Big Deals (part 2 of 13)

by Mik

Mulder jerked upright, chest throbbing, bathed in the sticky cool of sweat. Nightmare, he told himself. That's all. He swallowed, the dryness of his mouth choking him. He looked around, wild-eyed, for a minute forgetting where he was. He stumbled to the bathroom and filled a glass, emptied it in two gulps and filled it again.

This one he carried back to the bed, and sat, trembling at the foot, sipping water, reminding himself to breathe. He hadn't had a nightmare in so long, he had forgotten how horrifying they were. Then slithering down to sit on the floor, he realized that this wasn't his usual nightmare. This one had been Skinner, standing in front of him, yelling at him, berating him for some suspected misdeed, and then suddenly, his face growing pale with shock, and starting to stammer, and then, the white of his shirt exploding into red fireworks as he fell backwards against his desk. Then Mulder looked down at his hands and saw that he had fired the gun. He emptied the glass and set it on the floor. Reached for the television remote, searched for HBO.

He checked out of the hotel about three a.m. Monday, and drove back to Crystal City. He knew what he was going to do. He wasn't prepared to talk to Skinner yet. He wanted their first confrontation to be within the controlled environment of the Hoover. They could fight when they got home, and they would, but he wanted to take the edge off in a place where they couldn't kill each other.

It was six fifteen, and he pulled his car into the roundabout behind the school. Across from him was the only access road into their complex. Skinner would have to drive out that way to leave, and knowing Skinner's routine as well as he did, Mulder knew Skinner would be coming around that corner by six thirty. Mulder pulled his little binocs out of the glove compartment and waited. Six twenty eight, and there was the Lexus. He lifted the binocs and saw Skinner. Saw his face. He looked grim. Good. He followed the car all the way to the end of the block, where he turned left toward the tollway. Then Mulder started the car and drove into the complex.

He slipped upstairs and inside, not turning on lights, ignoring anything that might demand his attention. He went directly to the shower, stripped, showered, shaved, brushed his teeth (twice!) and dressed.

He deliberately chose the blue-gray tweed. Skinner always said it looked purple in some lights. He knew it would annoy Skinner, because he didn't think men should wear purple. He picked the purple and yellow tie that Scully gave him two years ago for his birthday. (She said it was the ugliest one she could find, but he still loved it.) He wanted to be as provocative as possible so that Skinner couldn't put on his political face and pretend that nothing was the matter as long as they were at work.

He knew he was late, and he ran, even down the stairs, tucking his gun in at his hip as he went out the front door. He saw the neighbors from across the hall, just coming in from a morning swim, still wet, still in bathing suits that weren't attractive on men of their age and build, still fondling each other and giggling. He gave them a tight smile because the older one, the English one, gave him the creeps, always seemed to be salivating over him. "Morning," he said, and moved toward the stairwell.

The older one nudged the younger one. "Steven, look, the cupcake is home."

Cupcake? Mulder thought angrily. He knew his skin was flushing, but he kept walking.

"Don't tease him, Eve," the younger one warned in mock fear. "He's got a gun."

"Did you see what else he has?" Eve lifted his voice to make sure it was heard all the way down the hall. "A wedding ring."

Mulder wanted to turn and flip them off. But he didn't. That would be too provocative.

"Oh, by the way, cupcake," Eve called, tauntingly, "did you have a nice weekend?"

Mulder paused at the door, flashed them an angry, curious look. Why would they possibly care?

"Because your husband sure did."

Husband? Mulder pulled his lower lip in, wanting to ask a million questions, but not wanting a single answer. "It was fine," he said in a measured voice. "Thanks for asking."

"Be sure and ask your partner how her weekend was."

"Eve, be quiet," Steven was giggling.

Mulder yanked the door open and hurried down the stairs.

By the time he got into the office, all the questions had settled down into a reasonable explanation. Scully had come over to keep Skinner company while they tried to figure out what hole their little fox had dived into. He actually smiled to himself because he knew one of them would have used just that expression. He was already rehearsing his remarks to Skinner, just to set the tone for their first conversation. He was going to make Skinner miserable before he let him beg for forgiveness.

