Big Deals (part 11 of 13)

by Mik

Mulder came out the back door, a bottle of beer in his hands, and settled on one of the steps, morosely. It had been one more day in a whole series of days. Skinner was smothering him. He loved the man, but he really wanted to breathe again.

It had been almost six weeks since Skinner took that header in the park and ended up in Intensive Care. Mulder felt as if their relationship had been topsy-turvy since then. Skinner was more protective than ever, wanting to know when, where and how long every time Mulder went out the door. Since Skinner was on light duty, he seemed to think that Mulder should be too, and if Mulder wasn't home for dinner at five thirty, he was being called; at the office, on the cell, at Scully's, or worst of all, being paged at the Bureau. Mulder had taken to calling Sharon on the sly, encouraging her to call, come over, distract her ex for a while so he could have a few moments peace. He even had to wait until Skinner was deep asleep before he could get up and get any work done on his book, and working all day as a Special Agent, and working all night as a writer, and putting every other moment of the day into looking after Skinner, was making Mulder one tired, cranky boy.

"You look done in, mate."

Mulder shifted his head to the left. Just what he needed, Clive the Queer peering over the fence like that old cartoon Kilroy. He jerked a shoulder and lifted his bottle, took a sip and let good manners take over again. "You want a beer?"

Clive seemed surprised. "Sure."

Mulder jerked his shoulder again. "Come 'ead, then," he said, in a perfect imitation of Clive's Liverpool accent. He rose and went back inside. At the refrigerator, he paused, listening. Skinner was still on the phone with Sharon, reassuring her that he was fine. He brought the second bottle outside. "Where's the boss?" he asked, referring to Chaz, who much to his surprise, turned out to be the dominant partner in that bizarre arrangement.

Clive waited for him to pop the cap off and took the bottle. "Working."

"He works?" Mulder's mouth twisted up in a smirk.

"He's an actor."

"Of course, he is." Mulder settled down beside him. Stretched out down the length of the back steps, Clive and Mulder were almost a match, in jeans, loose shirts, running shoes. Mulder was merely the dark half, and had no metal puncturing any part of his body. "And you're a rentboy, hmm?" When Clive didn't answer, Mulder realized that Clive was capable of feelings and Mulder had hurt them. "Sorry."

"Chaz believes the press, I suppose," Clive murmured, staring out at Skinner's perfectly manicured lawn. He flicked dark brown eyes in Mulder's direction. "I used to be you, you know."

Mulder tipped his bottle back. "Did you?" he said around the bottle. He didn't believe Clive for a moment, but the possibility was very scary.

"Very buttoned down, very sedate, very straight on the outside. I was a schoolteacher in Liverpool." There was an enormous wound inside Clive, and it was starting to bleed.

Mulder gave him a look, it was almost compassionate. "Really?"

Clive nodded again. His voice was soft and raspy and sounded faintly of tears and regret. "I dated a girl, a nice girl, I did. Had a nice little house, a garden, and all. Then on the weekends, I went to London, to see my lover. He was older, a banker, very conservative - like your old man. One night, at a party, I met this dark, intense young man, an American. He wanted to see London nightlife. My lover said it was all right. We ended up in a cheap hotel in SoHo. My lover found out." He shrugged regretfully. "End of lover, end of schoolteacher, end of girl. Beginning of Chaz."

"Sounds like a cautionary tale," Mulder said thoughtfully.

"It is."

"I'll stay away from parties - and barbecues," Mulder promised, saluting him with the beer.

They drank together for a while, an almost companionable silence before Clive turned to him again. "What's your story, mate? You don't seem the type for the lavender life."

Mulder leaned back on his elbows, crossed his ankles, scowled. "I didn't think I was. I never even looked at another man. Then one day, I was face down on a basketball court."

Clive was looking at him, lost.

Mulder shook his head. "It was an accident. I was supposed to be put in my place. I mean both of us …" He shook his head again. "It's not like I like the sex," he said, bewildered. He sent Clive a querying look. "Do you really like it? Compared to sex with a woman? It's not the same. But the feelings...that's incredible." He sighed, realizing that, for all his mental bitching, he wouldn't, couldn't walk away from this, from him. "I'm hooked because I like the way he makes me feel. My old man, as you call him, loves me. No one else ever just...loved me."

"What about that tasty little redhead I see around. You know." Clive made a sort of rounding gesture over his flat stomach.

"She's my partner," Mulder supplied. "And she also happens to be the mother of my baby." He stopped, frowning. Actually, he was the father of her baby. A subtle difference but a difference all the same.

"Your old man's more forgiving than mine was," Clive said, with an appreciative laugh.

"It's not like that," Mulder said quickly.

"So, you prefer women," Clive concluded.

"Yeah, I suppose," Mulder agreed, grateful that he wasn't called upon to explain yet again how Scully came up pregnant by him. "I know I'm not interested in other men. No man has ever tempted me," he said, to cut off Clive's leering riposte. "I find women extremely attractive, but I wouldn't leave him for a woman."

"Cut you off, would he?" Clive chuckled.

"I think he'd have me killed by government assassins," Mulder decided, and he wasn't altogether joking. "No, I'm not afraid of what he'd do to me. I'm afraid of what I'd do to him. I'd never want to hurt him, ever."

"Do you love him?"

Mulder twisted around to glare at him. "I married him, didn't I?"

