the bottle of champagne left over from the afternoon. She held it over him and he raised his eyebrow at her, daring her to pour it on him... and she did. Clare heard his sharp intake of breath as the warm but still bubbly liquid came in contact with his swollen member. She smiled wickedly. "Say when." Clare put the bottle down on the floor and waited till he was watching her before she began to slowly, painstakingly lick the wine off him. She dragged her tongue up, down and all around his cock, enjoying both the taste and the groans her ministrations were causing. She took his balls into her mouth and gently sucked them. Walt's body began to writhe under her and he pulled against his restraints. "Relax, I'm not finished yet." If he did relax, it was an imperceptible amount. She greedily licked the precum off his cock before she took him into her mouth and began sucking. His groans were constant and only after he'd begged her to stop the third time did she give in. Velcro tabs were extremely useful on panties; Clare ripped them open on hers, tossed the panties onto the floor and lowered herself onto him. Despite his urgings, she took her time finding her rhythm and began rocking against him, quickly picking up the pace as she felt herself building to orgasm. She steadied herself against his chest as she felt his cock throbbing within her. Their breathing became ragged as they wildly thrust against each other. A moment later, her orgasm went screeching through her, her cries numerous and incoherent. Within seconds Walt joined her cries as his seed exploded deep within her. She fell on top of him, spent; after a few moments, she untied him. About an hour or so later, they fell asleep, both of them exhausted, happy and content, in that order. Clare didn't keep one eye open and she didn't wake up the next morning cuffed to anything. Monday, June 12, 1989 Clare was back in her apartment, in the bedroom. Walt had left 10 minutes earlier to pick up the files he needed for a meeting the next day; he also needed clean clothes. He'd dropped her off first because she lived closer to the airport and she'd pulled her things from his suitcase and garment bag before he'd left. She smiled as she remembered the look of surprise on his face when she'd managed to stuff all her new clothes into his luggage. She was tired; the time change back had affected her. She'd told Walt not to be surprised if she was asleep when he returned. She'd been quiet on the trip back; she hadn't want their weekend to be over. Neither of their 'superiors' had been particularly pleased when they'd called in sick. Walt had been informed of an especially early meeting the next morning in addition to a previously scheduled one later that night. Clare didn't look forward to her next meeting with Tom -- to playing his game of innuendo, leverage and control. She'd have to pick up one of the disks on her way to work tomorrow... or would it be better to get it now? The mailbox she'd rented was accessible 24 hours a day, but no, even if she left right away, she probably wouldn't be back before Walt returned. She sighed and walked out to the kitchen. She'd pick the disk up tomorrow. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it... a plain white envelope under her front door. A chill ran through her as she knew what it was before she even picked it up... another assignment, another order to kill someone. Clare ridiculously hoped she was wrong... but wasn't. Worse, the target was to be eliminated tomorrow. Enclosed with his picture and dossier was an early morning plane ticket to New York. Shit! she thought, how am I going to deal with this? She looked at the picture. He seemed like a normal enough guy; Robert Sullivan -- the name meant nothing to her, but apparently it did to someone. Alex would be there, but they wouldn't rendezvous until New York, taking different planes. She shuddered as she removed her instruments of death from their hiding place. Tiny needles, they fit onto a ring and were filled with a deadly toxin that exactly mimicked a heart attack, quick and untraceable. Clare put the box away and went to bed. Tuesday, June 13, 1989 Clare was scanning the area, trying to locate their target. He'd slipped into a crowd at JFK airport and they'd briefly lost him. She caught sight of him walking toward an airline monitor; Clare looked quickly for Alex -- he'd seen him, too. She walked toward Sullivan, the ring carefully on her finger. He turned around and she bumped into him, placing her hand on his arm. They murmured apologies and she raised her hand to inject the drug. She looked into his nervous face and hesitated, her conscience screaming at her not to do it. Clare managed to smile at him and walk away, relieved that she hadn't killed him, but already afraid of the consequences. She walked back to Alex; he couldn't believe she hadn't done it, wouldn't believe her when she said she had. They argued briefly, drawing some attention. He got the ring from her and despite her objections, carried out the orders. She toyed with staying in New York, approaching the one colleague who was her best chance, but he'd want concrete evidence of her knowledge, and the timing of her flight and Walt's meeting had made it impossible to pick up the disk before she'd left DC. Damn it! She chastised herself again for not retrieving it last night, for not making up some excuse for Walt about why she'd gone out. But the previous night she'd convinced herself to kill Sullivan as one 'final concession' to the Consortium. When she'd looked into his face, however, she couldn't do it. Damn it, Clare, you've really screwed up, she told herself. Alex's and her planes landed only 15 minutes apart; they'd be expected to make a report immediately after arriving back in DC. Alex had said he'd cover for her, that he understood the battle she was fighting with her conscience. She'd told him not to bother, not to risk his life for hers; she was actually touched that his concern for her well-being seemed genuine. After all, they'd only been partners a few months -- of course, a lot could happen in that time frame when you worked closely with someone. As her plane landed, she decided to make a quick detour to pick up the disk before meeting with Tom. One Hour Later Her world was crashing down around her, and she was all but helpless to stop it. Before she could retrieve the disk, she'd heard on her car radio that a fire had destroyed the building two hours earlier... nothing was salvageable. The meeting with Tom had gone very poorly. He'd had Walt and her followed over the weekend, knew about the marriage, knew about her inability to complete the last assignment. She'd attempted to stand her ground, to 'resign,' but he'd ignored her and thinly veiled her options: Commit suicide or be eliminated; try to run and Walt would be harmed. He'd said he'd give her until the following morning to make her choice, but she seriously doubted his integrity. Especially since she'd already detected the tail. It was Cardinal; whether he was bad at surveillance or wanted her to know he was there, she couldn't say. She only knew she couldn't jeopardize her former Georgetown professor by going to his office to retrieve disk number two; unfortunately, the other remaining copy was at her parents' house -- she'd left it there when her father had had the heart attack. She'd have to subtly lose Cardinal long enough to contact her former professor and arrange a drop. It had to be subtle -- if it wasn't and he believed she'd run, Walt... One Hour Later My God! This couldn't be happening. How could he have been so stupid as to leave the disk in one of the labs; leave it for some idiot student to destroy with hydrochloric acid?! Worse still, she thought, her parents had allowed her sweet little niece to erase *that* disk almost as soon as she'd left. Why? Why, she'd asked her mother, hadn't you told me sooner. 'Because you said it wasn't that important and we were embarrassed,' had been her mother's reply. What was she going to do? She couldn't afford to stay hidden from Cardinal much longer. Think, Clare! Compound Z5. But she'd need someone to get it, someone to revive her -- who? Bennett. Two hours later Clare was back in her apartment. She'd contacted Bennett and explained her situation. He'd been sympathetic. She'd told him if he could shield Walt for even 12 hours, she could disappear and recreate enough of the files to regain her leverage. He'd sadly told her he couldn't do that without tipping his hand. She'd told him she didn't know how long Cardinal would wait before he tried to kill her. She hadn't bothered to bring up going state's evidence... they both knew the system was too corrupt. He'd reluctantly agreed to procure the necessary amount of Compound Z5. She'd told him it was her only chance to protect Walt, her only chance to survive. Her death had to look accidental; otherwise, Walt might uncover something that would put his life in jeopardy. Bennett had tried to talk her out of the drug because it hadn't yet been tested on humans and he was concerned she wouldn't survive intact, if at all. She'd convinced him it was a risk she had to take to protect the man she loved so deeply. He'd understood that, since she'd previously risked her life to warn him that someone he loved was in jeopardy. He'd finally agreed to get the drug, to make sure her body wasn't filled with formaldehyde, to dig her up, administer the counter-measures and keep her in a safe environment until she'd recovered. He'd even provide her with a new identity and necessary funds to start a new life. He'd told her to forget what she knew and concentrate on living a normal, secret-free life. Clare had destroyed her little death needles before she'd come home. She'd taken an extra-hot shower in the perverse hope that somehow the steaming water could cleanse her past and absolve her for what she was about to do. She'd also cranked the air-conditioning in preparation. The food had arrived a few minutes later, with the beverage containing the drug. She was uncertain how long it would take to depress her system, to make her appear dead -- the lab tests had all involved injection, not ingestion. To make matters worse, Cardinal had stepped up his surveillance... she knew he was hovering outside, watching her every move. Clare deeply regretted the phone call she was about to make, the one that would establish her accidental death by choking caused by her allergic reaction. Bennett would keep her body free of unwanted chemicals, but it was up to her to attempt to stage a death that would make an autopsy unnecessary. She absently started eating the food and willed herself to sound happy, to sound normal. She wasn't really aware she was fingering the pendant Walt had given her. She picked up the phone and called him. "Skinner." His voice was calm, professional. "Hi, am I interrupting you?" She hoped her voice sounded warm. "No, but I'm about to leave for that meeting." His tone had warmed as soon as he realized it was her. "That's right, I forgot." She shook her head, knowing full well the exact time of his meeting, and swallowed the food she was chewing. "Guess you'll have to heat up dinner." "Well, from the sound of it, you weren't waiting for me, anyway." His voice sounded amused; she could almost see the amusement in his eyes. She laughed. "I'm sorry, it's really spicy take-out. You'll love it." Now, Clare. She coughed for a good 10 seconds and reached for the laced drink. "Are you all right?" She didn't have to fake the bit of hoarseness in her voice. "Yeah, I'm fine. It wanted to go down the wrong pipe, I guess. So when do you think you'll be home?" Home to discover her 'dead body,' home to find their too-brief marriage had come to a tragic end. His voice was warm again. "I like the sound of 'home,' almost as much as 'Mrs. Skinner.'" Here we go on that jag again, she thought before mildly protesting, "Yeah, well, I still haven't agreed to change my name." Remembering her conversation with Tom, her voice became more serious. "My superiors weren't very pleased when I gave my, uh, two-week notice." An understatement, if ever there was one. Walt was irritated at this news. "It's none of their business if you want to quit." He paused to frown. "I hope they don't try to exert pressure to get you to stay." Depends what you mean by pressure, she silently answered. "I doubt it." His voice relaxed. "By the way, news of our marriage seems to have traveled through the grapevine already." Clare had another coughing fit; this one lasted longer, and when she spoke again, her voice was hoarser. Walt was concerned this time. "Maybe you should stop eating that stuff." "Yeah, you're probably right," she croaked. Walt glanced at another agent tapping his watch. "I gotta go. I love you, see you in a couple of hours." "I love you, too. 'Bye." It had been extremely difficult to keep the emotions she was feeling out of the last exchange. Clare hung up the phone and continued to eat, almost lost in thought when she caught a glimpse of a shadow at the window. Damn you, Cardinal, she thought, just give me a few more minutes. She drank more of the substance and wondered what it would feel like when it hit. Clare tilted the cup back and finished it before rinsing it out and tossing it in the garbage. She went back to leaning against the counter and eating. Within a few seconds, she started to feel sleepy... it had begun. She smiled as she thought how the current researchers would love to ask her a zillion questions before she lost consciousness. With effort, she put a large piece of chicken into her mouth and barely chewed it. Clare put on a tremendous choking performance solely for the benefit of Cardinal, may you go straight to hell, she thought. She fell onto the floor, upsetting the plate and briefly thought she *was* choking. A strange calm came over her as she felt herself drifting away, her breathing rapidly slowing. She saw Walt's face happy, smiling, laughing. She saw the future they'd never have, the joy on his face when she'd be able to tell him she was pregnant, the sensation of the child growing within her. Clare hoped he'd get over her quickly, find someone else and fulfill his desire to have a family. Walt, her beloved Walt, she would keep him in her heart always, al-- |
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Title: Anthony, Book One. 03. Reunited Summary: Clare and Skinner agonize over her past and face the decision of staying together. Wednesday, October 2, 1996 Clare was listening to Anthony via the cordless phone and she smiled as she leaned against the sofa, Walt holding her hand. Both had shed their suit jackets immediately after entering the apartment. When Anthony finally allowed Clare to get a word in edgewise, her tone was laced with amusement and her eyes had a luminescent glow. "I'm very happy you're having a good time with agents Scully and Mulder, honey." Clare rolled her eyes as Anthony went off on another tangent. Walt tugged on her hand to get her attention, his eyes showing amusement as he mouthed 'What?' She covered the mouthpiece and moved the phone away from her for a moment. "Mulder apparently taught him how to spin a basketball on the tip of his finger today." It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Anthony -- Anthony, it's time you went to bed, it's a school night," she finally managed to say when her son had paused for breath. "Please don't give them any trouble. I love you, Sweetpea. We'll be home tomorrow." Clare smiled more broadly as she looked at Walt. "Yes, Anthony, both of us... What's that? Yes, Walt, I mean, *Dad* is right here." Clare handed the phone to Walt as her expression softened. He took the phone as he drew Clare's hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. The second his lips left her skin, Clare trailed her fingers across his cheek and down his jaw. She could feel the response his body had to the simple action and smiled again as she moved a few paces away from him. With effort, Walt placed the phone against his ear. His tone was affectionate as the grin spread across his face. "Yes, Anthony?" He beamed still more as Anthony started another dissertation, both from not wanting to go to bed and not wanting to break the connection to his parents. "Baseball isn't exactly my best sport, but I'm sure I can teach you how to throw a ball." Clare good-naturedly rolled her eyes again and wandered further away, knowing he'd talk to his subordinates after he had finished with Anthony. She looked around the place and was saddened to see how little it had changed in seven years. The starkness, almost lack of personality, was still prominent. She had to gave him credit, as she had seven years earlier, for not resorting to 'bachelor brown.' A smirk crept across her face and a sudden warmth stained her cheeks pink as she looked back at the sofa. I wonder if he ever did replace that spring, she thought. Her eyes were momentarily riveted on his back. With the illumination of the lamp, she could make out the rippled form of his muscular upper body. I think he's actually in better shape than he was seven years ago, if that's possible, she mused. She sighed, wanting to feel his embrace, his loving touch, him inside her. Her doctor hadn't actually forbidden sex because of the aneurysm, but he'd seemed relieved that she wasn't involved with anyone, just the same. Clare dragged her eyes past him, to the bookcase across from him, and her heart nearly skipped a beat as she recognized various items. She'd been so anxious to talk to Anthony after they'd flown into DC that she'd tunnel-visioned everything but the phone. She shook her head again, remembering how Walt hadn't wanted her to use the cellular phone -- "too easy to intercept the signal," he'd said. How he'd laughed when she'd countered with, "What makes you so certain your *home* phone isn't bugged?" All these precautions weren't really necessary anyway. 'He'd' said that Anthony was safe, and she had to believe him. Clare walked over to the bookcase and slowly ran her fingers over the familiar personal items... items that had been hers. Two photo albums detailing her life from infancy to young adulthood, her collection of Dick Francis paperbacks. The pottery -- her grandparents had been antique dealers, and Walt had kept her pieces of Roseville and Llewellyn. As her eyes scanned the shelves, she saw her favorite carnival glass bowl and another made from milk glass. Clare wondered what had happened to her depression glass... the mismatched pieces of pink and green colored dishware in similar patterns -- Diana, Spiral, Swirl and Twisted Optic. Or the McCoy pots in the Springflower pattern that had always reminded her of dogwood trees. Clare barely contained her squeal of delight/surprise as she moved into the dining area and found the aforementioned pieces. It meant so much to her to know that Walt had kept those beloved objects, those treasured mementos of time spent with her grandparents, dead some eight years now. To know that Anthony would one day inherit them and hopefully remember her when he looked at them. She smiled again as she dragged her finger lightly across one pot and realized she'd been wrong. The apartment wasn't lacking in personality; it was subtly exuding hers. She turned and found Walt staring at her, his ear still pressed against the phone. It was difficult to read his eyes, not because they were expressionless, but because of the plethora of emotions struggling for dominance. Clare met his gaze for a few seconds and recognized some of the emotions -- love, fear, happiness, concern, relief, pain, desire. She strolled back to him, took his hand and delicately kissed his palm. Once her lips left *his* palm, Walt carefully trailed his fingertips across her forehead, through her hair and behind her ear. His voice dropped to almost a whisper as he mumbled into the phone, "Wait a second." He balanced it on the sofa as he drew Clare's face toward him and with quiet deliberation sensually kissed her. Clare rested her forehead briefly against his before quickly and lightly kissing him back. Her own voice was warm as she spoke to him, her expression radiating love, desire, but not quite unequivocal trust. "Finish up." He smiled at her, understanding, as she pulled away and moved toward his bedroom. When he found her a few moments later, she was sitting in the solid cherry rocker that had been hers, leaning against the starburst quilt draped over it, and gazing thoughtfully at their wedding picture, framed long ago. "Still think this is a terrible picture?" Clare gently teased him. He moved behind the chair, leaned his head forward and kissed her hair before running his fingers down her arms. "I've grown attached to it," he murmured. Clare half-smirked as she tilted her head back and gazed up at the smile across his own face. They both twisted their heads and softly kissed again. Walt knelt by the side of the chair as his eyes took on a gleam. "Your brother was very disappointed when I kept the rocker." Clare's eyes lit up as she chuckled. "I was wondering how you'd managed to get it; the pottery, glassware and books I can understand, but Darryl always had his eye on this rocker." Walt's features softened as he took Clare's hand in his own and tenderly stroked it with his thumb. "As your mother reminded me, legally, everything you owned belonged to me." He sighed as he slowly stood up, reluctantly released Clare's hand and ambled over to the bed; he didn't turn around as he crossed his arms. His voice was tired, apologetic and she could hear the pain in it. "I paid the rent on your apartment for three months after... I wasn't prepared to deal with losing you." Clare unfolded herself from the rocker and walked to him, threading her arms through his and hugging him. Walt leaned into the embrace as Clare propped her chin on his shoulder. "I threw myself into the promotion and shut myself off from grieving. I didn't attempt to go through your things until your landlord said he had someone interested in the place. Your mother flew back and helped me sort through it all, told me which pieces of the pottery were your favorites... I should have known which ones... " "Don't do that," Clare interrupted, her voice soft and barely reprimanding as she squeezed him tighter against her. She didn't want to hear the pain lacing his voice any more than she had to. Walt loosened Clare's grip and turned around to face her. He gently swiped the first tears as they slid down her cheeks. "I felt like I knew you so much better after spending those few days with your mother; it made me realize how little I *had* known you, about you. It filled in all the blanks I thought we'd covered." He looked over to the rocker. "She told me how your grandfather made the rocker as a wedding present for your grandmother and how you'd always loved it. She more or less insisted I keep it... and now I'm very glad I did." He cradled her head and gently kissed her as he twined his fingers through her hair. Clare's eyes were brimming with tears as she haltingly tried to speak to him, her emotions flooding her voice. "Walt, I am *so* sorry for all the pain I've caused you; all the secrets I kept from you." And the secrets I'm still keeping from you, she thought. "I love you so much... I... I've never stopped." He placed a finger gently against her lips. His own voice cracked with emotion. "I've never stopped loving you either." He smoothed his finger across her cheek. "I understand why you did what you did. I just... I just... " Walt shook his head. No matter how he tried to form the words, he knew it would sound like a reprimand, and he didn't want it to. Clare took his hand and squeezed it before taking a deep breath. She drew his face closer to her own. "You just wish I'd told you who I really was, what I was involved in, and trusted you enough to help me." He slowly nodded. Clare hated to ask the question, but felt she had to. "And would you have helped me?" Walt opened his mouth and closed it again immediately. Clare shook her head and moved away from him, crossing her arms as she took another deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, more controlled, but unhappy; she bit her lip. "Everything about that day happened so fast. With Cardinal following me, I had a lot of difficulty thinking rationally, staying objective. I had to assume if I was being tailed, they had someone close to you too. Someone who wouldn't hesitate to harm you if I made a wrong move or tried in any way to warn you." Walt walked back to her and wrapped his arms protectively around her. She tried to lighten her voice, unsuccessfully. "Bennett told me how you refused to allow the autopsy... thank you, it saved him from coming up with a creative solution." "More creative than having your 'personal physician' declare you'd ingested ginger and choked to death due to anaphylactic shock?" Clare turned back to face him. "I'll admit that the allergy angle was a bit much. I actually am allergic to it, just not nearly that severely. I had to be sure my body could be identified, and I wasn't about to allow some stranger to die in my place in a fiery crash with switched dental records." She shook her head as she gently drew her fingers across his cheek and back behind his ear. "I hated involving you as much as I did, but I had to set up the pretense and... hope. Hope that you would accept it as accidental and not start investigating. I think that's what the smoker had in mind. That you wouldn't accept a suicide at face value and certainly not rest until my murderer was found. Either way, you'd poke your nose in too far and he'd be 'justified' in eliminating you." "Did he ever tell you why he has it in for me?" Clare shook her head. "No, the most I got from him was that it was possibly a combination of your being honest and it being something personal; I can't truly say I believed him." She started to shiver. Walt disattached himself and pulled the quilt off the rocker; after securely wrapping it around her, he guided Clare back to the bed, sat down beside her and closed his hand firmly around hers. "You okay?" Clare smiled at the concern and gentleness of his tone. "I tend to get chilled. My core temperature never completely came back up." Walt was pensive. "That's part of something I don't understand. How could your body have so convincingly appeared to be dead... I mean, I've read enough autopsy reports to have learned a few things." She took a deep breath. "It wasn't perfect; I told you that Z5 was the first version that was 100 percent stable, but it still had 'problems.' All of the versions would produce the appearance of respiratory death, but finding a formula that would successfully cause the body to cool properly, attain a level of lividity and display some rigor mortis was very difficult. Do you really want me to explain this?" Clare's voice was tired. Walt swallowed slowly; he clearly heard her hesitation but he *did* want to know... wanted to know what to look for in case he stumbled across another user of the drug. "Yes, I do." She sighed again. "Normally, body temperature drops an average of one and a half degrees per hour after death occurs, but obviously, the environment that the body is in will influence that. We had the proper decrease rate with Z1, but it wouldn't stabilize until it had dropped 23.5 degrees, and that was too much. The solution continued to allude the researchers, and finally with Z5, the temperature drop was stabilized, but only after an uncharacteristic decrease." "Which was why your skin felt so cold when I first found you." "Exactly. I tried to cover it by cranking the air-conditioning. According to the lab results, core temperature would drop some seven degrees in a matter of two hours, but it wouldn't decrease further than an additional four degrees." Clare felt another chill engulf her body and pulled the quilt tighter. "Once the blood stops circulating, gravity takes over and the blood starts to pool, resulting in lividity. Version three corrected earlier problems, and a suitable amount of pooling was effected to simulate lividity, while in actuality, the blood was still circulating, just at a very slow rate. Which made fixed lividity, or no blanching of the skin after six to eight hours, problematic. Rigor presented a major hurdle; version four managed to temporarily suppress the body's level of ATP." "Which is?" he prompted. "Uh, ATP is a compound consisting of adenosine, ribose and three phosphate groups. They govern the storage and transfer of energy in cells, especially the muscles. Generally, a body will start displaying signs of rigor mortis at around the four-hour mark; after 12 hours, the body is completely stiff, but by 30 hours, rigor dissipates and the body is flaccid. Again, there are a host of mitigating factors, activity at the time of death, temperature, weight. True rigor, obviously, couldn't be achieved, but a reasonable amount was simulated." She closed her eyes as she remembered. "Changes in the eyes are more difficult to interpret, and it was decided to ignore that contingency. Finally, the researchers weren't sure if the characteristic bluing of the hands and feet could be simulated; it's hard to tell with lab rats." Walt stared at her with a sickened expression. "Just exactly who were you planning to use as human guinea pigs?" Clare got a peculiar look on her face and shook her head. He doesn't need to know that, she said to herself. "That information wasn't available to me." Walt tightened his grip of her hand without realizing it while she winced. Between a month of 'ignoring' the pain in her head and back and her old instincts kicking in, Clare didn't show any outward signs of discomfort... instead, she looked directly into his eyes and deliberately kept her voice soft. "There are subtler ways to indicate you don't believe me." He gaped at her and suddenly relinquished her hand, standing up and meandering toward the windows. Clare gingerly rubbed her hand and kept her eyes lowered. Walt turned back, his expression contorted by emotion. "I'm sorry, Clare. You're my wife, but when you lied to me, I... " Clare stood up, shedding the quilt, and went to him, trying to meet his eyes, even as he shifted his gaze away. "You saw me as a recalcitrant black ops agent just now, didn't you?" A small amount of shock invaded his expression, though his tone remained firm. "No." He couldn't look her in the eye. She bit her lower lip and tilted his chin up. Their gazes finally met; his doleful eyes looked apologetic and uncertain. Her own eyes, artificially tinted emerald, were sad while her tone was somber. "Walt, I don't expect you to be able to forgive my past. What I did was horrible; no amount of clean living, soul-searching nor seeking of salvation can change that." She allowed the tiniest of rueful smiles to cross her lips. "I have no doubt which direction my soul will be traveling after I die." Walt placed his fingers against her lips. "Don't say that. Don't even joke about it." He drew her into his arms and kissed her slowly. He wanted to know so much more, but he wasn't sure he could look into her eyes when he asked the questions, *or* when he heard the answers. They moved back to the bed and laid down, Walt holding Clare snuggled against his chest. She listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart as he took several cleansing breaths... and she waited for him to start the discussion she least wanted to have. "How could you become an assassin?" His tone was everything she'd expected... gentle yet probing, reprimanding but not accusatory, and with a hint of incredulity. Clare took a deep breath of her own before answering, and her tone lacked any inflection at all. "I've asked myself the same question every day for the last seven years." She took another deep breath, held it, and let it go before continuing. "They pulled me in slowly, carefully assessing my willingness to buy into their philosophy... it was really very subtle. Cancerman maneuvered me into research at the Academy after my initial training at Quantico, citing my advanced degree in organic chemistry. There were only three of us working on the formula for those two years. Shortly after I left, they added another four people. I handled routine cases for the next year, but I already told you that." "Clare," and his voice was gently chiding, "you're straying from the question." She burrowed her head deeper into his chest and wished the subject would go away. She toyed with trying to divert his attention in a very pleasant manner, but doubted seriously he'd let her get away with it, not this time. She sighed again and her voice became more tired. "Remember the weekend I forced you into trying violent sex --?" Walt quickly cut her off and his tone was sharper than he'd intended. "You didn't force me, you... you coerced me into examining a darker side of myself." He sighed as he shook his head. "For someone with your memory, you seem to have selective recall." Clare raised her head off his chest and twisted, looking into his eyes with a trace of amusement. "All memory is like that, photographic or not. It's called point of view." She leaned further in and captured his mouth. He resisted briefly, but once the kiss was over, he pushed her back and tangled his fingers in her hair. "Clare, why do you keep stalling? What is it you're afraid to tell me? Did they have some sort of hold over you?" Wouldn't it be so much easier to