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Title: Downtime Summary: After eleven years of marriage, things are stale. Two kids, two careers and the pressure of aging in front of their Immortal friends. Can some downtime save the Skinners' marriage? This is the final installment of the Skinner/Regina series. In order:
Sam Skinner should have told his parents that the coach had called an emergency practice that afternoon. He should have told them, but he forgot. Now, in the chaos that was the Skinner household on a Friday morning, he wasn't looking forward to breaking the news. At nine years old, that kind of thing truly intimidates. Sam knew his father would glower over his glasses and lecture him on Responsibility and Making Promises. His mother would probably let his father go on for a time, and then come up with a way to manage the schedule. She always did, and Mom didn't lecture. Maybe it would be okay, after all. He could stand a few minutes of Dad's lecture, but if Lucy said anything, he'd sock her one. Sam came into the kitchen to find his mother struggling to put Lucy's hair into a braid. His six-year-old sister kept howling that it hurt, and that Mom was pulling on purpose. Finally, Mom took the hairbrush and administered a well-placed swat to Lucy's backside. "Bastante!" Sam blinked. His mother hardly ever raised her voice except to the dogs. "Lucita, if you don't want your hair combed, that's fine. You can go to school with it looking like a rat's nest!" "But Mama-!" Lucy's lower lip quivered dangerously. "Lucita, if you cry at me, you're going to get another spank. What's it gonna be? Are you going to hush and let me do this, or are you going to keep wiggling?" Lucy turned her back and sat meekly as Mom finished twisting her hair into a simple plait. Sam swallowed. His mom was dressed up in a grey skirt and silver silk blouse. She looked pretty and neat. For a moment, Sam wondered why, and then he remembered. Mom was going to school with him today for Career Day. She was bringing Cisco and Cheyenne, and she was going to talk to his class. And he'd forgot to tell her about the soccer practice. A lecture was looking pretty good right now. "Gina?" His father's voice rumbled down the stairs. "When did Adam and Bonnie want to meet?" "Tonight at seven. Are you going to be home?" "I may be late." Sam's mother put her hands on her hips and glared up at the ceiling. "I really wish you wouldn't, Walt. Could you drop Lucita off on your way to work?" "I can't. I'm going to be late." "So am I! I have to do that Career Day thing in Sam's class." His father came down the stairs, knotting a recalcitrant tie. "Why didn't they ask me?" "They did. You couldn't do it. You were too busy. Now, can you take Lucita to school for me?" "Can you pick her up?" "Yes. I'm dropping both Sam and Lucita off at Cheryl's house for the weekend. And I need to help them pack beforehand. Remember?" "I remember. I remember." His father ran a hand over his bald scalp. "I guess I can drop her off." "Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedule," his mother growled. His father ignored the jibe. "Is there any coffee?" "No. I haven't had time to make it. Would you?" "I can't. I'm going--" "To be late," Mom finished for him. "Fine." "Mom!" Lucy said suddenly. "Would you sign my permission slip?" "What for?" "We're going to the Zoo on Monday. Mrs. Ernstrom told me that I needed to have my permission slip today or I can't go." "How long have you had it?" Dad asked her. "A week." "Lucy, how many times have your mother and I told you to tell us about things like this. Don't wait until the last minute." "At least she told us today. Here Lucita. I'll sign it." His mother whipped out a pen from nowhere and scrawled a signature on a crumpled piece of paper. "Next time, mija, tell us earlier, okay?" "Uh, Mom?" Sam finally found his voice. He guessed, correctly, that there really wouldn't be a best time to tell them. "I have soccer practice today." "You what? For how long? When?" "Right after school." Sam did his best to forestall the inevitable lecture. "I know I should have told you earlier, Mom. I forgot. It's right after school, so you can just leave me at the field and go pick up Lucy. By the time you get her packed up, you can pick me up." "When are you going to pack?" Sam shuffled his feet. "Could you pack a bag for me?" Mom gave him a hard stare. "Yes. Yes, I