Clive grinned at him. "Well, why not? It's a cushy life. He makes good money -"

Mulder reached over and caught Clive's shirt front and jerked, hard. "I don't work that way. Skinner hasn't got a damn thing I couldn't get for myself, except him. He's what I want. It isn't sex, it isn't money, it isn't looks or scent or the way he dances - which is pretty damn terrific, by the way. It's him. It's how he feels about me, how he makes me feel about me. That's why I wouldn't leave him for a woman."

Clive stared up at him, breathing hard. "You know, mate, I'd love to kiss you."

Mulder pulled back, let go of his shirt. "That, mate," he said, tapping his beer bottle to Clive's, "is something that will never happen."

Neither man realized that Skinner was standing behind them, listening to every word.

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

"Are you sure you want to do this? Is it really okay for you to go out in the field? I can assign someone else."

Scully was smiling patiently. "Relax, Walt. I'm fine. I have Dr. Hanson's blessings. I'll have Mulder with me. Do you think he'd let me do anything that would endanger his kid?"

"You know how he is when he's got his nose on the trail of an UNSUB," Skinner warned.

"Even then he's not deaf," Mulder supplied. He was only slightly intrigued by this case. A motor home, left running on the side of the road, nine vacationers vanished. Mulder had called it the Marie Celeste of Winnebagos. It might be nothing more than a missing persons case, but Skinner had assigned them, probably just to get Mulder out of town for awhile. With Skinner on light duty, they were spending a lot more downtime together, and Mulder was bound to be showing him all his bad habits by now. Skinner hadn't said anything, but Mulder knew … especially since their sexual activities had been sharply curtailed pending a six months check up. Without the sex to compensate, any one of Mulder's multitude of habits could send someone around the bend.

Scully and Skinner both turned at Mulder's distant tone. Mulder was looking out the terminal window, but he could see their reflection in the glass. Skinner had his arm around Scully. Why can't he have his arm around me? Mulder thought petulantly. It's not fair. Other couples can embrace and kiss goodbye, but we can't. There are so many things we can't do. And so many places we can't do them. He thought about the few places where he and Skinner could relax and be more than just 'buddies'. Skinner's parents didn't seem to mind if Skinner put his arm around Mulder, or even held his hand, but Chris didn't care for it if they kissed and he was vocal about it. At Sharon's apartment, they knew they could, but they didn't, because they always felt Sharon had them on display, dissecting their every word and gesture toward each other.

When they ate at Scully's, which was becoming a Friday night tradition, Skinner was downright playful toward both of them. That all started the night Scully first felt the baby move, and invited both of them to feel it. Skinner was so astounded and delighted that he looked up, kissed Scully, then kissed Mulder, and then blushed. Scully kissed him back, and made him laugh. From that moment, the barriers were down. Skinner felt comfortable touching both of them, hugging, kissing, even mild rough house stuff, as long as it was outside the office, even though Mulder wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with that, especially the way Skinner felt free to touch Scully when Mulder didn't. Still, feeling the baby was pretty amazing, and the expression of pure joy on Skinner's face was absolutely priceless. He sighed and turned around, tugging his flight bag up on his shoulder. "Well, sir, we'll see you around." He stuck out his hand.

Skinner looked down at his hand, dumbfounded, reached for it and pulled Mulder into an embrace. He didn't kiss Mulder, but he did whisper, fervently, "Don't get shot or anything, okay?"

Mulder nodded as he backed away, knowing that Scully was looking on, amused, knowing that his cheeks were slightly red. He nodded again, toward Scully, and the two of them turned toward the boarding sleeve.

"He'll be all right, Mulder," Scully assured him softly, as they walked toward the plane.

"I know," Mulder agreed. "Right now, I'm more concerned about you. I don't think you should be taking field assignments until after -" He stopped because she had punched him in the shoulder. "All right, all right. I concede it; you're not made of glass. You're as strong as a horse." Then he muttered under his breath, "And as stubborn as a mule."

"It takes one to know one," Scully shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.

"I'm rubber, you're glue," Mulder answered and laughed. He felt a little better. They found their seats, and Mulder had to squirm in his to get a comfortable position. "I wish our department could manage First Class, once in a while," he sighed.

"You are in a rotten mood tonight," Scully diagnosed. "What happened, you two have a little lover's spat?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not doing anything to raise his blood pressure," Mulder said emphatically.

"Walt's not made of glass, either, Mulder."

"I know, but..."

"Mulder."

Mulder nodded and shifted back in his seat, wondering if he would sleep on the way to North Dakota. "Hey, when do I get my sweater back?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Nothing." He twisted in his seat again. When he closed his eyes, he could see Skinner, laughing at him. Since his heart attack, Skinner had really loosened up. He was more quick to joke - both giving and taking. He was even more affectionate toward Mulder (if that was possible), touching him every time they crossed paths. He couldn't be in the house without being near Mulder, even if it meant following him into the bathroom. If Mulder was standing still anywhere, doing laundry, cooking, staring at a bookshelf, Skinner would come up behind him and pick him up from the waist, squeezing, kissing the back of his neck. If Mulder tried to escape, he tightened his grip, and threatened to tickle. Mulder learned to be still in his arms, and eventually, he'd be put down.