Scully wasn't there. A message on his voice mail informed him that she had gone away for the weekend, and would be in late on Monday. Then who spent the weekend with Skinner? Mulder shrugged out of his jacket and slumped down into his chair. So this was how Skinner would deal with any fight they had? Just go out and pick up a warm body? A female warm body? Damn it, Scully, couldn't you at least be here to pick up the pieces?

At nine o'clock, his phone rang. He ignored it. In fact, he basically ignored everything until lunch time. He went through the motions, however, going through his in-box again, checking the morning's mail, delivering some prelims to VCU, stopping to talk to the receptionists in PR, making sure he was seen, making sure people knew he was back among the living, but studiously avoiding the fifth floor.

At lunch time, he went out to the mall, got a hot pretzel with mustard and wandered around the reflecting pool, humming tunelessly. He felt empty inside, hurt and abandoned. He was beginning to think he was going to have to create a confrontation himself, since Mohammed wasn't coming to the mountain. As he turned back toward the Hoover, he wondered briefly if Skinner was up there, watching him.

Back at his desk at one o'clock, the phone rang again. Skinner was either watching, or had spies doing it for him. He picked up and growled into it, unaware of how Skinner-like he sounded. "Mulder."

"Would you like to step up here for a moment?" Uh oh, Skinner at his most polite, most controlled, most dangerous.

"Well, I'm right in the middle -"

"Get your ass up here, now." Well, not so polite, not so controlled, still dangerous.

"I don't think I want to see you right now," Mulder answered stubbornly. "Not here...Sir."

"Get up here, or I'll come down."

No, not a good idea. If he killed Mulder down in the basement, no one would know. "I'll be up in a few minutes."

He sat for a moment, planning his approach. He had every right to walk out on Skinner, but the weekend and that nightmare Saturday night had pretty much cooled his righteous indignation. He had to remember the facts, and hang on to them while riding the waves of Skinner's fury. Glancing at his watch, he went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and patted it dry. He didn't want to make Skinner wait too long. He just might come down. As he was shrugging on his jacket, Scully opened the door. "Where the hell have you been?" they demanded in unison.

A faint smile twisting his lips, Mulder reached the door and inched past her. "I'll tell you when I get back. I've been summoned."

"Mulder, he was really worried about you this weekend," she said, touching his sleeve. "Remember that when he's ripping your heart out."

"I'll try," Mulder promised and went to the bank of elevators. He would not take the stairs this time. He had to appear calm and unaffected, not flushed and breathless.

Approaching the outer office, he sent Kim a tentative smile. Kim was one of the few people in the Bureau who seemed to be willing to acknowledge that he was now a legal part of A.D. Skinner's life. She had made it clear that she didn't approve, but Scully said that was only because she had the hots for Mulder herself. Kim pointed a pencil at the door, indicating that Mulder should go right in. Mulder pushed the door open, stepped inside, pushed it shut with his weight. "You bellowed, sir?" he said.

Skinner had twisted his chair toward the window, but he swiveled slowly, and took Mulder in, looking for bleeding, stitches, a cast. Deciding that Mulder was whole and in good health, he rose from his desk. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked quietly.

This approach startled and unnerved Mulder who had been trained to expect the worst. Shaking his head, he lifted his chin defiantly. "There's nothing to say."

"I think there is a great deal to say," Skinner countered. "Our last conversation was a bit...ah, heated."

"I was angry," Mulder answered with a shrug. "And I think I had a right to be."

"I think it was a little unreasonable," Skinner answered. A vein was starting to stand out on his neck.

"I think you were way out of line," Mulder answered, his chest starting to tighten.

"You went AWOL on me," Skinner complained.

"I never thought our marriage was the same as the Marines." Mulder shrugged. "Apparently, I was wrong." He snapped a salute. "Reporting for duty, sir."

Skinner's eyes went narrow and flinty, even through the glasses. "I was wrong to buy that house without discussing it with you," he conceded.

Mulder's brows rose. Scully had been with him at some point during the weekend. She must have been. He could never have come to that conclusion on his own. In the Skinner universe, Skinner was all-powerful, all-wise. He looked around the room, trying to settle on something besides those glowing brown eyes. "I don't think this is a conversation we should be having here," he said stiffly, and added, "Sir."