could. But you're going directly from practice to Aunt Cheryl's house. You know that, right? You can't play around with your friends." "I know. It's okay, Mom." Sam stood, waiting for the axe to fall. It didn't. His mother just nodded. "All right. I'll pick you up right after practice." Sam frowned. Her voice was oddly quiet. Lucy piped up, "I don't want to go to Aunt Cheryl's. I want to see Aunt Bonnie." Her mother turned and held up her index finger. "Lucita. That is enough. Your next whine will be your last. Got it?" Lucy's eyes went very wide, and Sam was glad that he couldn't see the expression on his mother's face. "Si, Mama." "Bueno. Vamanos." His mother stopped and rubbed her eyes. "Walt, don't forget Lucita." "What about her?" "Walt! You were going to take her to school!" "Oh. Right. I know." Sam's father stopped and looked quickly at his wife. "Gina, are you feeling okay?" "A headache is all." "Huh. You should take something for that." Sam heard his mother mutter something under her breath that was not English, and not Spanish. That left Cherokee. And from the way his father was looking at her, Sam guessed that the phrase was not, Good morning.' Sam watched as his father's normally stern face sharpened into concern. "Gina?" "Take Lucita to school, please, Walt," his mother said in the same strange quiet voice. "I'll see you tonight." For a moment, Sam heard nothing save Cisco's familiar bark. Then his father nodded, as if at some invisible signal, and said tightly, "Sure." "Fine." "Lucy, get in the car please. We need to go." For once, Lucy made no argument. She grabbed her bag and headed out the door. His father followed, but stopped. "Gina?" "Yes?" His father faced his mother. "You look really nice," he said at last. For the first time that morning, Sam saw his mother smile a little. "Thanks, Walt. So do you." Then she crossed the room and kissed his father quickly. She turned back to Sam. "You ready?" "Sure, Mom." "Get the leashes for me, please? I have the other stuff in the car. Let's go." Sam emerged triumphant from practice. He'd scored three goals in the scrimmage and had earned a "Good job, kid!" from his coach, a lean, dark young man with scraggly hair and a puny goatee. "Sam!" He heard his mother calling and saw her with Lucy at the edge of the field. She was still in the same skirt and blouse she'd worn that morning to the classroom. He'd been proud of his mother, then. No one else's mother trained dogs, knew how to shoot a gun and a three-pointer with equal accuracy and could tell stories about the fugitives she'd tracked down. And she was still pretty, even if she was old. He saw his coach give his mother a speculative glance as she crossed toward them. "How'd you do, son?" "Good. Really good. I scored three goals." "All right! Ready to go, Pele?" Sam blushed at her teasing. "Yeah. I'm ready. Did you pack for me?" "Yeah. I put in a tutu, and some white socks and Underoos..." "Mom!" Mom chuckled. "Just kidding. Jeans, t-shirts, underwear, socks and swimtrunks. Does that meet with your approval?" "Thanks," he climbed into the backseat of the car. Lucy had taken the front and looked as though she was willing to defend her position with her life. "Mom, how long are we staying with Aunt Cheryl?" Lucy asked. "Just until tomorrow. Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Adam want to see you guys, so they're cooking up a barbeque." "A barbeque?" Lucy frowned. "Does Uncle Adam know how to do that?" Mom smiled what looked to Sam like a mysterious smile. "Oh, I think so. He probably invented it." Lucy crossed her arms. "Nuh-uh. He's not that old." "No. He's not that old," Mom said softly. Sam's stomach gave a nervous flip. There was something wrong. His mom had been acting funny all day. "Don't you want to see Uncle Adam and Aunt Bonnie, Mom?" "Sure I do, Sam. Sure I do. They're old friends." Lucy shook her head. "They're not old." His mother said nothing. Sam searched his memory for something to say. "Mom? You did a great job in my class today. I didn't know you used to track down criminals." Mom smiled. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, son." "Mom used to track down criminals?" "Yeah, Luce. She used to work with Uncle Fox and she had a dog named Cortez that would help her." Sam bounced in the seat, glad to be able to tell his sister something she didn't know. "Grampa Swift taught her to track, and she worked in Chicago." Lucy shook her head. "Where's Chicago?" "It's in Illinois. That's a long way from here." Sam's mother seemed focused on the snarl of traffic. "Did you work with Daddy?" "Yes. We worked together a couple of times before we got married." "With the Bureau?" Lucy said the word proudly. She'd only recently learned to pronounce it correctly, and she knew that her father worked for someone called the Effbeeeye in the Bureau. "That's right, Lucita. That's how I fell in love with your Daddy. We worked together on a case." "Did Daddy have hair, then?" This jolted a laugh from Mom. "Your father has hair, Lucita." "It makes him look like Sam the Eagle from the Muppets," Lucy pointed out. Mom coughed. "I wouldn't say that around him, mija. Besides, there are some things I like about your father more than hair." "Like what?" Lucy wanted to know. "Oh, vamos a ver. Like how he makes coffee in the morning for me, and how he was willing to take you to school. Like how he works hard at his job." "So you don't have to have a job, do you, Mom?" Sam asked. It seemed to Sam that Mom took a long time to answer that question. "You don't call raising you two and training the dogs a job?" Sam shrugged. "Sure. I know you work with them. But it's not like when you were a Marshal, right? I meant that kind of job." Mom pulled into the driveway of Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Alan's house before she replied, "No. It isn't like that kind of job." She hustled them out of the car and up to the front steps of the house. She knocked once and Aunt Cheryl was there before she could knock again. "Hey, Gina. Hi, kids. Ready to get in trouble with your cousins?" Sam grinned. He liked Aunt Cheryl. She was a lot like Mom and never let him get away with anything. "Sure. Do you want us to TP somebody?" "Maybe later. Hey, Lucy. Don't I get a hug?" Lucy lifted up her arms and Aunt Cheryl squeezed her tightly."Good girl. Gina, do you want to come in for some coffee or something?" "I'd like to, Cheryl, really. But I've got to go. We're meeting Bonnie and Adam tonight and I still need to look over some things for the kennel. Sam Gerard sent me a request for an addition for the Marshals down there, and I want to do some research to see if any of the dogs I'm working with now will do." Aunt Cheryl studied Mom for a moment. "Gina, did you say you were going out tonight?" "That's right." "But it's the first night you and Walt have had alone in I don't know how long. Aren't you going to spend it with him?" "Cheryl, it's not like he's not going to be with me. Bonnie and Adam are having dinner with us, that's all. They're only in town for a little while, and we haven't seen them in three years." "But, Gina-" "It's okay. We'll have plenty of time." Sam watched as Aunt Cheryl shook her head. "Okay. Whatever you want. But, Gina?" "Yes?" "You both need a little downtime, you know? You work too hard." There was a beat before his mother answered clearly and firmly, "I'm fine, Cheryl. Walt is fine. We appreciate the advice, but we're really okay." Finally, Aunt Cheryl shrugged. "If you say so." "I do." "Then we'll see you tomorrow." Aunt Cheryl put one hand on Sam's shoulder and the other on Lucy's. "Come on, kids. Let's see what we can do. Bye, Gina." "Bye, Cheryl. And thanks again for taking the kids tonight. Be good, Sam. You too, Lucita." She stooped and hugged each of her children, then walked back down to the car. She waved again as she drove away. Sam decided that whatever was bothering his mother was something that was part of that adult world he didn't understand. He followed his aunt into the house. Kim sat outside her boss's office, considering what she was about to do. The sign on her desk proclaimed her name and title in brisk, confident letters. "Executive Assistant" didn't quite describe her job. Neither did "Secretary." And, although it sometimes felt like it, neither did "Nursemaid." She hefted the nameplate carefully. If she did what she was thinking of doing, she may not have a title at all. All the evidence suggested a clear course of action. It was just taking that course that didn't especially appeal to her. One last time, she went over the events of the past few weeks. Her boss, never the easiest man to work for, had become increasingly insufferable. In one week, he'd given at least three dressing-downs to different agents in