Big Deals (part 1 of 13)

by Mik

Fox Mulder sat, slumped in his chair, his long legs protruding into the narrow walkway between his desk and Scully's. He looked miserable. He felt miserable. Nothing was right. Everything had changed and he felt awkward, ungainly, and surprisingly, alone.

***************************************

He had been in a good mood for the first time in days that Saturday afternoon. He had come back to the Hoover to catch up on whatever he had abandoned in his mad dash to Hawaii. With the place virtually to himself, he had put a Sting CD in the computer's drive, cranked it up, and danced in his chair while he did file searches, filled out reports, reviewed his mail.

Poor Sting, he thought, fingering the jewel case in amusement. Unwelcome at home, not tolerated at work during the week, the only time he got listened to was on the weekends and, since Mulder did not like working weekends anymore, that was seldom indeed. "My next car is going to have a CD player," he promised himself aloud.

Within a matter of hours, the office was tidier than it had been in the previous eight years. He even dug up a broom and swept years of dust, paper clips and sunflower seeds from under his desk. He stood back and surveyed the results with no small amount of pride. Scully was really going to be impressed. At some point, Sting gave way to Queen, and he was still singing Don't Stop Me Now, when he locked the office and went out to his car.

He drove like a maniac, still singing. It had been the first time in a long time that he had been on his own, and he liked the freedom, felt like he could fly. Hell, he could fly, he must. He had taken a step that no man in his right mind would take, right off the tip of the Washington Monument, and instead of falling in a crumpled heap, he was soaring, gliding, safe, free. No names, no accusations, no sneers. He had done what, only a few short months ago would have seemed the unthinkable, and he was happy about it.

He glanced down as the sinking sunlight flickered off the narrow gold band on his left hand and his smile was almost bittersweet. The only drawback to taking Walter Skinner on as a partner had been the way he seemed to want to fill up Mulder's life. There was no moment that was truly his. A basically private person, Mulder couldn't understand how Skinner could walk in and out of the bathroom, while Mulder was shaving, showering, sitting on the commode. Nothing Mulder needed or wanted to do was too private for Skinner to shy away from. He seemed to want to consume Mulder like air. It was flattering, it was sweet, but it got old occasionally. When Skinner said, vaguely, that he had some errands to run that Saturday morning, Mulder felt like doing handsprings. It was too cold to run, and Mulder didn't want to just hang around the condo in case Skinner changed his mind, so he went to the office, cranked up Sting, and played his way to a tidier office.

When he got home late that afternoon, even before he pulled into the garage, something, that Spookiness of his, tightened his gut, and the soaring engine stalled, the bird of happiness fell out of flight. Bouncing his keys in his hand, he skipped the elevator and ran the three flights of stairs to the front door. He never even got the key in the door. Skinner pulled the door open, looking ever somber, but with bright eyes. He had champagne flutes in his hand. "Here you go, mortgagee."

Mulder let Skinner press the glass into his hands, even accepted the chaste kiss-at-the-door kiss. "What?" he murmured faintly. He knew what he heard. It reminded him of a line in a movie, but at that moment, the title eluded him. He sent his eyes back to Skinner, almost in dread.

"Mortgagee," Skinner repeated, urging him to drink up. "As in payer of a mortgage."

That's what he had heard. Mulder took the sip Skinner was determined for him to have. "Did the complex go co-op?" he asked. If it did, he could kiss a new car goodbye.

"No. We bought a house."

"Did we?" Mulder dropped into the new chair. That chair had been replaced as a Christmas present, because Skinner said he was tired of watching Mulder walk around it as if it was toxic waste. "How did 'we' do that, when I was at the office all day?"

Skinner either ignored the question or was just too pleased with himself to answer. "Come on, drink up. We have an appointment with the Realtor to see it at seven."

"Oh, so we haven't actually bought the house," Mulder concluded, settling back in the chair. They had discussed getting a new place briefly, the night they got married, and again when Mulder gave notice on his apartment. It was too big a step; granted, just one more big step in their Brobdingnagian path, but Mulder's legs were getting tired. He needed some little steps, or maybe just to stand still for a while.

"Sure we did," Skinner said. He sounded so confident that he had done the greatest thing in the world. "I just want you to see it."

"Well, that's thoughtful of you," Mulder muttered. "I thought we discussed this."

"We said we would start looking for a house," Skinner agreed.