There hadn't been any sex since then, at least not any of that sex. Mulder had been terrified the first time things got past the petting stage and Skinner lost control and came. Mulder wanted to get up and leave the room. But Skinner survived, Skinner thrived. Sex was limited to 'oral and digital' as Skinner would say with a grin. Mulder could never really enjoy it, terrified that Skinner would keel over in the middle of it. Skinner had actually gone to Scully and asked her to explain things to Mulder, which embarrassed him.

The worst of it all, of course, was Skinner's new appreciation for human mortality. He fretted over every field assignment Mulder took, worried when he was fifteen minutes late from a run, fussed louder than usual about Mulder's eating habits. And he nagged Mulder constantly to phone his mother, something Mulder hadn't done in over a year. Cards and letters were hard enough.

"Mulder?"

So close … so close to a bleedin' nap, as Clive would say. "Mmm?"

"Your birthday's coming up. What do you want?"

Mulder made a face, then turned to smile at Scully. "Got all I want, so my birthdays are henceforth canceled."

"Okay, Peter Pan, for those of us who would like to celebrate your birth, what would you like?"

"A healthy baby." He patted Scully's hand. He felt more than saw her expectant expression, it seemed to be tugging on him. "And for Skinner to get back to normal," he blurted out.

Scully's brows darted up. "He seems fine to me."

"You're not living with him," Mulder complained.

"Is it still the sex thing -"

"No, and will you lower your voice?"

Scully chuckled under her breath. "I never thought you'd turn out to be a prude, Mulder."

"Yeah, well, I am." Mulder twisted away from her. Then he turned back. "And, no, it's not that. He's … hovering."

"Mulder, you're a psychologist. You know that's normal."

"Sure, it's normal for everyone else," Mulder agreed. "But not for us. At least, I don't want it to be."

Scully shook her head. "You really amaze me, Mulder. You guys have been together how long? A year and a half?"

Mulder nodded sullenly.

"And you still don't appreciate how much he loves you."

"I do appreciate it," Mulder protested, stung. "I just can't get used to some things. He's so possessive. Sometimes I feel like I'm some toy he picked up, and he won't put it down."

"Do you want him to put it down?" Scully asked quietly.

"Yeah. I don't want him to throw it away, just...just give it a rest sometimes."

"Have you discussed this with him?"

"I've tried. Then he looks at me with those big, brown puppy dog eyes of his, and I can't go on, because I know I've hurt him, and I don't ever want to do that."

"It's hard to think of Assistant Director Skinner with puppy dog eyes," Scully laughed.

"Is it easy to think of him picking me up and swinging me around like a rag doll?" Mulder retorted.

"It's easy to think of him throwing you around like a rag doll," Scully agreed. "Mulder, give in. He loves you. He wants to demonstrate his love. You aren't going to change him, and if you did, you'd be sorry."

Mulder sat up straight and looked down at her impatiently. "You know what I want for my birthday, Scully? I want that angel, Clarence, from It's A Wonderful Life. I want someone to show me what my life would be like if he did change. Then maybe I'll appreciate it."

"You almost got your wish, Mulder," Scully said softly.

Wounded, Mulder realized she was right. He swallowed, and turned away from her, slid down in his seat again. What would his life be like without Skinner? Cold. He remembered that cold. And empty. And pointless. "As usual, you're right, Scully."

She put her hand on his arm. "Did you ever call your mom?"

"About what?" he said, even though he knew that Skinner had enlisted her help in his latest crusade.

"About anything," Scully said impatiently. "About the fact that you're still alive."

He shrugged. "She knows that. I write her once a month."

"Anyone could be writing those letters," Scully scoffed. "She needs to hear your voice. Or better yet, she needs to see you."

Mulder shook his head. "I can't."

"You know how."

"I can't, Scully."

"Yes, you can."

"Scully." He turned deliberately and held up his left hand. "I can't."

"She has a right to know," Scully chided.

"Would you tell Maggie?" Mulder challenged.

Scully patted her stomach. "I did tell my mom."

"I mean, would you tell her this?" He held up his hand again.

Scully nodded thoughtfully. "I would."

"No you wouldn't," Mulder retorted. "You wouldn't get into this situation."

"Mulder, look at the situation I'm in," she reminded him. "I'm an unmarried mother. Even in this day and age, it's still an issue. And the father of my baby is someone who will never marry me -" she broke off.

Mulder turned just in time to see the horror in her eyes. "You wouldn't want that."

"What?" she whispered. "Want what?"

"To be married to me." Mulder swallowed tightly and made himself laugh. "Just ask him. I'm not housebroken." He saw that he had said something that caused her pain, or perhaps it was just that he allowed her to say something. He reached out blindly for one of her little hands, twisting into knots in her lap, and held it close to his heart. "If this baby had been the result of something other than technology, you know you wouldn't be able to keep me away from you. Even with Skinner, I …" He stopped, backtracked. "If this baby was the result of anything other than technology, Skinner would never even be part of the equation. But you didn't ask me a year ago, before we got married. You didn't ask me two years ago, before we got involved. You waited until I was already married, safe. You didn't want me, just my … genetic material." He released her hand and turned away again. He had a huge lump in his throat. Saying those things out loud made them true and it was a truth he had been hiding from ever since Scully made this request.