say 'yes,' make something up, she thought, anything but the truth. "They had no hold over me." Clare's voice was barely above a whisper, and she closed her eyes tight before she continued. "The worst thing they did was recognize a willingness to kill and exploit it." Walt tried to stop his sharp intake of air, but the sound was still clearly audible. He'd wanted very badly to hear Clare say they'd forced her somehow, not that she'd willingly committed murder. His voice was shaky as he tightly screwed his own eyes shut. "Go on." "It wasn't until that weekend, that I... that I started to realize how being involved with Peter had influenced me. I was a rock on the outside after the trip to the hospital, but inside... inside I was a basket case. The look of supreme power and control on his face at subjecting me to that much pain was an image I couldn't get out of my head for weeks." She shuddered in memory. "Maybe they knew about that; hell, I'm sure they did. God, that sounds like I'm blaming Peter for what I did... Allowing myself to become an assassin gave me that same sense of power and total control over another human being; it was intoxicating." She swallowed a large lump threatening to overwhelm her. "I... I..." Please, God, she prayed, give me the strength to tell him everything. "I was good at my job, very good, reliable, accurate; I even 'enjoyed' it in a perverse way." Clare rolled off him and sat up, pulling her knees under her chin and clenching them fiercely. "You once said to me, 'I don't believe in the slightest that you could ever be a cold-blooded killer'... you were very wrong." Walt sat up at that and barely felt his feet touch the floor. His mind was reeling from Clare's words, and he felt his stomach churning as well. He tried to breath deeply, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate. Every image, every hope he'd had about Clare's involuntary involvement with the Consortium had just been shattered. He covered his face with his hands as he shook his head. How could I have been so wrong about her, he thought. My wife, the mother of my son, the woman I fell head over heels in love with, 'enjoyed' killing innocent people. She's right, he continued. I don't see how I can forgive her past. I might be able to put it aside, in time, but how can I forgive it? He involuntarily started as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Clare bit her lower lip and frowned as she pulled her hand back. I've lost him for good this time, she thought. Her voice was sorrowful and laced with guilt. "I'm *so* sorry, Walt, I... I know how desperately you wanted to hear... something else." She lowered her head a moment before moving off the bed and stumbling out the door. The moment she was gone, Walt flung his body back on the bed, giving the hapless mattress one violent blow in pure frustration. He couldn't think straight, his mind wouldn't respond in its usual orderly, rational manner. Two years, he thought, for at least two years my gentle, loving Clare had been hard and unfeeling, had terminated people. It was difficult for him to believe that such a different side of her could exist. He was just trying to stop his mind from wondering how many lives she'd taken, when he remembered she'd started to question what she was doing at the beginning of 1989. So she'd stopped 'taking pride' in her work before they'd met. It was a hair-splitting realization, but it made him feel slightly better. It was also a feeling that lasted only a few seconds as he heard his front door close. Walt leaped off the bed and raced to the living room. He yanked open the door, but Clare was already gone. He swore several times, not bothering to keep his voice down as he went to get his keys. It was then that he saw the note: Walt - He scowled as he crumpled the note and threw it at the sofa. He swore again as he jumped up and left, slamming the door behind him. Some Two and a Half Hours Later Clare shifted her position on the sofa and smirked... the question of the broken spring had been answered, negatively. She stood up as she heard his heavy footsteps in the hall. He unlocked the door and was about to throw the keys angrily at the coffee table when he saw her. His expression barely had time to register relief before irritation resurfaced and he grabbed her by the arms. Walt pulled her tightly against him by her elbows and kissed her with a wild combination of passion, relief and marginally suppressed rage. Her eyes widened at his narrowed eyes, clenched jaw and stern expression as he released her and took a step back. Of all the swirling emotions within him, anger was the one that pervaded his tone. "Don't you ever walk out on me in the middle of an argument again." Clare narrowed her own eyes, her voice reverberating with annoyance and irritation. "We weren't having an 'argument' and if you'd followed the instruction on the note I left, I wouldn't have had to pick the lock to get back in." He looked at her incredulously and turned away, shaking his head in exasperation, in relief, finally in control again. The glasses came off as he tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose before he placed them on the end table. When he turned back to her, the harsh lines around his mouth had softened and his eyes were gentle, his voice low and entreating. "Clare... Why are we doing this? I don't want to fight you." Clare relaxed as she held her hand out to him. "What *do* you want?" she asked as he took her hand. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed each finger. "I want us to be a family, for as long as we have." She shook her head in disbelief as she pulled her hand back. "I'm a confessed murderer. A man in your position has to seek justice regardless of our relationship." "You were acting on the orders of others." "So that makes me a good little Nazi; it doesn't absolve me of guilt." Walt stared at her. "I can't believe you're saying this. Do you *want* to be prosecuted? Are you going to take the fall for their organization? What about Anthony? How do you think a trial would affect him? And how could you jeopardize his future after you just stepped forward to guarantee it?" Clare knew he'd neglected the most obvious question -- 'Are you prepared to reveal the names of your victims?' Her temples were throbbing from the confrontation and the rest of the day. "I had to give you the opportunity to turn me in," she said quietly, "and trust that you wouldn't. I wish I could say I'd been positive that you wouldn't... but I can't." She dropped in a heap onto the sofa and hit the broken spring; Clare shifted awkwardly off of it. "Why didn't you get this bleeping sofa fixed?" Walt's face relaxed again, almost into a smile as he walked to the sofa and sat down next to Clare. He lifted her chin and looked into her still-tormented eyes; he leaned in further and tenderly kissed her lips, brushing her hair aside. "Because it reminded me of you." He ran his fingers through her hair as Clare smiled back at him, the pain in her head abating slightly. "Why don't you take out those contact lenses so I can look into your beautiful *hazel* eyes." Clare smiled a bit broader, the glint in her emerald-tinted eyes unmistakable, before she lightly kissed him and removed the lenses. She gazed back at him. "I guess I don't need to be concerned with saving them, now. I suppose you'd like me to strip out this hair color, too." He tangled his fingers again in her dark chocolate-colored hair. "I was somewhat partial to that auburn mane of yours." She took his hand as it slid to the end of her hair and kissed it; her tone now beseeching. "Let's not 'discuss' any more tonight. I... I just don't have the energy." Walt looked into her eyes and realized the 'torment' was pain. He tenderly laid her back against the throw pillow and moved to the end of the sofa. His strong biceps were propped on the sofa arm as he knelt on the floor behind her head. Within seconds, Clare felt his fingers firmly but gently massaging her aching temples, forehead, eyebrows -- even the bridge of her nose. It wasn't enough to make the pain go away entirely, but it did manage to dissipate a healthy amount. It also was prompting a reaction within her body that hadn't been satisfied in far too long. After a few short minutes, Clare stopped the motion of his fingers and sat up. When Walt looked into her eyes again, he still saw the pain, but it wasn't alone; there was also longing and a rapidly igniting flame. "Make love to me, Walt," she said, the sultriness of her voice jump-starting his own smoldering needs. I want to so badly, my darling, he thought, but... "Is that a good idea from a medical standpoint?" He tried unsuccessfully to keep the yearning out of his voice, and he was reasonably sure his eyes weren't cooperating either. Clare stood up as he did and deliberately rubbed her body against his, eliciting a soft moan from him. "I've had more than enough negative stress today. Some positive 'stress' would be beneficial." He wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. "I thought you didn't have any energy left." Clare returned his smile. "Mental energy is zapped, other portions of my body are charged. And if it weren't for my memory, it might have forgotten how to do that." Walt smiled even broader, understanding the meaning behind her words. He drew her against him as he repeated his kiss from hours earlier. They both felt the adverse tension in their bodies begin to release as the kiss continued to deepen. The tension was replaced with a pleasant, tingling sensation. Both took their time refamiliarizing themselves with the other's mouth, knowing that unlike the previous night, the passion wasn't going to stop with just the kiss. Walt moved his lips to the hollow at the top of Clare's breastbone and alternated between nuzzling and kissing the sensitive area. Clare dropped her head back and he eagerly planted his warm wet kisses on her exposed neck. With an effort, and a whimper, Clare stopped him. "I need to take care of something first. We wouldn't be very responsible if we didn't take the necessary precaution." He nearly pouted, his expression laced with sadness. They'd talked before of a house full of children, but that future wasn't possible anymore. "I've got some condoms kicking around." Clare raised her eyebrows in mock surprise as he all but blushed. She softly kissed him as her expression relaxed. "Do you *really* want to use one?" He allowed a devilish smile to cross his face. "No." She matched his smile and pulled his head lower so she could kiss the top of it. "Then wait for me in the bedroom and don't get undressed." Clare rolled her eyes as she removed her low-heeled pumps and continued across the floor to the bed. Walt was stretched out fully on it, fingers laced together under his head, smiling at her and barefoot. With a gleam, Clare placed her cold fingers against his foot and quickly began tickling him. "Jeez, Clare!" he sputtered while quickly withdrawing his foot. "Your hand is like ice." He instantly regretted the statement as he saw the glint in her eyes. "Don't you dare," he warned as he sat up. "You could always make good on your handcuff threat from before." Clare climbed onto him and sat on his thighs. "Although you don't have the headboard for it this time." She inched up further until she was resting on his hips; well, *her thighs* were resting on his hips, while her derrière was resting on a much more sensitive area. He groaned as she deliberately took her time getting comfortable. Clare watched him with raised eyebrows. "Did you say something?" He grinned at her. "You can be very bewitching when you want to be." Clare fell over him suddenly to mask the distress his innocent comment had just caused. Before he had a chance to say anything else, she quieted him with a passionate kiss. While he was enthusiastically responding, Clare fought a brief internal battle. How can this feel so wrong and so right at the same time, she mused as she moved her lips to the cleft in his chin and continued down his throat. Walt was aware of the abrupt increase of tension in her body, despite her efforts to distract him. He wasn't aware that his choice of the word 'bewitch' had caused it, but he did realize the oddity of what they were doing -- falling back into their former relationship when both were acutely cognizant of the drastic change in it. He pushed all thoughts of that change out of his mind and softly moaned as Clare continued her southern trek. Walt repeatedly ran his fingers through her hair as she painstakingly opened each button on his pinstriped cotton shirt and followed each unfastening with a fiery kiss on the area exposed. The pain in her head was still there, but Clare had learned to ignore it to a certain degree. Medication strong enough to erase it left her incapable of doing anything more than sleep -- and that was hardly what she wanted to do right now. The ibuprofen would kick in eventually and take more of the edge off. She concentrated all of her thought on her current, very pleasant task. She felt herself becoming increasingly aroused as Walt gasped and moaned at each of her kisses. When she ran out of buttons, she gently tugged the shirt out of his pants and gave his navel some extra attention, much to his wriggling enjoyment. She raised her arms up, took one of his wrists in each hand and unbuttoned the cuffs simultaneously. Clare chuckled as she slowly progressed back up his chest, his mass of soft curly hair tickling her nose. She had barely made it to his throat before he pulled her face back to his and recaptured her mouth. Clare felt a tingling sensation clear down to her toes as he repeatedly plunged his tongue into her mouth. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both over before sitting up and gazing at her with smoky eyes. "Your turn," he said, his voice low and husky. He yanked his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. Seconds later his hands began unfastening the buttons to her raspberry colored blouse. He got as far as one kiss before he groaned in frustration at encountering the camisole underneath. Clare chortled again. "Still no patience for layers, I see." He winked back as he thoughtfully fingered the fabric of the blouse. "And I see you still have your fondness for silk." Clare propped herself on her elbows and fixing him with a coy glance. "At least this one is washable, in case you spill anything on it." He gave her an indecipherable look in response. "So what are you going to do about this 'obstacle,' Mr... Skinner?" He hovered in front of her a moment before tilting her chin and lowering his mouth to hers. Walt quickly opened the remaining buttons and pulled both the blouse and camisole out. He deftly unfastened her cuffs. Reluctantly, he released her mouth and drew her to a sitting position. His mouth descended again onto her collarbone and shoulder as his hands pushed the blouse down before it joined his on the floor. Walt grasped the bottom of the camisole, pulling it up and over Clare's head. She slowly lowered her arms and wrapped them around his neck, placing her lips against the hollow at the top of his breastbone and suckling the spot. He groaned again, wrapped his arms around her now mostly bare back and carefully laid her flat again. As soon as her lips stopped moving, he began his own painstaking journey, depositing a long series of wet kisses. Clare writhed at the feel of his succulent mouth and tongue against her flesh. Each kiss sent a minor shock wave through her. He made his way down to the waistband of her pants and started back up, urged on by her repeated moans of pleasure. When he reached the level of her breasts, he tried to unhook the bra, but she wouldn't let him. "You've already removed two items. It's time for you to be submissive again." He arched an eyebrow at her. "I seem to recall your asking me to make love *to* you, or is my memory slipping, Ms. Hoffmann/Cartwright?" Clare pushed him off and sat up next to him. Her eyes shone as she gradually traced the outline of his face, scarcely noticing the bristle of his beard. "I was thinking it's about time I started going by 'Mrs. Skinner.'" The smile across his lips extended all the way up to his eyes. He cupped her chin and leaned in, softly kissing her lips before looking into her eyes with a genuine ebullience. "Nothing would make me happier... *Mrs.* Skinner." She pushed him onto his back and smiled deviously. "I'm sure I can come up with something to make you happier." Clare straddled his body again and placed her now-warmer hands against his chest, marveling at the feel. She massaged with a firm pressure, gliding her fingers across his well-developed pecs and rock-hard abdomen, occasionally tangling her fingers in the bristly hair. With a gentler pressure, she toyed with his small nipples, rolling them between her fingers, before lowering her head to them. Walt moaned louder as she flicked her tongue and softly suckled them. He ran his fingers up and down her spine. Walt jumped as he felt Clare's hand travel to his groin, opening the zipper. Her head began moving south as she steadily rubbed his engorged member. Walt turned his own head from side to side as he softly groaned. Clare slid her body further down his legs. "Would you open the damn button already," he growled with a husky edge. Clare stopped her ministrations momentarily, her own voice seductive. "Lose your taste for foreplay?" He arched an eyebrow in response. She winked and bent her head to his waistband before sharply biting the button off. Clare sat up again and spat it out onto the bed. Walt sat up, more aroused, but also in a playful mood. "I just bought this suit -- don't go ruining it." "And a very nice subtle tweed it is," Clare responded while inching the trousers from his hips and down his legs. She'd no sooner tossed them to the floor and moved back onto him when he pulled her back onto his chest. This time, the kiss was insistent and fervent as his hands ran the length of her spine and he grasped the button on her slacks. Clare chuckled softly and looked into his eyes. "I see you noticed where the zipper was," she quipped. "Just because I'm no longer in the field doesn't mean I've lost my powers of observation." The zipper was taken care of and both her slacks and panties were gone a few seconds later. Clare's hands went back to his briefs and divested him of same; his blood-filled appendage dug into her abdomen. Walt grabbed the bra again and quickly unhooked it, Clare's eager breasts spilling out as they were released. She maintained her raised position as Walt proceeded to fondle her breasts. "I'm not complaining by any means, but I don't quite remember you being this 'endowed' before." Her eyes twinkled and she captured his mouth again, probing it deeply. He held her tighter and rolled over once more. Walt ended the kiss and advanced to one breast. Clare cambered a split second after feeling his roughly textured tongue sweep across it, a soft moan accompanying the action. He suckled with abandon as she moaned and repeatedly arched. One hand began manipulating her other breast with practiced skill as the other began to slowly move between her legs. Clare felt as though time were standing still as the familiar and long missed shock waves crashed over her. She gasped as he switched breasts and began anew to please her. His throbbing cock was insistently pressing against her when his fingers reached her clit. A few seconds later her orgasm exploded and a myriad of colors flashed before her eyes. She cried out, her back sharply cambering. Clare bucked a few seconds before becoming very still; Walt looked up at her, instantly concerned. She opened her eyes and took in a deep breath. "I'm fine, cheri." He smiled in relief and at the French. Her voice was languorous. "It's been a while, and the 'endowment' is courtesy of six months of breast-feeding; they didn't quite return to their previous size." He ran his hands lightly across her breasts and down the rest of her body before kneeling between her legs. "I'm appreciatively noticing the rest of you seems a bit rounder as well, mon amour." Clare dropped her head back as he finally penetrated her. "Five pounds of baby weight stubbornly refused to come off," she murmured as his size briefly stretched her and she closed her eyes. "It looks *very* good on you," he hotly whispered as he tantalized her mouth again and continued his slow pattern of advancing and retreating. Clare let him get away with his teasing thrusts a few moments longer before she employed the same trick she'd used the first time they'd had sex... she tightened her vaginal muscles and prevented him from leaving. Walt halted the kiss and looked into her impish eyes, his own expression amused. "Trying to tell me something?" Clare leaned upward and nipped his chin, her eyes lighting up still more. "Quit horsing around," she uttered seductively. He raised an eyebrow yet again. "Why is it that 'horses' always seem to come up with us?" She rolled her eyes before tugging him back to her. "Later." He picked up the pace as they passionately kissed, their tongues fighting for dominance. They both groaned as their lips separated and each took turns pursuing other areas. Clare busied herself with planting wet kisses along his throat, collarbone and upper chest. Walt chose to nuzzle her ear, neck and the hollow at her breastbone. He returned to her mouth as the thrusts reached a near-frantic level and their sweat-covered bodies pounded against each other. Clare's hands slid down his back and kneaded the firm flesh of his buttocks... they were both so close. Walt moved his head to her breast one last time and pushed her over the edge. She arched sharply once again as she cried out his name and whimpered in between. Her hands instantly rose back to his tailbone -- the combination of her cries and the pressure of her fingers on the sensitive spot pushed *him* over the edge. Clare could have sworn she could feel each stream of his ejaculate as he emptied himself deep within her. Walt let loose his own long low cry and continued thrusting a few moments longer, savoring the aftershocks of his climax. He laid his head gently against her shoulder and she wrapped her arms around him while they both struggled to breathe. It occurred to Walt that Clare was having a harder time with most of his weight pinning her down, and he rolled off her. Then he pulled her completely on top of him, wanting to maintain as much contact as possible, as he stroked her back. Walt smiled as Clare sighed in contentment and burrowed her head further into his damp chest, running her fingers through the hair. He wiped some of the sweat from his face and murmured to her. "Are you all right?" "Mmmmm. Better than I've been in a long time. Every part of my body is still tingling wonderfully." She elevated herself and ran a finger over his lips. "And it's the first time all day I haven't had even a trace of a headache." The skin around his eyes crinkled. "You're welcome." He sucked her finger into his mouth. Clare laughed and pulled it back out with a soft pop before resting her head again. "At the risk of inflating your ego, you did spoil me for the few other guys I've been involved with since... we've been apart." The playfulness in her tone changed abruptly at the end. Walt kissed the top of her head. "I didn't get involved for two years after I... after I thought I buried you. And then it didn't last more than a few weeks. She was more interested in my title than me. There were a couple more, but they didn't even last that long. I just couldn't seem to find a woman I could really connect with, the way it had been with us. Well, like I thought it had been with us. God, that sounds awful." Clare looked up again and placed her fingers against his lips. "No, it doesn't, I know what you mean. Any time a guy asked me out, I kept thinking I was cheating on you, which basically... I was. The last one, Kevin, wanted to get married." She averted her eyes from his face. "He was sweet and gentle, adored Anthony, but... " Walt gently turned her chin back to him. "But what?" "But I didn't love him... like I said, I'm still in love with you." Clare sat up, shivering. Walt reached down to the floor and grabbed his shirt; he held it out for her as she hesitantly put her arm through the first sleeve, then the other. She couldn't stop the smile spreading across her face as he slowly buttoned her into his shirt. He couldn't help noticing. "What?" "Just remembering what happened to the last dress shirt of yours I wore." He smiled back, slyly, as they climbed under the covers and snuggled up again. "I *am* going to make you sew that button back on my trousers before we leave tomorrow," he told her. Clare awoke first the next morning. Briefly, she felt disoriented at the surroundings, and then she felt completely at home. She was on her side, Walt's body pressed against hers, his arm draped protectively over her, his head nestled on her shoulder. It feels so right here with him, she thought. She couldn't banish the negative thoughts that instantly followed and sighed at the wasted seven years they could never get back, at the tremendously uncertain future that awaited them. She was trying to figure out how she could slide out from his embrace without waking him when he rolled over on his own. Clare crept noiselessly from the bed, pausing long enough to look back lovingly at his peaceful sleeping form before grabbing her overnight bag and leaving the room. After exiting the bathroom, she quickly decided to take care of her growling stomach. As she balanced several eggs in her hands and started to walk to the stove, one slipped between her fingers and fell with a pronounced splat. She swore under her breath and put the remaining eggs down on the counter before she went to retrieve the cleaner and paper towel; she assumed he wouldn't have moved where he had kept them. Clare rolled her eyes as she knelt and looked toward the stove... the stupid egg had splattered quite a distance. She'd just stretched to start cleaning when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Clare instinctively laid flat out and barely caught the second egg as it slid off the counter and plunged toward the floor. She laid still as she swore to herself and didn't hear Walt approaching. He rounded the corner and his heart all but stopped as he saw her laying on the floor. "Clare!" He hurried to her. She looked up and muttered at him, "I don't recall your damn counters sloping toward the floor." He stared back at her as he slid and slumped against the base cabinets, the shock still prevalent on his face. It took Clare a split second longer to realize how the scene must have appeared from his perspective. Her voice was edged with empathy and apology as she crawled to him. "Walt, I'm sorry, I dropped an egg, and... " She stopped, realizing it was ridiculous to try to explain right now, and cradled his head against her as he fiercely held on to her. It was a few moments later before he took a deep breath and relaxed his grip, leaning his head back against the counter. When he spoke, his voice was a mix of tiredness, pain and hopelessness; his eyes were nearly unseeing as he looked straight ahead. "How do you do it? Live each day, knowing it could be your last?" Clare sat up on her knees as she stroked his face and gently turned it back to her; she kissed him. "I try not to think about it." Already, she could feel another headache beginning. "The quality of my life, and more important, Anthony's life, would be short-changed if I dwelled on it. His life will be different enough when I'm gone; I'm trying very hard to make it happy for him now." She kissed the palm of his hand. "At least he'll have you." Walt smiled sadly before he moved his hand into her hair. He pulled her toward him and kissed Clare with a building passion. Her eager response encouraged him as he slowly stood and gently pulled her up with him. He continued the kiss as his hands traveled down her body and under her shirt. Walt caressed her buttocks through her panties and picked her up before he lifted her onto the counter. Seconds later, he was unfastening her shirt buttons. She watched him with a wry twist to her lips and cambered as his mouth descended onto her breast. As the shock waves surged through her, she teased him: "Are you planning to take me here in the kitchen, *SAC* Skinner?" He stopped his progress and smiled more broadly at her. "With your permission, *Agent Hoffmann.