Scully wasn't sure how she was going to cope with the day. She sat slumped in a corner of the bus, ignoring the press of the crowd around her. She had other things on her mind.

Like the fact that she was fairly sure she had thoroughly embarrassed herself Friday night. How could she have done it? What had she been thinking?

Of course, it had all seemed to make some sort of sense at the time. One event had smoothly led into the other, and there wasn't any one point at which she could have stepped off the roller coaster of circumstances she had found herself on. Was there?

Her car had broken down. She couldn't have prevented that, surely? And accepting a ride from Walter Skinner, well it had either been that or start walking. And it had only been polite to ask him to stay afterwards at the concert in the park. The invitation to dinner...well, that had been Celeste's idea.

But the singing...She sank a little lower in her seat. Scully couldn't believe that she had actually stood up in front of a crowded restaurant and launched into song. Granted, it was a karaoke restaurant and her name had "somehow" been entered in the talent contest, but still...

"I sang in front of my boss." She took a deep breath. "It's OK. I can cope with that. I can always plead temporary insanity."

What she couldn't cope with was the memory of how close she had come to throwing herself at him afterward. The ride home on the back of his motorcycle had been less a means of transportation and more a reason to cling as tightly to him as possible. She could still remember the touch of his body against hers. And afterward, when he had dropped her off at her apartment, she had come within a hair's breath of reaching for him.

Scully couldn't say that she had never felt any attraction for her boss. He was, after all, a very good looking man. But she had never had any difficulty keeping that side of herself under control. Until Friday night, that is. Friday night, when the stars, the music, and the company had all seemed to conspire against her. And of course her depressing social life "or lack thereof" had not helped. She might as well have been wearing a neon sign that said "Sexually deprived. Take me now." She must have been mad. True, she seldom (actually never) saw the Assistant Director in jeans and a leather jacket, riding a motorcycle, and exuding sexuality, but that was no excuse.

Maybe he hadn't noticed. Yeah right. The man was a trained observer. He must have noticed. I want to hide...

The bus jerked to a halt and Scully realized with a start that it was her stop. Gathering up her briefcase, she struggled through the crowd and exited. A brisk wind pulled at her hair as she paused outside FBI headquarters, gathering her courage.

I'm going to hide. I'm going straight to the basement and I'm not coming out. Ever again.

With this comforting thought, she squared her shoulders and marched purposefully through the entrance.

"What the hell had he been thinking of?"

Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner set aside the papers he had been working on and gazed into space. Thoughts of Friday night still gnawed at him. He was fairly sure he had made a complete fool of himself. He had come within a hair's breath of kissing her. She had looked so attractive, standing on her doorstep in the moonlight, clutching that enormous stuffed pink rabbit, her cheeks glowing from the ride on his motorcycle. He had felt a surge of desire so powerful it had taken every last bit of his self-control to back away.

What had he been thinking? Dana Scully was a Federal Agent and he was her direct supervisor. It was insane to even picture the two of them in a romantic relationship. Then why had he spent the entire weekend trying to get her out of his mind, unable to concentrate on anything else? And more to the point, how was he going to be able to look her in the eye as if nothing had ever happened?

Maybe in this instance, discretion was the better part of valour. He resolved to occupy himself in his office. After all, he had no reason to call either Scully or her partner to his presence, and even less reason to descend to the basement. All he had to do was avoid her in the hallways. With any luck the entire week might pass without seeing her. Resolved, he picked up his pencil again and tried to concentrate.

The day was going better than Scully had expected. She was catching up on lots of paperwork, Mulder hadn't once mentioned her preoccupation or tendency to duck every time the phone rang, being engrossed in what was either a budding new X-file, or the latest adult video catalogue...and there had been no sign of Skinner. Not a word, not a breath. So far.

The phone rang and Scully fought the urge to dive under her desk. Mulder never even glanced up, continuing to leaf through the file that had him engrossed. Trying to still her pounding heart, Scully picked it up with some trepidation, then breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was Celeste.

"Hey, Dana."

"Hi, Celeste."

"What are you doing for lunch?"

"Eating."

"Ha ha. I mean where?"

Scully ran a hand through her hair. She hadn't really thought about it. She generally ate at the cafeteria, or brought something back to her desk. But given the current state of her nerves, avoiding the cafeteria (and a certain tall Assistant Director) seemed like a good idea.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"There's a little cafe practically across the street from you," her friend replied. "I hear it's pretty good. Why don't I meet you there?"