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

"Damn it, Scully," Mulder muttered, under his breath, feeling the heat of his gun burn his cheek. He'd fired off two rounds before he slipped and lost sight of his suspect, and the metal of the gun was searing him, but he liked it, he needed it, the air was numbing and his lungs were dragging that piercing cold inside him. He was at the edge of a ditch behind a warehouse, alongside a highway. There were police and other agents along the warehouse, and his suspect rushing toward the highway. He knew he was basically trapped, that he was in the crossfire, that if he moved, someone was going to shoot him. Where the hell was Scully?

She'd been right behind him as they came around the building. He remembered reaching back blindly to push her away as he saw the first red orange flower of gunfire in the darkness. He heard her stumble a little, make a strange little 'oof' sound and then another, sort of strangled cry. He had been running by then, didn't dare turn around. In the silence around him, he could hear an echo of her, and he shut his eyes, wondering why that sound disturbed him so much. It was pain. He recognized the sound as such immediately. Scully had been in pain before, but she was stoic, strong, like Skinner. She sucked it up better than any Marine. Why would she cry out now, just because she tumbled over? Because, he decided, trying to creep along in the shadows, in a sudden, mindless need to find his partner … Because she had never experienced pain like this before.

"Scully?" he whispered, as he felt his way along the snow slicked gravel, the glass, the bits of dried grass that caught at his jacket, bit into his hands and knees. How far back did he leave her? How far had he run before he lost his footing? It didn't seem that far. He stopped. He listened. There. He could hear her now. The cry was low, like a moan, stifled behind small, rosebud fingers. Tears started to sting his eyes. Something was wrong - and with a sudden burst of clarity, he knew what it was. She was going into labor. His heart worked up into his throat, cutting off his oxygen. Too soon, too soon, and out here, in an alley, in sub-freezing weather. He no longer cared that he was in the crossfire, he had to get to her. He stood up. He gauged the distance briefly. He started to run.

"Mulder, no!"

He wasn't sure if he heard that first, or the ricochet of the gunshot. But he was on his knees beside her before he felt the pain. In his side, sharp, making him jerk, and suddenly, the left side of his body was warm and the rest of his body was icy cold. He could smell that sea salt and copper smell of blood, a smell he hated. "Scully, be quiet," he warned, feeling around to find something to give him support, trying to press a hand against the pain and the warmth in his side. "We're right in the crossfire."

"Mulder," she was whimpering.

"Be still," he hissed, dragging himself up to lean against the wall. He knew if he stayed down, he'd never get up. "We've got backup around the corner. I'm going for someone."

She put out one of her little rosebud hands - did it have blood on it? Whose? "Don't leave me."

He reached for her hands. "Just a second, honey," he promised, mindlessly. "I'll be back in a second." Hadn't he just said those words to someone? Hadn't he just made that promise? Come on, God, he thought, dragging in air. Give me a break here.

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

The phone rang. Skinner sat up sharply, surprised to find himself still at his desk in the den. He shot a glance at the watch he had removed hours ago, left hanging over the arm of the lamp as a reminder. It was two o'clock in the morning. His adrenaline went into overdrive. He reached for the phone on the second ring. "Skinner."

"Can you get here?" Mulder's voice sounded strange, breathless.

"What's the matter?" he demanded, reaching for his watch. Maybe he'd turn into Superman, if he just snapped that Rolex into place (Mulder, why the hell did you buy me a Rolex for Father's Day? - Because I could.) "Kit, talk to me." He already knew. "Is it Scully?"

"Too soon," Mulder panted. "It's coming too soon. You'd better come. I can't do this alone."

Skinner was standing up, ready to charge out the door, with the phone still clutched in his hand. "I'm on my way. I don't know how long it will take me to get a flight."

"Charter one," Mulder commanded. "Borrow Air Force One. Get here."

"Mulder, she'll be -"

"Damn it, get here." The connection went.

Panic. He'd never seen or heard Mulder panic. But that was definitely panic. He reached for the phone again, and dialed Information, and started getting numbers for airlines.

He had to pull strings, even a couple that actually belonged to Mulder, but he was on a flight to Fargo in less than two hours. It took another two hours to get there, but to his alarm and amazement, there was a police officer waiting there to drive him to the hospital. The police officer was trying to be reassuring, but he kept talking about blood loss and surgery and things that didn't necessarily coincide with childbirth.

He understood when he finally reached the hospital. He was ushered into a doctor's office and asked to identify himself, which seemed strange, since a police officer, obviously sent to drive him, had delivered him there. Impatiently he produced his badge, the mother of all identification. The doctor was unimpressed. Then he was asked a question that nearly put him on the floor. "Are you the next of kin?"

Cold. His spine went cold. Scully? No wonder Mulder had been in a panic. "No. No, there is her mother and -"

"No, Mr. Skinner," the doctor interrupted gently. "Are you his next of kin?"

Now his spine had turned to a core of ice. "Kit - I mean, Agent Mulder? What happened to him?"

"He's trying to kill himself, frankly," the doctor said, revealing impatience. "His partner went into premature labor, and he won't leave her side, even to get the bleeding stopped."

"What bleeding?" Skinner asked, his mouth dry. Why was Mulder bleeding?

"GSW to the left side. It may have penetrated a lung, we haven't been able to assess it. He won't let us do anything more than change his bandages." He was digging around on his desk, coming up with a clipboard, thrusting it in Skinner's direction. "If you're the next of kin, you can sign consent forms, so we can force him to have surgery."