language that still made Kim's ears burn. Further, he'd snapped at her twice that morning when a file had the audacity to be where he'd put it instead of where he'd wanted it to be. One of the more susceptible librarians had burst into tears on Wednesday when he'd shouted something at her. Nearly the entire Violent Crimes section beneath A.D. Skinner's auspices had come to Kim this week to ask her. . . Scratch that. _Beg_ her to do something about this. So, in the interest of departmental harmony and to prevent a lynch mob, Kim was about to walk into the inner sanctum and sacrifice herself on the altar. She stood from her desk and tapped lightly on the door. "Come in!" the harsh voice barked. A line from Dante's _Inferno_ flashed into her mind. "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." He'd got that one right. Kim squared her shoulders. She was on a crusade now. Her boss's unreasonable behavior would have to stop, or someone was going to die. It was as simple as that. In the F.B.I. building, when the employees carried weapons, morale had a whole new importance, and Walter Skinner was damaging it. She opened the door. "Sir?" "Yes, Kim?" he looked at her over the rims of his glasses. She was grateful that he was sitting down. He was a powerful man, with an equally powerful temper. She cleared her throat, stalling to remember the speech she'd prepared for this occasion. Then she saw what he held in his hands and the speech puffed and blew away like dandelion fluff. All of a sudden, she was no longer nervous. Everything was explained, and she knew exactly why Walter Skinner had been so testy lately, and she knew exactly how to remedy it. "Sir?" "Yes?" he asked again, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. "I have a message for you from the personnel under your supervision." He sat back in his chair. "Oh? What is it?" "Go home." He blinked at her. "What?" Kim crossed to the desk and removed the object from his hands to replace it in its place of honor on his desk. "Go home to your family, sir. You remember? Those two cute kids and the pretty lady in that picture?" He peeled off his glasses. "Kim, what are you talking about?" "I mean, sir, that you have been an absolute pain in the butt lately. When was the last time you had the day off?" "Kim, you're out of line." "Probably, but I'm going to say it anyway. You work too hard. And if you don't go home and get some rest, you're going to die." "That's ridiculous. I'm not going to die from overwork." "You misunderstand, sir. You are going to die because your subordinates want to kill you." He tapped his fingers lightly against the top of the desk."Really? Why the animosity?" "Because you're mean. You bawled out Kevin Pendrell yesterday." "He deserved it. The man made some truly incompetent errors." "His wife is expecting their first baby in three weeks. He's scared to death. That's why he made mistakes, and you bawled him out for it. That's like drop-kicking a Smurf." "You're exaggerating," he put his glasses back on and focused his attention on the files before him. "I am, huh? Have you noticed that whenever you walk down a hall, people vanish? No one wants to be around you, sir. Least of all, me." He frowned. "And what, precisely, have I done to you?" "You've been growling like a bear in a den for the past few weeks. You haven't said a civil word to me in days. You've been spitting out orders like a Howitzer, and I've had just about all I can take. If you want to fire me, go ahead. Who wants to work for the SS?" He didn't say anything for a long time and Kim regretted her words. Finally, she said, "Walt. I've worked for you for over twelve years. I know you pretty well, and I consider you a friend. So, as a friend, I'm telling you. If you don't go home and spend some time with your wife and kids, you're going to be absolutely useless. Your calendar is cleared for the rest of the day. Go home. Sleep. Don't come back until Monday morning. Late." "I have too much work to do." "I don't think you understand. We don't need you. We don't want you. And if you don't leave soon, people are going to start gathering feathers and boiling tar. I'm just here to give you fair warning." He rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath the glasses. "Fair warning, huh?" "That's right." She picked his briefcase off the floor near his desk and handed it to him. "Go home, sir. You've earned it." To her everlasting surprise, he did not demur. "I'll see you on Monday, Kim." "_Late_ Monday." "Yes, ma'am." And then he left. He unlocked the door and came into the house. Some part of his mind noted that opening a door was much easier in daylight. He checked his watch. 