"Don't 'sir' me again, smart-ass," Skinner warned. He cocked a finger in Mulder's direction. "You were just as wrong to walk out on me and leave me worrying about you all weekend."

Mulder answered with a slow blink. "I didn't think it mattered. Frankly, I'm beginning to think I don't matter."

Skinner came around the desk, catching the lapels of his jacket. But he didn't pull Mulder in for a kiss. He simply jerked him up on his toes. "Don't you ever say that," he hissed. He released Mulder so fast, that Mulder staggered a little. "Where were you?"

Shaken, Mulder adjusted his jacket and shrugged a jerky little shrug. "All over."

"Well, I know where you weren't," Skinner answered thinly.

Mulder moved his fingers slightly, a generous, yet faint gesture. "You'd be surprised."

"Try me," Skinner growled.

Mulder rolled his eyes, pretending thoughtfulness, pretending coy. "Well, let's see, where to begin...I don't think I can remember the whole itinerary, but I can give you the highlights. I went to a bar and got picked up by a seventeen year old girl with long blond hair and an ass -"

He stopped because Skinner made him stop. Sent a bricklike backhand across his cheek, his mouth. Sixteen years of training thought long forgotten kicked in. His startled eyes didn't seek Skinner's, didn't seek confirmation what his brain told him. His eyes went downward, his body went rigid of its own volition, his fingers straightened out lest they be confused for fists, for self-defense. When Skinner took a step toward him, he backed away, groped blindly behind him for the door. "If that's all, sir," he murmured, pulling the door open, feeling hysteria try to rise up, battled it down.

"Kit." Skinner's voice wasn't angry now.

Mulder lifted his eyes briefly, lowered them, and pulled the door shut behind him. He turned, heard Kim's gasp, saw her look away. It reminded him of his mother, always looking away. He drew a deep breath, swallowed tightly, lifted his chin. He knew he had a red mark on his cheek. He knew people were staring. But he'd gone to school plenty of times with a black eye, broken arm, stitches, this was nothing new. He knew how to lift himself up from it all, make himself unaware. He turned away from the office and went to the elevators, hearing the buzz of curious conversations above the ringing in his ears.

Scully was on the telephone when he stepped back into his office, keeping his face slightly averted, in the shadows of the poorly lit office. He shrugged out of his jacket, and took the long way to his desk. Scully nodded at him as she listened, and then her brows went up, and suddenly, she was numbly promising someone to call them back. "My God, Mulder, what happened?"

Mulder's jaw was clenched. "What does it look like?" he asked, tugging out his glasses, sliding them on, turning to his computer.

"It looks like he hit you," she said, disbelieving.

"Well then, that's what happened." His long fingers started to pound on the keyboard, as if punishing it.

She came to his side, knelt next to the chair, gingerly touching the edge of the reddened area. He shrugged her away. "It's nothing, Scully. Don't worry about it."

Her voice was tender, tentative, troubled. "Has he … has he ever hit you before?"

He didn't turn his head, but his eyes went to her. He could barely hear his voice make the word. "No."

Scully kept staring at him. "Truth?"

Mulder thought back over the last six years. No. He'd been wrestled down in a hallway, he'd been threatened with guns (and worse) but Skinner had never actually hit him. He wanted to once, but he didn't. Mulder deserved it, too. If the situation had been reversed, Mulder would have given in to the impulse. He nodded. "Truth."

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, yeah." He shrugged, made his voice sound unaffected. "I've dealt with so much worse than this." He pointed. "This is nothing. Stop worrying about it."

"But, Mulder, he hit you."

He smiled. It hurt to do so. "I've been hit before, Scully. You know, we've run into lots of people with overpowering urges to bounce my head on the pavement."

"They weren't in love with you."

He slid his eyes toward her again. He said nothing.

"What happened?"

He stopped smiling. "Are we stuck in a loop? This is where I came in." He started to type again.

The phone rang. They both looked at it. Mulder shook his head, once, and returned to the computer.

Scully reached for it. Her color was high with anger. "Scully." Her eyes darkened. She reached out and stilled Mulder's hands. "No, sir. I thought he went up to see you...oh? Well, if I see him, I'll tell him...Yes, sir." She put the phone down. "He said to tell you he's sorry."

