Fox Mulder sat on the bench outside Dana Scully's hospital room. He
was beautiful. Agent Mulder was always beautiful. Now, etched by
exhaustion and emotions, he was exquisite. Skinner wasn't used to
thinking about men that way. Men were for a quick release in the dark,
some place where his now ex-wife and his superiors would not find him,
would not find out. He needed the men, but he needed his life and his
career more, so he tried to keep it hidden and fast.
Skinner sat down beside his agent, carefully keeping his distance.
Mulder looked at him with those sleepy, ancient eyes. Skinner knew
those eyes. They'd seen too much too quickly, like the eyes of the
children in Viet Nam, the eyes of the children who lived there and the
eyes of the children who came to fight.
The two men said words out loud. The words were important. Their
world had been overturned. Enemies had been killed, or believed killed.
A good woman was going to live. Skinner's heart leaped for relief and
joy when he heard that Dana Scully's cancer had gone away. And then,
for an all-too-brief moment, Mulder smiled. There were no words to
describe that smile.
They spoke silently to one another beneath the words. It was too
public here for anything else, but they no longer dared meet in private.
Even Mulder's office was dangerous for them now. It had begun in Mulder's
office.
* * *
Skinner stood in the doorway to the basement office. It was as
cluttered as always with Mulder's papers, posters and photographs. He
searched for signs of Agent Scully. There was a pretty coffee mug on a
shelf and a small pastel folding umbrella under the shelf, but otherwise
it was as if she'd never been there at all. Soon, if what Mulder had
told him the other night were true, those would be the only things
remaining. He could see Mulder huddling under the too-small umbrella,
or gulping bad coffee from the mug - until one or both were broken and
Mulder could add more guilt to his load.
Mulder himself was oblivious to Skinner's presence. He was hunched
over his computer screen, lost in cyberspace. He had his glasses on, and
they reflected the white screen, hiding his eyes. That made it easier.
"Agent Mulder?" Mulder jerked, startled. He moved as if to erase
what was on the screen, but seemed to think better of it.
"Sir?"
"May I come in? We need to talk." Mulder nodded, and hastened to
clear off the other chair. He did so by picking up the entire heap of
files and books and depositing it on his already full desk. He then
patted the mess as if to say "Stay there." Of course, it immediately
tumbled to the ground.
"I'm sorry, sir. Scully usually keeps things under control.
Please, sit down."
"She's your partner, Agent Mulder. Not your mother. Or your
wife." Skinner gingerly took his seat.
"I know. No wife would put up with this for long." Mulder took
off his glasses. "What did you want to talk about, sir?"
Skinner took a deep breath. This was a mistake. Mulder was too
close and there was no one else around.
"This is very difficult, Agent Mulder. This talk will never have
happened." Mulder's eyes widened. "If anyone asks, I came down here to
discuss Agent Scully's health."
"You haven't come here to discuss Agent Scully's health?"
"No. I've come here to discuss ... us."
"Us, sir? Us as director and agent? Or something else?" Mulder
batted his eyes. The man was infuriating. He was also beautiful and
sexy and...
"Something else. Wives. We were joking about wives. You've
never been married, Agent Mulder."
"No, sir."
"You don't date, either." Skinner forced himself to sit erect in
the chair. He wanted to lean over and invade Mulder's space.
"No, sir. Sir, this is getting very personal."
"I know. It will get more personal."
"Do I get a chance to pry?"
"You won't need to." Skinner began rubbing his hands on his
pants. Mulder, who was never able to sit still, began playing with a
paper clip. "There are several rumors floating about you and Scully."
"I know. We've tried to quash them, but that always backfires."
"Some say you are long-time lovers. Some even say you are
secretly married. Everyone believes you two are in love." Skinner knew
that there was something between the two agents, something he could not
share. That was all right.
"Sir..."
"You aren't in love with Agent Scully, are you, Agent Mulder?"
"No, sir. She's my best friend and I trust her completely, the
way I can trust no one else. If she dies..." Skinner noticed he said
"if", not "when." "If she dies, I don't what I'll do. I've become very
dependent upon her, I think. It sounds like I'm in love, but that
feeling just isn't there. Not for her." He looked at Skinner. "You
knew that. How did you know that?"
"She's a woman. She's beautiful, intelligent woman who for some
reason obviously cares for you, but she's still a woman." Mulder turned
pale. Skinner reached out a hand to touch him, but thought better of
it.
"Sir? Does anyone else suspect?" Mulder was barely breathing
now. His eyes burned.
"No, I don't think so. You've done a good job of covering
yourself. The videos are a good blind."
"I do watch a lot of videos. I just don't watch those."