5:30. "Gina?" She appeared at the top of the stairs in her bathrobe, looking like she had just emerged from the shower. "Walt? Is that you?" He smiled ruefully up at her. "It better be if you're coming downstairs in your slip." She pulled the edges of the robe closed and blushed. "What are you doing home so early?" "Kimberly sent me home from school." "She did what?" "She kicked me out of the office. Told me to go home early." His wife raised her eyebrows. "And she's still living?" "Yup." She came downstairs. "You know, Walt, your version of coming home 'early' is everyone else's coming home on time.'" "I know. Kim made a similar observation." "For that matter, so did your sister." "Cheryl? What'd she say?" "She said that we work too hard and that we needed some downtime." Walt nodded. "And she's still living?" "Yup. Besides, she's bigger than I am." Regina smiled. "It seems to be a conspiracy." "To get us to spend time together? The fiends." Regina scratched her head. "So now what?" "When do we meet Adam and Bonnie?" "At eight. But it takes an hour to drive out there. I thought I'd shower first, so you could have it when you got home." He gestured to the stairs. "After you." She tripped back up the carpeted stairs, lifting the hems of her robe like a ball gown. Once in their bedroom, he didn't say anything as she slipped off her robe and sat in front of the mirror in her slip. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as she brushed out her hair. It seemed to him to be such a luxurious gesture, the long smooth strokes through the black silk. "Gina," he said at last. "Tell me if I'm crazy or not. Do you remember a time when we didn't have kids to shuttle around?" "You're crazy. It never happened." "No. No. I'm right. There was a time when we didn't have kids. When we didn't work seventy-hour weeks. When we used to spend time together. Do you remember that?" She put the brush on the bureau. "Distantly. We used to go out to dinner then, didn't we? And we used to talk to each other." He nodded. "That's right. I remember now," he stripped off his glasses and placed them carefully by the bed. "Do you think we might do that tonight?" "I don't know. We're pretty rusty at it." He nodded again and took off his shoes and socks. "What are you wearing?" "The dress is on that chair. Could you get it for me?" He picked up the plastic-covered garment and held it away from himself to inspect. He whistled. "This is new." "Yes. I hope you don't mind." He took another look at the red silk. "I don't mind at all," he offered it to her by the hanger. She bit her lip as she took it from him. "Maybe I won't. It shows an awful lot of leg." "You have an awful lot of leg to show, babe," he told her as he began to unbutton his shirt. He felt a twinge of guilt. When was the last time he'd complimented her on her traffic-stopping legs? He couldn't remember. She blushed again. "Be that as it may, I think it may be a little young for me." "Gina, wear the dress. You'll look great." "I don't know." "I do," he frowned at her reflection in the mirror. "Gina, what's the problem?" She snatched up the brush and yanked it through her hair with a vicious tug. "Nothing. I guess I'm just feeling my age. That's all." "Your age? What's wrong with your age?" She snorted delicately. "You're kidding, right?" she separated some of the strands of hair with her fingers and uncovered quite another shade. "I'm going grey, Walt." "Not grey, Gina. Silver. You're not aging; you're just getting more precious." "Yeah. Maybe." He came behind her again and placed a hand on each of her bare shoulders, stroking over the warm skin. "Does this have anything to do with seeing Bonnie and Adam tonight?" "No. Of course not. I'm just being maudlin." She shook out of his arms and busied herself with taking the dress out of the plastic. He wouldn't let it rest. "I think it does. I think you're feeling a little threatened by Immortality. Add to that, one of these Immortals is an old girlfriend, and..." "I love Bonnie like a sister, Walt." "And right now, you would happily tear her heart out," he added. She shrugged. "Yes. But