Summary: How would you react if your husband came home looking like he'd just been run over by a truck but told you he was all right? Sharon/Skinner fic.

Title: After End Game
Author: Rev. Anna Send feedback to ataylorsweringen@yahoo.com
Classification: SR
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Colony, End Game
Keywords: Skinner/Sharon, post-ep
Disclaimer: Sharon and Walter Skinner belong to 1013 productions.
Summary: How would you react if your husband came home looking like
he'd just been run over by a truck but told you he was all right?

After End Game
by Rev. Anna

Sharon luxuriated in the sandalwood scented bath, running her hands
over her body after a hard day's work. She wondered how much of the
tension being washed away from her body was work related and what
percent was Walter related.

Something was majorly wrong at the Bureau and it centered on Agent
Mulder, a dead agent in Syracuse and some missing doctors in
Germantown, Maryland. Walter had been coming home later and angrier
each night; not at Mulder but about him.

At first any attempts on her part to get Walter to open up were pre-
empted with a quick kiss and a "Sorry I'm so late. Was it my turn to
make dinner?" Now he just came home grumbling, downed one scotch
after another offering no apology and spent the rest of the night at
his desk in sullen silence before coming to bed, if he came at all.

Well enough was enough. She had endured almost a month of this
treatment and had made up her mind to have it out with him tonight.

"Sharon, you're a volcano about to blow," a concerned co-worker
said. "Any little thing he might say could set you off. You better
be well relaxed if you're going to confront him."

"What do you recommend?"

"Take a nice hot scented bath. That'll relax your body and your
mind. You know, prepare you for the battle."

"Battle?"

"You don't expect him to just roll over when you confront him, do
you?"

Sharon shook her head no.

"Well then you gotta be prepared. Inside and out."

"Out?"

"Especially out. A 'don't-fuck-with-me-buddy' outfit means your
victory is a foregone conclusion."

Sharon thanked her colleague and set her plan in motion. The
soothing heat of the scented bath was already easing her muscles,
bolstering her confidence and her victory outfit -- a long sleeved
black wool sweater and black slacks -- was ready and waiting on the
bed.

She smiled when she thought of why she chose it. It reminded her of
Emma Peel from the old TV show, The Avengers. Much to her parents
dismay, she had dressed like her even when she attended youth group
events at the church. Next to her Aunt Marjean, Emma Peel was the
most kick ass woman Sharon had ever seen. She wanted to be kick ass
tonight, so all black it was going to be.

Her thoughts drifted back to Walter and his present behavior. This
sullenness and drinking was so unlike him. And as much as she felt
hurt by him, he was hurting himself more. The pain being etched into
his face had to be leaving deeper scars on his soul. She refused to
let another night of watching him drink himself into a bottle go by
unchallenged. She would suffer no curt brush-off or scotch-laced,
guilt-induced consolation-prize kisses tonight. She wanted her
Walter back and tonight she was going to reclaim him.

She had just finished drying herself off when she heard the front
door open and close.

"Walter?" she called, surprised and a little dismayed. He was at
least two hours earlier than she had anticipated. She had hoped to
be dressed and waiting for him when he came home.

"Walter, is that you?" she called again.

"Who else would it be Sharon?"

The tired annoyance she heard in his voice set off a fuse in her that
she hadn't realized could be lit. Her head swelled with anger and,
without thinking, she grabbed her robe and ran barefoot down the
stairs, only remembering to pull it closed around her naked body when
she got to the living room.

"Listen mister!" she shouted. "Save the attitude for your agents who
have to put up with your bull--- "

She stopped short, her mouth wide open at the sight before her.
Walter stood by the bookcase where he kept the bottle of scotch; no
glasses, blood running down the left side of his face, the bridge of
his nose swollen and bruised, his shirt totally askew and the
knuckles around the glass he held were red and bleeding.

Her anger drained away and worry took its place.

"Walter, what happened?!"

She rushed over to him, exposing her nakedness to him as she reached
up to check the injury over his eye. He winced and pulled away
before she could touch him.

"Don't," he said impatiently. "I'm all right."

He turned his back on her and poured himself another scotch.

A ball of rage rolled around in the pit of her stomach. Without
warning she pulled back a fist and with unerring accuracy slammed it
into his back.

"Fuck you!" she shouted as her next punch landed in his side. "FUCK
YOU AND THE WHITE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON!"

"What the hell -- ?!" he exclaimed, turning in astonishment as punch
after punch landed in his side, on his arms and in his chest.

"Don't you tell me 'don't', Walter Sergei Skinner!" she shouted.

"Holy shit! Ow!" Skinner shouted, dropping the glass of scotch as he
put up his hands to block her blows as best he could, too stunned to
clearly deal with the half naked female fury now mercilessly
attacking him.

"You're all right?!" she shouted. "Don't you dare come in here
looking like a survivor of World War Three and tell me you're all
right!"

Her next punch swung wide. Skinner stumbled backwards to avoid it,
falling onto the couch where she pounced on him and really started
pounding on him.

"Damn it Sharon! Stop it!" Skinner shouted, finally able to grab her
wrists but still unable to control her. "What the hell is the matter
with you?!"

"Why should anything be the matter with me?! I'm used to you coming
in here night after night, sullen and not talking! I'm used to you
coming in here bruised and bleeding and brushing me away like an
annoying fly!"

She lifted up on her knees and landed hard on his stomach, winding
him.

"FUCK!" he wheezed.

He gripped her wrists tightly and pushed up, forcing her on her back
so that their positions were reversed, but she kept on fighting.

"Will you please stop?!" he cried.

"I'll stop when you stop!" she snapped back.

"I haven't done anything!"