"No. You watch UFO conferences and Bigfoot movies. And whatever
goes on in that twisted head of yours." Mulder sat up, obviously
worried. "Relax, Agent Mulder. You aren't going to lose your career,
at least not this way."
"Then, why are we having this conversation at all?" He was calmer
now. His mind seemed to be functioning again.
"First, because I need you to know that you aren't alone in this."
Mulder's eyes widened again. Then he grinned for a moment. Skinner's
heart gave a little jump.
"I always thought that MAD was a poor strategy."
"MAD?"
"Mutually Assured Destruction. If you out me, I can out you."
"That's not..."
"How did you find out about me? Gaydar has never worked for me."
"You don't date. There are million rumors about you and your
partner, but not one confirmation. And I saw you look at Krycek in my
apartment."
"Krycek." His voice hardened. "They never tell you don't fool
around with your partner because he might be a double agent. I actually
*pined* for the bastard until he killed my father."
"That's what I saw. Love turning to complete hatred. And
jealousy."
"Jealousy, sir?"
"You were as subtle as a blow to the belly, Agent Mulder. That's
when it all fell into place."
"What?"
"Why the hell I put up with you. Why I let you get away with
murder. Why I won't let any one else supervise you. Why you are still
in the FBI at all. And why you will stay in the FBI until I say
otherwise. And why I was willing to make a deal with the devil to save
your partner."
Mulder went paler still. Skinner wondered if he were going into
shock yet again.
"Sir, are you in love with me?"
Skinner nodded ruefully. "I'm a fool. You are not an easy man to
love, Agent Mulder, in the best of circumstances. And I do believe
these are the worst."
"You made a deal with the smoking man to save Scully because you
love me?" Mulder, who believed in little green men and human lightening
rods and probably Santa Claus, was incredulous.
"Yes, Agent Mulder. And because Agent Scully is one of the finest
agents in the bureau and losing her would be a victory for them in and
of itself. And then...she is the only thing keeping you alive and sane.
She does the job I wish I could do. She does it better than I could do
it. I don't have her strength."
"No one does, sir. Even now, no one does."
"No one does. And the deal failed. She's still dying. I
endangered my career for nothing."
"Not nothing." Mulder was whispering. "Everything. I know why
you hid your feelings. Why are you taking another risk now?"
"I'm taking two risks, Agent Mulder. One is my career, but that's
starting to mean less to me. The other...I don't know how you feel."
Skinner forced his hands to be still.
"I don't know how I feel. I thought...I thought I was in love
with Krycek. I could be in love with you. I could easily be in love
with you, but right now I don't know what to feel, or how to feel. I
don't know who I am right now. And you, sir, you're my boss. I don't
know...If you touch me, I'm lost.
"I'm in the middle of a cosmic irony. I've spent my entire career
searching for the truth, and all this time I've been lying to everyone,
including my own partner. Not just lies of omission. I've actively
lied. She hasn't looked beyond the videos or the magazines. And the
moment I stop lying is the moment my search ends. I may be in love with
you, sir, but what good would it do us?"
Mulder began to cry. Skinner wanted to gather him in his arms and
let him sob out months of stress and frustration. He thought about how
well Mulder fit, how right it would feel, and how arousing it would be.
He steeled himself to ignore his growing erection and just stared at
Mulder. But Mulder noticed, or noticed something of his own, and looked
at him.
"This is dangerous, sir."
"Agent Mulder, I would never make you do anything you didn't want
to do."
"I know. We still can't allow this happen. We could never keep a
physical relationship a secret."
"This is going to be torture. I want to tear off your clothes
right now." Mulder shivered. "No. I want to hold you in my arms all
night long and keep the nightmares away."
"Sir, don't. Don't talk about it. It will only make it worse.
It's our lives, sir."
Skinner nodded. "We'll live. Somehow. I don't think I'll be
coming here again. At least not until Agent Scully returns." He rose
to leave. Mulder also stood.
"No, sir. Goodbye, sir."
"Goodbye, Agent Mulder." *I love you.* Skinner didn't sleep
that night.
They never touched each other. They were distant and formal in
public, as they'd always been, and they made certain not to be alone.
That was dangerous. They couldn't even phone each other - there was no
way to know who'd be listening on any line they might use. All they had
were fantasies and those they kept to themselves.
Things were happening. Mulder seemed to go around the bend -
first having holes drilled into his head and then killing himself. Or
rather, faking a suicide to cover killing in self-defense.
And now the world was upside down. Blevins was dead, the smoker
was dead. At least, Skinner hoped and prayed he was dead, but he
doubted it was so. There was no body. And Scully was going to live.