*" She nipped his chin. "You most definitely have my permission." Walt gently pushed her hair behind her ears as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. His voice was low and serious. "Maybe we should move this to the floor -- less chance of your head hitting the cabinet that way." Clare smiled sadly and hopped off the counter. "Well, since the mood has been broken from a practical standpoint, why don't we just go back to the bedroom and a soft surface." Clare felt her headache increasing as they stood in an elevator of the Hoover building. She rubbed her temple absently as Walt squeezed her other hand, drawing odd glances from the other passengers who recognized him. He ignored these as he had all the other looks they'd drawn since they'd entered the building. Walt wasn't exactly gushing over her, but neither was he going out of his way to hide his affection. Clare was thankful they hadn't run into anyone who would possibly remember her... yet. The elevator stopped and they stepped out, proceeding to his office. Kimberly, his assistant, looked up in surprise. "Sir? I didn't expect you to be in the office today." He nodded briefly as she glanced at Clare and the fact that he was holding Clare's hand. "I'm not, officially. I'm meeting with the Director in 10 minutes and wanted to check on a few things first." "Walt? Aren't you going to introduce us?" He turned back to Clare and her smile, the smile that wasn't entirely masking the pain in her head. "Clare, my administrative assistant, Kimberly." Kimberly stood up and moved around her desk, extending her hand as Clare did. Her interest was piqued by this woman, who seemed to exert an astonishing amount of control over her boss. He continued. "Kimberly, this is Clarissa Hoffmann, a former agent... and my wife." Kimberly coughed as her eyes grew wide. She deliberately looked at their hands again, this time noting the wedding bands. He must have eloped, she thought. How did he manage to keep me from knowing about her? She never called and I certainly don't remember seeing her around the office. I wonder how long she's been retired. He certainly seems happy. The women finished shaking hands and Kimberly looked at him, her voice calm. "Congratulations, sir." He smiled for a second before frowning when Clare rubbed her temples once more. "Thank you, Kim. Would you get a glass of water for Clare, please?" Clare rolled her eyes at him. "Walt, I know where the water cooler is. I'm not an invalid, I can get it myself." He twisted his lips into a smile. "With a visitor's badge, you can't wander the halls alone, you know that." "I'm happy to get it for you. Be right back," Kimberly interjected and hastily left the office. She smiled her way to the cooler. Clare was exactly the type of woman she'd always expected her boss would choose. Tall, 'properly proportioned,' good-looking but not flashy, humorous, intelligent. They obviously cared a great deal about each other. She wondered how long it would be before they started a family, or even if they would. Kimberly shook her head and reminded herself it was none of her business. Clare ambled around his office while Walt quickly scanned his messages. Her eyes lighted on the name placard on his desk and she raised them questioningly. He looked up at that moment and saw where her eyes had focused. "I still have the one you gave me," he said to her unspoken question. "Too many people asked me what the 'S' stood for, so I got a different one." She walked around the desk and wrapped her arms around him from the back, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Afraid people would think you were a Russian spy, Sergei?" He turned around and kissed her, not bothering to restrain himself. Clare blinked a few times as they moved apart. "You don't seem too concerned about office decorum, Assistant Director Skinner." He winked as he retrieved a handkerchief and carefully wiped Clare's lipstick from his mouth. By the time Kimberly came back, all 'decorum' had been restored. Clare took the water gratefully and quickly swallowed several tablets of painkillers, and they left for the Director's office immediately afterward. FBI Director Edward McIntire sat behind his desk, thinking. He wasn't at all happy about the story he had just heard, about the compliance he was being asked to give. He stood up as both Clare and Walt watched him warily. McIntire turned to the window and weighed the options. If the information were released, a significant chunk of that damned organization would be exposed... at the expense of an innocent six-year-old boy. He thought of his own grown children and knew he couldn't, wouldn't jeopardize their lives for the sake of the greater good. He also didn't envy Walt having to raise a child by himself. McIntire sighed, remembering how hard it had been to raise his three after Peggy had died from cancer just over seven and a half years ago. He grimaced, thinking about the one time he had been unfaithful to her and with whom. "Walt, would you step outside," he said, turning suddenly. "I'd like to speak to your wife alone for a few minutes." Walt raised an eyebrow inquiringly, but stood anyway. "Of course, sir." He left and McIntire sighed again as he looked at Clare. "Why?" his voice was quiet and hesitant. "Why didn't your 'colleagues' use the affair against me? That was the plan, wasn't it? Bring me up before OPC for sexual misconduct." Clare stood slowly and walked to him, taking his hand and squeezing it compassionately. "As hard as it may be for you to believe, Ned, you weren't being set up, at least not by me. Our running into each other really was just a coincidence." She released his hand and turned away. "My own grandmother had just died from cancer. I knew what you were going through." Clare turned back to face him. "And I knew if I had left you in that bar, drinking as heavily as you were, you'd have gotten some very bad publicity... if not much worse... if anything had happened." He smiled reluctantly. "So you're saying that you 'protected' me out of the kindness of your heart?" Clare didn't smile. "Assassins still do have hearts... they, *we,* just learn to shut them off until someone comes along and makes us question ourselves." They looked at each other for a few moments. "You were vulnerable, lonely, drunk and very exposed. My boss was very irritated when he discovered I hadn't 'exploited' the situation." McIntire looked away, out the window again. "I went out of my way to avoid you for weeks after that. I kept wondering why you didn't want anything from me, didn't expect preferential treatment. Even drunk, I knew what I was doing. Every minute of that night is still vividly clear in my mind. Everything we did... " Clare smiled despite herself as McIntire grimaced again; she walked back to him and took his hand once more. "Ned, you hadn't slept with Peggy for more than six months because of her cancer. You had a lot of 'energy' to release." He smiled softly at her and caressed her hand. "Have you told Walt?" She removed her hand quickly, shaking her head. "He hardly would have sat here quietly if he'd known." Clare smiled ruefully as she rubbed her temples. "The missed opportunity was one of the reasons the plan against Walt and Latham was hatched. Professionals are usually employed where sex is concerned, but due to the nature of the plot, I was assigned." She wandered away again and sat down, staring at the floor in front of her. McIntire sat on the corner of his desk, his tone was still low. "Thank you," he said. Clare looked up to meet his gaze. "I should have thanked you before for helping me that night," McIntire said. "And now that I know who you worked for... " He stood up again and moved behind his desk. "I'll push the paperwork through for Walt's leave, effective immediately." Clare stood, her expression and voice soft and grateful. "For how long?" He gazed at her with compassion; the deadly outcome of her medical condition justified his willingness to allow her to escape prosecution. In addition, he felt in a sense that he owed her something for what she *hadn't* done to him. "A full year." Her eyes raised in surprise and her voice was alarmed. "You can't do that. Policy doesn't allow him to return to his job if he's voluntarily gone more than six months. Walt needs this job. It's his life." McIntire smiled and ambled back to her, taking her hand again. "I know that. He's one of the best people I have working for me and I have no intention of losing him. I'll make sure the position remains open for him." He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Consider it my belated thanks." Clare slowly drew her hand back and averted her eyes. The headache wasn't at all diminished, even with the tablets. She gazed back at him sadly. "I don't think he'll be gone that long... Walt will definitely want to know what we talked about. I have to tell him the truth." "I know. He deserves that. It might, however, be better if you waited until you've left the building." Clare leaned her aching head against the window as Walt drove. His jaw was clenched shut and there were tiny lines of anger around his narrowed eyes. Ned had been wrong; waiting hadn't been a good idea. Walt had *barely* agreed to leave the building without an explanation. Kimberly had been wide-eyed again when he'd announced his immediate leave to her and given her the phone number where he could be reached. Clare had clearly seen the question in the assistant's mind about the sudden and dramatic change in their behavior toward each other. Walt abruptly pulled the car off the road and quieted the engine. He took a deep breath and snarled at her as he turned to face her. "You set up McIntire, didn't you? You had sex with him and just now you used it against him. How could you blackmail the director of the FBI?" Clare looked mournfully into her lap. "Answer me!" She bit her lip and closed her eyes, feeling the pain in her head increasing another notch. "I don't think it's going to work between us," she began slowly. "You can't let go of who I was. You... you won't give me the benefit of a doubt. You still think I'm manipulative and conniving... and I'm not." She felt tears welling up and willed them to go away. Don't cry, Clare, do anything else, but don't cry, she told herself. Her hand instinctively went to the door handle, but she knew leaving the car wouldn't accomplish anything. "Clare, look at me." His tone was softer, briefly, but rose again when she refused to comply. "Damn it, Clare. Look at me!" She hesitantly raised her chin and turned to face him, tears spilling from her eyes. "I wish... I wish Anthony hadn't contacted you. This isn't the way I want to remember us. I -- I can't do this." She opened the door and released the seatbelt at the same time, but Walt grabbed her wrist. She closed her eyes again. "Walt, please, let me go," she pleaded as she tried again to step out of the car. He held on. "Leaving won't solve anything." Walt forced his voice to be gentle. He desperately wanted to believe that she wasn't playing a game with him; and he was deeply pained that in his heart, he didn't know. Dear God, she's right, he thought, it isn't going to work. The bond of trust has been shattered and no matter how much we both want it back, it can't be rebuilt in time. He released her wrist and slumped back into his seat. It suddenly occurred to him that even if she had had an affair with McIntire, the power of that information would have dissipated long ago. She was right again; he still thought of her as part of the Consortium, and it was going to come up again and again unless he made a conscious decision to either put it behind them or let it destroy the little time they had left. Clare stopped herself from rubbing her forehead again; if she couldn't control the tears, she wouldn't allow the pain in her head to make her appear weaker, not now. She didn't want his pity, she wanted his love and trust. "We can't keep doing this; it isn't healthy... for either of us. I honestly believe there isn't enough time left for me to earn your trust. You simply have to give it or withhold it." She took another deep breath. "I won't keep you from Anthony; he's your son and it wouldn't be fair to either of you. But if you can't give me your trust, there's no hope for us. Either way, I love you and I always will." She left immediately after and didn't bother closing the door. Walt beat his head against the upholstery several times as he watched her walk away. Why can't I give her the benefit of the doubt, he thought; God, this isn't how I want it to end between us. If he believed in her love, he had to trust her. She'd already proven that she loved him, would do anything to protect him. She had just made her second leap of faith. Now it was his turn. He exited the car and ran after her. She stopped as he called her name and tried unsuccessfully to blink back the latest influx of tears. No matter which decision he made, a part of him would be compromised, his integrity or his love; that she knew for sure. One look into his eyes gave her the answer. Any further doubt was erased as he embraced her and then kissed her. He took her hand. "Come on, mon amour. I have a lot of packing to do before we fly back to Iowa." She smiled with just a trace of sadness... his integrity had lost. They drove the rest of the way back to his apartment in silence; not a tension-filled silence, but rather the silence of relief. As they jointly packed his clothing, Clare repeated her conversation with McIntire... in its entirety. Walt smiled with a pain of his own, realizing she truly was leaving nothing out. But then he realized she was right; no matter how badly he wanted them to have more time, a year, he didn't dare hope it would be that long. He allowed himself to be proud of her for not exploiting the affair... and it finally occurred to him he'd never asked her what had started her back on the road to -- well -- good. It wasn't necessary anymore; the timing of her liaison with McIntire provided the answer. She smiled at him as they closed the last of his suitcases. "Yes, Ned was the reason my beliefs began to change. He started the change... and you completed it." He pulled her into his arms again and smoothed her hair. "How did you know what I was thinking?" She kissed him and stroked his cheek. "Because when your guard is down, your face is very readable." Walt smiled back and kissed her with a passion that would have to wait if they were going to catch the plane. He frowned as he saw the pain she was trying to suppress. "Take the medication, Clare. Nothing is gained by putting yourself through the migraines." She kissed his hand and pulled away, reaching for the smallest of his luggage. "After we're on the plane, I promise." She turned back and forced a sly smile. "You'll never be able to manage all this stuff if you have to carry me as well." Walt held her hand as he drove back from Des Moines International. She was still groggy but looked more at peace than she had since their reunion. He didn't look forward to her doctor's appointment the next morning. He knew the stress of the last few days had worsened her condition; he didn't know if he was prepared to know by how much. They'd have to contact her family, tell them she was alive, that Anthony existed. Walt gently squeezed her hand as she smiled at him. He wanted to keep her to himself, share her only with their son, but he knew he didn't have the right. They pulled into the driveway and exited the car. Anthony came charging from the porch and ran straight to Clare as she knelt to catch him. Scully and Mulder followed him out of the house. They looked at Walt as Clare stood up and took Anthony's hand. Clare walked to Walt, and Anthony took his hand as well. "What happens now?" Scully asked, noting the sense of peace from the three. Walt's voice was calm as he responded. "I've arranged for a temporary leave of absence, effective immediately." Mulder raised his eyes. "Sir?" Walt looked at Clare and Anthony, at the family he'd wanted for so long. "I've missed too much in the last seven years. I'm going to take the time to catch up while I can." |
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Title: Anthony, Book One. 04. Unified Summary: Skinner and his son Anthony's final days with Clare. Thursday, October 3, 1996 Clare sighed as she finished stuffing Walt's clothes into the dresser. She was thankful she didn't have a student boarding with them this semester, as they'd had for the last several years. The house wasn't tiny, but portions of it left something to be desired and a third adult would be pushing it under the circumstances. Scully and Mulder had left almost an hour ago, both eliciting a big hug from Anthony. Whether or not Walt was 'officially' on leave, she knew he'd be kept up to date by these two. Clare liked them both, even if they weren't sure how to respond to her... understandable. She shuddered, realizing again how closely she would have been working *against* them had she remained with the Consortium and partnered with Alex. Alex... He'd entered the game only a few months after she had. She wondered how he'd reconciled his feelings for what they were doing. Of course, killing with a gun was less intimate than actually touching the target the way she'd done. Less intimate... she shook her head. Best not go there right now, she decided. Her current headache was hovering in that range between not quite enough pain to make taking something else worthwhile and being bothersome. Well, that was how *she'd* describe it. Her doctor had already marveled at her tolerance for pain, and she knew most other people would have been popping painkillers like candy... and be living in an addicted fog because of it. "I've got to talk to him about some other kind of medication, tomorrow," she decided. She also decided to take more ibuprofen, as she realized she'd been absentmindedly rubbing her forehead and back. Clare wandered back to her bedroom and picked up the pendant Walt had given her on their wedding day. She'd stopped wearing it, reluctantly, when she'd gotten tired of explaining to co-workers why the inscription didn't match her initials (she'd claimed that it looked remarkably like the one 'Dennis' had given her and had been destroyed in the fire with all her other possessions.) She quickly slipped it on and looked down affectionately at it. God, she thought as she flopped onto the bed, how do I begin to explain that my husband, supposedly 'deceased in a fire,' is still alive, with a totally different name and an Assistant Director of the FBI to boot? Before she had time to start working on an even marginally believable story, she heard Walt and Anthony return from their pizza run. 'Bout time, she thought; the shop isn't that far away. She smiled as Anthony's excited voice floated up the stairs. "Mom! Mom! Guess what Dad bought me!" Clare dragged herself off the bed, smiling again at how quickly Anthony was adjusting to having Walt here -- well, to having a father. She met him at the top of the stairs. In his hands were a bat, a glove and several baseballs -- he was struggling to maintain a grip on it all. Clare rolled her eyes at Anthony. "What? No catcher's mask?" Anthony got a hopeful look on his face and turned back to gaze at Walt at the base of the stairs. One of the balls slipped from his hands and thunked its way down to Walt. "Hey, Dad. Can we get a catcher's mask?" Clare looked at Walt with amusement as he shook his head. "I think you've got enough to start with." "Awww, Daaaaaaaaad... " he started to whine. "Anthony." Clare's tone was stern. "Don't press your luck. Now go put your stuff in your room and wash up for dinner." In response, he flashed a grin at both of them as Walt walked up the stairs and carefully handed him the errant ball; he disappeared into his room a split second later. Walt took Clare's hand and gazed into her eyes, trying to gauge the degree of her headache. He smiled, thinking that if she had one, it wasn't too bad. "Seems weird to hear myself referred to as 'Dad' or 'your father'... but I like it." Clare smiled as he wrapped his arms loosely around her and kissed her forehead. "So how did our con artist son weasel the baseball equipment out of you?" He laughed as Anthony came tearing out of his room and flew past them, heading for the bathroom. They heard water running and the sound of splashing as he cleaned up for dinner. "Our food order got lost and the sports store was conveniently located next to the pizza shop. And like you mentioned, he has my 'persistence.'" She shook her head as they separated and started down the stairs. "You haven't been around him long enough for his 'persistence' to annoy you." Clare got a mischievous light in her eyes. "Besides, I thought you 'preferred to think of it as persuasive'?" They reached the base of the stairs and Clare tried to head for the kitchen. He grasped her arm gently and pulled her back to him. "There you go, repeating my words back to me." Clare smiled warmly at the glint in Walt's eyes. "Your memory isn't too shabby either." The kiss they were about to share was interrupted when a missile in the form of a six-year-old boy shot past them in search of pizza. Walt and Anthony were helping Clare clear the table of the dinner remains -- what there was of it. "How can such a small body put away so much food?" Walt wondered aloud. He shook his head again as Anthony grinned and all three began moving from the dining room to the kitchen. Clare laughed. "Growth spurt. He's shot up an inch and a half in the last month. Wait till he's a teenager, half your paycheck will go for food." The adults quickly exchanged a grimace as the reality of the words sunk in. Clare cleared her throat and looked at their son, raising her eyebrows in mock seriousness. "I still haven't seen your homework tonight, young man." "Dana and Fox checked it." He was clearly hedging. "What kind of homework do they give six-year-olds?" Walt asked. "You didn't have homework when you were my age? Cool." Anthony was impressed... and still stalling. Clare rolled her eyes. "Your father was in grade school a long time ago." Anthony looked at her, an expression on his face that Walt couldn't read. Clare arched an eyebrow. "Back with the dinosaurs -- and ask your questions out loud." Walt looked from his son to Clare as Anthony looked at Clare. "Moomm," he drawled, his tone clearly patronizing, "dinosaurs and man didn't inhabit the earth at the same time." Clare fixed a smile on him. "I'm aware of that, smarty-pants. Now quit stalling and bring me your homework." The boy stalked out of the room in defeat. Walt fixed a questioning expression on her. "Isn't 'inhabit' a grown-up word for a six-year-old?" She smiled and lowered her head. "Wait till he rattles off the scientific names of the dinosaurs for you. Actually, Anthony has a vast vocabulary for his age. His reading skills are at the sixth-grade level and his teacher gives him extra work to keep him from getting bored." He removed the plate from her hand so he could gather her in his arms for a slow kiss. His tone was low and contented. "So *our* first-grader is fairly smart, huh?" Clare smiled as he brushed her hair away from her face. "Anthony is very gifted in all senses of the word, and he happens to be in second grade." Walt's eyes grew large. "Second grade? Was that a wise decision?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. They made him sound like he was criticizing Clare's judgment, and he hadn't meant to. He started to speak again, to better phrase his question, but Clare silenced him with a gentle finger to his lips. "I know what you meant." She smiled broader. "His test scores put him at the, uh, third-grade level overall. I thought that was a bit much, so I compromised and enrolled him in second grade. Now that he's not the shortest boy in his class anymore, he's very happy." Walt kissed her palm before drawing her against him and kissing her more thoroughly. His voice took on a husky tone as he read a budding desire in Clare's eyes. "Between the two of us, I doubt he'll have a height problem." He kissed her again, longer this time, with a building passion. Walt then proceeded to suck on her lower lip, delicately tugging it away from her mouth till he was interrupted by a choking sound behind him. "Yuck!" Anthony managed to put a lot of feeling behind the single word as he stood in the kitchen doorway, holding his homework. He'd seen his mother kissing Kevin before, but not like that. Walt pulled away from Clare, embarrassed. He quickly picked up the plate he'd taken from her earlier, transferred it to the sink and began running some water. She raised her eyes at both of them. "You weren't so squeamish about displays of affection when you hugged agents Scully and Mulder good-bye." "Neither one of them was trying to bite my lip off," Anthony maintained. Walt dropped a knife into the sink with a loud clatter as a flush of pink began staining his cheeks. Clare watched the expressions of both with amusement... Anthony's seriousness and Walt's embarrassment. "Your father wasn't trying to bite off my lip." Anthony looked confused. "Then what was he doing?" It was difficult for Clare to keep a straight face as she heard Walt cough suddenly and Anthony fixed her with an expectant gaze. She swallowed quickly and managed a calm expression. "Grown-up stuff." Walt lost his hold of a glass, then, and it clattered into the sink, luckily not breaking. Clare turned her attention that way, but he refused to look up. Anthony looked at Walt quickly before accepting the explanation. "Is that like why your eyes aren't green anymore?" "Exactly," Clare answered as she returned her glance to him and lightly rubbed her forehead. "Honey, why don't you wait for me in the dining room." "Okay." After he left, Clare picked up a towel and swatted Walt on the back. His suppressed laughter finally spilled out. "Fat lot of help you were." "Well, you seemed to have the situation well in hand and you've got far more experience as a parent than I do." He pulled off his glasses to wipe his eyes. "Would you have been happier if I'd started to explain the birds and the bees to him?" Clare gave him a patronizing look. "Very funny." She swatted him again and started to leave, dropping the towel on the counter. "You weren't, um, thinking about the birds and the bees, were you?" Walt's expression was uncomprehending before he realized what she was referring to. "You think he was reading my mind?" Clare leaned against the door jamb and fixed a prankish smile on him. "Anthony accepted my explanation a bit too readily for him and *I've* learned to put up the odd mental barrier." Walt looked ill at ease. "You might want to start working on your speech, because our son is *very* inquisitive." She started to leave again, smiling broader. At least seeing Walt squirm this way is easing my headache, she thought. He moved away from the sink and dried his hands on the towel. "Wait a minute, you're just going to leave me hanging all alone on this?" His tone was a mix of hope and despair as he raised his eyes expectantly to meet hers. "You got yourself into this situation, get yourself out. That's the great thing about parenthood -- no manuals, just sink or swim. And I'm looking forward to seeing how well you tread water." About two hours later Clare kissed Anthony's forehead and ran her fingers gently through his hair as she tucked him into bed. "Mom?" his voice was strong and alert -- he clearly wasn't tired. "Why was Dad talking about birds and bees and pollination?" She ducked her head quickly to mask her smile. "He didn't even get it right." Clare stifled a laugh as she shook her head. "He was trying to explain some grown-up stuff to you and wasn't aware that you had books on ornithology and entomology." Anthony momentarily sat up. "What grown-up stuff?" She smiled back. "Stuff about how babies are created and arrive." He rolled his eyes and his tone was patronizing again. "I already know that... the stork brings them, right?" Clare threw up a quick mental barrier and agreed, stifling another laugh. "Go to sleep now, Sweetpea. Tomorrow's going to be a big day." "Do I really have grandparents and cousins?" She smiled sadly. "Yes, you do." Her smile warmed. "And *I* haven't even met one of your cousins." Clare kissed him again and stood. "Sleep." She made her way back down the stairs, thinking that despite his knowledge of big words and his voracious reading, he really was just a little boy. And sometimes, he still believed the things little boys should. Walt fixed her with an exasperated but amused expression from his position on the sofa. "You set me up." Clare started to sit next to him, but he pulled her into his lap instead; her eyes danced with merriment as she laughed. "Not intentionally. What was your first clue?" He knotted his eyebrows and attempted to make her squirm with one of his patented stern looks. She simply raised her eyebrows back in question and he gave in, chuckling. "Somewhere in the middle of his rattling off the stages of development of insects and his correcting my terminology about pollination. Just what are you letting him read?" Clare drew her finger along his chin and across his lips before softly kissing him. "He has a fondness for science, as do most boys his age." She shifted off his lap to sit next to him, her head on his shoulder, as he wrapped his arm around her and took her hand. She sighed, burrowing her head deeper into his muscular flesh. "It's been a long time since I've snuggled up with an *adult* male on this sofa." Walt stroked her back and squeezed her hand. "How long ago were you involved with Kevin?" Clare closed her eyes and slowly released her breath. "We broke up two years ago." Just after your adoptive parents died, she thought... "Anthony took it very hard. He really liked having Kevin here, having a 'father' figure. I couldn't bring myself to start dating again until I was sure my feelings for you had gone away. It wasn't fair to put Anthony through it a second time." Walt kissed her hair and pulled her closer. "Even with my limited exposure to children, I thought he seemed to be taking to me fast. I guess it's not so much *me* as what I represent." He tried to keep his tone level, but Clare heard the hint of sorrow. She sat up and looked deeply into his pensive eyes. "He knows nearly everything about you, Walt, even if he did think your name was 'Dennis' up until two weeks ago. I've always answered Anthony's questions about you as honestly as I could." Clare laughed gently. "With his telepathy, honesty is almost always the best policy." Her tone became more serious as she drew his hand to her mouth and kissed it. "The mental image he has of 'Dad' really *is* you, from the physical right down to all your wonderful qualities. It won't be long before he *truly* sees you as his father, not just an image." It was Walt's turn to kiss Clare's hand, his voice tinged with affection as he spoke. "When did you tell him I wasn't 'Dennis?'" Clare reflexively smiled. "A few days after the aneurysm was diagnosed. And that was only because the little sneak kept accessing my thoughts and asking me who 'Walt' was. That's when I perfected the mental barriers." She audibly sighed. "Like I said two nights ago, I tried very hard to make him understand it was dangerous to contact you." Clare pulled away again, stood up and walked several paces away from the sofa and Walt. Her eyes were troubled as he got up after her and turned her back around. "What is it, Clare?" She smiled slowly at the gentleness and concern in his voice. "In some ways I still wish he hadn't contacted you. God knows how much I've missed you, and how much Anthony needs you, but it was so much safer the other way... for all of us." He held her tightly against his body as he rocked her slowly. She could feel the strong beating of his heart and allowed herself to become lost in his powerful embrace. Walt hated to utter aloud the words he was thinking, fearful he'd add to the pain that was probably reverberating in her head. He deliberately kept his voice low. "Are you afraid they won't honor the agreement?" Clare lowered her chin and quickly decided it was time for more 'lightweight' medication. She resisted the urge to rub her forehead again. "The Consortium will abide by the terms as long as they believe their 'information' remains secret. Hopefully, they'd try to contact you first if there was a question." And it would more than likely be your father, for a few years anyway, she mentally added. "T-- " Clare lowered her head again, closed her eyes and clenched her jaw at the name she'd nearly uttered. When she'd regained control, she looked back at Walt. "Cancerman is 'predictably unpredictable.' Despite his acceptance of the decision, he no doubt is already plotting a way to find a loophole. Like I said before, he's most dangerous when he feels he's been outmaneuvered; you know that firsthand." She lowered her head once more, before Walt took her chin gently in his hand and pulled it back up. He looked searchingly into her shadowed eyes and his voice was quiet. "We made the only decision we could, under the circumstances." Walt paused, uncertain if he should push the conversation further. "I still think the best thing for Anthony and you is to move back to DC now." Clare shook her head and walked around the chair toward the window seat, arms crossed. "Clare, we can buy a house, get settled, Anthony will have time to adjust to his surroundings before you're... gone." Without thinking, Clare started rubbing her head and her voice trembled. "Not tonight, Walt, please. We still have to call my family, and I don't feel up to more than one headache at a time." He closed his eyes, mentally chiding himself, before going to her and enveloping her in a protective hug. Walt sat on the sofa with Clare's head in his lap. His fingers were firmly, but tenderly, nudging the pain from her cranium. He'd been doing this for about 10 minutes and had worked on her back another 10 minutes first. He quietly sighed as he listened to her nearly silent, even breathing and was relieved that she seemed to be relaxing. If the amount of tension he'd found in her back was any indication of the degree of her headache, he realized she was putting up with a tremendous amount of pain. They were waiting for her brother Darryl to call back with the flight information. It had, of course, been a considerably awkward call. Darryl had been stunned into speechlessness at the news and had taken almost a full minute to recover, the catches in his breathing being the only way Walt had known he was still on the phone. Clare had spoken to him briefly and been crying almost instantly. Darryl had agreed to go over to their parents' house and gently break the 'news' to them. He'd been told the bare minimum about the hows and whys and had unwillingly accepted the scarceness of information. Clare had told him of her current medical status and made him promise *not* to tell their parents... that could wait until they were all together. Walt knew her parents would want to talk to her, and that Clare would feel the same way... but after witnessing her body's reaction to talking to Darryl, he was loath to allow it. She sat up and rested her head on his shoulder again seconds before the phone rang. Walt cringed as she jumped and he felt the anxiety course through her body anew. He quickly reached for the phone. "Hello?" "Walt, the flight comes into Des Moines International at 3:43p.m. It's American Airlines, number 1458." Darryl's voice was strained and Walt could hear other voices in the background as he repeated the information to Clare. "Look, Walt, it'll be easier if we just rent a car and drive out to Grinnell. I checked it out on a map and it looks like a good 55- to 60-mile distance. Just give me directions." "Hang on." Walt handed the phone to Clare. "Darryl wants directions from the airport." Clare took the phone from him, relieved. She knew Walt hadn't wanted to leave her long enough for a potential three-hour round trip and with her second medical appointment, she wouldn't have been able to accompany him. Despite its population of just under 9,000 inhabitants, Grinnell had a sophisticated-enough medical facility for MRIs. She succinctly dictated the directions to Darryl. "How are Mom and Dad holding up?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. Darryl's voice wasn't particularly steady either. "Mom's still crying, but Dad's doing okay. He wants to talk to you." Clare took an incredibly deep breath as she waited for her father to pick up the phone; Walt instinctively held her hand tighter. "Clare?" Phillip Hoffmann's voice was surprisingly calm, even if tentative. *Her* voice, however, broke right away. "Yes, Dad?" Tears were brimming in her eyes a split second later and Walt had to consciously stop himself from pulling the phone away from her. "Are you... are you all right, honey? Darryl said you weren't in danger anymore." Clare smiled bittersweetly; with the addition of his second line, her reply wasn't quite a lie. "I'm fine, Dad." Walt looked at her surprised, temporarily off-balance by her apparent ability to lie to her father. Her tone remained steady as she went on and he understood. "The danger has passed. It's safe for you to come out and see your grandson." Phil's voice brightened. "We can't wait to meet Anthony." It was Clare's turn to hear muffled voices in the background. "Your mother is too emotional to talk to you right now, but she wants to know what Anthony's middle name is." Clare smiled more freely. Her mother would ask something like that, would try to focus on something seemingly trivial in the face of totally unexpected news. "It's Nikolas." She paused at the expression on Walt's face. "After Walt's father." Walt's attention was quickly miles away as he stood up. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask his son's full name. Another thought ran through his mind -- if Clare had used his father's name, was Anthony a variation of his mother's middle name? He immediately realized he also didn't know his birthday. 