DISTRIBUTION: OK for Archive/X & the Socks Shoppe. Elsewhere by permission. Email forwarding OK.
RATING: Slash, PG13
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: Skinner/Pendrell. Memories and a barbecue.
DISCLAIMER: Skinner, Pendrell, and the X-Files are owned by Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox.
MORE FIC: http://come.to/prillalar
May 1999

---

You Must Remember This
by Halrloprillalar <prillalar@yahoo.com>

Memorial Day

The day was grey, leaching the artificial light out the kitchen windows. Skinner sat at the table, drinking coffee and watching Pendrell make a salad. Bits of pasta were stuck in the colander and a chunk of green pepper lay on the floor. Pendrell had almost stepped on it three times now.

"Daniel, can I help with anything?" Damn, that had slipped out before he thought.

Pendrell turned around, slowly, and looked at Skinner for a moment. "You can get me the sour cream."

Opening the fridge, Skinner searched in vain. "There isn't any."

"Didn't you pick any up?" Pendrell frowned. "It was on the list."

"It wasn't."

"Are you saying you doubt my word?"

"Yes." Skinner leaned on one hip and crossed his arms, ready for the battle. "I got everything on the list."

"Your memory is beginning to go."

"Yours was never there to begin with."

Putting down his mixing spoon, Pendrell took a step towards Skinner. "I distinctly recall writing 'sour cream' on the list."

"It doesn't matter what you 'distinctly recall,' Professor, you didn't do it."

"I am *not* absent minded."

"I still have the list." With aplomb, Skinner pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to Pendrell.

Scanning it, Pendrell sighed and crumpled the paper. "Regardless, would you go pick some up? I need it for the salad."

Skinner smiled, deciding he deserved to feel smug. "Anything else you forgot?"

"Yeah, to cancel your invitation." Pendrell threw the balled-up list and hit Skinner in the chest. "Go, already."

Arcing the paper gracefully into the garbage, Skinner nodded and left, catching a trace of smugness on Pendrell's own face. There was a convenience store not far away, so he walked. It was warmer than it looked like it should be but nothing close to the glorious herald of summer they had hoped for.

So, what was that look on Daniel's face all about? He wasn't absent minded, not usually. What if he hadn't forgotten to put sour cream on the list? What if it had been deliberate? To get Skinner out of his way...

The odds were good. Skinner knew he had a tendency to impose his own best way of doing things on others. And it was frankly painful to watch Pendrell take twice as long as necessary to chop vegetables and measure spices, oblivious to the bits and specks that fell along the way.

To ease his pricking conscience, Skinner bought a chocolate bar along with the sour cream. He couldn't keep an even pace on the walk home, first thinking that Pendrell needed the sour cream right away, then deciding it was better to be gone a little longer, then noticing it looked like rain.

Back in the little white house, he handed the paper bag to Pendrell and was rewarded with a beaming smile at the chocolate. The green pepper was gone from the floor.

"Before you come up with any more excuses to get me out of the way, I'll just go read in the living room, OK?"

Pendrell put his hands on his hips and looked stern. "You can sit around if you want to, but I was hoping you'd put up the patio furniture and set up the barbecue."

Skinner stared. "You idiot." Three swift steps, a grab, and he had Pendrell in a head lock, rubbing his knuckles into the red head.

"Dammit, Walter," Pendrell gasped, laughing. "Not noogies." He struggled and pried, but to no avail. "Let me go."

"Do you give?"

"Of course I give. Just let me go." Skinner released his arm and Pendrell stood, hair mussed and face flushed. "So, does that mean you won't put up the patio furniture?"

"It's going to rain."

"It is not going to rain." Pendrell leaned up and kissed Skinner lightly. "Am I ever wrong?"

"Sometimes."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Daniel."

"Yes, you are."

Skinner forbore to answer, just rolled his eyes and turned to begin his job. He jumped and spun around again when Pendrell goosed him. "You are cruising, Daniel, just watch it."

Blue eyes sparkled. "Now we're even, Skipper."

"We're never even." He backed out this time, more to amuse than out of any nervousness, and went into the back yard. It was going to rain. Still, he dutifully unlocked the garden shed and pulled out the chairs, sturdy lounges with puffy plastic-coated padding. There was a folding table too, low and long. He arranged them on the small patio, then found a rag and bucket to wipe off the winter dust. A little WD-40 on the joints, and they were all ready.

Next, he hauled out the barbecue and carefully checked it over. The tank was about half-full, he judged. Turning on the gas, he sparked it until it ignited. Just fine. Everything was perfect. He looked up at the sky. Except that it was going to rain.