* * *
He gave Mulder the bloody photograph and walked into the Scully
family. He even managed a smile. They all looked so glad - the doctor,
the priest, the mother and the brother. He stayed for a few minutes,
making small talk, joking about Scully getting back to work tomorrow.
Then Scully looked at him.
"Sir? Is Agent Mulder still outside?" Why *was* Mulder outside?
Then Skinner saw Bill Scully's reaction to his sister's partner's name.
The man hated Mulder. For once, his agent was showing discretion. He'd
have plenty of time to be with Scully when she actually did get back to
work.
"Sir?" Scully was looking agitated.
"He was when I came in, Agent Scully. I'll go out and check."
"If he is, please make sure he gets home, sir. And that he eats
something and sleeps. You know he doesn't sleep."
"I will, Agent Scully."
"Good night, sir. And thank you."
"Good night."
***
Mulder was still out there. His eyes were wet and red and his
breathing was ragged. He'd been crying. Once again, Skinner wanted to
put his arms around him, but he refrained. Instead, he crouched in
front of him.
"Agent Mulder?"
"Yes, sir?" Good. He was still noticing things.
"When was the last time you slept? Or ate?"
"What day is it?"
"Come on. I'm going to take you home."
"What home?" Oh, God. Mulder's apartment was still a crime
scene.
"Where have you been staying?"
"Scully's apartment before she got sick. Since then...I've stayed
in the office, took showers at the gym..."
This was going to be a mistake. "Agent Mulder, you're going home
with me."
"Sir, we can't."
"I have a guest room. You'll have perfect privacy. I promised
Scully I'd make you take care of yourself."
Mulder closed his eyes briefly, and stood up.
"I'll follow you to your apartment."
"You will do no such thing. You are in no condition to drive. Do
you have a bag in your car?" Mulder nodded, resigned.
Mulder was taking a shower. Skinner imagined him standing under
the spray, the water coursing down his naked body, soaping himself. The
image was clear and beautiful in Skinner's mind. He tried to force it
away with all the discipline at his command. He tried to distract
himself by heating up a can of vegetable soup and making sandwiches. He
heard the water stop. The image changed to Mulder drying himself.
Skinner nearly dropped the beers he was taking out of the refrigerator
at that thought. He looked at his hands and sighed.
Just as Skinner finished setting the table, Mulder appeared. He
was wearing loose sweats, his feet were bare and his hair was damp. His
skin was flushed with the heat of the shower and there were deep rings
around his eyes. No one should look that gorgeous after what Mulder had
been through.
"Can I help with anything, sir?"
"You can bring the bowls of soup to the table." Skinner had
already placed them on a tray. Mulder waited until his superior moved
away from the stove before he picked up the tray. With exaggerated
care, he slowly carried the soup to the table and set each bowl in its
place.
"What was that about, Agent Mulder?"
"I was afraid I might spill the soup." Skinner shook his head.
How could someone so tall and athletic be so clumsy? How could someone
so blindingly brilliant be so...dense? Mulder was one big
contradiction.
He sat down at the table at his usual seat. Mulder sat opposite
him. Both men began to eat, but Mulder stopped.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Agent Mulder?"
"Do you have any crackers?"
"Crackers?"
"Crackers. For the soup. My mother always gave us crackers when
we had alphabet soup."
"No, Agent Mulder. No crackers."
Mulder nodded, and began amusing himself by spelling out words
with the noodles. He was especially happy when he managed to spell
"Reticulans." *I am in love with a small child. A sexy, thirty-six
year old small child.* Somehow, that also didn't bother Skinner.
They passed the rest of the meal awkwardly, talking quietly of
sports and television. They did at least like the same sports if not
always the same teams. And Mulder, of course, had encyclopedic
knowledge of every Star Trek episode of every series. Skinner had
missed the original show when it first aired, and he had not seen any of
the sequelae. He said Mulder's work was science fiction enough. Mulder
just smiled. Afterwards, Mulder washed the pot and put the plates in
the dishwasher while Skinner had a second beer.
Mulder wanted to stay by the TV in the living room, but Skinner
insisted that he use the guest room. "There's a radio there if you need
white noise, and you'll be more comfortable. It's no trouble. Or you
could try the balcony."
"I'll take the bed, sir."
It was almost 2AM. They parted at the top of the stairs. Skinner
lay in his bed and thought about the man in the next room. He tried to
imagine touching Mulder's hair, caressing Mulder's skin, holding Mulder's
body next to him as they slept. Somehow, that was much harder than his
other fantasies, the ones he'd had every night for he didn't know how
long. The ones where Mulder screamed in pleasure beneath him or came in
his mouth. Those were easy enough. They were just sex. He could just
plug Mulder's beautiful face into the picture.