'Anthony Nicholas Skinner'... well, the double 'S' is awkward, but then again, 'Anthony Nicholas Cartwright' sounds fine, he absently thought. Walt remembered hearing how his adoptive father had been adamant about 'changing' his name from 'Nikolai' to 'Nicholas' when he had turned 18. How anxious he had been to remove the Russian sound from his name. Walt smiled inwardly, wondering anew how his mother had gotten her way with *his* name. He briefly thought of the mountains of paperwork they'd have to go through to legally change Anthony's surname... well, he knew a few people who could make shortcuts. And then there were the headaches involved for Clare to reclaim her name. Well, part of her name, anyway; 'Clarissa Elizabeth Skinner' -- he liked the sound of that. Clare hung up the phone quietly, sighing. She felt oddly calm after talking to her father, not emotionally churned up the way she'd thought she would be. She gazed at Walt as she, too, stood up. Where are you, what are you thinking, she thought. "Hey," Clare said as she gently turned his chin back toward her, "Earth calling Walter Skinner." He smiled back at her and realized he hadn't heard that phrase since his childhood. "How long have you been off the phone?" "About five seconds. You looked like you were miles away. What were you thinking about?" Walt sighed and gathered her back into his arms, running his hand up and down her back, attempting to dissipate the newest amount of tension. "About questions I should have asked you regarding Anthony." Clare snuggled closer to the warmth of his body, feeling another of those damned chills starting. Her headache wasn't as bad as she'd expected, and her tone, while still tired, reflected that. "If you're wondering now about where I got 'Anthony' from, I did alter your mom's name. I couldn't do much with 'Magdalene,' but 'Antoinette' was easier." He smiled broadly and kissed her hand. "Anthony's birthday is March 20, he was born at 9:17p.m. at Iowa City General Hospital. He weighed nine pounds, 10 ounces and was 22 inches long." Walt grimaced at the last part. "Ouch." Clare smiled as she looked into his eyes. "A bit of an understatement. He was two weeks late, I hate to think what he'd have weighed if I hadn't been induced." Clare stood watching him from the bedroom doorway as he looked all around the bed and under the covers. She grinned as she fingered the T-shirt she was wearing. "Lose something?" He continued his search without looking up. "I swore I had a shirt in here." She walked over to the bed and seductively stretched out on it. Her tone was both amused and suggestive as she peeked over the edge at him. "Maybe it walked off on its own. What does it look like?" Walt finally raised his eyes and a slow smile crept across his face. "Remarkably like the one you're wearing." Clare rolled onto her back while he climbed onto the bed and laid next to her. She bent her knees up and he extended a hand to gently stroke her thigh. "Sorry, I thought you put it out for me. You used to say I looked better in your shirts than you did." Despite her words, her tone indicated she was teasing. He slowly leaned in and captured her mouth in a lingering kiss. When he broke away, his voice was laced with desire. "You do." His hand moved north, took the edge of the shirt and began to ease it up. "But you look better still without it." Clare chuckled, bent her knee, wrapped both hands around it and pulled herself into a sitting position. Walt sat up as well and continued to try to remove the shirt; she stopped him. "Unless you want to take the chance of having another conversation with Anthony, I suggest you close and lock the door before this goes any further." Walt pushed the shirt out of his way, lowered his head against her abdomen and loudly raspberried her stomach. She contracted the muscles in response and laughed some more, shaking her head. He grinned at her as he left the bed and proceeded to the door. "Why didn't you close and lock the door when you came in?" Clare looked thoughtful as she followed his progress, but concentrated her eyes on one particular portion of his anatomy. "Because I like to watch you walking away from me, even if sweatpants aren't my first choice of attire." She sighed as he returned and purposefully flexed his beautiful muscles. His biceps, triceps, pecs and abdominals bunched and bulged in turn, causing Clare to bite her lip in anticipation. He climbed back onto the bed and began divesting her of the shirt and her panties. Once he had them off, she ran her hands lightly down his chest and sighed. "A few weeks of intensive training, the removal of this ticklish chest hair and you'd be ready to compete." She arched one eyebrow at him. He smiled at her and carefully pushed her onto her back. "I have no desire to parade around all but naked for anyone but you. Neither do I feel the urge to help nature in the further disappearance of my hair." Clare reached up and rubbed her hand across the smooth surface of his head before dragging her fingers along the contours of his face. She started to raise her head for a kiss as he lowered his mouth to meet hers. Partway up, she dropped back to the bed and grimaced. Walt was instantly worried. "What's wrong?" Clare wriggled around on the bed before relaxing. "Just a shooting pain in my back. I've had them before, they're a bit overwhelming at first, that's all." Walt sighed and released the stress from his charged-up body. "Are you sure you're all right? Is there something I can do?" She took the hand that was softly traveling along her cheek and kissed it. "Care to play masseur again?" He lowered his mouth to hers and drew his tongue across her lips; she shuddered. "I could easily be persuaded," he replied with a marked tone in his voice. They repositioned themselves on the bed and Clare sighed as his hands began their magic. She felt the first wave of tension disappear quickly, but unfortunately, there were many levels. Her mind was beginning to fill with trepidation about her family's visit. How will we deflect some of their questions? she asked herself. How will they take the news that I'd been involved with... God, what/who do I say I was involved with? What about the insurance money? The government will certainly want it back, with an obscene amount of interest to boot. She cringed as a new wave of pain swept her head. "Hey." His voice was low and his breath warm as he pressed his lips to her ear. "What are you thinking about? Your body's tensing up faster than I can counteract it." Clare drew a long breath and slowly released it. "Sorry," she murmured. "I'll try to keep my mind blank." He leaned closer and saw a glimpse of the pain she was concealing. Walt lowered his lips to her peaches-and-cream skin and sensually suckled the flesh on the back of her neck. The shudder that went through her body had nothing to do with pain. He smiled into her skin. "I'll have to try harder to distract you." He went back to teasing her flesh with his mouth. "Mmm." Clare felt a pleasurable sensation go down her spine. "You're off to a fantastic start." She continued to wriggle and moan happily as he nibbled his way very slowly down her body, his fingers active as well. She discovered that while her mind wasn't staying completely blank, it also wasn't having difficulty concentrating on the incredible stimulation Walt was providing. She became lost in indulgence as she felt his presence on her back, shoulders, arms. Lower and lower he went, 'tormenting' her, until every last bit of negative tension had disappeared and a healthy amount of positive tension had taken its place. Another appreciative moan had just escaped her lips when she gasped at what he was doing -- delicately licking her ankle and then suckling her Achilles tendon. It should have been pleasurable, but... Clare gritted her teeth at this unwelcome sensation before she bit her lip and closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the memory of who used to do that to her. Walt quickly noticed the increasing stress in her body and stopped his ministrations. "Clare, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" His tone was gentle and concerned, but there was an obvious element of bewilderment. He crawled up next to her as she rolled onto her back -- a host of unpleasant expressions crossing her face in the matter of a second. "No, you didn't hurt me." Her voice was fighting to remain steady and she closed her eyes again. Get a grip, Clare, she told herself, it was a long, long time ago. "It's just... someone else used to do that and... it makes me uncomfortable." Clare tried to choose her words carefully; she didn't want to tell Walt who the mystery man was. If he asked, she didn't know how she could answer truthfully... she truly hoped he wouldn't ask. Walt was baffled by her reaction. He'd never done that to her before -- actually, it had been the first woman he'd become involved with after Clare who'd wanted him to do it, but he couldn't imagine why it would make her uncomfortable. The worst the sensation could do was tickle her, even if Heidi had found it erotic. The other woman had had plenty of more 'exotic' tastes as well, and that had contributed greatly to the breakup. He hadn't lied to Clare; she'd also been a gold-digger. He brought his mind back to the present. Maybe it had something to do with *who,* not what. His mind strayed in that direction before he jerked it back. "Clare... " He started to ask, but the look of despair in her eyes made him stop. Peter, it came to him in a flash, Peter must have done it. No wonder she reacted that way. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't do it." She sighed louder in relief than she'd meant to. "I suppose plenty of women would be happy if their husbands were still experimenting after seven years of marriage." Her attempt at humor would have been more effective if her tone hadn't been quite so flat. He smiled back, thinking technically they'd been married for nearly seven and a half years but as far as actually being together, it worked out to less than a week. Walt gently stroked her breasts while he spoke. "There isn't a lot of territory left to explore. We 'experimented' quite a bit right from the start." Clare softly laughed and unconsciously arched as the pressure on her bosom increased. She allowed a sly smile to cross her face as he lowered his head to one very willing breast. "You know, (gasp) if you concentrate on a few well-visited areas, (gasp) it won't take nearly as long to relax me again." He stopped his ministrations briefly to answer her and she whimpered as he did. "That's exactly my plan. And this time," he grinned, "I *am* going to make love *to* you." Clare's eyes rolled back before she shut them, moaning as he lowered his head back to her breast. He teased her by trailing his tongue all around the surface, alternately flicking it and pressing it flat while she continued to arch and whimper. Walt finally engulfed her flesh and the electrical shocks began anew; her moans became louder. She ignored her passive role and held him to her, massaging his neck and head. Her body started a delicious slow climb of arousal as he ministered to her other breast with his hand. After switching sides, she knew what was coming and waited eagerly for at least one hand to start moving south. She couldn't even name the shape he was tracing across her abdomen, not that she cared; his touch alone sent shivers down her spine. Lower, she mentally ordered, and as if he heard her, his hand immediately dropped lower. Clare took a long breath in small steps as he manipulated her clit and she climbed still higher. One final, gentle tug on her nipple and the tension released all through her body in one overwhelming wave of stimulation. In deference to Anthony, she managed to restrain her response to one long, quiet moan. Walt moved his mouth back to hers and plunged his tongue in before teasing her with it. As far as Clare was concerned, the kiss ended all too soon, and then he trailed his tongue down her throat and she moaned again. She couldn't stop the near-constant sounds coming from her mouth as his head moved gradually lower. Clare sat up on her elbows, again knowing what would come next and how he wanted her to participate. He stopped momentarily at her navel and tugged gently but sensually on the protruding flesh. Clare arched and let her head fall back at the sensation. Then her head snapped back up as she felt his tongue at her clit. He placed his hands on her knees and began pushing them upward, bending them. She helped him out and pulled them toward her before draping her thighs over his shoulders and letting the rest of her legs trail down his back. Walt teased the sensitive flesh unmercifully, driving her crazy with his unhurried pace. "Walt," she cried out. "What?" "'Patience doesn't happen to be Trish's middle name, either." He took a break and gazed at her. "I would hope not. 'Patricia Patience' sounds ridiculous." Clare laughed as she rolled her eyes. "Get back to work," she ordered huskily. Walt winked at her and drove his tongue inside her; she gasped louder than she'd meant to, but it had been a while since she'd had to be conscious of sound effects. She arched even sharper as his hands slid over her breasts. After a few moments, he changed his mind and moved his hands to under her bottom and began raising her body from the bed. He couldn't maintain contact with her cunt as his hands gripped her hips in his effort to reposition her. She fell back softly onto the bed, unable to stay on her elbows as he sat up. Once he had her established, his mouth went back to work at a more feverish pace. Clare wriggled and whimpered with enjoyment as she threw her arms behind her and grabbed the headboard. She forgot about Anthony and made her appreciation known more loudly. Anthony had woken up to strange noises and had gone to Clare's room, rubbing his eyes in his still sleepy state. He silently tried the knob, but it didn't open. He was about to knock when he heard Clare's voice. "Ahhhhhhh, would you release me already." Her voice sounded strange, not like it usually did. The next thing he heard caused his eyes to grow wider still. It sounded to him like a cross between a scream and the beginning of a sneeze. He pounded his fists against the door, alarmed. "Mom? Dad? What's going on?" Anthony grew more concerned as he heard muffled noises. All vestiges of sleep finally left his brain and it occurred to him that he should try to read their minds. He was about to try when Walt unlocked and opened the door, being careful to keep it in front of his body. Anthony walked in and looked at Walt with a puzzled expression, taking in his reddened features, sweaty upper body and generally embarrassed smile. He looked toward Clare, who by then was sitting up in bed with her shirt hastily donned, and saw the same things. Anthony turned his face back to Walt as he remembered seeing this expression earlier in the evening. "Were you biting Mom's lip again?" Clare coughed suddenly and slid lower under the covers, while Walt nearly choked. "In a manner of speaking," he managed to stammer, feeling his cheeks get redder. "Why did Mom want you to release her?" Walt was on the verge of losing it; all he could think of doing was keeping his mind blank before Anthony found out something he wasn't prepared to try explaining... again. Clare rescued him. "Your father was showing me some wrestling moves he used in high school." Anthony looked back at Walt suspiciously. "Did you hurt Mom?" Walt recovered sufficiently to answer with a gleam in his eyes. "No, Anthony, I didn't hurt her. In fact, I daresay she enjoyed her 'lesson.'" It was Clare's turn to choke. "Will you show me how to wrestle?" Anthony had an excited, hopeful tone to his voice as he walked to the bed and climbed up. Walt swallowed quickly. "Not right now. Maybe this weekend, when your cousin Elliot is here; you're both the same age." "Oh, boy," he grinned, and started bouncing on the bed. Clare's eyes danced with amusement. "Give me another kiss before you go back to bed, Sweetpea." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Do you need one of us to take you back?" Anthony looked at her, insulted. "Mom, I know the way." She smiled again. "Okay, go give your father a kiss and skedaddle." He grinned as he got off the bed and ran back to his father. Walt bent with difficulty, still trying to hide his erection. Anthony wrapped his arms around Walt's neck and kissed him good night. Walt did the same and they exchanged 'good nights' before Anthony left. Clare grabbed a pillow and covered her face as her laughter came pealing out. Walt closed and relocked the door before sauntering back to the bed, being careful to keep his voice low. "And just which one of us was going to walk him back?" She smiled brightly at him and also kept her voice low. "Since I never got my panties back on, it would have had to be you." He shucked his sweatpants, allowing his somewhat deflated erection to spring out. His grin spread as he took the member in his hand and waved it at her. "Any advice on how I was supposed to explain this?" "I'm sure you could have come up with something," she suggestively purred as she removed her shirt. He climbed onto the bed and stripped the covers from her. "Right now, I think we need to do something about," and she grasped his appendage and began stroking it to his soft moans, "bringing you back up to speed, 'Mr. Stud.'" The grin spread wider as he dug his quickly rejuvenated erection into her abdomen. "Stud? As in horses?" Clare matched his grin. "Well, not from this angle." He moved off her and she rolled over, getting to her hands and knees. Walt fondled her buttocks a moment before lowering his lips to the base of her spine. She rolled her eyes and murmured appreciatively as she lowered her body more and balanced on her forearms. He held his turgid penis poised and teased her. "Ready for your next 'lesson'?" Clare gently thrust her hips back in response. Walt grinned again and entered her in one smooth move. Despite his need, he maintained a slow pace, not wanting to be too forceful. After unsuccessfully trying to get him to pick up the momentum, Clare tried verbalizing. "Harder." He barely complied. "You can thrust harder than that, Walt, I'm not going to break." He stopped to her exasperated groan. "And I'm not going to chance hurting you. If I'd been thinking with the right head last night, I would have been gentler." Clare dropped her head to the pillow. "I have absolutely no pain in my head right now, mon cher. And trust me when I say that the majority of the blood in my body is centered somewhere other than my skull. I'm asking you to *please* be less gentle." Walt leaned over her back and kissed her neck. "All right," he whispered hotly in her ear, "but I'm doing this under protest." Clare felt the smile on his lips before he straightened back up and gradually increased the intensity of his thrusts. She concentrated on keeping her breathing even, which wasn't easy as he wrapped one arm around her hips and pressed his other hand against her clit. A rainbow erupted before her eyes as his ministrations prompted another orgasm to flood her body. She buried her head in the pillow to muffle her cry. Walt was easily aware of her body's quaking reaction and lowered his body on top of her seconds before he felt himself explode. He muffled *his* lengthly groan in her shoulder. They both fell onto the bed. "Mm," Clare started before changing sound effects, "Brr." Her body started shaking with another chill. Walt sat partly up and pulled himself out of her; he grabbed the covers and pulled them back up, around both of them. He started to move off her, but decided to use his body to help warm her up after she whimpered at his absence. After a few moments, he felt her body quiet and relax again; Walt rolled off and pulled her to his side. "I wish we could stay like this all night," she murmured softly into his chest, "but I doubt that either of us would move too quickly if Anthony made another appearance." Walt chuckled and agreed. They snuggled together and just held each other for several minutes, not saying anything. Walt was beginning to dread the approach of the next day and the doctor's visits. He attempted to keep his voice calm and even. "What time are your appointments again?" Clare sighed and burrowed deeper into his embrace. "The physical exam is at 8:30, the MRI is at 9:00 and I, *we* meet with Dr. Adamson at 2:30 to discuss the results." She shifted before going on. "Walt? Just exactly how do you propose we explain our relationship?" "To your doctor?" "To him, to everybody else. I mean, I know you had to have encountered a host of stares when you and Anthony picked up the pizza. This is a small town. If we stay here for any length of time, people are going to get curious and the rumors are going to fly. And then there's changing Anthony's name. And once I relinquish my identity as Patricia Cartwright, my credentials and job will disappear, as will my insurance. The MRIs are quite expensive... " Walt put his hand gently against her mouth. "You think too much. I'm going to call in a few favors to get the paperwork rammed through for Anthony's name change and whatever is necessary for you. I'll do the same to get both of you added to my insurance. Even if I'm on leave, my coverage won't lapse. And if you lose your job because you're now Clarissa Skinner, we'll survive. Besides, I'd rather have you home with me anyway." Clare shook her head. "How are we supposed to make ends meet if you're on unpaid leave and I'm out of a job?" He wrapped his arm tighter around her. "I've got more than enough money in a mutual fund to last a year, even enough to put a healthy deposit on a house." She didn't need to ask where the money had come from, the sadness in his voice told her; she stopped stroking his chest. "I'm so sorry about your parents, Walt. I wish I could have been with you. I wish they could have lived to see their grandson." Clare swallowed, unsure whether to tell him of her visit to Austin... she decided not to, not at this time. Her hand strayed further south and encountered his gunshot scar. She caressed it softly as he shuddered. "I nearly made plane reservations three times when I read you'd been shot. Then when I saw the sketch of Cardinal... I'm sure Cancerman took a very perverse pleasure in assigning him to kill both of us." Clare raised her head and gazed seriously into his eyes. "Walt, we have to make a decision about what to tell people. We can tell my family a watered-down version of the truth, but I'm at a loss for everyone else." He trailed his fingers through her hair. "I know. The simplest explanation would be to say you'd been placed in the federal witness protection program." She snorted. "Great, Jane will think she's been right all along. What about the fact that I *was* a federal agent, not to mention that it'll be hard to swallow that you wouldn't have known what happened to me... or that you wouldn't have been placed in the program with me." "Your former occupational status wouldn't have stopped you from being put in the program. And we'll just have to gloss why I wasn't placed in with you." Clare tried to think. "And the FWPP's director notified you once the danger had passed?" He started to agree when Clare cut him off. "That won't work. You were showing my picture around, so you obviously couldn't have been notified as to my location." Walt picked up the thread. "True. Okay, so someone from that office anonymously 'notified' me and I had to do some investigating to locate you. And even though the danger has passed, there's still a need for the circumstances to remain undisclosed. If we reveal that you *had* been a federal agent, it will lend credence to why the facts have to remain secret." She ran her hand across her forehead. "It's not great, but it's more or less accurate; and I suppose if we don't stay here very long, it'll work. It's just sordid enough for people to accept... maybe. " He smiled at the concession she appeared to be making. "So does that mean you're agreeing to move back to DC?" Clare smiled back at him. "I guess it does." Her expression turned serious again. "Walt, I can't keep my promise to you about secrets." He started to protest, but she silenced him. "Let me finish. Just like with our 'story,' there are things I know that have to remain secret... but I will make you a new promise. I *will* honestly answer any question you ask me, as long as it doesn't specifically pertain to the Consortium. Just... just be sure you really want to know the answer before you ask." Walt tilted her face to him and kissed her lips. "All right." Clare laid her head on his chest once more and listened to his breathing. It was just uneven enough for her to know that he hadn't accepted her new promise smoothly. She was surprised when he started to chuckle and glanced back at him expectantly. "Regardless of how long we stay here, I have to rent another car. My muscles do not appreciate being twisted into a pretzel every time I get behind the wheel of your Tinkertoy. You're not *that* much shorter than I am; how the hell do you put up with that car?" The smile on Clare's face spread. "Small cars are far more fuel-efficient. Plus, the hatch feature makes carrying around parcels and displays much easier... so lay off my Tracer, it's been a good car." His smile matched hers when he kissed her again. "Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Skinner." He settled her back on his chest and hoped that his attempt to change the subject to something trivial would keep her mind off heavier topics. He sighed, knowing it wasn't working for him. Friday, October 4, 1996, 2:30p.m. Dr. Adamson eyed Walt suspiciously. Clare had kept him out of the exam room, but had briefly explained who he was and why he was present. Adamson had guessed that she was holding something back, but he'd felt that way from the start. He cleared his throat and removed the MRI film. "I'm afraid the aneurysm has enlarged and it's very likely leaking more blood." He threw out a bunch of technical terms and pointed to the film several times. Clare glanced at Walt as he squeezed her hand and asked the question she knew was on his mind, but that he couldn't bring himself to ask. "Is it your opinion that my survival length has been dramatically shortened?" Adamson shook his head; she was the calmest patient in the face of death he'd seen in a long time. "I'm afraid so, Trish, uh, 'Clare.'" Walt swallowed slowly. "How much time would you say we have left?" "I can't give you an exact answer, Mr. Cartwright, uh, Hoffmann, uh, Skinner." Clare smiled unconsciously. "I suppose we should have worn nametags." Adamson smiled back. "Unlike television doctors, real doctors try not to give estimates... too many factors play into a patient's well-being. If... 'Clare' can manage to avoid any more highly stressful situations, her survival window will likely be longer." Clare ignored the fact that the conversation was taking place as though she was no longer in the room. "My family is flying in this afternoon. We, uh, thought it best to see them as soon as possible." "I think that's wise." Walt looked into his lap and clenched Clare's hand harder. "How will we know if... the aneurysm is about to rupture?" "95% of the time, the headaches and back pain become substantially worse as the leaking blood increases; finally, the patient loses consciousness and lapses into a coma." Adamson smiled sadly as he looked at Clare. "I doubt that even you will be able to suppress that level of pain. In very rare cases, ruptures have occurred with no warning and death has been instantaneous. For the most part, the level of pain is your best indicator for the progress of the aneurysm." "So activities that temporarily lessen or even eliminate the pain are, uh, safe?" Adamson smiled diffidently. "Sexual relations is not exactly an activity that has been scientifically proven to harm or help, although the prevailing opinion is against because of the increased heart rate and so forth. However, if it does positively affect the pain in Clare's case, I see no reason why the two of you should abstain." Grinnell Public Library Clare was attempting to take care of numerous items on her desk. She glanced at the clock and knew Walt would be back any time with Anthony. She'd barely turned to squeeze a file into the cabinet when she heard a knock. "I'll be finished in a minute," she called over her shoulder. "I'm not in any hurry, Trish." She turned around suddenly at the unexpected voice. "Kevin? What are you doing here?" He walked further into the office and took Clare's hand. "I just got back into town and Uncle Henry left a message on my machine about your, um, condition." She rolled her eyes, thinking that Henry Thornton, also known as the vice president of the library's board of directors, had a big mouth. Kevin drew her closer to him and trailed his fingers along her jaw. "I realize things didn't work out between us before, but I want you to know that I'll be here for you and Anthony, whatever you need." Clare smiled sadly as she looked into the sincerity of his eyes. He really was a sweetheart; she remembered how they'd nearly gotten back together after the car accident, and how he and Steve, one of her student boarders, had practically kept 24-hour vigils by Anthony's bedside with her. She took his hand in hers and pulled it to her lips for a soft kiss. "Kevin, that's very sweet of you, but it isn't necessary." He wrapped his arms loosely around her. "There you go again. Always so strong and independent. That's two of the reasons I fell in love with you." Before Clare could explain anything to him, Anthony burst into the office wearing his new catcher's mask. He flipped it up when he saw Kevin. "Kevin!" Anthony threw himself at Kevin, who happily picked him up. "Hey, buddy. Whatcha got there?" "Kevin, listen to me." He turned to look at her just as Walt reached the door, following Anthony. "A lot has changed since we... broke up." Her eyes wandered back to the door, where Walt waited, raising his eyebrows questioningly. Oh, shit, she thought, this couldn't be more awkward if I'd planned it... and here comes another increase in my headache pain. Kevin saw Walt out of the corner of his eye as Anthony wiggled his way down. Without trying in the least, Walt's imposing figure made Kevin instantly ill at ease. "I guess you're not quite ready to leave," Walt uttered softly. "Who are you?" Kevin asked warily. Walt flashed one of his diplomatic smiles and extended his hand. "You must be Kevin Parker. I'm Walter Skinner." Kevin hesitantly took the proffered hand as Anthony proudly piped up. "He's my dad." While Kevin's eyes nearly bulged, Anthony went to Clare and tugged on her hand. "Can Kevin come meet Gramma, Granpa, Aunt Denise, Uncle Darryl, Emily and Elliot?" Anthony smiled at his own recitation of his 'new' family's names. Clare winced as Kevin's expression became more confused and Walt grimaced as well. "Anthony, let's go wait in the car," Walt ordered quickly. "Your mother and Kevin need to talk something over." Anthony stomped his way back to Walt. "Everybody's always talking and I never get to listen," he grumbled. "I'm sure your cousins will be happy to talk to you, Sweetpea. Please go with your father." "All right," he whined. "'Bye, Kevin." Kevin numbly waved good-bye as Anthony and Walt left, closing the door behind them. He turned back to Clare and shook his head. Clare took his hand and guided him to a chair. She pulled the other chair closer to him, sat down and continued holding his now-cold palm. "I don't understand, Trish. I thought Anthony's father was dead, that his name was Dennis." He fought to keep his voice steady as he shook his head again. Clare softly lifted his chin and kept her voice low, gentle; her eyes filled with compassion. Why is it I only seem to hurt the decent guys in my life, she thought. "Kevin, most of what you know of me was a necessary lie. My real name is Clarissa Hoffmann. I worked for the FBI for five years and got involved in something that caused me to be put in the Witness Protection Program." She paused and let the words sink in a little. "Walt and I had been married only four days when we were separated. He didn't know I was alive or that Anthony existed until earlier this week, when the danger of my involvement abated and he was anonymously notified about us." She paused and stared apologetically into his still-confused eyes. "I nearly did say 'yes' to your proposal two years ago, but Fate intervened in an unexpected way." He swallowed slowly and stared back at her, his voice steadier, more in control. "How?" Clare smiled as she saw him regaining his equilibrium. "Walt's parents were killed in a car accident in Austin a few weeks before I attended the ALA conference there. I foolishly drove by their house and saw him... and I realized how much I still loved him... If I'd said yes, our marriage would have been based on a lie... and I've lived with too many of those already." She leaned back in the chair, relinquishing his hand, not knowing what else to say. 