The ice melted, abandoned him. "I need to see him. To see them." Skinner stood on shaky legs. Oh, God, Kit, what have you done? I didn't fight my way back from a heart attack for you to die in a routine missing persons investigation. Then guilt wrenched through him. I sent him on this case. He didn't want to go, didn't need to go. I sent him because I was afraid he was getting bored looking after me. What the hell have I done?

"Mr. Skinner, we have to act."

"I have to see him first."

"Very well." The doctor decided he was as crazy as Agent Mulder. "This way."

Skinner was led down a hall and around a corner and into a small room. His mouth flooded with the warmth of saliva and his stomach twisted. He knew it was the right room even before the door opened, because there were blood streaks on the floor, and bloodied fingerprints on the doorframe; long, elegant fingerprints.

There was a frenzy of activity around the bed, nurses moving back and forth, giving instructions, making adjustments. Scully was panting, her face red, her hair plastered down on her forehead in perspiration. She was squeezing Mulder's hand, and muttering. Mulder, in a blood soaked shirt, and a massive pack taped to his side, was murmuring gentle, albeit faint, encouragement. They both looked up as Skinner came into the room. They both smiled, two identical expressions of pain and relief.

"Agent Mulder, why haven't you gone to surgery?" Skinner snapped, trying hard to remain in control. He groped for Mulder's hand, not caring what others might make of it. He just had to touch him, know he was real, still alive.

"I couldn't leave her alone," Mulder said. His face was unnaturally white, his lips a faint blue. "She's so close, now."

Skinner put a hand on his shoulder, as if he could keep Mulder upright through sheer will. "I'm here. I'll take care of her."

Mulder ignored him, his eyes on Scully. "She's so close, now," he repeated distantly. His voice had an eerie rasp, almost like an echo coming from somewhere deep within him.

"Mulder," Skinner repeated gently.

Scully let out a low wail. Mulder leaned forward again, offering his other hand.

Skinner muscled his way to the other side and took her free hand. "Hang in there, Dana," he barked, giving commands because Scully responded well to commands. "We're here for you."

"Mr. Skinner," the doctor implored.

Skinner looked up, saw Mulder watching Scully with such focus, and then looked up at the doctor. "He's a grown man. I can't force him to do anything." He looked at Mulder. He knew Mulder wouldn't go. Mulder would drop dead on that labor room floor before he'd abandon his partner now. He just hoped this baby didn't linger too much longer.

It didn't last much longer, perhaps another forty five minutes. Skinner watched Mulder getting weaker by the moment, but he never lost his focus, he never stopped encouraging Scully. Finally, it happened. She let out a low, unearthly, totally unScully-like wail, and was delivered. The midwife looked up and announced, "It's a girl."

She and Mulder looked at each other and sobbed, literally, in unison. "A girl," Mulder panted, and on watery legs, pulled himself up to kiss Scully's brow. "A girl." He looked across the bed, bleary-eyed, at Skinner, and smiled. "Look what we did, sir."

The midwife, out of habit, said, "Do you want to cut the cord, Daddy?" and offered scissors.

Mulder looked down at her, disbelieving. Then he looked at Skinner. "You get this one," he said, settling back in his chair. "I'll get the next one." He forced himself upward again, to look down at the baby, tiny, mewling little creature, being bound into blankets and offered to her mother. "She's so beautiful, Scully," he mumbled, and when he sank down again he missed the chair.

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

Skinner paced the waiting room floor. Mulder had been in this position just a few weeks ago. How did he stand it? The last time Mulder had been hospitalized, Skinner really had no place in his life. Scully was there, taking charge, being in command. But tonight, Scully was asleep, dreaming the dreams of the just, and Mulder was in surgery, his condition unknown. Skinner never felt more alone in his life. As he paced, he noticed one of those page a day calendars for Dilbert, on a nurse's station desk, and he paused to read it. It didn't even cause the shadow of a smile. But he noticed the date. October 3rd. Mulder would be thirty nine in ten days. Damn it, Mulder. You'd better live to be thirty nine, Skinner thought.

Skinner, being the organized, clean as you go type of person that he was, was already planning for the inevitable; who he would need to contact, the arrangements that had to be made. He shuddered at the thought of contacting Mrs. Mulder. He'd called her twice before. Twice before he told her that her son was dead. This time he would have to tell her that her son, his lover, his partner, was dead. He felt something on his cheek and he brushed at it and stared, disbelieving. Tears, Walter?

To give himself something else to do, he walked back to the nursery, and peered into the isolette. She was tiny, five pounds four ounces, but everyone assured him that wasn't life threatening. Even with all the tubes and wires surrounding her, it was easy to see she was Mulder's little girl. Skinner didn't know much about babies. He always thought they all sort of looked the same. But this fragile little beauty had her father's eyes, that odd, almost Asian cast, and irises of the palest blue. Her hair was very dark, her mouth was almost exactly like his, and her fingers … Skinner stared. That tiny creature already had her father's elegant long fingers. Skinner would know those fingers anywhere. He felt his chest swell with two warring emotions; pride and jealousy.

"Mr. Skinner?"

He turned, looked down. A tiny blond person, perhaps ten, perhaps twenty, looked up at him with earnest eyes. "He's out of surgery. The doctor wants to see you."

Skinner swallowed hard. Why would the surgeon want to see him, unless something went wrong? He turned away from the baby, and followed the nurse back to the waiting room.