"No, we didn't." Mulder felt his temper rise and he struggled to keep his tone calm and level. "And looking, and buying are two separate, unique things." He put the glass down carefully on the table, because at the moment, he felt like throwing it. "Damn it, Kat, there you go again, taking the information and running with it, not bothering to discuss it with me. I'm not ready to buy a house. I can't afford it."

"You can. You just got an advance on another book," Skinner reminded him. "And even if you couldn't, I -"

"Whoa." Mulder stood up. "We do not discuss you buying anything. Anything that gets bought, gets bought by both of us. We're partners, remember?"

Skinner shrugged, clearly not seeing any difficulties. "Okay. I'm just saying that it won't be any hardship. The mortgage will be less than what we've been paying for your rent and my lease. And it will be ours. No nosey neighbors in the hallways, no one to share the pool with."

"No pool," Mulder concluded.

"A jacuzzi?" Skinner promised.

"Look," Mulder said wearily. "I'm sure it's a castle, but the point is, you didn't respect me enough to include me in the decision."

"You bought that coffee wizard thing taking up two thirds of the counter in the kitchen without discussing it with me," Skinner retorted.

"I bought a coffeepot," Mulder said, trying to put it in perspective. "You bought a fucking house."

"You're making too big a deal out of this, Kit." Skinner tried to bring his arms around Mulder's shoulders but Mulder shrugged him away. "We said we wanted a place of our own. I found a place. It's actually closer to the office. It's a quiet, tree lined street. It has three bedrooms -"

"- That'll come in handy," Mulder muttered.

"- a big kitchen, a master bath with a jacuzzi, and a big yard," Skinner concluded.

"Oh, right, that's a place for the Doberman and our two cats," Mulder drawled.

Skinner made a face. "It's not fair that you can throw inane details in my face when we're discussing something."

Mulder held up a hand. "A) those aren't inane details, they're part of the 'ideal home' image you're trying to build and B) we're not discussing this. We're not buying a house."

"I already did."

Mulder whirled on him, eyes on fire. "What did you say?"

Skinner drew himself up, standing just taller than Mulder. "I said, I already did. I signed the papers this afternoon."

"Without me?"

"It was a good deal, and there was already a counter-offer on it. I didn't want to lose it."

"Without me?" Mulder repeated, incredulous.

"You're doing it again," Skinner complained.

"Without me?" This time there was an edge to the voice.

"Yes, without you. I couldn't get you to go look at houses with me, so I did it on my own."

Mulder swallowed the edge. "What happened to us being married, you know, one?"

"Sorry, there was no place on the contract for a same sex marital partner," Skinner said tightly.

Mulder reached for his keys.

"Where are you going?" Skinner tried for his hands.

Mulder, ever elusive, got to the door. "Back to my place."

"This is your place."

"No, apparently it isn't. If I don't have an equal say in what goes on under this roof, this isn't my roof."

Skinner looked stunned. "Kit -"

Mulder answered by slamming the door. He knew his face was red. He knew his heart was pounding, his breath was burning in and out of his nose. He was so mad that he couldn't even articulate. As the elevator doors slid shut, Mulder heard the front door jerk open, and his name shouted and echoed down the hall.

Bastard! he thought, trotting to his car. Went out and bought a house, and compared it to buying a coffeepot! Didn't think twice, didn't even think once about me. I've got to help make the mortgage payments, don't I? He stopped, freezing as he slid in behind the wheel. That's the real problem, he realized. I don't.

In the past month, he had come to realize that he was, more or less, just the accompaniment to Skinner's song. He hadn't switched tunes, just arrangements, made room for Mulder's occasional trill. Skinner had planned that wedding as if he was Daddy giving his little princess away. He never took Mulder's feelings about the matter into consideration, never even thought that Mulder had feelings about it. Mulder just got swept along in the tide that was Skinner's passion, affection … love.

Mulder felt his eyes sting and he blinked rapidly. Skinner's love was an amazing, overwhelming, smothering thing. Mulder had been out in the cold for so long, he willingly wrapped himself in it, ignoring consequences. And now, and now. Mulder sighed. Fuck the consequences, he did love Walter Skinner. He just wished he stood a little more even at the bar.

For a moment his fingers twitched on the wheel, thinking about turning around, but as he did he saw a familiar brown and gold sign in front of a house, saw red and kept driving.