'I'm sorry' didn't seem to fit. He turned his face toward her. "What were you involved in?" Of course, the natural question of the curious. "I'm not at liberty to say. Some of the files are still classified." Kevin stood up and shook his head again. "Just what does this Skinner do for a living? Can he protect you if you should become endangered again?" Clare smiled at Kevin's concern for her safety. "I'm not going to become endangered again. And Walt also works for the FBI; he was promoted to Assistant Director a few weeks after I disappeared." He frowned and opened his mouth again, but Clare put up her hand to stop him. "I know, why wasn't he aware of us sooner, why wasn't he officially notified and why were we separated in the first place. Walt wasn't in any way involved in the case, he had no knowledge of it and was in no danger from it. We were married secretly and because of that it was deemed extremely unlikely that the forces I was being protected from would come after him. My death was faked and he was allowed to believe that I died accidentally. It was an imperfect solution." She shrugged unhappily as she paused. "The FBI is like any other bureaucracy; one hand doesn't know what the other is up to most of the time, even at high levels." She laughed. "Especially at high levels. And as far as the other question is concerned, that department's policy requires a minimum one-year grace period before family is notified." Clare had no idea what the policy was, but she and Walt figured no one else would either. He relaxed finally, the bit about bureaucracy sounding believable to him. He took her hand and gently squeezed it. "Given your current situation, it doesn't seem fair the two of you couldn't have been reunited earlier." Clare smiled weakly as she mentally answered, I doubt we'd be together if time weren't so short. 259 Asbury Clare stood before the open front door, arms crossed, and thought they'd have to put the storm windows in soon; the uncharacteristic warm temperatures wouldn't last forever. She watched the wind causing the pin oak leaves to chase the red oak ones. The other trees on the block were waving their partly naked branches and struggling to retain their bright foliage. She sighed heavily as the wind made its way to her and blew softly through her hair. Anthony bounced up and down on the window seat, impatiently waiting. "When are they going to get here?" Walt came up behind Clare and enveloped her. "They'll be here when they get here, Anthony." She smiled as she leaned into the warmth of his embrace. "You're getting the hang of parenting, even if he did talk you into that catcher's mask." He grinned as she wrapped her arms around his. "I'm a sucker for that puppy-dog look of his." "Don't let him hear you say that or you'll be buying the whole store." She sighed again. "He tends to get me when he flashes one of those enchanting smiles -- that's when he looks just like you." Skinner kissed her hair and held her tighter. "How are you feeling?" "The new usual, maybe a little worse." She laughed awkwardly. "You get used to a certain level of pain and don't even notice it after a while; I do, however, wish I'd bought stock in one of the pharmaceutical companies that manufactures ibuprofen. I think I'm single-handedly raising the share price." "You should take some of the new medicine if it won't zonk you out." "I'm fine, Walt. I could have lived without Kevin turning up today, though." A minivan pulled up at the curb and Anthony came bounding into the front hall. "They're here!" Walt felt the deep breath Clare took and affectionately squeezed her. "Why don't you wait here. The neighbors don't need to see you crying again." He released her and kissed her lips as her eyes thanked him. Anthony tugged insistently on his arm. "Come on, Dad, let's go!" Clare watched as Walt and Anthony made their way down the sidewalk and her family exited the vehicle. She felt her breath catch in her throat as Anthony vaulted toward them; his grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins -- her mother and father, brother and sister-in-law, niece and the nephew she hadn't gotten to meet yet -- hugging each in turn. Darryl exchanged a look of concern with Walt as they shook hands. "Where's Clare?" "Is she feeling all right?" Alma Hoffmann asked worriedly. Walt raised his eyes at Darryl, who lowered his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Walt. They guessed something was wrong and I told them on the plane." He sighed before smiling as Anthony was already chasing Elliot around the yard. "She's fine, I just thought it would be easier for her to greet you all inside." Clare smiled as she looked them all over. Denise didn't look any older than the day she and Darryl had gotten married. Darryl was getting gray around the temples and it gave him an air of sophistication. His daughter, Emily... God, Clare thought, she looks so grown up. I'll bet she's already a heartbreaker at 13, she continued. Elliot was the spitting image of Darryl. Clare laughed, watching as he tripped over his own feet and fell on the grass... he had his father's coordination, too. She gazed at her mother and felt her heart sink. Alma seemed to have aged a good 15 years in the last seven. Her features were drawn tight, and her frame was gaunt, the skin thinly covering her frame. Only her azure eyes seemed lively, and she smiled as she watched Anthony 'allow' Elliot to catch him. Clare held her breath as she turned her attention to her father. The last she'd seen of him had been in the hospital... and he'd been pale and bloated with tubes and wires everywhere. Now, however, he seemed the picture of health, with rosy cheeks, tanned and a good 35 pounds trimmer. His booming health made her mother's appearance even starker. As they approached, Clare decided she didn't care what the neighbors thought and flung open the door, meeting her mother at the base of the steps. Despite her fragile demeanor, Alma gripped Clare as the two almost simultaneously burst into tears. The next five minutes blurred by. Each of the Hoffmanns fiercely hugged Clare in turn, even little Elliot, who'd never met her before. Somehow all the luggage got moved into the house. The adults settled awkwardly in the dining room, it being the only room with enough seating for all six of them. Emily had unhappily gone off to the den and was no doubt already cruising the Internet; Anthony had dragged Elliot upstairs to his room to show off his 'stuff.' Clare shivered; it felt odd having her family present. After nearly seven and half years, they almost seemed like strangers. Walt held her hand tenderly as they together recited everything they'd decided it was safe to tell... her involvement in a covert organization, the experimental drug, the aneurysm. Everything they disclosed was the truth, just lacking most of the specifics. Clare's voice managed to hold throughout her narration and she drew strength from Walt's stalwart presence. When they finished, she took another deep breath and leaned back in her chair, waiting for the questions they knew would follow. Alma started with what was most important to her. "The doctors are sure they can't operate? Maybe if you went somewhere else, a bigger town... maybe doctors in Washington or Boston can do something." Clare reached across the table and gripped her mother's hand. "Dr. Adamson has consulted with several doctors, Mom. It -- it isn't possible." She swallowed and closed her eyes, remembering her first consultation with Adamson. Clare was yanked from her revelry by her mother's sob. "It isn't fair. We barely get you back only to find out we'll lose you again." Alma got up and stumbled from the room. Clare wanted to go after her, reverse their roles and comfort her. She started to get up, but her father stopped her. "Stay here, Clare. I'll take care of your mother." He stood and left. "There's absolutely no chance that surgery could take care of the aneurysm?" Darryl asked tentatively and quietly. Walt and Clare exchanged a glance before Walt reluctantly spoke. "There's a less than one percent chance that Clare would survive the surgery intact." "Isn't that better than sitting back and dying?" "Better for whom?" Clare shook her head. "Before Walt found us, there was no one to pay for my maintenance if it didn't work. Now that Walt *is* here, I still can't do that to Anthony -- to either of them. It'll be easier for both if I die outright, not continue to exist as a vegetable." "What about Irina Scherbo?" Denise asked hesitantly. Walt raised his eyes, "Who?" "The wife of that gymnast, Vitaly Scherbo. The doctors only gave her a one in 100 chance of coming out of her coma... and now she's fine. Doctors have been known to be wrong, Clare." Clare's mind drifted back to the gymnastics coverage of the Olympics. "It's not the same, Denise. There wasn't a choice in her case. While I don't doubt that Walt would hover by my bedside... " She stopped, tears brimming, as Walt caressed her hand; they'd talked this through between doctors' appointments and had unhappily agreed to the present course of action, or inaction. "Potentially, there could be other damage from the experimental drug, damage that might not have shown up on the tests." Walt wanted this line of questioning to end; he could feel the tension in Clare's body climbing. "Have you told your doctor about that drug?" Walt shot Darryl a withering look. "I can hardly release the chemical composition to him. Besides, without data from extensive clinical trials, the information would be useless." As Clare closed her eyes and absently started rubbing her temples, Walt decided the conversation was over. Dinner began as a subdued affair as conversation was stilted, except between Anthony and Elliot. The two of them carried on as though they were long-lost buddies, which was potentially true. By the end of the meal, however, everyone had visibly relaxed and Clare allowed herself to breathe a small sigh of relief. The boys disappeared into the den, chattering something about Chutes & Ladders and Junior Monopoly. They dragged Emily along and she raised her eyes in amused resignation, sketch pad in hand. Clare lingered in the kitchen, putting away the remains of their take-out dinner. The others slowly left to reassemble in the living room. Walt took her hand and gently squeezed, his soft eyes saying volumes. "Go ahead, I'll be right there... I just need a minute," she murmured. He slowly ran his fingers along her jaw before tenderly kissing her lips and leaving. She steeled herself for the next barrage of questions, took a deep breath and walked out. When she reached the living room, Clare smiled as she stood in the doorway and saw how Walt had solved the seating problem. He'd gathered the throw pillows from the window seat and placed them on the raised hearth. She joined him there. They all looked at each other with a combination of expectancy and uncertainty. Clare chose to start an innocuous discussion. "I have it on good authority that the sofabed is quite comfortable." Darryl thumped the cushions as if to test it. "We've had four students boarding with us in the last five years and they all agreed." "The students slept on the sofa?" Phil raised his eyes in question. Clare shook her head and smiled. "Only when their parents would visit for homecoming or the festivals. Steve graduated last May and we didn't get anyone else for this semester." What she purposely neglected to say was how much Anthony had pouted once Steve left... first Kevin, then Steve. Her mother's eyebrows now raised in question. "You had male students?" Walt stifled a smile; he'd already had a similar conversation with Clare. "Clare had two of each and she screened them before allowing them to stay." Clare smiled as she thought of Steve and when he'd entered their lives. It was right after she'd turned down Kevin's proposal, coincidentally. "How did you screen them, Clarissa?" Clare smiled at her mother. "I found that meeting with parents or at least speaking to them on the phone gave me a clear picture of the student. That and how they responded to Anthony and vice versa. I laid down some 'reasonably' strict rules, and those who didn't run screaming away were candidates. Anthony thought Steve was the greatest thing since sliced bread because he taught him how to play football and took a stab at teaching him how to ice skate last winter so he could play hockey." Darryl perked up. "Likes sports, does he?" Denise glanced at her husband. "Darryl wants to enroll Elliot in martial arts classes to help him with his coordination." Clare brightened. "He'll develop it on his own, Darryl; you were a klutz until you were 10, remember?" Darryl ducked his head at Clare's teasing comment. Walt laughed. "Anthony's hit me up for baseball and wrestling so far, and he nailed Clare and one of my agents for basketball tips." "Wait till he finds out your real sport is golf." Walt rolled his eyes as everyone laughed. He felt the tension level in Clare's body noticeably drop. "Clarissa, you didn't say what you told people about your background." Great, Walt thought, there goes the tension level again. "As far as anyone knew, I was a widow who'd lost her husband and all her possessions in a fire." "That's so sad," Denise exclaimed. "Yes," Phil agreed, "but it covers a lot of bases, makes a truly fresh start more believable. Especially with a bunch of insurance money." Clare looked at her father with awe; he was taking all this much better than she'd expected. "Actually, Dad, my contact couldn't amass too much money without arousing suspicion, so we claimed that my 'husband's' job hadn't started yet and the fire occurred before the renter's insurance was in place. That left a modest independent policy on 'Dennis,' which with judicious care allowed me to purchase what I needed." "How did you get out here?" Darryl asked. "Clare's contact got her hired as an assistant librarian at the University of Iowa." Clare nodded as she squeezed Walt's hand. "He left me two months to bone up on what I needed to know as a holder of a master's in library science. Just over two years later, I got the position at Grinnell's library on my own. "I wouldn't think small-town librarians make much money." Clare shook her head. "They don't, Darryl, which is one of the reasons why I chose to board students. It makes the rent on this place very reasonable." Denise shook her head. "I don't understand how you ended up as a librarian. From what I remember, none of your degrees were even close to library science." Clare glanced at Walt and smiled as he started telling the story as he knew it while she allowed her mind to wander back seven and a half years. Sunday, June 25, 1989 Clare was pacing the floor of Bill Mulder's house as he stood in the background with Michael Bennett. She still looked pale and gaunt from the week of unconsciousness. Bennett was holding a dossier containing Clare's new identity. "Your new name is Patricia Jeanette Cartwright. Born September 10, 1960 in Columbus, Ohio. No siblings, parents deceased--" Clare cut him off and took the file from him. "I'm sure all the family background is fine. What I want to know is what my new 'career' is going to be." She scanned the papers and looked up, incredulous. "A librarian? Why didn't you just make me an accountant? It'd be just as exciting and I've already got the damned MBA to go with it." "Clare," Bill Mulder's calm voice began, "Michael and I discussed this and we think the 'career' will suit you quite well. You'll be able to keep tabs on your family and Mr. Skinner via the newspapers. And it will certainly make use of your memory." Clare inwardly winced at the mention of Walt and responded poorly. "Oh, goody. I can rattle off the titles of all the books. Won't that make me fun at parties." She absently rubbed her temples. "I'm sorry. You obviously had good intentions for choosing this particular occupation and I'm being a royal pain in the ass. Being cooped up is starting to drive me nuts." Bennett allowed a small smile to creep across his lips as Clare plopped down on the sofa and read through more of her profile. "We toyed with utilizing your degrees in biology and organic chemistry but thought something a bit more mundane would be safer. You'll be able to employ the knowledge from the MBA and the computer science degrees with this position." He shook his head. "Just exactly why did you pick up a degree in linguistical anthropology?" Clare didn't even raise her head. "It was something lighter to balance out the two hard science degrees." Bill Mulder raised his eyes. "I hardly think most people would view multiple foreign languages as lighter. Did you do anything else in college besides attend classes?" Clare did raise her head to that. "I never got bored." She went back to reading. "So I'm keeping the MBA, and now have an MLS and an undergrad degree in literature?" Bennett smiled broader. "Reading up enough to fake the last two degrees should keep you from getting bored in the next few months." She frowned as she went back to the first page. "Marital status, single?" "You could hardly be listed as married," Bill Mulder replied, "and divorced potentially opens a can of worms." "What about widowed?" Clare softly asked. Bennett and the elder Mulder looked at her in surprise. "I don't think that's a good idea, Clare." She stared back at Bennett, unhappily thinking of the pain Walt was enduring believing he was a widower. "Why not? I'd be able to wear the rings Walt gave me and it's poetic justice for what he's going through. You already admitted that you don't expect me to forgot about him or my family." Clare paused as the two glanced at each other. "And what if by some bizarre miracle I should be pregnant? At least widowed, the baby would have some legitimacy." Bennett visibly started. " *If* you should be pregnant, I would highly advise you to terminate. There's no telling what effect the drugs would have on the child's development." "I'm simply conjecturing. Can you change the marital status?" While Clare waited for a response, she thought over the possibility. It *was* a possibility, even if highly remote. And she knew with absolute certainty that she would never abort a child of Walt's, regardless of the potential complications. "All right, we'll make you a widow." "So did you keep track of us?" Clare turned back to her mother. "Yes, although accessing the Washington Post and the Globe were easier because of their prominence. It wasn't until I transferred to Grinnell that I could get the Austin paper unobtrusively." She squeezed Walt's hand again. Her father kept his voice low. "So you knew about Walt's parents?" Any comment Clare was about to make was interrupted as Anthony came running into the room. "Can we have some ice cream, Mom?" Walt shook his head. "You just ate dinner not 30 minutes ago." "I know," and he sidled up to Clare and gave his best puppy-dog look to Walt, "but I'm hungry again." Walt felt his resolve melting and was about to give in when Clare answered. "If you're so starved, young man, go eat a piece of fruit." Anthony ran back to the doorway, nearly bumping into Emily. "Did they buy it, squirt?" Anthony shook his head and continued on his way. "Um, Aunt Clare? Do you a good pencil sharpener? Elliot just broke my charcoals." Denise raised her eyes in surprise. "All of them? Why didn't I hear either of you carrying on?" Emily smiled slyly. " 'Cause I didn't think it was my place to discipline him." Darryl rolled his eyes as Denise got up and went after Elliot. "Just so you know, Walt, in kidspeak that means she'll wait till he least expects it before she takes revenge." Both Clare and Walt laughed as she got up and wandered over to Emily. "It's down in the basement, Emily, but you'll need a map if I don't go with you." Several Hours Later Everyone was settled in for the night. Emily had taken over Anthony's room, Denise and Darryl were on the sofabed, Alma and Phil were in the spare room and Anthony and Elliot were grudgingly in sleeping bags in the den. They'd wanted to sleep on the screened second-floor porch, but not even the puppy-dog look would persuade Walt to let them with the overnight temperature dropping into the 40s. Clare and Walt turned the covers down and climbed into bed, snuggling against each other, Clare's arm draped across his chest and one leg between his. Walt wrapped his arm around her and propped his chin on her head. "All things considered, I think it's going very well." His voice was barely a whisper. Clare sighed and caressed his midriff, looping her fingers through the sparse, dark hair. "I can't get over how well my father's taking all this. I thought sure with his heart condition he'd be the one to worry about, not my mother." Walt quietly moaned as Clare's ministrations moved further south and he increased the pressure of his own hand against her back. "People are generally stronger than they or others think. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?" Clare sat up to gaze into his eyes. "Our remaining time together is going to get awfully tiresome if you're constantly asking me how I am." She leaned further in and captured his mouth for a lingering kiss. "I'll let you know if I'm suffering. But right now, I was thinking of continuing our 'wrestling lessons.'" He raised an eyebrow as she threw back the covers, straddled his hips and removed the nightshirt. "What makes you think we can be quieter tonight, especially with a full house?" Clare simply smiled at him as she first divested him of his sweatpants and then deliberately dragged her quickly erect nipples against his body on her way to his mouth. The nearly silent moans escaping him were cut off as she kissed him with a fiery passion that speedily drove any reservations from his mind. He couldn't believe how quickly he felt his erection build as Clare repeatedly plunged her tongue into his mouth. Walt was overcome with desire at the depth of the kisses and wanted to throw her on her back to re-explore every millimeter of her body. He was just about to do so when she left his mouth and started nuzzling his throat, drawing her tongue all along his lightly bronzed flesh. With great effort he stifled a groan. Clare took that opportunity to stop and look slyly into his eyes. "Having a problem?" His glazed eyes cleared briefly. "The fact that I'm all but impaling your navel doesn't tell you something?" She allowed her grin to attain Cheshire Cat proportions. "The least you can do is give me your shirt so I can gag myself." Clare moved to retrieve the shirt and paused. "Gee, we never went that route before, not even with the wedding night bondage. I think, however, we should wait till the house is emptier before we try to repeat that performance." He pulled her back down on top of him and kissed her hungrily. "All but the ice cubes." She moved her lips to his ear and gently tongued the contours before tugging on the lobe. "Damn, I liked the ice cubes, but it might be prudent to repeat a different part of the production now. Anthony and Elliot might buy 'wrestling' as the reason the bed is moving, but no one else will." Clare flashed her eyes at Walt and he rolled his in response; he also quickly shoved part of the shirt into his mouth in anticipation. Clare grinned and began to slowly lick her way to his groin. He wriggled as she softly suckled his nipples and she felt him shudder when her tongue reached his prominent shaft. She automatically fell into the rhythm that had always driven him crazy before. Walt almost began pounding the mattress with his fists, but wasn't sure how loud it would be. Moan after moan was choked off by 'the gag' as Clare alternated between sucking, licking and stroking... and damn her, he thought, she still knows when I'm close and stops. This time, Clare actually removed her mouth entirely, daring him to stay in control... which he did, with a supreme amount of concentration. Just like before, she toyed with him a second time, and despite the fact that he held her head to him, she 'refused' to go on without an agonizing pause. The third time, she relaxed her throat and urged him to thrust as she dug her fingers into the taut flesh of his ass. He nearly lost all sense of time and place as he plunged his turgid member deeper. Clare heard an odd sound as she felt his hot, sticky ejaculate hit the back of her throat in short streams. His body took many delicious seconds to stop shuddering, and she noted with satisfaction that he was covered in sweat. She slowly proceeded back up his body and pulled the shirt from his mouth. His breathing was labored as she examined the clothing and found a large rip in the fabric, apparently from his teeth clamping down before he'd yanked on it. She held it up to him and arched her eyebrows. His eyes danced in amusement as he guided her face back to his and deeply kissed her, tasting his own ejaculate still present. "Once I'm done with you, I'll be insulted if there isn't an equal rip in another area," he whispered huskily. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rolled over. Walt took her hands in his and folded his fingers around hers. He balanced his weight on his knees and forearms as he held her arms away from her body. With a barely restrained feverish desire, he repeatedly probed her mouth, leaving no area untouched. As soon as he left her mouth, Clare grabbed the shirt and bit into it. He paused his ministrations to grin at her before proceeding to her ear and sensually tantalizing it. Clare groaned and pushed more of the shirt into her mouth as his tongue glided over the sensitive flesh, his teeth softly enticing her ear. She arched against him as his lips traveled to her throat and slowly made their way to one breast. She rolled her eyes as he nibbled and suckled. He stayed at her breasts a few moments longer before progressing to his ultimate target. Walt didn't mess around this time and instantly pulled her legs onto his shoulders. Clare reflexively threw her arms back and tightly gripped the headboard. She shivered not from one of the chills, but rather from the sensation of her blood converging on that one receptive area. Walt could hardly believe how wet she was, all but dripping. He lapped the musky juices eagerly and then sucked her clit with rampant indulgence. He firmly fondled her buttocks as he pleasured her on and on. Clare felt the power of her release go shooting through her body like a searing rocket, setting every part of her on fire at once. She arched strongly against the bed and bucked her hips repeatedly against his mouth. All of her groans and whimpers were silenced by the shirt, now wet. Walt never stopped ministering to her and ran his tongue over her decidedly swollen labia before plunging it inside. He thrust as hard and fast as he dared and prominently grinned as he felt Clare's body respond again; he also heard the unmistakable sound of the fabric tearing some more. Clare hadn't meant to let go of the headboard, but the intensity of the first orgasm had caused her to lose her grip. When the second one swept her body, she'd grabbed the shirt with both hands and pulled. She felt her legs being lowered back to the bed and took the first of several deep breaths. Just like she had, Walt pulled the shirt from her mouth and smiled again as he looked at its tattered and soggy state. They'd both have to get dressed, but that would be in a few minutes. For now, he pulled her glistening body on top of him and they shared the heat from their steaming bodies in contented silence. Saturday, October 5, 1996 Clare reached into her closet and retrieved a red plaid jacket. Walt sat on the bed, still shaking his head. "I can't believe you're going to work." She gave him a pained look. "I'm not that thrilled about it, either. The library board was kind enough to release me from my contract, but I'm still obligated to make the transition as smooth as possible." He stood up and took her hand as she started to leave. "Clare, I know that. I'm simply saying I don't understand why you have to go in today, while your family is here." She rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Because it's my weekend to work and we're short-staffed. Besides, I'm only working a half day." She smiled at his still-unhappy expression and nipped his chin. "Now, are you going to drive Emily and me to work, or do we have to walk?" Walt pulled up in front of the library and Emily got out almost immediately; before Clare could get out, he took her hand. "Not that I'm implying anything, but what am I going to do with the rest of your family for the next several hours?" Clare smiled. "There are a bunch of labeled videotapes of Anthony and several photo albums; that should keep you and my parents occupied for a while. The boys will take care of themselves, and Denise and Darryl are big enough to find their own amusement. Emily's the one who's getting the short end of the stick coming in with me." Walt smiled back and softly kissed her. "See you in four hours." No sooner did Clare get started on the third-quarter statistics when she was interrupted again; she dropped her head in annoyance. "Come." She looked up quite surprised at the woman entering her office. "Chris? I didn't know you were back from Burlington. How's your mom doing?" Chris Rutecki walked in and plopped into a chair as Clare rounded her desk and did the same. "They moved her out of CICU last night into the cardiac wing. She seems to be getting stronger, but she still looks so pale and fragile." Clare reached out and patted Chris' hand. "I know, I've been through it with my father. It'll be all right. You said it yourself; your mom is one tough cookie." She took a deep breath. She didn't really want to go into the protection program story right now, but she had to; Chris and her husband had been the ones who would have adopted Anthony after her death. Chris knew why Clare was hesitating and decided to let her off the hook. "I understand you've got a house full of company, uh, 'Clare.'" Clare arched an eyebrow before quickly getting up. "That does it. I'm really firing Jane this time." Chris smiled. "Don't bother. Once you leave and stop protecting her, the board will can her." Clare allowed her smile to broaden. "She's good at her job; she just can't keep her mouth shut. And by the way, I recommended you to replace me, at the very least for an interim period." Chris' jaw dropped. "B-but I don't have the degrees for your job." "You know my position inside out, you're qualified. I know you didn't want the full-time hassles of this job if you were going to be raising Anthony, but..." Clare paused. "And as far as degrees go, *I* don't have the right ones either." Clare sat down again and related the story. Chris attempted to come up with a coherent thought as she blinked her eyes several times, got up and walked around restlessly. "I guess I'm not truly surprised. I mean, I remember how you chased down that mugger a few years back and made him sorry he'd come near us." Clare softly laughed as she shook her head. Chris lowered her eyes a moment. "Did you ever kill anyone?" Clare closed her eyes and tried to block out the faces of her victims. "Yes," she softly replied, "it was an unpleasant part of the job." And that's not even a lie, she thought. Chris fidgeted before sitting back down. "So, what are your plans now?" "As far as the library's concerned, I'm working one more week -- half days. On a personal front, Walt wants to move back to DC pretty much right away." Chris clearly heard the reluctance in Clare's voice. "You don't sound convinced about the move." Clare hung her head a moment. "Anthony's lived here nearly his whole life. He has friends and for all intents and purposes, family; I'm also not excited about yanking him out of school mid-semester." "But... " Clare took a deep breath. "But it *would* be better for him to get settled in a new place while I'm still... alive. Walt's prepared to buy a house and maybe I can talk him into returning to work once we're moved. It's not particularly good for him to sit around and wait for the end." The phone rang before she could say anything else. "Excuse me. Patricia Cartwright." Walt's rich baritone voice sounded amused. "Maybe I have the wrong number, you're not the party I was trying to reach." Clare felt a small flush spread across her face; Walt always did have a wonderfully mellifluous phone voice when he was speaking to her. She broke out into a big smile. "Please hold, I'll see if I can find your party." Before Walt could argue, she put him on hold. Chris realized who was more than likely on the phone -- the grin and love radiating from Clare's eyes being a major tip-off. She started to get up, but Clare both motioned her to stay and winked. She punched a button. "Clarissa *Hoffmann,* may I help you?" "Still not quite who I was looking for. I *hope* you can help me. I seem to be missing a certain young woman. Maybe if I describe her, you'll know where she is." Clare affectionately rolled her eyes. "Go on." "She's about five-ten, 155 pounds, hazel-eyed, uh, currently brunette," Clare absently twisted a strand of her hair, "enormously sexy and the mother of my son." Clare shook her head at his silliness and played along. "Well, I'll keep my eye out for her. And while we're on the subject, I'm missing a certain youthful man. He's six-two, 195, has soulful deep brown eyes, is very sexily bald, has an exquisitely muscled body and is the father of *my* son." Clare laughed as Chris picked up several pieces of paper and started fanning herself. "Ring any bells?" Clare purred into the phone. "Sounds vaguely familiar." He softly laughed. "Listen, we might be early or late. We're gonna stop at that sports store again and pick up another glove for Elliot. And God only knows what Anthony will talk me into this time." "Just be sure we still have enough money to live on, mon cher. And take Darryl with you; he's used to dealing with kids and their whims." "Are you kidding? He wants to get his