Dale wasn't into club dancers much. Sure, they looked nice. Real nice, but it was the morality of it. How old is that girl? Why are they doing it? What's going on behind their life?

Laura Palmer's case, Her parents, mentally destroyed. He took on the case with sheriff Harry Truman to solve it together.

Within days into this case, he didn't think he'd be at a gambling club. One eyed Jack's. He was undercover and currently after Jacques, one of the main suspects.

"Oh, look at her."

In the middle of manipulating and being Cunning to the idiot, 99% of the men started whistling and hollering as one of the new workers walked down the stairs.

She was pretty.

..wait was that skye?

The ditzy, Charming girl that he had his eyes on. More specifically, Harry's assistant.

He stared. And he stared hard, with an unreadable expression as his eyes traced your soft curves.

".. anyways.." he cleared his throat as he looked back at Jacques.

"Where-" he paused as he heard your heels getting closer. He remembered Harry talking about you going undercover. He just never thought too hard about it.

That's his mistake.

His hand found the small of your back as you sat on his knee, his fingers twitching as you murmured sweetly into his ear. He could feel the back of his neck flushing.

And then you got up, and wandered off.

"Oh.." he breathed, shifting his pants.

Later, when he wandered into his hotel room, there you were, still in the costume.

"..."

She stared again, closing the door gently and locking it.

"..did blackie let you keep it?"

He asked breathlessly, pulling his tie loose as he stumbled closer, climbing on top of you, between your open thighs.

"That was very unprofessional to do, skye." He mumbled, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

"Very, very unprofessional." He murmured, fingers tangled in your hair as he kissed you gently.