***************************************

He had only been back to the apartment a couple of times since they got back from Hawaii. They had moved the aquarium back to Skinner's den, and suddenly, Skinner took over that too, buying a bigger one, adding new, more exotic (read expensive) fish, and all kinds of little gadgets to amuse them and, presumably, Mulder. Mulder hadn't been amused. It annoyed him that the one piece of his life that was allowed to enter the sacred ground of Skinner had to be upgraded, refurbished, so that it was no longer recognizable as anything that had ever been in Mulder's life. It wasn't unkindly meant, Mulder knew that. Everything Skinner did was borne of generosity, it just smacked of 'let's clean up this poor little stray Mulder, and turn him into a purebred', and in all honesty, Mulder was comfortable in the fur of a stray.

The place was dusty and hollow sounding. The few things still waiting to go back to Crystal City were in boxes. The long abused futon was going on the trash heap in a matter of days. He'd given away a lot of his videos and books. Even his battered computer was gone. Just the table near the window, the lamp, the futon, a couple of posters. That was all that was left of twelve years of bachelorhood. His unused bedroom was empty. The clothes were all gone from the closet. His extra gun was packed up and gone. Standing on tiptoe, he looked up into the shelves, wondering, remembering, and saw a small flat box that had been pushed to the back. Hesitantly, he reached for it and dragged it forward, disturbing dust. Settling on the floor, he eased it open.

The memories assailed him like steam. He had to back away from what he looked at; a photograph of Samantha, a photograph of his parents, his dad's wedding ring, his high school diploma; a broken watch (why did he keep that? he wondered with a smile), his Oxford class ring, a commendation from Quantico, a bloodied hospital band with four strands of red hair; a red rosebud, faded and crushed, a piece of paper that read 'Iron Horse 9:00', a birthday card that read 'Happy Birthday, Son'. This, he realized with a sigh, was the essence of his life. That it was sad was not lost on him. But that it was his was the vital element. He felt, at that moment, as if he had given his life away last December, in a chapel on Kauai.

Distantly a phone rang. He ignored it, staring into the pathetic remnants of a lonely, unloved life. Only belatedly did he realize it was his own phone. The machine had already kicked in. He heard his voice-back, when he had a voice of his own, tell the caller to leave a message. It was Skinner. "Mulder?" The skin on the back of his neck prickled. It sounded so much like a message left ten months ago. He was nostalgic for Cheerios to fling at the machine.

"Kit? Please pick up. I'm sorry."

He ignored the little break in Skinner's voice. He'd only heard it once before, on the floor of Skinner's bathroom. Didn't want to hear it again. He began to put things back in the box. A pack of Morleys with a post-it note tucked inside, a tiny silver loop with a pearl in it (why had he picked it up when Scully lost the other one?), a program from a Laker's game, a crudely drawn map to a secret military testing ground.

The voice wouldn't be silent. "Kit, please. At least let me know you got there safe."

Mulder made a face. Don't think I can drive and cry, Daddy? A picture of his former neighbor, naked, inviting, giggling, on his futon. Candra. He shook his head. Where was she now? A cassette tape he couldn't dance to. Why did he keep this stuff?

"Fine. Sit there in the dark and sulk. I'm not coming after you." The phone being slammed down.

Did I ask? he wondered, rhetorically. A baseball cap that read MUFON. A button that read 'FCC is Your Friend'. He picked up the watch. Noted the time. Remembered why he kept the watch. Finally, it was all gathered up. He carried it to the stack of cartons in the corner, pulled the flap up on the top one, saw it was filled with towels, and set the box down inside.

His cell chirped. He wouldn't answer it. He roamed through the kitchen, amazed at how little time he had spent in this room over the years. His phone rang. He heard his voice. He heard Scully's exasperated sigh. "Mulder, if you don't answer, I'm going to have to come over there. If you're not there, he's just going to call out the militia."

He picked up his keys and left.

He drove around Alexandria for a long time. He remembered another night of aimless driving, remembered how he was drawn back to strength that advertised itself like a beacon. But this time he didn't go back. He found a bar, went in, took a booth in the back and ordered a beer. The beer sat untouched for a long time. Finally, a girl sidled up to him. "Too lonely to drink, honey?" she purred.

Mulder looked up, surprised to have a female speak to him. In the past few months, he had screened out female voices, didn't notice feminine come-ons. But, tonight - why not? She was wearing black jeans, like him, and one of those tight little tee shirts that didn't cover her concave belly. She had a leather jacket on over that, and a cascade of white blond hair down her back. She looked about sixteen. He answered her with a tiny jerk of his head and reached for the beer bottle with his left hand, drawing attention to the wedding band.