own glove. See you in a bit, mon amour." She was still shaking her head as she hung up. Chris smiled expansively and Clare arched an eyebrow. "Young love." Clare gave her a contradictory look. "At 36 and 45, we're not especially 'young.'" Chris got up to leave and placed her hand lightly on Clare's shoulder. "It's all in how you look at it; and it looks like the two of you are tremendously in love." Walt sat staring at the phone after he hung up; he'd forgotten how much he missed their phone banter. He softly ran his finger along the picture of Clare and Anthony sitting on the nightstand. He turned when he heard Phil clear his throat in the doorway. "Sorry," Phil claimed as he walked in and Walt quickly stood, "didn't mean to startle you." "That's all right, uh, Phil." Walt still felt uncomfortable calling his father-in-law 'Phil,' but it was easier than 'Dad.' He took the disk Phil handed him and looked at the seriousness in Phil's eyes with distress. "What's this?" Even as he asked, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Phil lowered his voice more. "It's Clare's disk, the one she left with us. Alma got them confused -- the disk Emily erased was another one, one that was labeled 'thesis.'" A mass of conflicting thoughts and emotions swirled through Walt's head and he sat back on the bed, looking at the disk in his hand. "Did you try to bring up the information?" He swallowed quickly, trying to remoisten his suddenly dry throat. Phil sat on the bed next to him. "Yes." Walt winced silently. "I didn't look at much; I thought it was some sort of address book." Phil looked at his hand for lack of something else with which to focus his attention. "Alma doesn't know about it, and I don't want her to, but based on what you've told us, I can guess what it really is." He took a deep breath. "If Clare had had that disk seven years ago, she wouldn't have faked her death, would she?" Walt solemnly nodded. Phil loudly sighed. "She wouldn't have disappeared and the two of you would have had all that time." Walt didn't know immediately how to answer, or if he should. He tried to think it through and didn't like how it came out. Clare would have had to warn him of the danger, would have had to tell him everything and by so doing, would have dragged him into it in order to retrieve the disk. It would have destroyed them. If he'd turned her in, the Consortium would have killed her, and by extension, Anthony, too. If he'd let her make her deal, they never would have remained married. He more than likely would have annulled the marriage, and lived a very bitter life in consequence... as opposed to unhappy, he thought. Anthony... would Clare have told him about the pregnancy? Would their son have grown up with two parents who loved *him* but deeply resented each other? Or would she have disappeared the way she had and maybe gotten remarried, knowing that he 'detested' her, her colleagues. No matter how he thought of it, he didn't see how they could have remained together, been happy, had the big family they'd talked about. "It wouldn't have worked. I," Walt closed his eyes momentarily, hating to admit this to Clare's father and wondering why he was, "I wouldn't have been able to forgive Clare. I love her and Anthony more than anything, but I don't think it would have been enough. We've come to terms with it now only because she's dying." Phil swallowed slowly, all his fears pretty much being confirmed. "Was what Clare was involved in *that* bad?" Walt refused to look him in the eye. "Yes." "Would you two get back down here?" Alma's voice reverberated up the stairs. "I'm not going to hold this tape forever, you know." Phil hastily stood and walked back to the door. "Coming, dear." He waited till he heard her walk away. "You're not going to tell Clare about this, are you." It wasn't really a question, more an observation. Walt simply nodded his head in agreement. "I think that's wise." Walt flopped backward as soon as Phil left. Why is Fate so against us, he wondered as he fingered the disk. Now we're both keeping secrets. Sunday, October 6, 1996 The weekend had come to a close too fast. Decorum aside, the airport farewell had been enormously tearful. The 'Skinners' had promised the 'Hoffmanns' a return visit the beginning of November; no one had verbalized their concerns as to how many Skinners would be making the trip. Clare gazed with awe at the charcoal drawing Emily had done of the three of them. She really was talented; she'd also drawn each separately, at different times over the weekend, and had captured them all very flatteringly. Darryl had taken a zillion pictures and driven them nearly crazy with the camcorder, but at least Anthony will have some images of the three of us together, Clare sadly thought. She reached up and pulled the chain on the overhead light bulb in the window seat before leaning her head against the window, absently looking out. Her mind drifted and she found herself remembering what they'd discovered had happened to her 'death benefit.' The bulk of it had been placed into college funds for both Emily and Elliot. Well, with Emily's aptitude, she seemed more destined for art school. Clare shook her head, recalling Walt's phone call to McIntire about the return of the government's insurance money. She'd started to ask what sort of an arrangement he'd made, but decided she really didn't want to know. She tugged gently on the heart-shaped pendant and let her mind wander to a pleasant, but unattainable future. Walt entered the bedroom noiselessly and fixed his eyes on Clare. He was struck by her wistful, faraway expression, and by the loving way she caressed the pendant around her neck. She looked so peaceful, somehow vulnerable... and with the moonlight gently highlighting her features, quite beautiful. He was glad that the weekend was over and relieved that Clare had made it through without needing the new medication. Of course, he'd noticed the level in the bottle of ibuprofen was definitively lower. She turned to him with a blissful expression that lasted a few seconds before being replaced with one of profound sadness. Clare bit her lower lip and wished she hadn't allowed herself to envision Walt walking toward her carefully cradling their imaginary newborn. How he'd softly hum to the child, hold its tiny hand in his own, kiss its sweet-smelling head, stare into its eyes with fathomless love. He could watch all the videos she'd taken and never recover that part of Anthony's babyhood, nor would he be able to experience the sensation with another child of theirs. As he gently picked her up, she hoped anew that after she was gone, he would find someone else to make his life complete, to help him raise their son. He deposited her tenderly on the bed and tangled his fingers in her newly recolored auburn hair as he sank to his knees next to her. "Where were you just now?" The softness of his moonlit aided expression was matched by his voice. Clare's own voice was overshadowed by gentleness. "Depressing myself." Her eyes momentarily lost focus as he trailed his fingers along her cheek. "We need to talk to Anthony. He only understands my impending death from an abstract point of view; he doesn't truly understand the implications it has for the rest of his life. All he knows is that people get very serious looking when they talk about death and that it's 'bad.' We need to include him in the decision to move, too." Walt started to interrupt. "Let me finish. I know that in the long run, moving sooner will be better for him, but it's important that we ask him. That we allow him to feel he has some control over the move, that his opinion matters. I don't want him to resent our dragging him away from his friends and pseudo-family. I'm... I'm afraid that'll make it harder for you in the future." He drew her fingers to his lips and softly kissed them before he stroked her face. "You're right, mon amour. We'll talk to Anthony tomorrow. Right now, though, I want you to get some sleep. You have to be exhausted after this weekend and I know you didn't get more than 10 hours sleep total." Clare smiled at his 'parental' tone and concern. "During my college days, I only needed five hours a night." He stood up and pulled the turned-down covers up around her, tucking her in. "Well you're not in college anymore and I think you will greatly benefit from a good eight hours." Walt tenderly kissed her forehead and exited the room. Outside in the hall, he leaned against the hallway wall and removed his glasses so he could rub his eyes. She was right about Anthony and the move, he was sure of that. And he was also grateful that if her mind had gone in another direction, she hadn't brought up the subject of him finding someone else after she died. Monday, October 7, 1996 Clare and Walt were walking back from the elementary school, each holding one of Anthony's hands. He happily bounced along, making his backpack bob up and down. Normally, he liked to exert his independence, but he was too excited about having both parents with him. He'd already introduced Walt to nearly everyone in his class, to the grins and perplexed looks of the other parents. Clare had experienced plenty of 'the looks' herself. She'd gotten little accomplished at work that morning as person after person stopped by asking questions about her past, some with outlandish versions of the story. The price of being well-liked, Chris had claimed. Clare had finally told Jane that if she let anybody else past her who wasn't on official library business, she'd be history. They got back to the house and sat Anthony down at the kitchen table. He looked quizzically back and forth at them, as neither really wanted to start. Again, Clare chose a relatively innocuous topic. "Sweetpea, you understand now that Dad is with us, some things need to change, right?" He nodded. "You mean more than your eyes and hair and name?" Clare smiled. "Yes, more than that. *Your* name is going to change, just like mine." Anthony had been puzzled when Gramma and everyone else kept calling her 'Clarissa' and 'Clare;' Walt had carefully continued to call her 'Trish' in his presence. Anthony's eyes got big while he thought about it. "I get to choose a new name?" It was Walt's turn to smile. "Not quite. How do you feel about 'Anthony Nikolai Skinner?'" Walt had argued with Clare about the change from 'Nikolas' to 'Nikolai,' but he'd grudgingly admitted it did sound better. Anthony pronounced his 'new' name a few times, trying to get the hang of it. "Is that my only choice?" Walt arched an eyebrow as Clare softly chuckled. "Yes, it is, Sweetpea." Anthony slid his mouth completely to one side, raised one eyebrow and closed the other eye while he propped his chin on his fist. "I guess it's okay. Is that the only change?" Clare hurriedly recovered from his last expression. "Uh, no. I'm not going to be working after this week and your father and I would like to know how you'd feel about moving to another state." "Near Elliot?" Walt shook his head. "Closer to Elliot. We'd start out in Maryland, but we could end up in Virginia. It all depends on where we buy a house." Anthony got more thoughtful. "How soon would we move?" Clare exchanged a glance with Walt. "In a few weeks. We thought we could fly out to DC this coming weekend and start looking." "We can't go this weekend, Mom. You promised we'd go to Rock Creek Lake on Sunday." She sighed briefly and grabbed Walt's hand as he was about to argue. "You're right. We can postpone our house-hunting trip a week. So you're fine about moving?" Clare didn't want to belabor the point, bring up things like leaving his friends, but she wanted him to be sure. He tilted his head. "Can we come back and visit Billy and Timmy and Aunt Chris and Uncle Louis and--" Walt cut him off before he recited everyone he knew. "Yes, Anthony, we can do that." "Okay." Walt sneezed shortly after the words left his son's mouth and Anthony got a funny gleam in his eyes. "May the good Lord bless and protect all the big daddies, all the little kitties and all the endangered species." Walt raised an eyebrow at the comment as he both excused himself and thanked Anthony. "Where did you learn that phrase?" Anthony beamed at Clare. "Mom always says it to me. Except she says 'all the little children' instead of 'all the big daddies,' I substituted that part." And with that little comment, Anthony had opened the door to the rest of the discussion. Clare and Walt had spent the better portion of an hour trying to come up with a way to explain death without scaring him, to make him understand it was a natural progression of life. They'd pretty much decided to attack the topic just that way and let him ask whatever questions he had. Clare was surprised when Walt took the lead this time. "Anthony," he began, taking Clare's hand in his own, "your mother and I feel it's important that we explain something to you. We realize you know that Mom is dying and we want you to understand what that really means so it won't frighten you later." Anthony instantly got serious, both at the word 'dying' and at the somber expressions on both their faces. "I know what it means. It means Mom's going away for a long time. But you'll be back, right?" He had a heart-breaking hopeful look on his face as he got off his chair and walked over to them. Walt released Clare's hand and pulled him to his lap. Clare felt the tears brimming already as she took his hand. "No, Sweetpea, I won't be coming back." Discussions on reincarnation weren't appropriate right now. "Where will you go?" And neither was it a time to explain heaven versus hell. She swallowed slowly before she answered. "I'll go up to heaven, honey." "If you can't come back, can we come with you?" His innocent comment was too much for Clare and she felt tears overwhelm her. Walt cradled Anthony against his chest and fought his own tears. "We can't, Anthony, it... it doesn't work that way." Anthony started crying, mostly because they were. "Why not?" Walt took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice level. "Because everybody has their particular circle of life. Death is a natural progression of life, you come full circle... and everybody's circle is a different size." "And Mommy's circle is smaller?" Clare felt her heart melt again. The only time Anthony called her 'Mommy' was when he was upset. "Yes, Sweetpea, my circle is smaller. God wants me to join him in heaven soon." "When?" "We don't know exactly... sometime in the next year." They had decided to tell Anthony the original upper time limit, hoping it would lessen his fear. "Will you still have your headaches in heaven?" Clare stroked his cheek and wiped away some of his tears. "No, honey, I won't be in any pain when I'm in heaven." He seemed relieved to hear that. Then he got pensive. "How big is my circle? And Dad's?" Walt closed his eyes before replying, purposely not telling Anthony the truth -- that one usually didn't know. "Your circle is quite big; and mine is just a little smaller." Anthony sat quietly, thinking over what they had told him. "Do you have any other questions right now, honey?" Clare asked gently. Anthony sniffled and shook his head. "If you think of any later," Walt instructed, "please come to us, not your friends, okay?" He nodded again; the source of his nightmares had been Timmy telling him that dying meant you went to sleep and didn't wake up... something his parents had told *him.* Clare reached out to hug him and he fastened his arms fiercely around her neck. "Are you all right, Sweetpea? Did we frighten you, because that's the last thing we wanted to do." He pulled slowly back and sniffled one last time. "I'm okay. Can I go upstairs to play now?" "Sure, honey." Clare kissed his forehead and Walt squeezed his hand before he ambled out of the room. Walt and Clare both stood and wrapped their arms around each other. "Now that we've had this talk with him, I'm not sure it was the right thing to do," she murmured. Walt pulled her chin up and softly kissed her. "It was the right thing." Friday, October 11, 1996 Clare and Walt were waiting for the latest test results. The week had been very interesting. Clare hadn't been plagued by headaches, but she didn't know whether she was getting used to the pain and was unconsciously blocking it, or if it had lessened. Walt had gotten the legal/insurance aspects taken care of and was already in contact with a realtor. Secretly, Clare was happy they were going to be moving soon; she was tiring of the constant questions, no matter where she was. Most of Anthony's plethora of friends had remained playmates, although parents of a few had instructed their children to stay clear. Clare had tried to tell him that people are suspicious of what they don't understand, sometimes afraid, and that finding out their mild-mannered librarian was a former FBI agent made some of them nervous. They'd talked some more of her past and she'd deliberately avoided mentioning the 'harmful' things to him a second time... no sense confusing him more. His best friends were still by his side and were having him stay overnight as one of their last 'flings.' He was so looking forward to it, his only regret was that Elliot wasn't going to be there. The two of them had been on the phone every night giggling and trading jokes. Clare's remembrances ended as Dr. Adamson entered the office. She didn't know how to interpret the expression on his face. "Well, the MRI shows that the aneurysm has decreased in size, slightly," he announced. Walt squeezed Clare's hand optimistically, but noted that Adamson didn't seem to share his interpretation of the results. "Isn't that good?" Adamson sighed. "For the very near future, yes. Obviously less swelling means less pressure on the artery. It does not, however, mean that we're out of the woods. As good as these results are, and I'm sorry, Mr. Skinner, but Clare has always asked me to be blunt, I've never seen nor heard of an artery that repaired itself. And there's always the possibility that the artery will weaken in more than one location within the brain, especially if the impact from the car accident wasn't entirely the catalyst." Clare and Walt exchanged a banal look at the 'fishing' comment. "Why would you believe something else was the cause of the aneurysm?" She utilized her best 'FBI give nothing away' voice. Adamson gave them both a speculative look. "Because no matter how many times I go over your chart, it doesn't add up. That, plus your abnormal inquisitiveness about your various test results." Both of them maintained blank expressions. "You said before that you worked in the FBI's research lab. Is it possible that you were exposed to something?" She had to smile. Adamson was trying his damnedest to give her maneuvering room to satisfy his curiosity without betraying any secrets. "Dr. Adamson, let me assure you that the primary goal of the section I worked for is to develop new chemical techniques for evidence analysis. Nothing that I worked on has any bearing on my present predicament." Walt didn't let his expression slip, although inwardly he had to hand it to her. After seven-plus years, Clare could still slip into standard double-talk with ease. She'd even managed not to lie, although the truth did get stretched. Early Evening Clare and Walt watched as Anthony packed his overnight bag. The two of them worked in tandem while his back was turned to remove the ridiculous amount of stuff he was trying to cram in. After the third removal of items, he caught on. "Hey! I need that stuff." "You're only going to be gone one night, Anthony," Walt admonished, eyes gleaming. "You don't need to pack for a month." He punctuated his comment by grabbing Anthony and tickling him like crazy. "Uncle! Uncle!" Anthony cried giggling all the while. "Hey, wanna hear a joke, Dad?" Walt replaced his glasses and arched an eyebrow at Anthony. "Go ahead." "What do you get when you cross beef with electricity?" Walt shot Clare a glance and she shrugged. Anthony waited expectantly, barely holding back another wave of giggles. "I give up," Walt answered. "A meat bulb!" Anthony fell to the floor as his laughter overwhelmed him. Clare shook her head, softly laughing, while Walt raised his eyebrow even further, a large grin spreading across his face. "That's as sophisticated as a six-year-old's humor gets," Clare informed him. Just over an hour later, Clare flipped her head over and let the curls fall into place. For once, her hair was cooperating and she didn't need to do a bunch of endless touchups. She unplugged the hot rollers and heard Walt turn the shower off. Now what to wear, she thought. She had purposely not applied any lipstick, waiting to 'match' it to whatever she chose to wear. She wondered when it would be safe to retrieve a tube of any color, since the 'Steam King' had been in action again. She wandered to her closet and stared inside. Her wardrobe wasn't long on romantic clothes; mostly business suits, wool skirts and casual attire. One out-of-place dress begged for her attention, though, and she hesitantly removed it. It was short, sleeveless, had a low scooped neckline and was fire engine red... it had also been purchased in Las Vegas, lo those many years ago. She remembered the conversation that she and her brother's wife had had, just a few days ago. How Alma had passed the dress on to Denise and how Darryl had been appreciative of the one time his wife had worn the garment. Clare recalled Walt's own expression when she had worn it and decided to try it on. She took a cautious deep breath, afraid if she did so too quickly, the dress would split... okay, it wasn't *that* tight, but it was definitely a snugger fit than it had been before. She turned sideways in front of the cheval mirror and held her hands flat against her stomach and lower back. "Not bad," she absently muttered to herself, "but some dress pumps would make it better." She dragged out the highest pair of black ones she owned and slipped them on. "Definitely better," she told her reflection... and then frowned at the hemline. Far more thigh was showing than she would have liked. She tried to pull the fabric lower, but of course that didn't work. As she straightened up, she also noticed that her chest was rising more prominently out of the neckline than she previously recalled. "I can't wear this," she hastily muttered out loud. "I'm not 29 anymore and it may be suitable for Vegas or DC, but not for a sleepy little Midwestern town." Before she started to take it off, though, she caught sight of herself from the side again and sighed. "Maybe with a jacket, 'course that would spoil the profile look," she murmured, not noticing that the conversation was no longer internal. She turned full face to the mirror again and tilted her head. "Then again, it would cover up some of this cleavage." She walked back to the closet and pulled out one black jacket, shaking her head as she did so -- it wouldn't do. The second one was more to her liking, and she put it on. It stopped about six inches from the bottom of the dress and the shawl collar completely covered the neckline of the dress. She'd just taken the jacket back off and was preparing to start over when Walt sauntered past. She caught a glimpse of his mostly bare form, still damp from the shower. The water drops were beaded, gleaming like diamonds as they clung to his skin and ruffled chest hair. The towel around his waist was secured at a precarious angle. He was whistling tunelessly to himself and briefly looked into the room on his way past. About two seconds past the door, his hand reappeared, tightly gripping the door frame, and he swallowed hard as he stared at her. He coughed. "Haven't I seen that dress somewhere before?" He coughed again, trying to work more saliva into his mouth. Clare turned to face him and beamed as he did a double-take. "Yes, you have. Denise had it. Apparently, Mom pawned off a bunch of my clothes on her." "I didn't pay much attention to what your mother did with your clothes," he mumbled as he walked in. He ran one hand down her side and whistled. "Five pounds really fills out this dress, although I fail to see how you'll have room to eat anything." He cupped her buttocks and pulled her against him, gazing into her eyes with a smoky desire. "I only wish I had my glasses on so I could really see you." Clare rolled her eyes. "At this range, you're not missing anything." He kissed her with all the passion he felt building, moving his lips to nuzzle the tantalizing amount of flesh peeking out from the neckline. She groaned but pulled his head away. "Whoa, boy, rein it in." They smiled at each other, both noting that 'horse talk' seemed to naturally fall from their lips without any conscious effort. "I'm holding you to dinner." "You expect me to be hungry for food while you're in that dress?" She laughed and started to turn back to the closet. "I'm not planning to wear it outside." He caught her hand. "Why not? I promise I'll behave as long as I get to peel you out of it later." Clare gave him a condescending look. "It's a might cool to be wearing something like this... " .".. I'm sure the restaurant will have heat." "It's not particularly appropriate for a 36-year-old mother... " .".. Those two facts alone make the dress even more appealing." "It's a little too flashy for this town... " .".. I believe the phrase is 'If you've got it, flaunt it.'" She narrowed her eyes trying to come up with something he couldn't argue. "It's half wet from you drooling on it." He paused and looked at her consideringly. "It's only saliva." A different tack occurred to her and she sat on the bed, slowly crossing her legs before pushing her hair to one side as she leaned down to adjust her pantyhose -- not that there was nothing wrong with them. The 'performance' slid the dress higher up her thighs and allowed plenty more cleavage to be visible. Walt closed his eyes as a low groan escaped his lips. "Still want me to wear this out?" she rocked her legs provocatively. He opened his eyes and met the challenge in hers. "Yes," he huskily replied, "even if I have to beat off every guy in town." They'd argued about *his* attire for 10 minutes. He'd seemed determined to wear pleated casual pants with a sport coat -- and she'd questioned his bringing the coat for the third time -- while she'd wanted him in nicely fitting jeans and a cotton button-down shirt in a cool slate color. Clare had won the dispute, threatening to wear a gunnysack instead; he had, however, insisted on a tie. Walt had caused the bigger sensation when they'd arrived at the restaurant, his firm buttocks and muscled legs being quite evident below his waist-length outer coat. Glances had shifted very quickly when he'd removed Clare's full-length raincoat and her dress -- or the relative lack thereof -- had been revealed. He'd dared her to remove the jacket and she'd refused, toying with him by unbuttoning it, though. The poor waiter had all but had a heart attack as he'd described the specials, having particular trouble with chicken parmigiana when it came to the word 'breast.' The highlight had been when the president of the library's board of directors had turned up. Her comments of 'Jeez, Clare, do you think you could show off more of the family jewels' and 'Stand up and let me get a good look at you, Walt' had brought a blush to both their faces. Well, Walt's had been bigger when she'd purposely dropped her purse just to see him bend over. Walt knew he'd been had when she'd claimed she understood why Clare hadn't gotten remarried. All that aside, the food had been good and after a while they'd begun to ignore everyone else as they'd focused on each other. By the time dessert had come along, they'd become engrossed in each other. Walt had sworn at himself for wearing the boots as Clare had continually caressed his calf with her stocking-clad foot. She'd also spooned the spumoni into her mouth slowly and deliberately, designed to drive him crazy, and he'd realized tight-fitting jeans hadn't been a good idea either. They'd decided to skip the late movie and go back home to 'work off' dinner. He'd pushed the coffee table out of the way while she'd put on a Johnny Mathias CD. Which was where they were now, gently swaying to 'Chances Are.' Clare had her arms firmly around his neck, her head on his shoulder, while he was caressing her buttocks again. They were so close they could feel the other's heart beating. Clare gently unhooked his glasses and tossed them onto the loveseat. He arched an eyebrow at her action. "Didn't think you'd let go long enough for me to put them down nicely," she announced, her voice husky. He smiled suggestively as she wrapped her arms around his waist and he moved his hands to frame her face. With infinite tenderness, he drew his fingers across her skin, starting with her forehead and ending with her jawline. Walt tilted her chin up and slowly kissed her, gradually deepening it as she surrendered to his mouth. His hands moved to her back and he slowly and painstakingly lowered the zipper inch by inch. Walt took a step back as he eased the dress from her shoulders and down her arms. He applied more pressure as he peeled it from her hips and then let it slide to the floor. Clare lifted her feet from the garment and kicked off the pumps. He grasped the waistband of her nylons and similarly divested her of those, oh so slowly dragging them down, gliding his hands over her legs. Her bra came next, but not before he'd taken a few moments to fondle her breasts through the silky fabric. Clare let her head fall back as another moan escaped her lips and her eyes closed. He sought her exposed throat and nibbled his way down as he freed her confined bosom. She arched against the feel of his tongue and lips and her head dipped lower as he suckled first softly, then more insistently. Clare carefully straightened up and held his head to her breast, moaning almost continually as the shock waves threatened to overcome her. He continued moving lower and bent to his knees to remove her panties, tugging them down. She placed her hands on the smooth surface of his head while she shifted her weight from hip to hip to get rid of the lacy item. Walt pulled her back to him and took her navel between his lips, gently sucking the skin before turning his attention further south and licking his way to her mound. She gasped again as he tenderly probed her opening and found she was quite ready for what he had in mind. For now, it seemed to be running his fingers in and out while his thumb applied pressure to her clit. He went back to suckling her navel as she softly cried out. A few moments later, she felt her knees buckle with the degree of her orgasm. She felt his arm wrap around her hips to support her as the climax flooded and warmed every part of her body. "Mmm," she murmured as her body had finally stopped shuddering and her hands fell limply away from his neck. "Okay, I'm relaxed enough for you to do anything you want to me." He straightened back up and grinned into her hazy eyes. "What an interesting thought, but you'll have to wait till we get upstairs before you find out what I have in mind. For right now, why don't you retrieve your discarded clothes while I get something from the fridge." She raised an eyebrow as he walked across the hall and slowly picked up her clothes. "You know if you bought a bottle of champagne, I can't have any; it wouldn't combine well with the morphine if I needed to take it." He uttered a long whistle behind her as she bent for her shoes; she turned her head and did the little Tom Selleck eyebrow trick in response. Walt shook his head as she straightened and walked back to him. "It's not champagne, but it is as close as *you* can get." She glanced at the label and laughed... it was Welch's Sparkling Grape Juice. They 'fought' briefly about who would go up the stairs first, both wanting to watch the other. Walt wasn't thrilled with Clare's final suggestion, but that was probably because he had to walk up backwards so she could watch him from the top of the stairs. When he reached the top, she affectionately goosed him and ran to the bedroom before he could catch her. Clare barely managed to toss her items to the side as she dived onto the bed and felt his warm laughing presence a few seconds later. "Slowing down in your old age? You caught me much faster the last time we did this." He trailed his fingers down her skin as she rolled to her side. "The last time I didn't have to negotiate corners, put down a bottle or be concerned with stepping on your feet with my boots." "Speaking of which, are you planning to get undressed in the near future, or are you enjoying the 'appearance' of dominance too much?" He pushed her onto her back and quickly straddled her legs; he also pinned her arms by her side. "What appearance?" The gleam in his eyes negated the lordly tone he was attempting to use. Clare flashed her own waggish smile. "I could get out of this if I chose to; I simply don't choose to." Walt laughed and released her. He called over his shoulder as he went to retrieve the bottle. "Be right back." He wasn't gone more than 10 seconds, but when he returned, she was huddled in the bedspread. "Another chill?" She shivered slightly and nodded. "Well, I'll just have to see what I can do about that." He turned on the bedside lamps prior to making sure the drapes were securely closed. Clare sat up and wondered what was going through his mind. He popped the top off the bottle and