The surgeon was a towering black man, even taller than Skinner, but he had warm, kind eyes and they seemed to be looking at him with extra kindness. "He's a lucky man, your partner," he said, indicating that Skinner should take a chair. "The bullet missed the lung entirely, and somehow lodged behind one of his kidneys."

Skinner started.

The surgeon's skillful hands were on his, soothing. "No, no, we saved the kidney. We had to take a portion of the large intestine, but not so much that he'll be impaired in any way. In fact, except for the extreme blood loss, he's in fine condition." This man seemed to understand why there had been so much blood loss. He smiled again. "I understand you've had a little girl?"

Skinner blinked, wondering if his mind had wandered somewhere in the conversation. "I … yes, yes we did."

The surgeon shook his head. "I know it's none of my business. I'm just very confused. I thought she was his partner." His eyes dipped down and saw Skinner's ring. "Oh. Different kind of partner?"

Skinner nodded. "She is his partner, too. That's their little girl. I'm just in on a pass." He looked up. "He'll be all right?"

The surgeon nodded. "You can see him in a few minutes. Looks like you're a lucky man, too."

Skinner nodded and, as the surgeon walked away, raised his eyes Heavenward. Thank you, he thought fervently.

Alone in the recovery room, Mulder looked almost as pale as the pillows beneath him. His hair seemed strikingly dark in contrast. He had an IV for hydration and blood, patches on his chest for the monitor, a blood pressure cuff on one arm, and a pulse oximeter on one fingertip. Otherwise, he might have been merely napping on the sofa. Skinner looked around, saw there was no one observing, and brushed his fingers through the dark hair. "The Marines got nothin' on Fox Mulder," he said, echoing a long ago sentiment. Oh, God, he loved this fool, this loyal, compassionate, hard headed fool.

Skinner drew up a chair, and sat beside him, watching him, the way Mulder must have watched Skinner not so long ago. Eventually he was rewarded. The soft gray-green eyes opened on a flutter and went around the room, finally settling on Skinner as if saving the best for last. "Hey," he said weakly.

"If you weren't so sick, I'd shoot you myself for scaring me like that," Skinner said sternly, even though he felt the tears in his eyes again. "What was the one thing I asked you to do? Not get shot."

Mulder's mouth quirked. "Forgive me?" he whispered, his eyes slipping closed.

Skinner smiled helplessly. "Asshole," he said softly.

Mulder nodded faintly. Then he opened his eyes again. "The baby? She's okay?"

A new emotion threatened Skinner's voice. "She's beautiful, Kit. She looks like you."

Mulder closed his eyes again, as if it was just too much effort to keep them open. "Tell Scully …" He sighed as if breath was becoming effort for him. "Tell her I changed my mind about Scarlet. I want to name her … Kate-Lynn, instead." His hand groped the bed in search of Skinner's hand. "Tell her."

"I'll tell her."

"Don't let her talk you out of it." The sentence was extremely difficult for him to force out.

"I won't."

"She'll try to name her Rupert. I know she will." He faded off.

Skinner watched him until he was sure Mulder was deep in sleep, before he disengaged himself and left the recovery room. He went back to post-partum, and checked in on Scully.

It was dawn now, and she was awake simply because her internal clock would not allow her to consider six hours of labor and a two hour time change significant reason to stay asleep. She looked up at him and beamed a beatific smile. "Hello. Thanks for coming. I thought I dreamed you."

He came in, surprisingly comfortable in the presence of her physical and emotional dishabille, and sat beside the bed. "I just went and looked at her. She's beautiful."

Scully nodded. "She looks like him, doesn't she?"

Skinner nodded. "She's beautiful."

She stopped smiling at last. "How is he? He wouldn't leave me. I know he was hurt, but I didn't know how bad. I thought he got shot, but he was walking around, he seemed okay, but he was bleeding, wasn't he? It wasn't my imagination."

Skinner nodded again. "He was shot in the side, the bullet lodged behind his kidney. I saw him a little while ago. He's out of surgery, his prognosis is good. Oh, he's changed his mind about Scarlet."

She nodded, trying to look stern. "Well, good, because he was going to get an argument from me."

"He wants to name her Caitlin."

Scully smiled again, softly. "Perfect. Kit and Kat and Caitlin."

"And," Skinner paused to think. "Isn't your middle name Katherine?"

"Oh, yes, so she'll be named after me." Scully seemed so pleased by this. "Now, about a middle name. Mulder won't tell me yours, he says he's sworn to secrecy, but we must get the Skinner family in there somehow."

"My middle name wouldn't do Caitlin a bit of good," Skinner said gruffly, although he was exceedingly pleased that Scully would want to include him in this ritual. "My mother's name is Natasha." He made a little face. "It doesn't really go with Caitlin."

Scully shook her head sadly. "What was her maiden name?"

Skinner thought for a moment. "Galen. Sorry, that doesn't help, either. What about your mother? What about your sister?"

Scully considered this. "Caitlin Melissa isn't too bad. Caitlin Melissa Scully-Mulder." She laughed. "He's right. It does sound like a roto-tiller."

Skinner laughed too, although he was tired, and still a little bit concerned for both his agents. "How are you?"

"Me? I'm fine. I'm on cloud nine. Walter, I had a baby. A daughter." Her eyes welled with tears. "In a way, she was given back to me, wasn't she?"

Skinner reached out and squeezed her fingers. "And this one is both of yours."