Scully hesitated. There could be only one reason Celeste wanted to have lunch with her. Now in her eighth month of pregnancy, Celeste had lately avoided going out much, complaining that she looked and felt like she was eating for half a dozen, not just two. No, Celeste wanted to discuss Friday night. And Skinner. The woman was an incurable matchmaker and Scully had recognized the familiar glimmer in her eyes when she had seen the agent arrive on the back of a motorcycle with what had turned out to be her boss. Scully had been the unwitting victim of too many of her friend's misguided attempts to set her up in high school and later in college not to recognize the signs. Still, she had to eat.

Scully weighed the relative merits of trying to stifle Celeste's matchmaking against the dangers of venturing up to the cafeteria for her lunch. Of course, she could always ask Mulder to bring something back but the last time she had made such a request, she had ended up with a plate of salad, a triple chocolate fudge sundae, and a packet of sunflower seeds. Her partner had odd eating habits, and tended to forget that the rest of the world preferred soup and sandwiches.

Scully sighed. The gnawing hunger which had increased as soon as the conversation had turned to food became the deciding factor.

"Sure," she said. "I'll see you there at noon."

Pleased, her friend agreed, gave her the address, and hung up. Scully stared into empty space. Mulder, still enraptured by the file did not even look up. Silence weighed heavily in the office.

Skinner stretched and looked at his watch. Nearly noon.

It had been one of his more productive days. Virtually barricading himself in his office did have its advantages, he decided. He had accomplished more in one morning than he had in several days. But it was definitely time to take a break. Time to refuel.

He had avoided the cafe across the street ever since the shooting several months ago. Bad memories mixed with embarrassment had kept him away. He still couldn't believe that Cardinal had gotten the drop on him, so easily. Still, since the FBI cafeteria was not on his list of options, at least at the moment, the cafe was the next best thing.

Climbing to his feet the Assistant Director pulled on his coat and told his secretary where he would be, then left the office.

Dana climbed to her feet and stretched, like a cat.

"I'm going out for lunch, Mulder," she said.

"Uh huh."

"Goodbye, Mulder."

"Uh huh."

"I'm wearing nothing but some strategically placed fan-fold paper, Mulder."

Instantly he looked up, disappointment crossing his face when he saw she was fully clothed. She smiled sweetly.

"Just wanted to make sure you were listening."

"I always listen to you, Scully. What did you say?"

She crossed over to his desk and tried to peer over his shoulder. "What exactly has you so enthralled, anyway?"

A familiar expression of almost child-like enthusiasm filled his face.

"Look at this. Three fishing boats have been sunk off the coast of British Columbia."

"Canada's a little out of our jurisdiction, Mulder."

He gave her a steady stare, wearing what she privately called his "Twilight Zone expression".

"Paranormal phenomena don't recognize international boundaries," he said.

"Maybe not, but the FBI does. Unless you're planning to invade Canada, that is."

"There's a thought." He grinned at her.

"Poor Canadians." She reached out a hand for the file and began to leaf through it. "OK. I give up. What's so special about these ships?"

"Nothing much, if you don't count the fact that there were no storms, no distress calls, no reason to sink...but they all went down."

"And you suspect what? -- Sea monsters?"

He shot her a grin. "How did you know?."

Scully looked up from the file. "Mulder, there's nothing in this file that indicates these weren't just tragic accidents. Isn't all this a little vague, even for you? Haven't you ever heard of the word 'coincidence'?"

He grinned at her over his glasses. "Sure. Coincidence is how unimaginative people explain away the little mysteries in life -- Like how they get the caramel inside those caramilk bars. But it doesn't even begin to explain these sinkings." He leafed through his file. "Have you ever heard of the Wasco?"

"Should I have?"

He leaned forward in his chair. "The native people of the Pacific Northwest believe that there were once sea wolves who could destroy fishing nets and sink boats -- the Wasco."

"Sea wolves...Mulder..."

"There was also an eyewitness."

She leafed through the file, then glanced back up at him. "This eyewitness also had a blood alcohol level well over accepted limits. And you believe what he says?"

"He said he saw a sea monster, and the exact term he used was 'a wolf in the sea'. Need I say more?

"Frankly, yes." She sighed and stared at him, the familiar sinking sensation she always felt when he was about to drag her into yet another of his wild goose chases engulfing her. Her stomach growled and she glanced at her watch.