Mulder pronounced the one word he always said he wouldn't say in Scully's presence.

"Do you want to go home?" Scully offered.

"And be a sitting duck? No thank you." He reached for a file. "It's not that big a thing." His voice was only a little bit shaky. "Stop making it into something earth-shattering." He opened the file. "Umm...Scully, where were you this weekend?"

"Why?" She raised a brow. "Did you come by?"

"No. I was just wondering. You left a message that you were going out of town. I was just wondering if you had a nice weekend."

"I did. I went to Baltimore."

Mulder's head jerked up, eyes wide in disbelief. "Baltimore? What was in Baltimore?"

She sighed. "A nice hotel with a deep bathtub."

"Not the Hilton?" The side of his mouth that was not swelling turned up, sensing delicious irony.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

Mulder's shoulders twitched. He was laughing. 

"What's so funny?"

He shook his head. "You wouldn't understand. So, why did you go to Baltimore?"

"I just wanted a quiet place to do some thinking." Scully avoided his eyes. Suddenly, she turned back toward him. "How did you know about the Hilton?"

"I work for the F.B.I." He spelled it out slowly. "What did you want to think about?"

She shook her head. "I'm not through thinking about it. I'll talk to you about it when I'm ready."

Mulder's face paled with panic. "You're going to quit, aren't you?" he breathed.

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that. But, please, don't ask me anymore. I don't have it quite worked out, and I'm not ready to discuss it with anyone. Anyone." She turned, and put a hand on his shoulder. "But when I'm ready, you'll be the first one I come to, okay?"

He nodded, still looking anxious.

The phone rang again. She picked it up, pressing a finger to her lips. "Scully...they did?...Well, then he's around here somewhere...May I ask why you're so concerned?" She listened, and when she spoke again, her voice was very cold. "Why did you do that, sir?" Her brows went up. "I'm sure he was only kidding, sir...and even if he was telling the truth, that wasn't the appropriate -" she winced as the phone was slammed down in her ear. She looked at Mulder. "You told him you got picked up by a teenager?" she repeated, horrified. "A blond with a great ass?"

"I did," Mulder said. "At least she tried to pick me up. I told her I was married and not interested. He didn't let me get that far. And, anyway, like you said, it wasn't appropriate behavior."

Scully sighed and looked toward the ceiling. "Mulder, why would you tell him something like that after the weekend he's had?"

"Oh, that's it, blame the victim."

She repeated the word he had used, and Mulder made a little choking noise. "Anyway, he's got Security looking for you again. They said your car was still in the garage, so they're bound to stop by here soon." Mulder shrugged. "Then they'll find me. I spent the weekend hiding out. I'm not going to do that for the rest of my life."

"So why am I answering the phone?"

"Because if I answer it, then he finds me." He turned back to the computer. "Just because I don't want to hide doesn't mean I want to stand out in the hall yelling 'here I am'."

There was a knock on the door and both of them turned guiltily. It was a Security Team. They looked at each other. "Do you know A.D. Skinner's looking for you, Agent Mulder?" one of them asked.

Mulder shrugged innocently. "I'm right here."

They nodded and backed out. Scully looked down at him. "Now they'll get on the radio and let him know you're sitting here, and the phone will ring and he'll ask me why I lied about you."

"You tell him I just walked in?" Mulder suggested. "Then you tell him I'm not coming back up there."

Scully made a sound of exasperation. "Mulder, this is starting to sound a little high school to me."

"I didn't go to high school, I missed out on all this." He started to type again.

"You went to high school," she argued. "You must have."

"I went to prep school in Virginia. Not the same thing at all." He was focusing on the screen now, looking at news clips four years old. "Scully, look at this."

Scully was just starting to look over his shoulder when the door crashed open, and Skinner filled the door. "Uh oh," Scully whispered.

Mulder turned, but didn't stand up.

"Agent Scully," Skinner said. His face was red, and his eyes were blazing, even behind the shield of his glasses. "Would you mind?" He jerked his head slightly, indicating that she should leave the office.

"No," Mulder said.

"No," Scully said.