that's beside the point," he grinned at her and she grinned back. Then he saw her eyes drift down to his bare chest, revealed now by the open shirt. He grinned wider and some part of his mind whispered, "A-ha! An opportunity." She hastily turned back to the dress and pulled it over her head. This was too good to miss. He was behind her in an instant, speaking low in her ear. "Do you need help with the zipper, Gina?" She shivered as his breath trickled down the sensitive skin of her neck. "Are you offering?" He traced his fingertips over her spine. "I might be. Do you remember something else we did all those years ago?" "Mm." She pressed back against him and he tucked his hands beneath the fabric of the dress. She reached around, cupped his ear and brought his head forward. "You mean this?" His mouth was on hers and she flicked her tongue against his teeth. He turned her around and felt her body meet flush against his. She was pulling off his shirt as he walked her backwards to their bed. The dress was off before it could gather body heat. "Is this that spontaneity thing we used to do?" he asked, his voice muffled by skin. "Could be. You think we should try it?" Her hands traveled over his broad, muscled back. "If a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing well." "What about Bonnie and Adam?" the words were becoming increasingly difficult to say. "I really don't want them here right now. Do you?" She arched against him and he forgot everything else. Much later She stretched out beside him and her hair fanned out over his chest. He buried a hand in it, following it up to her neck. He rested his hand there, stroking her jawline with a finger. She purred and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'd almost forgotten what kind of man I married," she murmured drowsily. "What kind is that?" "The perfect man. My lover. My best friend." He kissed her forehead. "I almost forgot that I married another fighter, and the most beautiful woman in the world. How'd you put up with me for so long, Gina?" She lazily tasted the salty skin on his ribs. "How'd I get along without you?" He shuddered. "Near as I can figure, we both kind of stumbled along. Promise me that I won't ever have to do that again." "Not while I live." "Good. We need to start dating again. In all this confusion, we forgot to talk to each other. What would you say to having a date night every week?" She propped up on one elbow to look down at him. "Where we can go out without the kids and talk?" "And have sex, maybe, as occasion demands." She blew her hair out of her eyes. "Don't toy with me. Are you serious? Sex and talk? At least once a week?" "Yeah. What do you say?" Her voice took on a throaty quality he knew well. "I say, come here, gringo." When Sam and Lucy Skinner came home the next day, they were surprised to see their parents on the couch together. Mom had her legs draped over Dad's knees, and he was absently stroking her calves as he read through reports. She was engrossed in a thick file folder. They both looked up as they came in. "Hey, kids. You have a good time?" Sam looked at his father suspiciously. He was smiling. It had been a long time since he'd seen his father smile. "Yeah. It was fun." "Good. I'm glad you had fun. What have you got there, Lucita?" "Aunt Cheryl sent it for you. She said to tell you to use it." Lucy handed her mother a white box the size of a hardback novel. Mom swung her legs off the couch and Dad. "Oh? Let me see." She opened the box and her eyes went wide. She clapped a hand to her mouth and pushed the box to Dad. "Look what your sister gave us, Walt," he said in a choked voice. Dad looked in the box, too, and blushed a deep scarlet to the tips of his ears. "That was. . .thoughtful of her." "I'll say. Always looking out for you, isn't she?" Lucy pouted. "I wanna see." "I don't think so, Baby Girl." Her father shook his head. "Why don't you go outside and see the dogs? I think they missed you." "Me too?" Sam asked. "Go ahead." "Do you want us to take them for a run?" Sam said. An odd look passed between his parents, and they shared a slow, small smile between them. Finally, his father said, "Why don't you do that, son? Take as long as you need." Sam nodded. "Sure. Okay." He took out the leashes and headed outside, still puzzled. The End --"The blind leading the blind."
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