took a healthy swig. "Remember what you said to me on our wedding night?" Clare tilted her head slightly and waited for him to go on. "Could you be just a tad more specific?" He gave her a cocky look, sure she was teasing him; when she continued to look expectantly at him, he relented, sort of. "Could it be that I've found something that's slipped your memory?" She finished fast-forwarding and rewinding through what she could recall of that night and came up with the word he was looking for; she arched her eyebrow at the challenge in his eyes. "Strip... You heard me." Clare smiled deviously as she added the last part and wondered if he remembered her saying that, too. His grin nearly matched hers. "Yes, ma'am." The only time he took his eyes off of her was at the beginning, when his boots came off. Just like before, he made a game of oh so slowly removing his clothes, revealing inch after delectable inch of his marvelous chest and sending heat generating missiles to her from his gaze alone. Clare felt her body warming quickly under his stare. By the time he'd gotten the shirt off, the bedspread was barely on her. When he'd agonizingly lowered his zipper, the spread had hit the floor. She was fanning herself as he shimmied out of his jeans. And by the time he eased his briefs and socks off, she was chugging the juice in an effort to cool down. "I guess I don't need to ask if you enjoyed the show," he growled, his own body aroused by her response and steady gaze. "No, you don't," she very huskily replied. "Now get over here and let me take care of you." "Not so fast." He opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out three silk scarves. Clare's eyes widened before she started laughing. "I'd have to say that you seem 'bound' and determined to repeat our honeymoon." She started to get up so she could tie him to the bed, but he gently placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. "I was thinking more along the lines of tying you up this time." He watched her closely, to see if she'd have a bad reaction to his idea, the way she'd had over the Achilles tendon episode. Instead, Clare smiled with a combination of desire and trust and raised her arms over her head. Walt gently fastened her to the headboard before taking the remaining two scarves and tying her ankles to the footboard. Clare felt exposed, vulnerable, nervous and aroused. He took the bottle again and drank some more, watching her eyes. When he teased her about pouring it on her, she didn't flinch at all, but smiled broader. "Go ahead," she dared. "I'm warm enough. I'm sure I'll enjoy it." "You probably would, but I don't feel like changing the sheets nor am I interested in sleeping on damp ones." Instead, he held the bottle to her lips and quickly licked her throat as some of the fluid dribbled down. After putting the juice aside, he tucked both pillows gently under her head and gazed at her with a smoldering passion. "Keep your eyes closed," he whispered. When she arched an eyebrow instead, he laughed. "Or I'll come up with something else to blindfold you." She rolled her eyes and complied. She could feel his weight shifting and once more wondered what was going through his mind. The muscles in Clare's abdomen tightened suddenly as a few drops of something fell on them. "Are you sure you didn't leave the wrong side exposed? I would have thought 'saddling' me up would have been your first choice." "The night is still young, mon amour." His voice was very close, his warm breath tickling her ear. She felt a silky sensation trail across her nose and proceed all over her face. From the aroma she knew it was the rose that had been in a vase on the nightstand. That also explained the drops of fluid. Clare smiled to herself and thought that like towels, she'd never be able to look at a rose the same way again. She sighed happily as he continued to drag the satiny smooth petals along her flesh. Her sigh turned to a gasp as his lips began following it. The two different types of stimulation worked in tandem all the way down her body. Walt gave up trying to stop the grin on his face as he felt Clare's body respond to his treatment. He took great satisfaction in the way she trembled and shuddered, the way her flesh rose in goosebumps, the sounds of appreciation and enjoyment that came from her lips. He was disappointed when he got to her feet and toyed with working his way back up, but the rose was looking worse for wear and his prominent erection was begging to be placated. Clare felt more charged up than she could ever remember -- and after taking a moment to peruse her memories, she decided her first impression was correct. She could feel him moving again, feel his sculpted body between her legs and stretching out tenderly on top of her. His lips sought out her throat once more and trekked up to her mouth. He consumed it and plunged his tongue inside, all the while rubbing his aching member against her stomach. She wanted to wrap her arms, her legs around him and draw him inside, but of course she couldn't. She was at his mercy and he was taking full advantage of that fact in a most pleasant fashion. When he finally entered her, she thought she'd burst from all the stimulation. But then she groaned as he started that 'irritating' slow pattern and immediately tightened her cervical muscles to stop him. "I hate to shatter your illusion of power, Walt, but tying up my hands and feet has no bearing on this aspect." He looked up to see her eyes open and challenging him. "True, but I know your body quite well and I know you're on the edge. If you don't release *me* and let me do this my way, I won't release *you*... figuratively or literally." Clare remained unconvinced. "You don't really expect me to believe you'd leave me tied up all night, do you?" The gleam in his eyes got more devious. "What you call 'persistence,' my mother used to call 'stubbornness.' Besides, if you keep your muscles contracted too long, they'll cramp." Clare rolled her eyes at this line of reasoning and relented. "I want you to know I'm only giving in because I said you could do anything you wanted to me." "Uh huh." She relaxed her muscles and let him have his 'fun.' He kept up his maddeningly slow pace, but after a few moments, he stopped pulling completely out with each thrust. Clare almost sighed until she discovered that he was simply doing it every third time. "Ughh. You can be so damned annoying at times, Walter Sergei." He leaned forward and engulfed her left breast, providing just enough extra stimulation to push her over. "Ahh." Not much else came out soundwise as she arched, pushing more of her breast into his mouth. The orgasm so close to the electrical shocks was incredible and every part of her body tingled. He stopped suckling long enough to glance at her with that same devious smile. "And you can be so damned impatient, Clarissa Elizabeth. And by the way, you can also be louder with your appreciation." "Sorry," she countered with mock sarcasm, "it's hard to get out of quiet mode. I'll try to do better next time." She tried to thrust faster, but found she couldn't get enough traction laid out as she was; so she gave up and decided to just enjoy the ride. Clare rested her head against the pillows and reluctantly admitted to herself that this was pretty nice after all. A few moments longer, and Walt at her right breast, she decided that the slow pace had some definite merits. She could feel her breathing getting more ragged and small whimpers kept escaping her lips as she felt herself climb closer to another climax. Clare repeatedly bit and wet her lower lip. And a bit after *that,* she felt her second orgasm go searing through her. Her body arched strongly again. "Ahh, oh, God. Oh, Walt!" She dropped her body back down and rolled her head to the side as the aftershocks continued. Clare blinked a few times before looking back at him, at the arrogant smile on his face. "Much better." Clare rolled her eyes. "You know, we should see if Billy's mom is willing to keep Anthony tomorrow night, too." "I take it that you approve of this arrangement and pace, then?" "Yeeees. Although I do want to know how you're able to stay in control?" "With the greatest amount of concentration and I don't think my body would appreciate it if I tried to do it again tomorrow night." As she felt him picking up the pace, she deemed it necessary to tease him. "Not going for the hat trick?" His response consisted of setting her mouth on fire with his kiss. Even so, he increased the rate of his thrusts slower than she could believe and ended up coordinating those of his tongue with those of his penis. They both came with an explosion of force and nearly competed to see who could be louder. When at length their groans and fantastically mind-numbing aftershocks ended, Walt rolled over to the side of the bed and drained half of the remains of the grape juice before carefully offering some to Clare, who gratefully swallowed it. She waited for him to untie the scarves as they both struggled to right their breathing, but he seemed in no hurry. In fact, he got up and started walking to the door. "Hey! Aren't you forgetting something?" "I know, I left the light on downstairs, my glasses are still in the den and I'm not sure I locked the doors. I'll be back in about five minutes." Clare narrowed her eyes as he left smirking. A thought instantly came to her and she called after him. "If you're not back in 10 minutes, I'm going to start screaming my head off!" She heard a faint 'Uh huh,' and nothing more. Walt checked the time on the clock once more and began heading for the stairs, grin in place. He knew he'd probably regret his little 'joke,' but she had pretty much set herself up for it. It was as close to 10 minutes as he could make it when he returned to their bedroom. The grin quickly left his face as he saw her body shaking and swore he heard her teeth chattering. "Oh, God, Clare," he began as he hurried to her, "I'm sorry. I didn't think about your chills." As his hand moved to untie one foot; she spoke to him, voice trembling. "Just climb on top of me, Walt, please. Warm me up with your body." He half-grimaced and half-smiled, both apologetically as he covered her body. As he began to rub her arms, his mind began berating him for his stupidity. And then without warning, he found himself on his back with his wrists wrapped together by the scarf. "What the...?" The suddenness of her unexpected attack caused his senses to blur just long enough for her to thread the scarf through the headboard rails and tie a quick knot. She smiled wickedly down at him and nipped his chin, her eyes glowing. "Gotcha." He had an uncomprehending expression on his face before reason resurfaced. "How did you do that?" "I happen to be good with knots. You have to be with a small child who likes to tangle things. You also tied my hands too close together." She got off the bed and walked to the door, pausing long enough to don her robe. "Where are you going?" he asked. His expression showed not the slightest amount of relief as he saw the still-wicked smile on her face. "I thought I'd get some ice -- that juice is getting warm." He started to argue, but realized he'd set himself up and resolved to pay his penalty. When at length she returned, she didn't have ice cubes -- she had a big bowl of ice cream. He looked at her with alarm. "Didn't you have enough of that at the restaurant?" He swallowed awkwardly as she licked her lips before spooning another mouthful in. "Call it a craving." She climbed onto him and fixed him with another impish stare. "Eat a lot of ice cream while you were pregnant?" Clare tilted the bowl and allowed a stream of cold mostly melted strawberry goo to fall across his chest. He jumped at the sensation and the goo started dripping down his side. "Actually, I lived on applesauce the first few months," she murmured as her tongue swept across the surface of his flesh and kept the melted confection from reaching the sheets. He groaned and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was smiling at him and holding an enormous spoonful. Clare leaned forward and teased his lips with it before feeding it to him. She used her tongue to clean up the mess she'd made before plunging it into his mouth. After a long, very satisfying kiss, Walt gazed up at her with his own smirk. "Now that I know what the ice cream tastes like on your tongue, are you planning to augment the flavor of any other portion of your anatomy?" She laughed. "Rather demanding for the bondee, aren't you?" Clare did, however, mash the remaining bits of solid confection into a smooth cream and carefully poured some into her hand. Walt jumped again as she coated his penis with it. "Jeez, Clare! I said *your* anatomy. *Your* anatomy!" He groaned again as her mouth and tongue began divesting his shivering appendage of the slop. "You really enjoy driving me crazy, don't you?" Walt rolled his eyes as she sucked harder. Clare sat back up, took a deep breath and swirled one breast into the strawberry soup. "Yes, I do. And you love it." She slowly leaned forward, dripping all the way, and 'offered' him his dessert. He took in her breast eagerly and suckled with enthusiasm, laving and sucking at it until no trace of the ice cream could be found. She sat up again and matched the devious smile on his face. "What about the other one?" She arched that eyebrow again. "What makes you think it'll taste any different on the other one?" "Humor me." "Is that like 'Good Humor?' 'Cause this ice cream happens to be a different brand." She dripped her second breast back to his mouth and sighed heavily as another batch of electrical stimulation went through her. "You know, this would be easier if you untied me." He gave her breast one final lick. "True, but it wouldn't be as much fun. Gee, I wonder where else I could put some of this soup." "Quit horsing around, you know what I want you to do. Come up here." "Why, mon cher, is that a request, or a promise?" He was smiling again as she inched her way closer to his mouth. "Both." Clare carefully poured part of the bowl over her mound and shuddered both from the cold and from the sensation of his tongue. The two widely different temperatures were unbelievably erotic and she gripped the headboard to steady herself. She raised her hips slightly and felt him swirl his tongue inside her. Clare groaned and whimpered and made a series of indescribable other noises as he worked faster and she felt another orgasm building. She'd barely managed to put the dish on the nightstand when she felt the climax wash over her. The loudness of her cries brought a ridiculous smile to his face. "All right, we don't need the neighbors running over... and you're welcome." She sat down on him, further back on his chest and tugged at the scarf, freeing his hands. He grasped her hips and slid her down to his abdomen before running his fingers up to her shoulders and pulling her back down on top of him. They hungrily kissed for several moments before Clare broke away and grabbed the dish again. Walt rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Now what are you going to do with that?" She grinned. "Thought I'd make myself a treasure map." "And what are you planning to do with the 'treasure' once you find it?" "I was thinking of mounting up and taking it for a ride. If that meets with your approval." "Well, as long as it doesn't take too much time. There's a PBS special on 'The History of Plastic' starting soon, and I'd hate to miss it." Clare tipped the bowl and let it pool in the indentation between his masculine breasts. "Hey, watch it." "Sorry, I was making a pond." She finished her other points of 'topography' and replaced the bowl on the nightstand. Walt stayed still and gasped as she slowly began laving him with her tongue. He was writhing by the time she 'found' the treasure and sighed deeply contented as she mounted him. Clare immediately set an ambitious rhythm and rather than balance herself on his chest, she leaned backward and placed her palms on his knees. Walt wasn't sure what to do... with her positioned that way, she was out of his reach. And if he sat up, his weight was on his elbows and he couldn't use his hands. Then again, at least partially sitting up, he could thrust. The two of them moaned at each other as they closed in on another release and their breathing again became uneven. Walt felt Clare grip his knees more tightly a split second before her body tremendously shuddered. Her cry was drowned out as he felt himself erupt deep inside her and shouted out her name. She fell forward onto him and they stayed stickily close for a few quiet moments. Walt wiped the sweat from his face. "God, we haven't been this active since our very first night together." Clare looked at him and smiled as he grimaced -- some of his chest hair was sticking to her. "I think our first honeymoon night more closely parallels tonight. But right now, I want a shower." Saturday, October 12, 1996 They were in the kitchen, purposely bumping into and grazing each other as they finished the breakfast dishes. As soon as the last one was put away, Walt grabbed Clare and pulled her tight, kissing her deeply before resting his forehead against hers. "When is Anthony due?" Clare softly kissed him back. "Any minute and I would think that after last night *and* this morning, sex would be the last thing on your mind." Indeed, after a long, very erotic shower, they'd gone at it one last time before falling into an exhausted sleep. A sleep that Walt had felt compelled to interrupt at about seven that morning. It was about nine-thirty now and they were just starting to kiss again when the sound of a horn in the driveway stopped them. They went to the back door and saw Billy's mom wave to them as Anthony came charging out of the car and up the steps. "Hi!" Anthony exclaimed as they bent down to him and he hugged each in turn. "Did ya miss me?" "Absolutely," Walt replied, smiling, as he picked his son up and started to tickle him again. Clare smiled reflexively and Anthony dropped his overnight bag as he giggled helplessly. All three went into the house. Anthony wriggled out of Walt's hold and ran to the refrigerator. "Anthony, I'm sure Mrs. Carstars fed you before she dropped you off." He beamed and closed the door, holding an apple. "So what did you two do last night?" Walt looked questioningly at Clare before responding. "Oh, we ate a little ice cream, showed each other how to tie knots." Anthony rolled his eyes. "That sounds boring. We had more fun." For the next 15 minutes, he proceeded to relate every game they played, every show and movie they watched and every bit of food they'd eaten. And his parents smiled through all of it. Sunday, October 13, 1996 Clare looked out the car window at the still cloudless cerulean sky. The brilliant sun was beginning its slow descent to the horizon, and soon, the sky would be filled with delicate shades of fire. She sighed as she leaned her head back and turned to look at Walt. He and Anthony had all but worn themselves out playing catch at the park. They'd chased each other around and Anthony had mastered the double grapevine. Of course, Walt had let him 'overpower' him in the wrestling move and Anthony knew that, but he didn't care. He was too happy spending time with Mom and Dad. Clare sighed again as Walt looked briefly at her and took her hand. She'd felt nary a headache all day and was starting to believe that they'd have a few months together after all. They pulled into the driveway a few minutes later. All three exited the car nearly simultaneously, Anthony to go running to the back porch, Clare to gather up miscellaneous items from the car and Walt to retrieve the cooler from the trunk. It had been one of the last warm fall days, the multichromatic trees grudgingly parting with their leaves. It was hard to believe winter and Christmas were only a few short months away. "Mom! There's some stuff on the porch," Anthony called back excitedly. Clare rolled her eyes as Walt looked at her. "Could you be a bit more specific?" "It's a bottle of," there was a pause as Anthony leaned closer to read the label, "rum and a manila folder." Both Clare and Walt looked at each other, shrugged and went after their son. "What, you didn't open the folder to see what's inside?" Clare asked. Anthony started to. "I was kidding, leave it alone," she added hastily. Walt put down the cooler and unlocked the door; Anthony scooted inside and quickly removed his shoes before disappearing around the corner for the bathroom. Clare leaned down and picked up the items. It was indeed a bottle of rum -- Newfie Screech. Walt raised his eyes in question at the brand and carried the cooler inside. Clare followed and dropped the various items onto the table. She rolled her eyes at Anthony's shoes in the middle of the floor and went over to pick them up. "Newfie Screech?" Walt's voice was amused. Clare looked back at him, smiling. "It's bottled in Newfoundland." He arched an eye again at her knowledge. "What? I worked as a bartender during grad school, remember?" He smiled and shook his head slowly before his hand strayed to the folder. Anthony came charging out of the bathroom and started to streak by the door. "Anthony Nikolai Skinner, come back here and get your shoes." Walt paused to watch a bemused Clare hand Anthony his shoes. He smiled again at another of Anthony's 'exasperated' looks and then opened the folder... and the bottom fell out of his world. "I wasn't going to leave 'em, Mom. I just wanted to get something upstairs first." "Uh huh. Well, take them upstairs with you now so you won't be asking me where they are later." He flashed the smile that was so like Walt's and ran down the hall. Clare shook her head. "Kids are always in a hurry to get wherever they're going." She turned back to look at Walt and was instantly concerned. He was standing stock still beside the table. All color had drained from his face, his mouth was open, lips moving, but no sound escaped. As Clare hurried back to the table, she watched him numbly flipping through a series of photos. Her tone registered all the concern she felt. "Walt! Wh--" She never completed the sentence, as she caught a glimpse of one photo and felt all the air sucked from her lungs. She clutched the back of the chair tightly. She forced herself to read the note written inside the folder cover, the note with the familiar handwriting -- Mr. Skinner, Clare automatically pulled the chair out and fell into it. She covered her face and turned her head from side to side as her breathing came out in small gasps. With great effort, she lowered her hands, extreme anguish on her face -- an expression that was mirrored in Walt's eyes when he was able to look at her. He coughed several times before swallowing heavily. Still, his voice was a croak as he tried to speak. "If you tell me these have been altered... I'll believe you." Clare looked at the pain in his face and stood up, turning away from him. Dear God, he began silently, please let her say they're fake, even if she has to lie. I don't know if I can take it otherwise. Clare's voice was so low and miserable, he nearly didn't hear her. And when his mind replayed what she'd whispered, he wished he hadn't. "They're not altered." Within seconds, the worst migraine she'd so far endured was upon her and she cried out at the pain. Tears instantly followed as she stumbled to a cabinet, grabbed a preloaded syringe, pushed up her sleeve and injected the Boradine into her arm. Anthony chose this unfortunate minute to walk back into the kitchen. He looked at the expressions on their faces and immediately became frightened. "What's going on?" His little boy voice cracked and his eyes got wider still. When neither answered him, he tried to read their minds. Clare's was so full of pain he couldn't get anything; Walt's was a different story. With complete innocence he commented on a portion of the phrase going through Walt's mind. "Smoking is harmful to your health and that's not an acceptable word." Walt's outrage boiled over before he could stop it. "Go to your room, Anthony!" Anthony's eyes grew terrified and he ran to Clare, clinging to her legs. Through her intense pain, she yelled at Walt. "Don't take your anger out on him!" Walt instantly felt ashamed. He forced himself to be calm and gentle as he walked to both of them. Anthony clutched Clare's legs even tighter as Walt approached and squatted to be eye level with him. "Anthony, I'm very sorry I yelled at you." Anthony still regarded him with wide, hurt eyes. "Please don't be afraid of me; I love you, I will never hurt you." Anthony looked up at Clare, unsure. The look itself tore a hole in Walt's heart. "Mom?" his voice was shy and uncertain. Through clenched teeth Clare struggled to make her voice level. "It's all right, honey, go to your father." With infinite slowness, Anthony released his grip of Clare and hesitantly went into Walt's outstretched arms. Walt hugged his son tightly, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He kissed his head and stood up, carrying him out of the room. As soon as they left, Clare gave into the tears and cautiously made her way back to the table. She blinked back the flow and stared at the pictures spread before her. They left no doubt as to what was going on and who was in them. Some portion of her naked anatomy was visible in every shot. She looked at her expression in each picture and realized how carefully chosen they'd all been. Anyone looking at them would reach the unmistakable conclusion that she had been enjoying herself. Clare shoved all of them off the table angrily. "You arrogant, sadistic son of a bitch," she cried out and sat down as the unrelenting pain continued to pound in her head. Walt stood leaning against the wall in the hallway. He'd managed to calm Anthony down and get him to his room, but he wasn't faring anywhere near as well. Was this the way it would be until Clare died? Bombshells appearing out of nowhere? Well, this one wasn't out of nowhere, that bastard had deliberately sent the photos to create conflict. And of course, it also meant he knew where they were -- not that at this point it was a secret. No matter how much his rational side told him to ignore the contents of the folder, his emotions and even his ego wouldn't let him. He knew he had to talk to her, and it was nearly the last thing he wanted to do. Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to go back into the kitchen. He winced as he saw her hunched over the table, face down, fists slowly hitting the surface. She drew herself up and stared at him through bloodshot, swollen eyes. Walt started walking toward her, to comfort her despite his own feelings. Then he caught sight of a sheet of paper that was not a photograph. He bent to pick it up and scanned the contents -- any color that had returned to his face completely vanished as he dropped the paper onto the table. He looked at her, incredulous. "You were pregnant before we... " Clare's eyes showed alarm before resignation; she closed them. "Yes... I was pregnant before--" He didn't wait. He started running out of the room as soon as she said 'yes,' slamming the back door as he went. "Walt!" She ran to the door, but it was too late; she saw him barrel out of the drive, tires screeching. Clare blinked back another flow of tears and returned to the table. She automatically reached for the paper he'd dropped and simultaneously felt her blood run cold and the pain ratchet up. If she had known exactly what the contents of the page had been just 10 seconds earlier, she would have phrased her answer differently. It was a page from a medical chart, from Northeast Georgetown Medical Center. It confirmed a pregnancy for Clarissa Hoffmann... and it was dated April 25, 1989. 30 Minutes Later It wasn't until he'd downed his second scotch that Walt allowed his mind to go over what he'd seen and heard. The horrible images of Clare with... him. The medical report that proved she'd been pregnant before they'd made love, that proved Anthony wasn't his. And most damning of all, her admission. How could she lie about that, he asked himself, how could she let me believe I had a son? He ordered another drink and the bartender regarded him with a wary eye, but poured the drink anyway. As he started on this one, the images danced before his eyes again. That cigarette smoking bastard was fucking my wife and she was letting him, enjoying it, he continued morosely. And he was Anthony's father. Nothing made sense anymore as a barrage of awful questions ran through his head. How could I not have noticed? How could she have ingested that drug knowing she was pregnant? How could she have so little regard for the child? Did she even ingest it? Why would she have needed to fake her death if she were carrying that bastard's child? Is anything she's told me the truth? Is she really dying now? He was about to go on when logic began interrupting his runaway thoughts and he struggled to make sense of what he knew, or thought he knew. Walt outlined the various possibilities in his head -- 1) The report was fake and Anthony really was his; except Clare admitted to being pregnant before they slept together. 2) The report was real, Anthony wasn't *his,* but belonged to that nicotine-addicted son of a bitch. 3) The report was real and neither of them were Anthony's biological father; which meant Clare's character was seriously in question. 4) The report was fake, Anthony was his and Clare had been pregnant much earlier, perhaps years earlier; except her family had never mentioned it. The more he allowed the 'possibilities' to circulate, the more angry he became. He drained the last two-thirds of the drink in one swallow and left. As he got to the car, one last thought came to him. If the report was real *and* Anthony was his, that would mean Clare had miscarried somewhere between April 26 and mid/late May... unless she'd faked her cycle, too. He shook his head and got into the car. Please, God, take the pain away, Clare miserably pleaded to herself. Anthony looked at her again, his eyes brimming with tears; the constant pain was making her mind completely inaccessible to him. He gently and shyly tugged on her hand. "Did I do something wrong?" Will that bastard's influence never end, she mentally shouted. She knelt carefully, her equilibrium compromised with the pain, and hugged Anthony tightly. "You haven't done anything wrong, Sweetpea." Clare spoke the words softly into his ear as she smoothed her hand along his back. Anthony pulled back and tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. "Can't you take something for the pain, Mom?" She smiled at the concern and love in his voice and felt the pain ease ever so slightly. "I tried already, but it's not helping." "Can't you take more?" "Not just yet, honey." "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" He's growing up too fast, she thought. His childhood, his future, is being wrenched from him because of my past. "How about another hug?" Anthony gripped her in a fierce hug and held on for dear life. After a few moments they separated. "Are you hungry?" She started to get up. He touched her arm softly. "I can make myself a sandwich, Mom. You should lie down until Dad gets back." She smiled at the grown-up sound to his words. Too fast. The second shot of the Boradine hadn't had much effect either. And as yet, neither had the morphine tablets; so much for the aneurysm shrinking. The pain in her head was so intense that she scarcely noticed the accompanying pain in her back. Unconsciousness seemed so attractive, almost anything that would relieve the pain was welcome at this point. She toyed with opening the bottle of rum but knew that could be a deadly combination. There was so little time left -- 'helping' death was foolhardy. Clare's only other option was to swallow more of the morphine. And she really hated to do that -- the problem with pills was that they took up to an hour to have an effect and it was very difficult to judge the right amount to take in the first place. She'd tried an intramuscular shot once, and her arm had been so sore afterward from the needle that she'd vowed never to do that again. It was very tempting, very, very tempting, to take more pills, but she didn't know how it would affect her -- if it would make her pass out. She had to remain coherent long enough to talk to Walt -- explain what he had seen, explain the medical report, ease *his* pain... even if that meant subjecting herself to it. The question of whether he'd come back before it was too late was one she didn't dare entertain. Anthony was playing quietly across from her, not willing to leave her side. She knew he couldn't understand why Walt wasn't there and had unhappily accepted her explanation that he'd gone for a drive. Clare breathed a small sigh of relief when the drugs finally had some effect. Not nearly enough, but at least some of the throbbing abated. And with the retreat of the pain came a flood of memories she could have lived without. She didn't need to look at the photos; that one week was playing itself out in her mind over and over... It had started innocently one evening after they'd had dinner together. They'd had dinner before, but she'd been surprised when he'd invited her to his apartment; still she hadn't felt uncomfortable. She'd known that he'd been attracted to her, and that in all likelihood she reminded him of someone else. When he'd begun kissing her, she hadn't resisted, but neither had she been 100 percent responsive. He'd asked her for one night only, saying he knew she didn't reciprocate his feelings and that her answer would have no influence on her career. Tom -- she allowed herself to use his name -- had seemed sincere, and while she wasn't attracted to him in a traditional way, there *was* an aura of mystery about him that was somewhat appealing... she'd stupidly agreed. They'd taken precautions and while he'd certainly known how to please her, there had been little emotional connection on her part. He'd been appreciative and she hadn't been surprised when he'd turned up on her doorstep the next night (or the following three nights.) It had been their second night, when he'd commenced with her tendon. It had been oddly erotic as his teeth gently bit into the muscle and Clare recalled responding positively. He'd done that every night for the rest of their week, progressively biting harder, testing her, daring her to trust that he wouldn't disable her. The last night he'd actually drawn blood and she'd told him to get out. He'd smiled sickly and lit up one of his cigarettes, saying he'd begun to wonder how far she'd let him go before she'd had enough. In that one instant, Clare had realized it had all been a game. She jumped at the sound of the back door opening. Anthony was up and running in that direction in a flash. Clare slowly dragged herself to the kitchen and gasped at the scene before her. Anthony was throwing himself at Walt, beating his undersized arms against Walt's powerful legs and waist, howling. "Anthony!" Clare instantly regretted the sharpness and loudness of her tone as it reverberated through her head and the relief she'd barely gotten disappeared. She held her head tightly almost as though she expected it to fall off if she let go. Walt stood motionless and let Anthony's anger play out. Anthony released all of his emotions as he screamed at Walt. "You left us! You hurt Mommy and you left us all alone! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" Tears formed instantly in Walt's eyes. Whether or not Anthony was his son, the words stung him deeply. He glanced at Clare as she kept her hands pressed firmly against her forehead, as she mumbled 'no' repeatedly. Anthony's fit finally stopped and he clung to his father's legs; Walt bent down and picked him up. Anthony buried his head in Walt's shoulder and unleashed a torrent of hot tears as Walt ran his hand soothingly up and down his back. In that instant, Walt both remembered his pledge of trust and made his second leap of faith. "I will *never* abandon you or your mother, Anthony, *never.* " Anthony looked up at him with Clare's large hazel eyes, sniffling. "Promise?" Walt gently wiped the tears from Anthony's face and solemnly, sincerely answered him. "I promise." They both turned to look at Clare as she wasn't able to stifle the groan of pain and rubbed her head harder. Anthony wriggled his way down to the floor and ran back to her. "Mommy?" His tone wasn't much calmer than it had been; it still was full of wild, volatile emotion as he grabbed her leg. Clare whimpered and slowly removed one hand to cradle Anthony's head. Her voice was overwhelmed by her agony. "It's all right, sweetheart." She bent her head and softly groaned again. "I know we keep sending you off to your room... and I'm sorry. But your father and I have to talk and... " Clare pulled her hand back and buckled from the pain. Walt had been watching her and knew if she was showing this much discomfort, the pain had to be excruciating. He wouldn't allow himself to believe she could be faking and putting Anthony through all this. Whatever her past was, she couldn't be that cruel. As she started to fall, he reached around Anthony and grabbed her. Anthony tightened his grip of her leg and started crying again. With every last ounce of stamina she had remaining, Clare righted herself and loosened Anthony's hold. "Sweetpea, please, just give us 10 minutes, then we'll be up to give you your bath, I promise." She bent down and kissed his forehead. He reluctantly allowed himself to be led away, looking back at her until the hall obscured his view. Walt walked him as far as the stairs. "Dad? Can you make Mom's pain go away?" Walt knelt down and looked into the hope and faith of Anthony's expression. "Not all of it. I'm going to give her more medicine, but... it'll be a while before it takes effect." *If* it takes effect, if it's not too late, he added to himself, and hoped Anthony wasn't 'listening in.'"I know she just promised to give you a bath, but I think it would be better for her to lie down right now." Anthony hugged him fiercely and his voice wavered. "God's calling Mommy, isn't he? Her circle is almost complete." Walt screwed his eyes shut as he stroked Anthony's head. He wanted to shield him from all of this, but knew he couldn't. He nearly lied, but then he remembered what Clare had noted about honesty. Walt took a deep breath and somberly replied. "I'm afraid so." Clare had slid to the floor shortly after they'd cleared the doorway. She was so lost in suffering that she never heard Walt come back into the room. He opened the cabinet and removed the bottle of morphine, pouring a glass of water before sliding to the floor beside her. "How much have you had, Clare, and when?" Walt purposely kept his tone gentle as he opened the bottle. "Walt, listen to me... " Clare's voice trailed off as another wave of pain struck. Walt took her chin in his hand and turned her tormented face toward him. " *How much and when?* " "Two tablets a little over an hour ago." "Then I'm doubling it." He started to tip the bottle when she grabbed his arm. "That's too much. It's too soon to bump the dosage that high." He gently removed her hand and put one pill back. "Adamson said the dosage could be adjusted for the level of pain and that he trusted you not to swallow them like candy. *Three* pills." Walt handed her the pills, but she refused the water. Her voice was all but a whisper through the pain. " *Anthony is your son.* I swear it on my grandparents' grave." Walt leaned over and softly kissed her before she resolutely popped the tablets into her mouth and took the water. Clare shifted the cold washcloth off her head as a scant few notches of pain finally vanished. She checked the clock and sighed... it had taken a very long 30 minutes. The first 10 were a blur. Walt had carried her up the stairs and Anthony had stubbornly refused to let go of her hand once she was in bed. Clare had managed to summon a smile through the pain and 'ordered' him to the bath; he'd smiled back and gone. She frowned as she heard no splashing from the bathroom. Anthony was always so at home in the water, but not this time. He really didn't need help with bathing at six and a half, more like supervision. He tended to make a mess if he was left to his own devices, soaking everything. Like Alex, her mind recalled. Monday, April 3, 1989 Clare stood in the bathroom doorway and shook her head in disgust at the mess Alex had just left. "Do you think you could have gotten more water on the floor?" He raised his eyes as he pulled a shirt from his suitcase. "We're only pretending to be married, remember? You don't have to give such a convincing performance as the nagging wife." A second later, the smile spreading across his face contradicted his words. She regarded him warily. "Are you holding something back?" Alex buttoned the shirt and tucked it in. "I didn't get any more information than you did. And given the choice, I would rather have my own room with my own bed -- at least I would have gotten a good night's sleep." Clare shot him a narrow-eyed look. "You think I slept that well? Be grateful it's a king-sized bed and I let you share it. You could just as easily have spent the night on the floor. In fact, if you'd rolled into me one more time... " He grabbed his jacket and the keys. "Yeah, yeah. Let's go get some breakfast and start acting like newlyweds again." She grabbed her coat and purse and they exited the room. The door had no sooner closed before Alex pulled her very close and plastered his lips against hers. Reflexively, Clare wrapped her arms around him and opened her mouth to the pressure of his tongue. It didn't take long to discover that Alex was good at this. He moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Target at nine o'clock." Clare hauled the moan about to escape back in as she pulled away and smacked him on the arm. "The *known* target isn't due until this afternoon, smart ass." He grinned in response and took her hand. "Just practicing spontaneity." "That's a contradiction in terms." They walked a few paces before Clare pushed him against the wall and repeated his actions. He willingly submitted to her and didn't bother silencing his moan as her mouth made its way to his ear. "So did you spot our unknown target or is this a pleasant payback?" The smile he got in reply told him the latter. Alex pulled her face back to his and held nothing back as he kissed her anew, probing her mouth with his tongue and running his hands under her open coat. Clare pulled away, breathless. "You're certainly not Edward Lincoln." Alex smiled as much at Clare as at the knowing smiles of the couple in the parking lot. He took her hand and kissed it before they started for the restaurant again. "Who?" "The name of a character in a book called 'Smokescreen.' He's an actor and his leading ladies claim he kisses them 'with art, not heart.'" Alex stopped them again and pulled Clare into a clinch, looking deeply into her eyes. "Which would you prefer?" The huskiness of his voice made it clear which he preferred and where he hoped it would lead. Anthony, wet and naked, came running into the room, with Walt close behind. Clare smiled as the younger Skinner climbed onto the bed and sat next to her, resting his head against her arm. "Are you feeling better yet, Mom?" Clare gazed into the hope in his eyes before leaning over to kiss his still-wet head. "Yes, I am, Sweetpea." Anthony beamed and Walt smiled in relief. "And you're getting the bed all wet." He rolled his eyes and she kissed him again. "Go dry off and get into your pajamas, please. You can stay up an extra half-hour since there's no school tomorrow." Anthony smiled again and angled his way off the bed before charging out the door. Walt sat down in his place and took her hand, gently stroking it with his thumb. "How are you really feeling?" "Better..." and Clare leaned her head against his shoulder, "but not by much." She moved her head back and looked dolefully into his clear eyes before drawing her free hand along his chin. "I can tolerate this -- I have to, because any more pills and I'll be a complete zombie. Walt, about that report... " He brushed his lips against hers and then pulled her closer, deepening the kiss; he rested his forehead lightly against hers. "It can wait a few more minutes. I'd better go help Anthony -- I've seen how he dries off." Walt smiled and kissed her once more before taking his leave. Clare sighed again and got up tentatively, unsure of her coordination. She made her way to the dresser and removed a nightshirt. As she began to change clothes, her mind drifted back... Clare leaned out of the bed and grabbed the first item of clothing she found -- Alex's shirt. She shrugged her shoulders and hurriedly put it on as she exited the bed. Alex sat up and watched her with amusement as she searched for her underwear before giving up and taking a new pair from her suitcase. "Considering that we're nearly the same height, that shirt is covering more than I would have thought; then again, if you're just trying to tease me, it's working." She fastened a few appropriate buttons before turning around, picking up his jeans and tossing them to the bed. "I'm not planning to lose track of my senses twice in the same day, so I wouldn't get your hopes up... or anything else, for that matter." "Too late." He grinned and threw the covers aside to prove it. He maneuvered himself out of the bed while Clare turned her body away from him. "I'm sure you've made many a woman happy with your apparent quick recovery rate." She groaned involuntarily as he came up behind, wrapped his arms around her and began rubbing his prominent erection against her bottom. "I don't plan to be one of them," she continued with far less certainty. She groaned again as he reopened the shirt and began stroking her breasts progressively harder. "You can choose to believe me or not, but the last woman I made happy was almost seven months ago, and she nearly broke my heart." Clare groaned again. "If you've been celibate for that long, I'm amazed you didn't do more than roll into me last night." "I didn't want to come on too strong." Another groan escaped her lips as his hands moved south. "As opposed to now?" she barely managed to say. He smiled. "We've got several hours before we need to start watching for Brooks -- we can accomplish a lot in that time." His hot breath all but seared her earlobe and her eyes rolled backward as he eased the shirt off her shoulders and began nuzzling the exposed flesh. Clare moaned again as her head lolled back. "Just how many condoms do you have in your wallet, or were you planning to run out in the middle of this?" Alex smiled briefly. "If memory serves, there's a dozen or so in my suitcase." Clare's head snapped back and she pulled away. Her voice was tinged with anger and resentment. "You son of a bitch, you set me up. When am I going to learn not to sleep with the men in this business?" Alex looked at her uncomprehending. "Clare? I don't know what you're talking about. I *did not* plan this and *I am not* setting you up for anything." She refused to look at him. "Clare?" She turned to him with narrowed eyes, "You always carry around a dozen condoms in your suitcase?" He looked embarrassed. "I used to toss a few in whenever I took a trip, and they built up." Clare raised an eyebrow. "What? You don't leave things in your suitcase?" Her expression softened as she contemplated his explanation. "Clare?" "Clare?" Walt's gentle voice brought her back to the present. "Where were you just now?" She lowered her head, "Reliving another stupid mistake from my past. Anthony?" Walt held out his hand to her and she took it. "Downstairs playing on the computer." He turned Clare's face up to his. "I made him promise not to eavesdrop on us." She let go of his hand and sat on the bed, keeping her face turned downward. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap while he leaned against the dresser. "What did you do with the... folder?" "I destroyed it. I hardly thought you wanted to keep the pictures or the report." I don't need the actual photos, he thought -- it'll be a long time before the images leave my mind. "Sugarcoating what I have to tell you won't make this any easier, so I'm just going to say it." She closed her eyes briefly, attempting to shut out the still persistent pain and took a deep breath. "The report was accurate." Clare ignored the hissing noise Walt couldn't stop himself from making. "What that impudent bastard failed to include was the fact that I miscarried four days later; and he knew because I... I lost the baby right in front of him. Not that at just under four weeks there was much to..." Clare dropped her head and closed her eyes at the memory. Walt brought his hand to his face, covering his mouth. "How could you continue the assignment after that?" Clare smiled wryly as she shook her head. "I didn't have a choice about continuing the assignment; looking back, though, I'm grateful it took you as long as it did to ask me out. At the time, I dealt with the miscarriage by blocking it out and pretending it never happened. I immersed myself in the assignment." Please don't ask me who the father was, she mentally pleaded. His opinion of Cancerman dropped even lower. He needed to know who the baby's father was and wasn't in the least surprised when Clare didn't volunteer the information. With great effort, he kept his voice steady. "I'm sorry about the baby, Clare... Who was the father?" Clare held her breath and then let it out. She shook her head as she answered, "It doesn't matter." Walt closed his eyes momentarily and sighed in exasperation. "It matters to me, Clare." She looked at him with forlorn eyes. "It wasn't him. Those pictures were taken two years earlier." *That,* at least was a relief, he thought. Walt walked over to the bed, sat down and gripped her hand. When she wouldn't look at him, he turned her head toward him. " *Who?* " Clare closed her eyes again and clenched her teeth; she felt the pain building again but pushed it away in this battle of wills. Walt released her chin and she looked away. He couldn't understand her reluctance to name the father, unless it was someone she was trying to protect... "McIntire?" Clare automatically snapped her head back to him, an expression of disbelief on her face. "Ned? No." She turned away again and stood up. "Clare, I don't understand why you won't tell me. You said you'd never lie to me about anything I asked as long as I didn't ask about the Consortium." When she still refused to respond, he decided to make a wholly ridiculous guess. "Elvis?" She turned slowly and arched her eyebrow. "Elvis? Sure, Walt, the aliens who abducted him got tired of his singing and thought if they let him have sex with his own species he'd shut up for a while." She shook her head and let a small smile spread across her face; if nothing else, his attempt to soften her up made the stress of the conversation abate just a little, as it did the ache in her head. He knew she was kidding, but it did prompt a horrifying thought and he stood up to better face her. "Did they experiment on you? Did they impregnate you with alien--" Clare put her hand across his mouth to stop him. This was getting far too sordid. "Walt, you've been reading too many of Agent Mulder's reports." He pulled her into his arms and asked one last time, keeping his voice low and soft, removing the insistence that had been there before. "Who, Clare?" She melted under the gentleness of his tone. "Krycek. The baby's father was Alex Krycek." Clare withdrew her arms from around him and started to move away, certain that Walt wouldn't want to hold her after what she'd admitted, and she was right. She took a deep breath and walked back to the bed as a new wave of pain surged through her head. "It was an accident -- we only slept together once, and he never knew." Walt looked crestfallen before another expression crossed his face; he forgot what Clare had said about his face being readable. She glanced up and shook her head. "And before you start lecturing me about responsibility and sexually transmitted diseases, he did use a condom, and it apparently was defective; according to Alex it had been in his wallet for a while." What about Cardinal, did you sleep with him too? Get a grip, Walt, he told himself. "Which one had the tendon fetish?" Clare was fleetingly caught off balance. "What? Um, T-- *shit,* Cancerman." That made sense to him. God, we still have to talk about *that,* he thought with repugnance. "What happened with Krycek? Or does that question fall in the forbidden area?" She looked at him before shaking her head. "I'll answer it. We were sent to Niagara Falls as a honeymoon couple. One of the scientists working for... 'us' was selling information. Alex and I were to observe the meeting, determine who the unknown was and... terminate them both." Walt regarded her warily. "You needed to pretend to be married for that?" Clare half laughed. "That's what I said. The exact time of the meeting wasn't known, only when the scientist was due and how long he'd be staying. It was Niagara Falls, the honeymoon capital of the world... the cover allowed us latitude for surveillance. People tended to politely avert their glance when they saw us." She sighed as Walt shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "The whole thing was a bust; the scientist had a car accident on the way up and we never did discover his contact." The two were quiet for a few moments, each trying to guess what the other was thinking and keeping their expressions guarded. Walt went first with his thoughts. "So was there something between you and Krycek, or did you just get caught up in the assignment?" Clare stared at him with a combination of surprise, pity and sorrow. "Walt, why are you doing this to yourself?" "Because I want to understand what happened. I'm trying to get inside your head." "You don't *want* to be inside my head. Hell, *I* don't want to be inside my head." Clare rubbed her forehead more from habit than any new influx of pain. "We both hadn't been involved in a while, although Alex was taking a bigger risk with me than I was with him. We used each other and that was it. It put a crimp in our working relationship, but we simply pretended it never happened. I don't even know if Cancerman realized the baby was Alex's; it wouldn't surprise me, though." She stopped to take a breath. "There was some chemistry between us, but... I don't know. It wasn't anywhere near as strong as the chemistry between you and me." Walt compelled himself to turn the conversation to a more nauseating topic. "What about you and," he had to swallow before he could say the name, "Cancerman?" Clare flopped backward onto the bed and sighed. "That was a one-sided chemistry thing... We'd had dinner several times," she started. "He kept track of my progress, understandably, and had always been friendly, even personable." Walt scoffed at the description of the man he considered as much a monster as a human-sized flukeworm. "The relationship was always uncomplicated, nothing implied, but I knew he was attracted to me." She shut her eyes again before continuing. "He invited me to his apartment... and that's when it began... " Walt listened as objectively as he could, which wasn't very, and sighed several times, sometimes in relief, sometimes in disgust. He made no attempt to comment or otherwise interrupt; he simply let Clare recite what had happened. .".. His demeanor was much cooler to me after it was over, strictly professional. I gradually began functioning as his right arm, but he stopped having me attend the meetings with the others in the spring of 1989; which is why I didn't know the plan to... " Clare slowly swallowed, "eliminate you was his alone." Clare took a final deep breath and waited. She wanted to feel him hold her again; she wanted the pounding in her head to go away; she wanted to strangle Tom for taking his revenge this way. At length, when he still hadn't spoken, Clare got up and started to leave the room. He roused himself from his internal musings and spoke hesitantly. "Where are you going, Clare?" She paused in the doorway and didn't look back. "You obviously need more time to think, and I want to see what Anthony's up to." Clare gradually made her way to the stairs and went down. Her vision was blurring and she was feeling dizzy. She wanted to sit down where she was and cry some more, but at this point, she was cried out. She sat at the base of the stairs anyway and waited for the new sensations in her head to clear. As she waited, she felt herself getting progressively irritated with Walt. He was doing exactly what Tom wanted, letting the information come between them. Walt really didn't have the right to judge her on the topic of her sexual partners. I'm sure not all of his liaisons were with pristine women, she thought uncharitably. It was ridiculous that he was much more bothered by the men in her bed prior to their relationship than the ones after. She ignored the explicit reason why and traveled to the den. Anthony jumped from the chair and hugged her as soon as she entered the room. Walt rolled over on the bed and decided enough was enough. He couldn't hold Clare's affairs against her. The only person hurt by the trysts had been her, and she had made peace with that. God knew he'd made plenty of poor choices in regard to women in his life. And as far as getting involved with a co-worker went, he'd been guilty there, too... and not just with her. The fact that two of her co-workers belonged to a heinous organization made it harder to take, as did the fact that he had contact with all three of them. Well, he doubted he'd be seeing Krycek again and didn't believe Cancerman would put in too many appearances, either. McIntire was another story; it would probably be awkward at first, but both would rely on their professionalism to put their commonality aside. Which meant the only real question that mattered was if he still loved her. Clare smiled as she stroked Anthony's head and kissed it. He was reading *her* a story as he sat snuggled up to her in the over-sized chair. Anthony finished the book with a flourish and burrowed his head into Clare's chest. "What would you like to do tomorrow, Sweetpea?" she asked, still stroking his head. He wriggled out of her embrace to look at her, eyes wide with optimism. "If you feel okay, can we see a movie?" Clare felt her heart break as she gazed into his eyes and hoped that he would be able to grow up happy and outgoing, emotionally unscarred. "I'd like that, Anthony." He sighed and rested his head on her chest again. "What were you and Dad arguing about?" It was Clare's turn to sigh. "Remember when I told you I did some harmful things before you were born?" He nodded. "We were talking about that." "When am I going to be old enough to understand those things?" Hopefully never, Clare muttered to herself. "That's something you and your father will have to decide." "Are you and Dad still angry at each other?" Before she could answer, Walt's voice floated across the room. "No, Anthony, we're not." Anthony slid out of Clare's lap and ran to Walt as he walked into the room. "Good," he proclaimed and grabbed Walt's hand. "I like it much better that way." Walt grinned at Anthony. "So do I." Clare got up and smiled at both of them. "How about some ice cream before you go to bed, young man?" Anthony's eyes lit up and he took off for the kitchen. Walt waited for her to reach him and then took her into his arms. "I meant what I said to Anthony, Clare," he whispered in her ear. "No more arguing, I'm not going to let that bastard win. I love you too much for that." "I love you, too, mon cher." He kissed her and held her firmly, knowing they had next to no time left and desperately wishing he could do something to change that. "Hey," a little voice chirped, "are you two coming? Or do I have to stand on a chair to get the ice cream?" They sat around the kitchen table watching Anthony as he enthusiastically gobbled up his treat. "What movie are we going to see tomorrow?" Walt smiled, expecting the response would be a Disney film. "Can we see a horror film?" The elder Skinner's reaction was doubly surprised, both for the type of movie and the excitement in his son's voice. "I saw a really cool movie last year where this guy's heart got ripped right out of his chest... it was still beating." "And you thought vampires were going to get you for a month afterward," Clare interjected. Walt fixed Clare with a disparaging look. "Don't look at me that way, *I* never gave permission for him to see a Wes Craven movie. Billy's father took him and Billy. God only knows what he was thinking." "Hey, it just occurred to me. That guy looked like Dad," Anthony proclaimed as he got up and took his bowl to the sink. "What guy?" "The guy who got his heart ripped out, silly." Anthony rolled his eyes at Walt's question. "Well since your father doesn't do any acting on the side, I'd have to say it wasn't him, Sweetpea. Now come on, it's time to brush your teeth and go to bed." The last part was spewed out through clenched teeth as the medication finally wore off and Clare struggled to hide that fact from Anthony. She managed to smile and kiss his forehead, but didn't think she could get up without falling over. Walt knew from his glimpse of her eyes and the stiffening of her body that the drugs had worn off. "Come on, Anthony, Mom's going to stay behind and clean up a bit." Walt hurriedly returned to the kitchen and saw the opened bottle and glass of water. Clare was trembling so much from the pain that she never heard him and jumped when he touched her. He stayed almost glued to her hip for the next 30 minutes, alternately massaging her back and temples until he felt her relax. This was insane, he fumed. It was taking half an hour for the drug to do anything and the effect was gone half an hour later. He moved her into the den, onto the loveseat and covered her with an afghan before returning to the kitchen. A few moments later, he came back. Clare could guess what he had been doing. "What did Adamson say?" He smiled as he went back to caressing her temples. "To try to make you as comfortable as possible. He also implied that you could take as many tablets as was necessary to dull the pain." Clare sighed while keeping her eyes closed. "He'd have to hint; it isn't sound medical practice to tell an at-home patient to all but overdose. Did he try to get you to bring me into the hospital now?" He leaned down and kissed her forehead, "No. He's respecting our decision." Walt pulled Clare up and sat on the loveseat before lowering her onto his lap. He continued to rub her aching flesh and they both managed to fall into a troubled sleep. Two hours later Walt woke with a start; Clare was gone. He listened to the near silence and heard a whimpering from the kitchen. When he ran into the room, he found Clare curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth in the corner. She started at the brightness of the illumination when he flicked on the light and moaned some more. He found an empty glass and spilled tablets next to her as he pushed the table out of the way and sank to the floor next to her. Her color was a deathly pallor; her eyes were dilated, blood-shot and swollen from tears. Blood was dripping from her mouth as she repeatedly bit her lip trying not to scream. "Oh, God, it hurts so much, Walt," she mumbled, her voice trembling as she sobbed, still rocking. "I can't take it any more. Make it stop, please. Knock me out, just make it stop." Walt pulled her tightly against him, his heart shredding. "I can't knock you out, honey." She grabbed his arm with a death grip and pleaded. "Just pick up something, *anything,* and hit me with it, please." He pulled her tighter as he shook his head and rocked them back and forth. Clare continued to sob... and it was all but killing him. He tried to clear his mind and think of something he could do to ease her pain until the latest batch of drugs kicked in. Maybe it was better to take her to the hospital; the staff could administer the morphine intravenously and it would enter her bloodstream and system so much faster. But she'd also be hooked up to a ventilator in case it depressed her breathing. His mind came up with something, but he immediately dismissed it. The only thing that had consistently lowered her pain level was sex... but as much as he wanted to help her, he couldn't bring himself to make love to her. And he was positive she wouldn't let him anyway; especially with the extraordinary strength the pain was giving her. He looked back toward the stove and saw a pan, but he couldn't do that either. The next 15 minutes were brutal for both of them. Walt rocked her, kissing her hair and talking soothingly. Clare was as stiff as a board in his arms as she cried nonstop and mumbled incoherently. At length, the drugs finally made their way into her system and she zoned out. Her head bobbed around and her eyes glazed over, still dilated. Unlike a few minutes before, when her body was so rigid with tension, it was now completely limp. Walt carried her upstairs to their bed. He laid her gently on her side and snuggled his body so close they were nearly merged. Walt draped his arm protectively over her and doubted that he'd fall asleep at all. He wasn't entirely sure if *she* was asleep or had finally lost consciousness... and he wasn't about to try to determine which it was. She was still breathing and that was all he cared about. In the morning, if he couldn't rouse her... he'd drive her to the hospital. Some two hours later Walt had fallen asleep mostly from exhaustion, but was still tightly against her. He rolled over onto his back and was woken up by both an insistent tugging sensation on his arm and the sound of small sobs. His mind didn't immediately clear as he sat up and turned the lamp on. "Anthony, what's the matter?" Anthony wiped his eyes with one hand as he continued to cry, "Mommy." Walt was instantly awake and turned back to Clare. He took a deep breath before slowly turning her upper body back to him. His hand rested briefly on her chest and he automatically registered the lack of movement. Her skin was still faintly warm. He gently held her chin a moment before releasing it; her head fell back, of its own accord and weight. He didn't have to worry about getting her to the hospital anymore. He closed his eyes tightly as he lowered his head and turned back to Anthony. Walt picked his son up, trying to shield him from seeing Clare. He embraced him protectively as tears streamed down both their faces. "God came for Mommy, didn't he?" Walt stroked his back firmly. "Yes, Anthony, Mommy's circle is complete."
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