Pendrell came out with plates and cutlery. "Almost time to start. Come help carry the stuff." They took out the salads and the rolls, the condiments and napkins. In the kitchen, Skinner poured two glasses of Coke. Pendrell looked around, holding a foil-covered platter. "Anything else we need?"

Skinner considered the beverages for a moment. "Quick, Robin, the Bat Device!" Grinning, Pendrell pulled the Bacardi out of a cupboard and passed it over. Skinner added a generous dollop to each glass and they went out again.

"Did you want me to do the steaks, Daniel?"

"Absolutely not." Pendrell pulled a rolled-up bundle from under his arm and shook it out. "I didn't do all the rest of the food just so you could have the fun of grilling the meat. This is a man's job, Walter. Just step aside and let me work." He pulled on what turned out to be an apron. At first glance, it was like cheesy barbecue aprons everywhere, with a picture of a man in a chef's hat and a recipe for BAD BOLD BBQ SAUCE. But when Skinner looked closely, he saw the recipe consisted entirely of chemical formulae.

He didn't dispute Pendrell's authority over the grill, just sat back in his lounge chair, sipped his drink, and stared up at the sky. There were no shapes in the clouds -- the cover was too complete, like row upon row of cotton balls closely glued to a sky-blue piece of construction paper. "Look at the sky, Professor."

Pendrell didn't lift his eyes from the steaks and vegetables he was arranging on the barbecue. "Quit worrying." So Skinner closed his eyes and listened to the clink and sizzle and smelt the warm mouthwatering smells and was glad to be there.

Then they ate. The food was delicious. It didn't rain.

After, they did the dishes and made coffee and took the Scrabble board outside to play. Skinner grumbled and Pendrell teased but, in the end, Skinner had the tiles and he won the game, surprising them both.

"I should put up a plaque or something." Pendrell grinned.

"Don't even try to insinuate that this is a one-time occurrence." Skinner smiled back. "I've got your number now."

"What do you want to do now?" Pendrell packed the game away.

"Let's just sit here for a while. Will you turn the lights out?"

Pendrell nodded and got up to switch off the floods. "Will you be warm enough? It's chilly."

"Come sit with me." That was all he wanted right now, just to sit with Daniel and say nothing.

"That chair is not going to hold our weight."

"Sure it will." Skinner bounced a little to test it. "If it breaks, I'll fix it."

Pendrell came over and they settled in, carefully, Pendrell between Skinner's thighs and leaning back on his chest. They twined their arms together and sat, warm and cold in the night air, breathing almost the same rhythm. After a while, Lucy appeared out of nowhere and leapt up, adding her purr to the evening sounds. Skinner rested his cheek on Daniel's head and was content. They stayed that way, shifting only a little, until the moon rose, waning bright where the clouds had cleared away.

"Is it time?" Pendrell turned his head to look at Skinner.

"Yes." They gently disentangled themselves and stood.

"I'll drive you. I'll wait in the car."

Nodding, Skinner put his arm around Pendrell's shoulders and they went around front. In the car, they didn't speak. Skinner could feel the space Pendrell was giving him and was grateful. They drove through the night, the window open to the cool breeze, and at last Pendrell stopped the car and Skinner got out and walked slowly to the Wall.

He passed others, sometimes nodding to them, sometimes not, finding the names of those he remembered. Quietly, he spoke each one aloud, running his fingers over the letters in the stone. He saw their faces in his mind, but didn't bring up any coherent thoughts, just felt his memories in his chest and in his gut. He stood a while longer, then he left and they drove home.

It was late now and they both had to work in the morning. When they got out of the car, Pendrell looked at Skinner. "Staying over?"

"If that's OK."

"Always." Pendrell smiled. "So long as you don't gloat too much about the Scrabble game."

"I never gloat." They went in.

"You never had anything to gloat about before." Pendrell yawned hugely. "Unless you have other plans, I'm going to bed." Wrapping his arms around Skinner, he hugged him close. "I had a great day."

"Me too." Pendrell's back was warm beneath his hands. They went to bed.

Skinner slept and death was all around him, in the faces of his friends, in the roots of trees that twined around his ankles, in the weight that sat on his chest and stole his breath...

Skinner woke and death was all around him. Getting up, he pulled back the curtains and opened the window, breathing deeply in the fresh air as it dried the clammy sweat on his skin. It was raining. After a few moments, his breathing slowed and he climbed back in the bed.

Rolling onto his side, he spooned up behind Daniel, feeling the living warmth of his body, hearing the small sounds he made as he moved back into the embrace, smelling his hair. Skinner smiled and then he slept and did not dream.

F I N I S

Feedback? Ah yes! I remember it well. prillalar@yahoo.com

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