"It's okay, honey," she said, melting into the booth next to him. "She doesn't need to know you had a beer with a friend, does she?" She rubbed his arm. Up close she looked a little older. Seventeen.

"You know," he said, in a soft voice, "I'm a cop. I hope you're old enough to be in here."

"You don't look like a cop," she said sweetly. "You're too cute."

He laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, I'm adorable." He sipped beer and made a face. When did they start making beer out of horse piss?

She leaned into him. "Are you really a cop?"

He nodded.

"Are you on stake-out?"

"Nope. Off-duty." For a lot of things.

"Well, then?" She rubbed his arm again.

"Well, then, what?" He made himself take another swig of beer. Swig. A manly way to drink beer. He needed to feel manly.

She rubbed his thigh. Rubbed higher, made Mulder hold his breath, and then release it on a hiss. "Honey," he said, matching her tone. "It's flattering as hell, and it does feel good. But, I'm married. Not interested." Married. What a speech! What he should have said was I had my brains fucked out first thing this morning, and by another man. But he liked his speech better. Made him still feel manly.

"She must be something," the girl murmured regretfully and slipped out of the booth.

Mulder let out a shuddering sigh. He didn't remember that happening since college. Well, he couldn't sit here, trying to drink an awful beer in peace. He certainly couldn't sit here all night. Was he going to go back to his apartment? He sighed again, and eased out of the booth, dropping money on the table for the barely touched beer. He couldn't go to the apartment and he couldn't go back to the condo, and if Scully was right, Skinner was just a few minutes away from calling out the Virginia militia. He decided to go to Baltimore, get a hotel room, and sleep.

By the time he got to Baltimore, he had decided he deserved something more than a mere bed in the dark. He sought out a Hilton, picked up half a dozen newspapers in the lobby and used his Gold card. Skinner couldn't stand unpaid bills and unbalanced checkbooks. Since his involvement with Skinner, his bills were paid off, his checkbook balanced to the penny, he paid cash for everything. Well, it was time for a little debt. He let himself into a very nice room, with a big bed, a big tub and some comfortable chairs. They even had HBO. He felt a bit like a little boy who had run away from home, and he smiled to himself. The edge of his anger had been dulled by bad beer and the tender ministrations of the blond teenager. He let himself drop into a chair, turned on HBO and opened the Boston Globe.

By three o'clock he had read everything in the room, including some passages from the Bible, cleared out the mini bar and listened to his cell ring a grand total of sixty seven times. He wondered who was calling, Scully or Skinner or both? At three oh seven, after ratcheting the total up to seventy four times, he reached for it, pulled out the batteries and threw it on the bedside. "Leave me alone," he said conversationally, and turned out the bedside lamp, rolled over on his back and stared, unseeing, at the blue screen of the television.

***************************************

Skinner was still pacing the floor. The phone rang and rang. Where was he? He wanted to start calling police departments, checking hospitals. He knew Mulder was unpredictable (that was the one thing about him that was predictable), but he also thought he knew Mulder well enough to follow the trail of broken brain synapses. He hadn't gone to the apartment. Scully had gone to check. He hadn't gone to Scully's. Scully had promised to drag him back personally if he did. He hadn't gone to the Gunmen. He had been avoiding them since he had come into Skinner's life. He hadn't gone back to the office. Security had been down to the basement three times and was getting pretty tired of being asked. Where else would he go?

He couldn't believe the way Mulder had reacted to the news. He had been so excited. The house was perfect. It sat well off the street, and the backyard offered a lot of privacy. There was room for them to spread out, have their own space without constantly crawling over one another. There was a place for the Doberman and the two cats. There was a fireplace in the living room, and another one in the master bedroom. It was a big, warm, comfortable place, not too prissy, just right for two guys. Why couldn't Mulder see that?

He paced a little more, rubbing the back of his neck, and reached for his phone. It rang just as his fingers closed around it. "Kit?"

"No, it's me." Scully's voice sounded the way he felt; worn, ragged, worried. "I just tried his cell again, and I'm starting to get that message that says his number is out of service."

Skinner felt tightness in his chest. "Oh, God."

"I'm sure it means his batteries are failing, or something like that," Scully said quickly.