"Very well." Skinner pushed the door closed and leaned up against it. "Stay here and take it, Dana. Kit, I'm sorry I hit you. I had no right to hit you. I was wrong. I don't even have a decent excuse for doing it, except that I've spent two nights wondering where the hell you were, and if I'd ever see you again. Our relationship seems more tenuous than ever and when you started talking about that blond, I...I lost control."

"Blame the victim," Mulder muttered.

"No blame, just trying to explain." Skinner's tone wasn't the slightest bit apologetic. "It was cowardly of you to walk out Saturday."

Mulder swallowed, and his eyes flashed bright, but he didn't say anything.

Scully shifted nervously. "I think I ought -"

"Stay," both men commanded. "I was wrong to buy the house without talking to you about it." Skinner sighed. "Dana says I've been swallowing up your life lately. I'm sorry."

Dana? Mulder lifted his eyes. "By the way, I ran into Evelyn and Steven. They said to ask you about your weekend." He shifted his stare to Scully. "And my partner's."

"I stayed there Saturday night," Scully volunteered. "We were both very worried about you."

"Mmm," Mulder said.

"I even borrowed a pair of your pajamas," Scully persisted. "And I slept on the sofa in the den."

Mulder looked up. "I would have loved to see that," he said, then he flicked a glance at Skinner. "What happens to the guest gets the best bed?"

"She wouldn't take it."

"I'm going now," Scully said. She inched past Skinner.

The two men glared at each other for a moment. Finally, Mulder sighed. "Roses aren't going to do it this time."

"No," Skinner agreed.

"I want to be alone for a little while," Mulder said quietly.

Skinner looked as if Mulder had hit him back. "Will you … will you come home tonight?"

Mulder's lips twisted. "Define home."

"The condo. I'm going to pull out of the house deal."

Mulder finally met his eyes. "Can you do that?"

Skinner nodded. "It will cost some money, but I can do that."

"How much?"

Skinner shrugged. "Eleven thousand."

Mulder swallowed again. "Is it that great?"

Skinner shrugged. "I thought so."

"Can we see it tonight?"

Skinner nodded. "Sure. I'll set it up."

"I'm not promising -"

"I know."

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

Skinner shut the door, and leaned against the other side, sagging, relief falling over him in waves. An hour ago, he thought he had destroyed their relationship, destroyed Mulder. He couldn't believe he had actually slapped Mulder. And when he did, he saw firsthand what Mulder had been through growing up. He saw Mulder fold up, shut down, retreat. It was amazing, horrifying, as if someone had flipped a switch, every breath of life left him, the brightness of his eyes dulled, the fire went out. He didn't react, didn't try to defend himself. This was what an abused child looked like as an adult. Skinner wanted to weep. And when he reached for him, tried to express his grief, his regret, Mulder evaporated in his arms.

But now, maybe, it wasn't over. Mulder had agreed to see the house, not because he wanted to see it, not because Skinner wanted to see it, but because Mulder didn't want to cost Skinner eleven thousand dollars. "Fuck the money," he muttered to himself, going toward the elevator. "If he doesn't love the place, we're out of there."

They met at the house at seven thirty. Skinner didn't know if Mulder had eaten. He didn't know if Mulder had stayed in the office working. He didn't know anything except that he was so grateful to see the car roll to the curb.

Mulder slid out of his car, letting the upcoming breeze whip his long black coat around his legs, muss his dark hair. He approached Skinner only when they had both reached the sidewalk, and the realtor had walked toward them. Mulder turned and looked up at the house. Skinner watched him, anxious. "That's a lot of house for two people," he observed.

The realtor started her pre-programmed patter about all the features of the house, but Mulder put up a hand. "Just let me walk through it, please." He did. He started at the front porch and walked to both ends, looking down the side of the house, down the driveway. He went inside and wandered through the large living room with vaulted ceilings, and then into the dining room and finally into the enormous kitchen. He poked into every closet and cupboard. He went through the den, the downstairs bedroom, the guest bath. He went upstairs, his eyes missing no details, cornices, light switches, banisters, plumbing fixtures were all examined. He went from the smaller guest bedroom at the back, to the larger master bedroom, and went in and out of both closets, and the bathroom. He stared down at the jacuzzi for a long time. Then he looked at the massive fireplace that dominated the bedroom. He smiled at it. Just for a moment, but Skinner found himself finally breathing.

