Title: Treacherous Heart
Author: Laurel
E-mail: laurelc@wincom.net
Date: April 14, 2001
Archive: Please ask first
Pairing: Sk/K
Summary: Walter Skinner muses on what could be
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Notes: Just a short, thoughtful piece. Skinner is wistful.

Walter Skinner hovered over the still body on the hospital bed. The only noise interrupting his thoughts were the beeps and pulses emitted by the machines surrounding the patient.

Somehow they were soothing. They were reassuring. Alex Krycek was breathing on his own power now. That was a good sign. There was a flinching movement from the one human hand. Another good omen.

Walter looked down at his former enemy. He glared at the man who once held Walter's life in his hands and had pushed the button that killed him. He had pushed the button again to resurrect him. He would have to ask Alex why when he woke up.

For now he tried to hate. He tried to stir up the hatred and blind pride that he had been duped one too many times by this man. Except the hate was wilted and disinterested, not unlike a flag at half-mast on a windless day.

After several days of watching the sleeping, peaceful man struggle towards the surface of consciousness, after nights of whiskey and muttering to himself, Walter simply stopped trying to hate.

Instead he willed Alex to waken with his strong hands and growling voice, with his presence and his impatience.

He thought of a future filled with peace, a home where he could nurse the weak body of the former agent back to glowing health. After all if it hadn't been for Alex, the aliens would have won and Spender's death would only be a fantastic dream.

He studied the subtle movements and flickering of the eyes, allowing only minute glimpses of deep green. The fluttering lashes that cast shadows on his high cheekbones, reminded Walter of skittish butterflies that glided, trying to find the perfect flower, their wings fluttering in the breeze.

The small expanses of skin that wasn't covered by sheets and bandages, was pale and white, like a piece of marble that had been sculpted by the masters. Even the maimed arm did not detract from his beauty.

He found himself wondering what the sheets covered. On occasion he'd seen the smooth chest, the pebbly pink-brown nipples. He'd counted the ribs that shadowed his abdomen. He let his finger dip into the navel thoughtfully, mindful of the squeak of nurse's shoes approaching. Modesty on the part of the medical establishment prevented him from further tantalizing glimpses.

It was the face he had looked at every day now for the past week that still held fascination. In particular, those pink lips, chapped skin smoothed away by a pot of ointment Walter applied religiously, that he longed to kiss. If there were church services to worship the human body, Walter would have gladly attended.

He no longer questioned his actions or thoughts where Alex Krycek was concerned. He was not a complicated man. He just accepted.

He watched as the lips moved, forming words he couldn't hear yet. He studied the eyes rolling beneath the thin eyelids, wondering what Alex was dreaming about. The hand that clutched at the sheet was captured in Walter's own and held tighter.

Walter couldn't wait until Alex woke up and he could tell him everything his treacherous heart felt.

Archived: April 21, 2001