"No? Well, what would you call going straight to that damn bottle
night after night as if it were the only friend you had in the world?"

She pulled her right wrist free and landed a solid right cross to his
left jaw. With a roar, he flipped her onto her face and pinned her
arms against her back.

"Damn it Sharon! I said stop it!!" he shouted.

This was definitely not the scenario she had envisioned. If she had
been able to get dressed and work her Emma Peel vibe, Walter would be
the one pinned to the couch, not her.

She turned her head, breathing angrily, wondering what to do to turn
the situation around. Above her she could hear Walter panting as
well. Neither said another word for five minutes. Finally Walter
leaned down so that his lips were against her ear.

"If I let you go, are you going to hit me again?"

"Yes," she said.

He rested his face in her back.

"Okay," he said. "I know I've been a complete asshole this past
month and I deserve all the blows and all the epithets you can hurl
at me."

His breath against the back of her neck was arousing and before she
knew it her grip on her anger was gone.

"But please don't hit me anymore. Please?"

Sharon closed her eyes and just relaxed into the feel of him pinning
her down.

"All right. I won't hit you on one condition," she promised. "That
you let me take care of you."

There was a long silence.

"Okay," he finally said, letting go of her and sliding back so she
could get up.

She stood up and pulled her robe closed around her. Walter closed
his eyes and laid his head against the back of the couch, holding his
side. When he opened his eyes, Sharon was standing there looking at
him.

"What?" he asked, confused to find her still there.

"Are you going to let me take care of you or not?"

"Yes."

"Then get your ass upstairs into the bathroom!"

"Okay, okay," he said, wincing as he struggled to get up. "What are
you being so mean for?"

"I want to get a bit of my own back before I apologize."

"I'd say you got quite a bit of your own back already. Where'd you
learn to punch like that?"

"Growing up with two brothers was a good start," she answered
following him up the stairs into the bathroom. "But the lion's share
of the credit goes to the women's boxing team at college."

He sat on the edge of the tub and looked at her.

"That was real?" he said pulling his coat off. "When I was in 'Nam,
Andie sent me a picture of you in boxing gear. I thought that was a
goof."

"Surprise," she said, taking alcohol and cotton out of the medicine
cabinet. She pointed toward his shirt.

"Take it all off," she ordered.

She watched him grimace as he pulled out of his blood stained shirt
and tossed it onto the floor. Her eyes widened at the bruises on his
torso. Her bare knuckles had done more damage than she realized.

"You want to tell me how your face got used for a punching bag?" she
asked, as she dabbed the alcohol on the cut over his eye.

"Going through unofficial channels."

"Unofficial channels?"

"It was the only way I could help Scully locate Mulder," he said,
hissing as the alcohol began to sting. He held her wrist
back. "Couldn't you use peroxide or mercurochrome instead?"

"Suck it up tough guy. If you can take the weight of the world on
your shoulders, you can take a little sting from alcohol."

"You're still being mean to me. Where's that apology?"

She smiled and kissed him gently on the lips.

"I'm working up to it," she said, placing two butterfly bandages over
his eye. Then she knelt down before him. Her lips carefully sought
out each bruise and kissed each softly in turn.

"Big 'I-don't-need-anyone' he-man out there saving the world," she
chided, kissing him on the lips again.

He placed his hand against her cheek.

"I know that's who I've been this last month," he said. "But that's
not who I want to be. I need you, Sharon. Please know, no matter
how I may act, I do need you."

He leaned in to kiss her but pulled back wincing as her hand pressed
against a bruise under his arm.

"Go get undressed while I run you a bath," she said, gently nudging
him.

He walked stiffly into their bedroom as she tossed his shirt into the
hamper and hung his coat on a hook behind the door. She stopped the
tub and turned on the water, testing it until the temperature was
just right. She took the sandalwood bath salts and stirred them into
the water, enjoying the aroma wafting past her on the heat rising
from the tub.

She wiped her hands and went into the bedroom, finding Walter face up
on the bed, his right arm resting across his eyes.

"You can't get into the tub with your pants on, sweets."

"I'm too sore, hon. I can't budge."

She sat down, took his shoes off and then his socks before unbuckling
his pants.

"Right now that's just a feeling. But if you don't get into that tub
tonight, it'll be a reality in the morning. Now be a good boy and
sit up."

She had to smile as he leaned against her like a sleepy little boy,
whining as she pulled his pants and boxers off.

"Okay. Upsy daisy."

She put her arm around his waist then put his arm across her
shoulder.

"Come on baby," Sharon said, letting him put all his weight on
her. "Lean on me. We'll go slow."

"I--I'm sorry for the way I've been acting these past few weeks," he
said, easing himself into the water with her help. "So much shit has
been coming at me so fast it's been hard to keep my balance."

He moaned as the warm water began to work on his body while the
scents worked on his frayed nerves. Sharon took a cloth and ran it
firmly down his back, then between his legs. His moans turned into
relaxed sighs as the cloth made its way back up his chest, down his
arms, along his sides.

"Now doesn't this beat scotch and silence?" she asked.

"Scotch, silence and a sandalwood-scented, punch-throwing naked wife."

Sharon laughed and kissed the side of his face as he relaxed his head
against her shoulder. He intertwined his fingers with hers and
kissed each one of her knuckles.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want any of it touching you. I
didn't mean for any of it to touch you. I thought by not talking
about this shit, I was protecting you. I'm so sorry."

Sharon smiled, unashamed of the tears forming in her eyes. Her
Walter was back.

"I'm ready to apologize now," she said, pressing her cheek against
his.

He turned his head and kissed her.

"If it's all the same to you," he said. "I'd rather have a few
lessons on how to block that right cross of yours."


End