"All of ours," she corrected, squeezing back. "She's as much yours as she is mine. If Mulder's willing to share, I certainly am."

Embarrassed, slightly overcome, he pulled his hands away. "Is there anyone you want me to call?" Skinner offered.

"Oh, my God, my mother." Scully pressed her hands to her lips and let a little laugh escape her like an embarrassed hiccup. "I haven't called my mother. I'd better do that. But you could call my brothers, and … and let the Bureau know, of course. And Mulder, he knows, doesn't he?" She looked at him urgently. "He really knows?"

"I told you, he wants to change her name."

"Yes, I know, but he could have told you that before he went to surgery," Scully explained, reaching for the phone. "I just want to know that he knows, now."

Skinner smiled reassuringly. "He knows."

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

Mulder sat up awkwardly as the nurse came in, carrying a pink bundle. Skinner sighed deeply, unable to keep a grin from his face as Mulder reached for and took his daughter into his arms for the first time. He and Scully waited for Mulder to make a joke, or some profound statement. But he appeared to be speechless, touching her cheek with a fingertip, letting her tiny fingers curl over one of his. His eyes were wet with joy and he shook his head slightly, but that was his only reaction.

Scully came to the bedside and looked down at them. "What do you think, partner?"

Mulder's lips drew up almost into a thoughtful frown. "I think we did good, partner. You named her Kate-Lynn, right?"

Scully nodded. "Caitlin Melissa."

Mulder nodded back. "That's good. Good." He looked at the baby again, this time studiously. He spared Scully another glance. "Kat thinks she looks like me. What do you think?"

"She's beautiful," Scully said softly.

"Yes," Mulder agreed. "But does she look like me?"

"I think so. Wait until she opens her eyes, then you'll see it." Scully pushed soft brown hair back from the baby's face. "I don't know whose nose that is, but it isn't yours."

"Thank God for that," Mulder said fervently. He leaned forward slightly, bringing Skinner into his field of vision. "Have you held her yet?"

Skinner shook his head. Scully had tried to get him to hold her early that morning after a feeding, but Skinner felt Mulder should hold his daughter first. "I was waiting for you," he said quietly.

Mulder looked as if he wasn't really sure he wanted to let her go. "She's so tiny. I don't remember babies being this tiny. I guess I've never seen one only a day old."

"She was also five weeks premature," Scully reminded him.

"But she's okay?" The anxiety in his voice was almost heartbreaking.

Scully nodded. "We can't take her home just yet. The neonatologist says five or six days. But her APGARS were good, so everything looks fine."

Skinner, who had never had children, didn't understand this. "APGARS?" he echoed.

Mulder, the doctor, knew. "Her newborn assessment, a score based on her heart rate, respiratory effort, color and stuff. It means that everything's functioning." He shifted, raising his knees, laying the baby along his hard thighs and started unwrapping the blanket, to look at her elbows, knees and toes, as if each piece of her was a work of art, a living miracle. "I don't think I've quite accepted the fact that she's here," he confessed, at length. "I'm not sure I ever really believed she was coming."

"You would have believed it if you had her sleeping on your bladder the last three months," Scully answered with a wry chuckle.

Mulder looked up at her. "Regrets, Scully?"

"Oh, no," she said, on a long, heartfelt sigh.

"Scully, when we get back to D.C., I want you to stay with us for a few weeks," Mulder said. "We've got an unused bedroom, right across from the kitchen. That way Kat and I can help get her into a routine." He started bundling the baby again. "That's okay with you, isn't it, Kat?"

Skinner nodded. "I was going to suggest it," he lied. It hadn't even occurred to him, but the prospect of having that precious little creature in his house, even for a few days was a very happy prospect. "Say yes, Agent Scully, or I'll make it an order."

Mulder chuckled. "I knew some day it would come in handy to be married to the boss." He lowered his knees and sat up. "Come here, Papa Walt. It's time you got to hold your little girl."

Skinner came to the bedside nervously. He'd never really held a small baby before and he didn't care for the exposure to something new and alien, but he wouldn't be denied the chance to hold the closest thing he'd ever have to a daughter. Mulder muttered instructions to him like an old hand, showing him where to support her head, and how to keep her close to his body. He felt his arms trembling as he pulled her next to him, and for a moment he thought he might drop her, but then she opened her eyes, and met his, her stare as serious as her father's, and he felt it was the most natural experience of his life. "Now look at her, Kit," he instructed, twisting so that Mulder could look at her. "Doesn't she look like you with her eyes open?"

Mulder studied her, frowning. "I don't see it," he confessed. "I'll take your word for it."

A nurse came into the room. "What is that baby doing in here? She should be -" She stopped because Skinner was giving her his best A.D. look. "She's visiting her father," he said quietly. "Her doctor has given her permission to be here. She'll be going back soon."

Huffing, as only a ward nurse can huff, she left the room.

"Where did you learn so much about babies, Mulder?" Scully asked, amused at the way he fussed after Skinner.

Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. I was only four when Samantha was born, so I'm sure that wasn't it. Probably while I was at Oxford. I dated a girl with a baby, and a friend of mine had a baby while I was there. That's probably where I picked it up."

A moment later, the NICU nurse came in. "It's time for her to go back," she said regretfully. "Oh, and Daddy, we have paperwork for you to fill out." She said this to Skinner, but Mulder nodded in response.

Scully watched them take the baby away, and then looked back at Mulder. "When do you get out?" she asked.