"I just wish I knew. If he wants to stay out all night, fine, I just want to know he's all right," Skinner lied. He didn't want him to stay out all night. This could be a habit.

"I'm sure he's all right," Scully insisted, trying to stifle a yawn. "You know how Mulder is, sir. He's stubborn. If he's mad, he's not going to make it easy to find him."

"Where are you, Dana?" Skinner asked. He thought he could hear traffic around her and it concerned him to think of her on the road at this hour of the night, especially if she was tired and anxious.

"About ten minutes from your condo, actually," she confessed. "I thought I'd cruise the neighborhood a little, see if he was running, or if he just parked someplace to pout."

Skinner's voice was stiff, reproving. "Dana, he's a grown man, he doesn't pout."

She chuckled softly. "So, he's got you to defend him too?"

Skinner relaxed, smiled into the phone. She was right. If you got close to Mulder, you protected him with your life, your dignity, your love. "Come get a cup of coffee, Dana," he offered.

"Sir, you're a married man." She said it with perfect composure, as if she really meant it.

"I don't think the neighbors will talk," Skinner replied. "I'll go open the garage. You can park in Kit's spot."

Within a few minutes, Scully was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands around a dark blue mug, looking uncomfortable but determined. "I know it's none of my business, sir -"

"Walt," he corrected. "Here, you can call me Walt. After all, I call you Dana."

"Yes, sir." She lowered her eyes. "I mean, Walt."

"What's none of your business?"

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Skinner confessed. He brought his own cup and sat across the table from her. "He was in such a good mood when he went into the office today and when he came -"

Scully sat up. "He went into the office, on a Saturday?"

"Sure. He used to do it all the time, as I recall."

Scully shook her head. "He hasn't in months. It just surprised me. Go on, please."

"When he got home, I wanted to take him over to see a house we bought, and -"

"Oh? I didn't know you were buying a house." She sounded surprised, and something seemed to click into place in her red rimmed eyes.

Skinner nodded around his cup. "Just signed the papers today."

Scully's eyes widened again, like the aperture on a camera, taking in the whole picture. "You mean, you bought a house, not the two of you bought a house."

"Well, it will be our house."

"But you bought it. While he was at work?"

"Now you're sounding like him," Skinner complained.

"And you wonder why he walked out?" Scully's tone was neither deferential nor compassionate. "Are you determined to take every ounce of his dignity and independence away from him?"

"Agent Scully, I don't think I like the tenor of that remark," Skinner said sternly, hurt.

"Then you're going to hate what I say next," she promised. "Didn't you think Mulder might like to be involved in such a momentous occasion like picking out the place where you two are going to live, hopefully, for the rest of your lives?"

"I tried involving him, Dana," Skinner protested. "All I got were vague promises. I knew he felt uncomfortable here. I just wanted him to have a place where he felt he belonged."

"So, you went out and picked one out for him?" Scully drawled. "Like buying a new bed for a puppy?"

Skinner's fingers clenched around his coffee cup. "I get the distinct impression that he's been talking to you."

"No, he hasn't been," Scully countered. "And that's how I knew he's been unhappy."

Unhappy? God, that hurt. "How?"

"Usually, he talks my ear off. When we went to Atlanta last week, I got four days of blessed silence. He doesn't mope, he's unfailingly cheerful, polite and deferential. In short, he's miserable. He's so afraid of opening his mouth and letting out some of the pain that he's keeping from you, that he won't say two words he doesn't have to."

Skinner blinked his eyes rapidly. "I respect the fact that you've known him for several years, Dana -"

"Please." She reached out and put a hand on his. "I know how much he matters to you. That's why I'm talking to you this way. So that you can understand."

"Maybe that's it, I don't understand."

"Understand this about him before it's too late to fix things. I know why you planned that elaborate wedding, I know why you bought him a new aquarium, I know why you bought a house -"

Skinner jerked back. "He doesn't like the aquarium?"

"I'm sure he finds it fascinating, it's just not his, anymore." She smiled, trying to soften the sting of her words. "I know why you do these things, and so does he. You're used to being in control. And so is he. In your rush to give him everything, you're taking away the one thing he's ever called his own - his independence."

Skinner slid back in his chair, stunned. "It's just that …" He swallowed. "It's just that …"

Scully nodded. "I know."

"He's so damned easy to please. Any little gesture, the most insignificant thing, seems to thrill him," Skinner murmured, mystified. "If you show him the slightest courtesy, he marvels about it for days."