"Mulder, this is all fascinating, but I'm late for lunch. Why don't we finish this later?"

He plucked the file from her hands and re-opened it. "Sure Scully. Say Hi to Celeste for me." She stared at him for a moment then turned to leave, pausing at the doorway.

"I thought you weren't listening before," she said.

"You know me, Scully. Ears like a hawk."

"That's eyes like a hawk, Mulder."

"Hawk, rabbit, what's the difference?" He turned back to his file, beginning to scribble notes in the margins. She stared at him silently for a moment, then turned and left.

"Now if only you could tell a hawk from a handsaw..." she thought as she hurried to catch the elevator.

Celeste was already in the cafe when Scully arrived, feeling slightly windblown and dishevelled. Catching her friend's eyes, she shrugged out of her coat and crossed the floor to the table.

"Sorry I'm late," the agent said, a little breathlessly. I got caught up in one of Mulder's explanations."

"Don't worry. I just got here myself. I haven't even ordered yet."

Scully sat down and glanced sharply at her friend. The dark-haired woman looked a little pale.

"Are you all right?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"I'm fine." Celeste smiled and shook her hair back off her shoulders. "Just eight months pregnant, the size of a small sea-going vessel, and tired of needing a forklift every time I want to get up."

"Well, it will all be over soon."

"I know. Then there's just the midnight feedings, all the childhood illnesses, ballet and piano lessons, paying for college...Do you think it's too late to give her back?"

Scully smiled. "I did suggest you get a cactus instead."

"Not strongly enough."

Scully looked up as the waitress arrived to take their order. Once the waitress had filled up their coffee cups, gathered up their menus and left, Scully turned back to her friend.

"How are you really?"

"Scared, anxious, impatient. But you should see Jack. You think I'm bad..."

"Impending fatherhood can have quite an effect, I'm told."

"It was bad enough when he was suffering from sympathy morning sickness," Celeste said with a smile, "but now he's starting to twitch. He called me ten times yesterday from work. I'm sure he expects me to give birth at any moment."

"You're lucky," Scully said, a trace of envy in her voice.

"I know," Celeste replied simply.

Scully decided to change the subject. Thinking of Celeste's life with her husband served only to remind her of the emptiness in her own. Normally it did not bother her, but lately...

Scully glanced around the cafe. "So, what made you choose this place?"

Celeste smiled wickedly, forgetting the discomforts of her body. "Someone told me about it."

Scully's instincts sharpened, and a nasty suspicion began to form. "Who?" she asked. Celeste's gaze slid over Scully's shoulder.

"He did," she replied.

Scully swivelled around in her seat, already guessing who would be there...and stiffened. It was Skinner. Almost immediately their eyes met across the room and he paused in the act of removing his coat, holding her gaze with his own.

Reaction hit her - a wave of desire and longing so strong it left her gasping in its wake. What was wrong with her? She couldn't remember ever feeling this way before. It's just Skinner, she thought. Skinner, her boss. Scully was sure her face must be revealing everything she was feeling, but she was unable to look away. The Assistant Director, for his part, also seemed unable to break the eye contact. The moment seemed to stretch forever. And then Celeste was rising a little in her seat and waving to the ex-marine.

"Walter," she called, while Scully managed to wrench her gaze away from her boss. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Skinner crossed over to their table.

"This is a coincidence," Celeste said sunnily, "isn't it, Dana?"

Scully resisted the urge to sink under the table. Now that she had managed to drag her gaze away from the man, the turmoil of attraction she had felt had been replaced by embarrassment and a hearty desire to run. She cast the man a quick glance, relying on peripheral vision more than anything else.

"Yes," she managed to say, "It is."

She was the last person Skinner had expected to see. And after all the trouble he had gone to to avoid her...For a moment, at the doorway he had been tempted to flee, and then her gaze had caught his and he had been lost. He wanted her. Here. Now. He swallowed deeply, trying to get his body's reactions under control. Stop it, he told himself sternly. You can't have her. Not now or ever. The trouble was, he didn't believe himself.

He managed to murmur something polite. Celeste hastily slid her chair to the side and invited him to join them. Reluctantly he accepted and sat down. Scully avoided looking at him then she glanced up furtively, and they both froze, lost in the other's gaze. This is ridiculous, some deep, sane part of him managed to say. I'm staring at her like I've never seen a woman before. Like a schoolboy. Somewhere in the distance, Celeste was talking non-stop, filling in the awkward silences in the conversation, underlying glee evident in her voice.