Mulder went downstairs, and out into the backyard. It was dark, but there were flood lights along the path to the garage, so he walked all the way to the back of the yard and back again. Finally, he came inside, and found Skinner and the realtor making nervous chatter in the kitchen. "We'll have to paint," he announced. "I'm tired of that all-white crap in your place." He turned and walked back down the hall.

Skinner drew a deep breath, and then reached out to shake the realtor's hand. "We're going to take it," he said.

The realtor looked at him. "I thought you and your wife were buying it," she said awkwardly.

"I don't have a wife," Skinner said sharply. "I have a partner, and he and I are going to take the house. Is that going to be a problem?" He knew that his size and demeanor and challenging expression intimidated her.

"Oh, no, Sir," she stammered. Her eyes went toward the hall again, and Skinner realized that her problem wasn't that she was selling a family size house to a gay couple, but that Mulder turned out to be part of that gay couple. Skinner had to face the facts back at Thanksgiving that he was going to have to get used to the way Mulder made heads turn. Kyle was still calling, trying to convince Skinner to invite him to dinner, only because he wanted to be with Mulder. Skinner didn't think Kyle would ever make a move on his brother in law. Kyle just wanted to be near him. Well, Skinner could certainly understand that feeling. He softened his tone for the disappointed realtor. "Good night. Thanks for coming out again. When will escrow close?"

"It will take about thirty days," she murmured.

"Thanks again." Skinner turned and went outside.

Mulder was standing in the front yard, gazing up at the windows of the second floor, hands on hips, coat pushed back like a cape behind him.

Skinner approached him, smiling. "What's the matter? Is it haunted?" He looked up too.

"It's a hell of a lot of house for two people," Mulder said.

"It's private, Kit. It's ours." He tried to urge Mulder back to the cars. "It's fifteen minutes closer to the office. You can sleep in fifteen more minutes every day."

"I guess we'd better start contacting kennels to find our Dobie," Mulder muttered.

"I was only kidding about the Doberman," Skinner said. "There are a lot of breeds I prefer."

"I prefer mutts," Mulder said meaningfully.

"Okay, then we go to the humane society and pick one out," Skinner offered. "Hungry?"

Mulder shook his head.

"What about a drink?" Skinner persisted.

"I'm going to stay out of bars for a while," Mulder said flatly.

"We could go to the Iron Horse," Skinner offered.

Mulder shook his head. "That's the last place I want to go. I just want to go back to the condo." He went to his car and climbed in.

Skinner watched him pull away with a sigh. Pull away is what he's been doing all day. He's not ready to trust me, yet. But at least he agreed to the house. Smiling slightly at the faint taste of victory, he went to his own car.

When he got back to the condo, Mulder was standing in the middle of the living room, staring. Skinner came up behind him. "Better?" he asked.

Mulder nodded, wordless. Finally, he looked back. "When did you do this?"

"Saturday night, while Scully was asleep on the sofa. You should have been here, Kit. She reamed me out."

"Yeah, she can do it," Mulder agreed. He shrugged out of his topcoat, and draped it over his arm. "She really slept in my pajamas?"

Skinner nodded. "She didn't look as cute in them as you do."

"Cute." Mulder wrinkled his nose.

"The realtor thought you were cute, too," Skinner added, wryly. "She was very disappointed to find out you were the other half of the couple that was buying the house."

Mulder drew a deep breath. "If you ever do anything like that again, I'm out and I'm not coming back."

Skinner nodded. "But you have to be willing to participate a little, too. I wouldn't have done this alone, if you had been willing to get involved."

"Then stop rushing things," Mulder said. "Listen, you didn't turn your life completely upside down the way I did. You've had time to adjust. I haven't. Let me get used to one sensation before you rush on to another. Think of it as ...making love for the first time. You gave me time to adjust then."

Skinner nodded. "Fair enough." He came up to pull Mulder into an embrace and was hurt and dismayed when Mulder stiffened up in his arms. "Mulder, I'm so sorry I hit you."

Mulder brushed him off. "I don't want to talk about it anymore." He went to the closet and put his trench coat on a hanger and started upstairs.