"He's not used to it," Scully said.

"I know. He didn't get much as a kid, that's for sure." Skinner sighed, and flicked her a thoughtful glance. "I don't know how much you know about his childhood -"

Scully nodded. "I know it wasn't pleasant."

"It's not that he ever did without materially. But he never had anything even remotely satisfying emotionally." Skinner shrugged. "Which is probably why he's with me. If he'd had a more normal childhood, you two would probably be setting up housekeeping."

Scully smiled softly. "I don't know about that."

"I do," Skinner said firmly. Then he sighed again. "I'm not deliberately trying to overrun his life, it's just that … he has these moments, when he just seems so …"

"Fragile?"

Skinner nodded. "And when I see him like that I want to give him the whole world, anything to make him feel that he's valued."

"Mulder can't handle the whole world, Walt," Scully said softly. "I learned that a long time ago. Just keep giving him the insignificant stuff. It matters more to him."

"I already bought the house," Skinner complained.

"You bought it, you can sell it," she pointed out. "When this place becomes too much, he'll let you know."

"True. In the meantime, where is he?"

"If I know Mulder at all, he's sulking someplace." She smiled at an image conjured in her mind. "He's probably at Bart's. It's a real cheesy diner in D.C. Definitely not someplace you'd ever go. He's sitting in one of the booths in the back, reading old issues of National Enquirer, and drinking himself into a coffee induced septic stomach. Then he'll come home, if nothing else, to take a shower and change." She raised the smile to Skinner, trying to be encouraging. "If there is one thing I know about Mulder it's that he'll sell his soul to have clean underwear and socks." She glanced at her watch. "I'd better go."

Skinner smiled weakly. "It's late, Dana. Stay here."

"Sir, I don't think -"

"I can make it an order, if I have to." He stood. "Besides, if he comes home mad, and sick to his stomach, I'll want you here to protect me." He reached for her hand. "Come on. I'll loan you a pair of his pajamas."

"Another fantasy realized," she drawled, following him. "Sir, Walt - I'm not taking your bed."

He started up the stairs. "In our house the guest always gets the best bed," he reiterated.

She laughed behind him. "Oh, no, I fell for that the last time. I should have known better."

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "What?"

"You, looking after him when he had bronchitis." She paused in the doorway to their bedroom. "Any other time, and you would have kicked him all the way back to Alexandria."

"You really think I'm a hard-ass, don't you, Dana?" Skinner was pulling a pair of seldom used pajamas from a shelf in the closet.

"About Mulder, yes. At least, you used to be." She took the pajamas. Glanced toward the bed. "Show me the next best bed. I refuse to sleep there. I'll have nightmares."

Skinner looked down at her, thinking he was going to pull rank, saw something in those ravaged eyes and changed his mind. "Well, we don't have a next best bed. We have two sofas. One is slightly less uncomfortable than the other."

"I'll take that one."

Skinner pointed. "Den. Here's the bath. What do you need?"

She answered with a shake of her head.

Skinner went back downstairs to turn off the coffee wizard (he had to admit, it did make much better coffee than his old pot), and make sure the doors were locked. He was not prepared to meet Scully in the hallway, swimming in the navy and white pinstriped pajamas. He laughed in spite of himself, and reached out to roll up her sleeves. "I've got to tell you, Agent Scully, that I never thought I'd be saying this, but you look adorable in those pajamas." He felt her stiffen slightly. "Of course, not as adorable as Kit does." He reached for her other hand.

"I can't get used to it," she murmured.

"To what?"

"Kit. Kitsune." She waved the hand he had freed. "It's as if he's a different person, not my Mulder."

"Oh, your Mulder and my pain-in-the-ass are the same," Skinner assured her. "Now, can I get you anything else?"

"I just came down for a glass of water."

Skinner laughed again. "Well, that sounds familiar. He always has to have a glass of water on the bedside table. And did you know, no matter how tired, how sick, how drunk, how injured, he has to wash his face and brush his teeth before he goes to bed?"

Scully nodded, pursing her lips. "I've spent countless nights with Mulder, out on the road. I know the routine. He takes the water because I do, as a matter of fact."

"Oh?" he prompted, handing her a large glass similar to the one Mulder liked to fill every night before bedtime.

She filled a tumbler from the filtered water in the refrigerator door. "He used to wake up with a dry mouth because of his nightmares."