Scully managed to wrench her attention away from the good-looking, muscular man sitting before her, and she responded to something Celeste had said, though scarcely knowing what she said. Desperately she searched for something to say to distract herself from her body's reactions, and to avoid looking like a complete idiot.

"Celeste said you told her about this place?" she asked quietly.

"I mentioned it on Friday night. At the concert."

"Oh."

There was a long, painful silence. Finally Scully managed to get herself under some sort of control. I am not going to do this, she thought. I am not going to sit here like an undersexed fool, drooling over my boss. She pasted a sunny smile on her face and sailed back into the conversation gallantly.

"You were right about my car," she said. "The transmission is shot."

Skinner looked relieved to have something to discuss, even if it was the death of her car. They spoke about automotive problems for a while, then gradually the conversation turned to work and an upcoming review. Celeste watched them with ever-increasing disappointment.

Skinner was beginning to feel on firmer ground. Apart from a stricken expression on her face when she first noticed him across the cafe, she had displayed no reluctance to see him. On the contrary, there had been a moment when...no. He was imagining things. Nothing had happened and nothing ever would.

The hour passed swiftly and Scully stood up to leave. Skinner rose to his feet and likewise reached for his coat hanging over the back of his chair. As he turned, his hand lightly brushed Scully's. An electric current, more akin to a seven-megaton blast than a mere spark, shot through him. She felt it too. Her head turned quickly and for a startled moment, they stared at one another's eyes. Scully quivered slightly.

"I think we just redefined chemistry," Skinner thought randomly, trying to put his thoughts back in some sort of order. "Now what do I do?"

The question became moot, however, as Scully hastily gathered up her coat and purse and, murmuring a quick goodbye, beat a hasty retreat, leaving the cafe at high speed with Celeste in tow. Skinner watched them both bemusedly through the window, then slowly followed them across the street.

Scully breathlessly said goodbye to Celeste, ignoring her friend's attempts to draw her out in conversation, then bolted back down to the basement. In the elevator, she ran a shaking hand through her hair.

So much for control. So much for hiding her feelings. If Walter Skinner didn't know how she felt, he didn't deserve to be in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. A blind man could have read her body language. He must think her a fool...A fool who had somehow become infatuated with her boss, over the course of one weekend.

"I wonder if it's too late to emigrate," she thought as she pushed open the door of the basement office.

A cold wind was blowing from the North, and rain clouds gathered ominously on the horizon. Scully stared at them with trepidation. She hadn't brought an umbrella. Her mind had been on things other than the weather this morning.

The afternoon had passed in something of a daze. She had tried to concentrate on Mulder's sea wolves, but had found her thoughts straying back to lunch and what had happened between her and Skinner. The shock that had gone through her when he had accidentally brushed her hand had made Vesuvius look like a firecracker. And he had felt it too. Scully shied away from the disturbing thought that Skinner might be sexually attracted to her. That only seemed to make it worse. If he was interested in her...how in Hades were they going to maintain a professional relationship? If she had learned one thing during her time at Quantico and the FBI it was that office relationships were doomed to failure...and that the aftermaths were invariably painful. I will not do that to myself...

Scully clutched her coat tighter, looking vainly up the street for the bus, her thoughts as cold as the autumn wind. Mulder had offered her a lift home after work when he had learned that her car was in the shop, but when six o-clock had rolled by and he had made no effort to move, she had decided to take the bus. He had looked up and offered to run her home, but she knew that all he really wanted to do was keep researching the "case". It would have taken something extreme to prise him out of his office, and she didn't feel like waiting all night. So here she was, standing alone in a dark street, frozen to the marrow, and waiting for nonexistent public transportation. "That's more of an X-File than Mulder's sea wolves," she thought to herself. "Why is there never a bus or a cab when you really need one?"

A blue Taurus passed her then slowed and reversed. A chill shot through her. It couldn't be...could it?

Of course it was. Walter Skinner rolled down a window and said:

"Would you like a ride?"

No. Not him. Not now. What in hell was she supposed to say to him? -- 'Sure Walter, I'd love a ride. Oh, and did I mention that I also want your body?' Scully drew a deep breath.

"I'm waiting for the bus." Great, Dana. Nothing like stating the obvious.

"It's going to rain."