"Then what are we going to do?" Skinner demanded, following him upstairs.

"I just …" Mulder was rubbing his arms. "I just … need to be alone for a couple of days." He went to the bed and pulled one of the pillows away. "I'll sleep in the den."

"Kit."

He shook his head.

Skinner tried once more to take him into his arms, and what he got in response terrified him. Mulder went limp, wide-eyed, sinking to his knees, pulling his arms up, tucking his elbows to his sides, his hands hovering somewhere near his face, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched, and he shivered, as if waiting for the next blow. He was completely submissive.

Skinner realized that this had been his defense when he was a child. If he didn't fight back, his father didn't hurt him as bad. Swallowing hard, Skinner turned away, and went back downstairs. How could Mulder take the physical abuse heaped on him daily in his job without completely cracking up? He knew that suspects had hit him. He knew that Krycek had hit him. Mulder had been punched, kicked, shot, slapped and knocked down, and he got right back up and gave as good as he got. Never, ever, had he just put his neck on the chopping block before. Skinner went to the bar and poured himself a drink.

Maybe Mulder's association with me as a father-figure goes deeper than I realized, he thought, sipping. I thought he was over that, long ago. The way he fights back, stands up for himself, spits in my face … I guess, it was all a matter of trust, and I just slapped the hell out of all that. He made a face, emptied the glass and went back upstairs. Mulder was still slumped against the bed, shivering.

"Mulder," he said, using a name that Mulder would respond to automatically. "Come on, let's get you to bed." He eased Mulder up, getting no resistance. Skinner led him into the den, and put the pillow down. "I'll get you a blanket," he promised, pausing to brush hair from Mulder's empty eyes. When he brought the blanket from the downstairs closet, he heard Mulder in the guest bathroom, going through his nightly routine, and he felt better.

He hadn't been asleep long. He had watched CNN for a long time, not hearing what the president was up to, thinking about what he had seen tonight. When he realized that he had seen the same Wolf Blitzer interview three times, and still didn't know what he was talking about, he turned the television and the lights off, and rolled onto his side, reaching out, missing Mulder's warmth beside him. But then something woke him.

He sat up with a jerk, fumbling for his glasses, his gun. Then he heard it again. A long wail, "Nooooo."

Damn it, Mulder. He pushed the bedclothes back and stumbled for the bedroom door. When he reached the den, he found Mulder on the floor, curled almost fetal, his hands locked around his long legs, his head ducked down, shaking and moaning. "I didn't mean to..." he muttered, fretfully. "I didn't mean to..."

"Shh," Skinner said, gathering him up. "Shh, easy." His heart was pumping almost as hard as Mulder's. He hadn't been this alarmed since that night at the hotel in Los Angeles. He hadn't been as frightened, since that night last March. "It's okay, honey." He stroked Mulder's hair and shoulders. "It's okay. I'm right here."

Slowly, he felt Mulder's body relax, the shivering slow to an occasional shudder. The moaning stopped. Skinner shifted his weight, trying to pull Mulder upright. "Come on, honey. Come on, Mulder, let's go to bed." Somehow, magic, superpowers, dumb luck, he got Mulder down the hall and into their bed. Mulder didn't put up any fight. There didn't seem to be any fight left.

As Skinner got Mulder under the blankets and pulled them up over his bare shoulders, Mulder opened his eyes and looked at him. Skinner tried to smile encouragingly. Mulder reached out, caught his shoulders and pulled him down into a bone crushing embrace.

Finally, he managed to extricate himself, brought the blankets up to cover Mulder's shoulders and climbed into bed beside him with a weary sigh. Even still, no matter how much effort it took, it was still worth it to get Mulder back into his bed. Mulder seemed to echo the sentiment, rolling into his arms, willingly, snuggling down, pressing his brow against Skinner's shoulder, his arms folded over his chest, his hands tucked under his arms.

I haven't seen him sleep like that in a long time, Skinner thought, running his hands through the thick brown hair. Poor kid. What a way to grow up, being in constant fear of someone he wanted so desperately to love. Someone should have put a bullet in Bill Mulder a long time ago.

- END part 2 of 13 -
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