But these were different. The gentle touches he imagined were more
intimate than any act of sex, because they spoke of trust and familiarity
and of a relationship that could never be. He couldn't know how his hair
or skin felt, he'd only touched Mulder in violence the day Mulder had
attacked him. And while Skinner had had and enjoyed his share of violent
sex, the thought of it with Mulder turned his stomach. Mulder had been
hurt by too many people too often. Skinner wanted to protect him from
further hurt. He couldn't even do that for him. And, that, too, was more
frustrating than the lack of sex.
Skinner could hear the radio in the next room. He hoped the sound
would make up for the lack of television, for strange surroundings. He
knew that Mulder slept badly and had nightmares, but hoped that sheer
exhaustion would allow him to sleep until morning. Skinner had to go
in, but he'd go late. He'd see that Mulder took the day off so he could
spend it with Scully and arranging for his apartment to be cleaned.
There were companies that would do it.
Finally, Skinner drifted off to sleep. He was there maybe two,
maybe three hours when he woke to the sound of screaming. Damn!
Mulder was sitting straight up in bed, his eyes wide open, and his
hands warding someone off. He was yelling incoherently. Skinner walked
into what should have been Mulder's field of view, but Mulder didn't
react at all. He was still asleep.
"Mulder? Mulder?" Skinner whispered his name. He was afraid to
shock him. Mulder didn't respond. "Fox? Can you hear me, Fox?"
"It's all a lie! Everything! Beautiful lies!"
"Agent Mulder? This is Director Skinner. You're perfectly safe.
Wake up!"
Mulder blinked. "Sir? What are you doing here?"
"I live here, Agent Mulder. You're my guest tonight." Mulder
looked scared and very small in the middle of the queen sized bed. His
hair was mussed and his eyes were wide. He was rocking back and forth.
"This is your house, sir?"
"Yes, it is."
"Okay. I'm safe here. No one could find me here."
"No, Agent Mulder. No one will get you while I can protect you.
Do you think you can go back to sleep?"
Mulder just looked at him. Skinner could almost hear him begging
for his boss to get in with him and keep the monsters at bay.
"It's okay, sir. I'll be all right. I'll see you in the
morning."
"If you want, I'll stay here for awhile. I'll sit in the rocking
chair and read or something, if you don't mind the light."
"Please, keep the light on. Will you stay until I fall asleep?"
Now Mulder sounded like a small child.
"I'll stay all night long if you need me to." Skinner meant every
word.
"I just don't want to go to sleep by myself again. I wish..."
"So do I, Agent Mulder. So do I."
Skinner found a book and settled himself in the padded rocking
chair by the window.
"Good night, Agent Mulder."
"Good night, sir."
It took a long time, but finally Mulder fell asleep. Skinner never
did look at his book. He spent a while watching Mulder slumber. He was
even more beautiful asleep. He looked innocent, young. Skinner could
believe he was frozen at twelve the way the psyche reports had it. Or
maybe a little older. Something had happened these past couple of days
that had shaken Mulder.
There had been a few moments when Skinner had believed that Mulder
had indeed committed suicide. It came as a blow, but not a shock. He'd
expected news like that for years. He knew how fragile Mulder was, but he
couldn't take the thought of a world without him. That's why Skinner
depended upon Scully to keep Mulder safe and sound. She had the courage
and Mulder trusted her. Mulder depended upon her now for stability.
If she had died, if her cancer had gotten her despite her strength,
Mulder would have followed. He probably wouldn't have put a gun to his
head, although Skinner had been trying to figure out a way to take
Mulder's weapons away until at least after Scully's funeral. More likely,
he simply would have taken more chances out in the field. That by itself
would be enough. The death certificate would say "gun shot" or
"accident" and the folder would say "in the line of duty", but it would be
suicide nevertheless.
This act had been too soon. His partner was still alive, and
Skinner found it hard to believe he'd leave her alone in her final days,
or make her mourn him. Something else must have happened. And then she'd
said she'd seen him earlier in the same clothes. Was she trying to make
him believe they'd been seeing each other? He knew then that Mulder was
hiding somewhere.
Mulder stirred on the bed, and then settled back. Skinner got up
from the rocking chair and walked to his agent. It was odd seeing him
at peace, and still. Skinner felt a chill. There was only one way
Mulder would ever really be at peace, and that would be a victory for
them.
Even so, there he was, like a sleeping prince from a children's
story, waiting for someone to wake him. It was safe enough. Skinner
bent down and lightly kissed Mulder's cheek.
"Good night, Fox."
Mulder moved, but didn't wake. Skinner went back to his chair and
kept watch over his agent.
=END=
copyright 1997 Debra Fran Baker and NightRoads Associates
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