Unconsciously she looked up at the darkening skies. He was right. Of course. She may as well get this over with. She couldn't very well tell her boss that she preferred to stand in the cold than accept yet another ride from him. She sighed. She was beginning to grow very tired of needing to be rescued by Walter Skinner.

Not saying a word, Scully walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. Silently, Skinner put the car into gear and set off.

Skinner had surprised himself yet again. Which wasn't really a surprise, given his recent record. He had just spent the entire day trying to avoid Dana Scully and now, here he was, driving her home. Again. But she had looked so cold and forlorn, standing there in the gathering darkness. He could no more have ignored her than he could have run over a kitten.

"Thank you." She said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts. He cast her a sidelong glance.

"You're welcome."

"That's twice you've rescued me now."

He suppressed a smile. "I've been told I have an over-developed sense of chivalry."

"Maybe I should call you Sir Walter Raleigh instead."

"Step on my coat, Agent Scully, and you walk the rest of the way, chivalry or no chivalry."

She chuckled softly. Suddenly it was all right. The humour had lightened the mood and, for a moment, Scully forgot the embarrassment and raging sexual tension that had been tearing at her for the better part of three days. She enjoyed his company, his dry sense of humour. In another place, another time, they might have been friends. Subconsciously, she relaxed.

Skinner sensed the tension leave her body and likewise some of the tautness eased from his shoulders. Maybe it would be all right. After all, it's not like either of them had ever said or done anything that did not fall under strict FBI guidelines. Of course she had sung a version of "Crazy" sexy enough to make grown men cry, and he had wrestled with a pink rabbit, but other than that...Actually there were no FBI guidelines to cover Patsy Cline and stuffed toys, so they were both safe, he decided. And as for what had happened at lunch...well, he was a healthy male and she was a beautiful woman. He didn't have to read anything into it other than the fact that all of his hormones were still functioning normally. Perhaps a little too normally...

This time the silence between them was more comfortable, more like Friday night. Scully sighed again and leaned back, enjoying the car's warmth after the icy wind outside. She turned and stared idly out the window. They were passing a movie theatre. "Othello" was playing, she noted.

"Have you seen that?" Scully spoke without thinking.

"What?"

"Um...Othello."

He glanced at her. "No, not yet."

"Me neither." Scully suddenly went cold. What if he thought she was angling for a date? Hastily, she added:

"I doubt if it could be as good as the Olivier version."

Did Olivier ever play Othello? She couldn't remember. Still, he'd played practically everybody else... Or was she confusing Othello with Lear?

"I hear he's working on Hamlet now," Skinner was saying. She looked at him blankly.

"Who?"

"Kenneth Brannagh." He shot her a glance and she bit her lip. "I heard he's filming Hamlet."

"Oh." She cast about in her mind for something else to say. "I've always enjoyed the comedies more than the tragedies," she said, after a pause.

"So have I. What's your favourite?"

"Um...The Tempest. It's been playing in the park the last two weekends."

"I know. I'm going this weekend."

"So am I."

There was a long pointed silence. After what seemed an eternity, they reached Scully's apartment. Skinner halted the car and she reached blindly for the door handle.

"Will your car be fixed by then?" Skinner asked impusively as she climbed out.

"What?" She turned back.

"Your car. Will it be back by the weekend?"

She froze. "I...well, no. They said Monday."

Skinner heard the words coming out of his mouth, but couldn't seem to stop them. "I could give you a lift. To the park, I mean. On Sunday"

Scully paused then somehow found herself answering in the affirmative. "Sure. Thank you."

Skinner surprised himself by smiling. Her acceptance had sent a feeling of happiness through him out of all proportion to what was actually being said. "If the weather's all right, I'll bring the Matchless," he offered. She gave him a genuine smile, remembering the exhilaration she had felt on the back of his motorbike. She nodded again and closed the door. The car pulled away from the curb leaving the agent alone on the sidewalk, the wind whipping through her hair. Dismay slowly began to fill her.

"What did I just do?" she wondered. "Did I really just agree to go on a date with the Assistant Director? -- I did, didn't I?"

She replayed the conversation in her mind. How had that happened? Why had she said yes? And more importantly, why had he offered in the first place? Nonplussed, she walked slowly up the path, reaching inside her pocket for her door key. Then she paused, momentarily leaning her head which had started to ache, against the door. It was going to be an interesting week, she decided ruefully. And an even more interesting weekend.

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