Mulder shrugged. "A couple of days. It wasn't that bad."

"They had to resect bowel, Mulder," she said.

"Yeah, but just a little bit," Mulder insisted. "You will move in with us, won't you?"

Skinner put a hand on her shoulder. "She will." He focused on Mulder, who looked almost as if he had been the one to deliver. "And you are going to call your mother."

Mulder looked up, terror in his eyes, terror that Skinner hadn't seen in months. "Yes, sir," he said flatly.

Skinner was stung. He didn't deserve that look, he didn't deserve that tone. He would have turned and walked out of the room, but the neonatal nurse had come back, holding a pen and papers to him. "Time to sign, Daddy."

Skinner lifted a hand and pointed back to the hospital bed. "He's the daddy."

The nurse's brow wrinkled up, but since she didn't actually ask a question, Skinner decided he didn't need to answer. She brought the paperwork to Mulder. "For the birth certificate," she explained holding out a form. She looked over her shoulder at Scully, as if to say, 'He is the father, isn't he?'

Mulder reached for the pen. "This isn't right," he said suddenly. "You've spelled her name wrong. It shouldn't be Caitlin, it should be Kate-Lynn." He spelled it.

Scully started a protest. "But Walt said you -"

"Kate is for you," Mulder explained. "And Lynn..." He flicked a glance back at Skinner, who was sulking in the corner. "You were right, Scully, when you said I didn't know enough about my partner. I had a long talk with my mother-in-law last week, and I found out that he and I have something in common."

Skinner felt his eyes start to sting. He had no idea that Mulder knew. "Kit..." he started, and had nothing else to say.

"He lost his sister too. Did you know that, Scully? He lost his older sister when he was ten. She was knocked over by a truck, killed instantly, right in front of him. Has he ever said anything? No. He keeps it all shut up inside him. Well, he can't anymore." Mulder's eyes were gleaming in defiance. "I won't let him. Kate is for you, Scully, and Lynn is for his sister, Lynda." He scratched the name out on the form and rewrote it, signing his name with a flourish.

Skinner, overwhelmed, staggered out into the hallway, and settled on a bench, struggling to pull his emotions under control. In all the years he had known Mulder, in all the time he had watched Mulder struggle with his loss, search to find his sister, the truth, Skinner wouldn't admit that he understood that pain, only because he was jealous that Mulder might one day get his sister back, and he knew he never would. Now Mulder knew, Mulder had witnessed his own jealous selfishness, and not only had he forgiven him, he had allowed Skinner to acknowledge his loss and remember his sister in this little girl. He put his head in his hands, and cried.

Scully came out, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Walt? Are you all right? He didn't mean to hurt you."

"He didn't," Skinner sobbed. "He just did the most beautiful damn thing in the world, sitting there in a hospital bed I put him in, he made the most beautiful gesture in the world."

"You didn't -"

"I did. I put you both in this hospital." He lifted his head, wiping his eyes. "I didn't need to send you two on this. It was routine, anyone could have done it. I sent you two because I was afraid he was getting bored being my nursemaid. I was afraid he'd start spending too much time with those - those neighbors of ours. I was anxious and jealous and I got him out of town just to make me feel better. And what happened? You both ended up in the hospital."

"Well, I wouldn't say you were responsible for putting me in the hospital," Scully said, with a gently wry smile.

"You shouldn't be here, having her two thousand miles and five weeks away from home. And he -"

"Now you sound like Mulder. He'll be all right." Scully gathered her robe together and sat beside him. "He's tough, you know that. He's been shot before, he's died twice. Do you think a little thing like a resected bowel is going to slow him down? Not a chance."

Skinner sniffed and patted his pockets for a handkerchief.

Scully reached out and took the handkerchief, gently wiping his eyes, encouraging him to blow his nose, a perfectly maternal gesture. "Now, go in and see him. He thinks he hurt you."

Reluctantly, Skinner rose. He stopped, patted Scully's shoulder and said, "You've got a beautiful baby, and you're going to make a beautiful mother. I'm very proud to be a part of this."

"I'm proud to have you," she returned warmly.

Mulder was laying with his head back in the pillows, his eyes shut tight. But he lifted his head as Skinner came in. He didn't say anything, he just watched.

Skinner pulled Scully's chair up to the bedside and reached for Mulder's hand. "That was a beautiful thing you did," he said. "I'm sorry I never told you about my sister."

"I'm sorry you had something to tell me. It's not an easy thing to live with, is it?" Mulder said softly.

"No." Skinner shook his head. "I'm surprised Mom told you about her. She doesn't like to talk about it."

"No one ever does. But sometimes it just spills out. She asked me about Samantha, and I told her … well, I told her she was taken - I didn't go into details," he assured Skinner quickly. "Your mom seems to like me, I don't want her to think I'm completely cuckoo. Anyway, she started talking about Lynda, and I asked who she was. She told me. I was stunned. You're always so - so contained. I had no idea you carried such grief around inside you."

"She'll be very pleased that you remembered Lynda in the baby's name," Skinner said. "I am."

Mulder smiled, but the smile faded quickly. "I'm not going to call my mother. We're going to see her - all of us. We're a family now, you, me, Scully, the baby, and we're going as a family, to tell my mom." His fingers tightened around Skinner's. "I can't do it on my own, Kat. I need you there."

- END part 11 of 13 -
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