Skinner nodded with her, turning the light out as they left the kitchen. "He doesn't have nightmares anymore. I think I've only been aware of two in ten months."

Scully looked up, surprised. "He didn't have one while we were in Atlanta," she conceded. "Maybe he feels … safer, now."

"Well, that's something at least." He walked her to the den. "Goodnight, Dana." He watched her nod and shut the door. He stared at the door for a long time, and then he went back downstairs. The big, new aquarium was casting a bluish green light over the living room. He sighed, picked up his keys and went down to their storage room in the garage.

***************************************

When Scully came down around ten thirty that morning, still in the pajamas, the first thing she noticed was the acrid smell of chlorine and sea grass. She turned slightly and saw, with a smile, that Mulder's ancient aquarium had been reinstalled, in a place of honor in the corner of the living room, and the big aquarium, with all its fancy, expensive fish had been pushed aside. She rolled her shoulders. A.D. Skinner wasn't kidding when he said that sofa wasn't comfortable, but it was certainly better than driving back to D.C. at four in the morning. She heard a sound and turned toward the kitchen. Skinner was sipping coffee at the table, staring unseeing at the Sunday paper. He looked up and attempted to smile. "Sleep well?"

"I slept," she corrected. "I think that's more than you can say." She gestured faintly. "He'll be glad to have his aquarium back."

He smiled at her faintly. "If he ever sees it."

"He will. I take it you haven't heard from him?" She went to the coffeepot, making herself at home. "Have you tried the apartment?"

"His machine is full. Even if he's there, he's not answering." Suddenly Skinner broke, his head falling forward into his hands. "Oh, God, I didn't know he was so unhappy."

"He wasn't unhappy," Scully soothed, putting an uncertain hand on his shoulder. "He was just feeling … boxed in. You shouldn't have bought that house without involving him. I understand why he walked out. I would have done exactly what he did."

Skinner raised his head, grateful for the glasses that hid the tears. "What would you have done? Where would you have gone?"

"Me?" She sipped coffee. "I think I would have gone someplace where no one would look for me. You know, hole up."

"For instance?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Someplace no one would associate with me, like … New York or Baltimore."

"He wouldn't have driven to New York last night," Skinner said.

"Baltimore, then." She sat down. "Locked myself in a hotel - a nice hotel, I can't get into those flea bags that Mulder always picks, had a long bath, found some nice music on the radio..." She smiled. "Boy, that sounds nice."

"Go." Skinner made a shooing gesture with both hands. "Do that. Get lost for a few hours. Consider it an order. I'll file the 302 myself. But leave your cell on...just in case."

Her eyes widened, hopefully. "You mean it? I mean, it wouldn't be work related -"

"Trust me to manipulate the system, Agent Scully. I've been sitting at the feet of a master for six years."

It didn't take her long to decide. She gulped down her coffee, and darted back upstairs. Within fifteen minutes he was letting her out of the parking garage. As he was holding the switch down that made the iron gates swing closed, he heard a little chuckle behind him. He turned. It was his neighbor, Evelyn, carrying trash to the dumpster. "Decided to go straight, after all, huh, Walt?"

Skinner scowled. He had never given the man leave to call him Walt, never given him leave to call him anything. He didn't like the man. He was the stereotype that disgusted him.

"I mean, you've been living with that guy all these months, and now her?" Evelyn tossed a hand elegantly toward the closing gates. "Where is that gorgeous little cupcake of yours, anyway? Does he know what you do when he's out of town?"

Ordinarily, Skinner would have ignored the baiting tone, but he was mad, he was worried, and he was just slightly afraid that Evelyn meant to take a bite out of his 'cupcake'. "I happen to be married to the cupcake," he snarled, moving toward the stairs. "She is his partner."

Evelyn's groomed, gray brows crept up. "Married? Well, well, well, when did this happen?"

Skinner sighed. They had decided a long time ago that they weren't going to cower in the closet, but that didn't mean he was going to broadcast their relationship, either. He didn't mean to let it out to this...powder puff. "Last month."

"Congratulations," Evelyn simpered. "Well, that just proves you're one of us, Walt. A straight man wouldn't have bothered."

Walt gritted his teeth and started up the stairs.

"Oh, Walt," Evelyn cooed behind him. "Do you suppose you could come have a chat with Steven, see if he'll make an honest man out of me, too?"

Suck it up, Walter, he told himself and climbed the stairs.

- END part 1 of 13 -
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