Big Deals (part 3 of 13)

by Mik

It was raining in Chicago.

Mulder, who had been up all night, slept on the two hour red-eye, and was grumpy and slightly dazed as they deplaned. Scully had been mercifully quiet up to this point, but at the luggage carousel, she had to spoil it. "How's the move going?" she asked, reaching for her little overnight bag.

"We got the moving done this weekend," Mulder grumbled, reaching for his garment bag and her suitcase. "We've still got about forty years of unpacking to do."

"I suppose that's why you volunteered to speak at this symposium?" Scully teased.

"I didn't volunteer," Mulder assured her. His nose twitched slightly as his voice cranked up to what could only be described as a whine. "He pulled rank on me."

Scully chuckled. "That's what you get for marrying the boss," she said softly, so that no one else would hear.

"He pulled rank there, too," Mulder answered. He looked around. "What's next?"

Scully could see that he was in a really foul mood. He knew she could see it by the complacent arrangement of her face. "We've got a car," she said, pointing, as if they could see the Hertz desk from where they stood.

Mulder tossed the garment bag over his shoulder. "I refuse to run through the airport," he warned her.

Even at that hour, O'Hare was a madhouse, so they didn't speak again until they were putting the luggage in the trunk of the Toyota Camry registered to them. Scully, who had been giving him little glances all morning, sent one more to him. "So, how's everything going?"

"Fine," he told her, shortly. In truth, things weren't fine. Skinner had been treating him as if he was made of glass; had been since the night they agreed to buy the house. Skinner had been charming, and caring and concerned, but he did not touch Mulder, or try to initiate sex. Mulder felt a little lonely and lost. And now they had moved into that enormous house, and he felt even more lonely, even more easily lost. He wished Skinner would just blow up; yell, scream, punch him, so they could get back to their normal (or what passed for normal in their household) life.

"Oh, so we're back to that, are we?" Scully murmured as they climbed into the car.

"Back to what?" Mulder asked, adjusting the seat for his long legs.

"Back to where we lie to each other and say we're fine," she responded, tightening the seat belt.

He arched a brow at her. He had gotten to the point where he could do it almost as well as she did. Skinner hated it when they would both do it during a meeting in his office. Of course, Skinner could see them both doing it, Scully had no idea and Mulder did it just to make Skinner's eyes bulge a little. Part of his perverse sense of humor, as Skinner once called it. "And how are you, Scully?" he challenged.

"Actually, I am fine," she assured him serenely.

"Want to tell me about the trip to Baltimore?" he confronted.

She surprised him again, with a slight nod. "As a matter of fact, I do, but we'll wait until we're in the hotel. In the meantime …" She turned and raised her brow. "How are things?"

"Awkward," he confessed. "He barely speaks to me above a whisper. He walks like he's on eggshells whenever he's around me. Didn't you notice it the other day in that conference? It was embarrassing as hell, him tiptoeing around me as if I was PMSing and he didn't want to set me off. Those two DOD guys were just shaking their heads."

"Don't worry. They didn't notice anything. They don't know your...history," Scully said carefully.

"And that makes a difference?" Mulder complained.

"I suppose not." She looked down at her hands, her expression sad and slightly uncertain. "Are you sorry?"

"For what?" Mulder demanded, exasperated. "For walking out on him? For marrying him? For getting involved with him in the first place? For working for the Bureau? For having leftover pizza for breakfast?"

Scully looked at him, aghast. "I was talking about marrying him, but are you sorry about the pizza?"

Mulder shrugged. "I expect I will be - about the pizza." He sighed. "As for getting married, I don't know. When he asked me, it made so much sense, but as we both know, theory and practice are two different things." He sighed again. "I love him, there's no question about that." He sent a glance out the driver's side window, to hide his embarrassment. It was the first time he had admitted that to anyone. "And, I like being around him. Since this whole thing with the house started, I've really missed being close to him..."

Scully looked up when his voice trailed away. "Mulder?"

He jerked his attention back to her. He had been remembering the first night back in the condo when they returned from Hawaii. Skinner basically pounced on him in the hallway. He doubted he'd ever be able to walk again, and they fell asleep in front of the television downstairs. He woke up, wrapped in a blanket, his head on Skinner's lap, while Skinner slept, his head falling back against the sofa. Skinner's fingers were tangled, possessively, in his hair. "Sorry. I'm dead on my feet. We stayed up so late, just trying to get all the boxes into the right rooms, that I didn't see any sense in going to bed. That couple of hours on the plane is all the sleep I've had this weekend."

"Oh." Scully looked at her watch. "Well, we don't have to make an appearance until dinner tonight. Why don't you grab a nap when we get to the hotel."

"Tonight?" Mulder complained. "Why did we have to fly out so early, then?"

"Because I wanted to attend one of the break-out sessions this afternoon," Scully confessed. "I'm sorry. When I booked these reservations, I didn't know this would be the weekend you would be moving."

"Not a problem," Mulder said gently. When it came to Scully's wants and needs, he couldn't say no. Her association with him had cost her so much, and she always asked for so little. So he had to make do with a couple of hours sleep. If attending that class made her happy, it was well worth it. "But I'm not going to sleep until you tell me about Baltimore," he warned.

She smiled. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

Mulder flicked her a startled glance. He thought he was going to have to pry the information out of her. She seemed almost … eager. "Oh," he said, after a moment. "Good."

They were rolling up in front of the Convention Center Hotel, when Scully turned back to him. "How are you doing, Mulder?"

He had almost put his teeth to his lower lip to form the word fine, but he stopped himself. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know what's going on. I feel out of control again. I don't like that."

"Have you thought about talking to him?" she suggested.

He shrugged and swung the car up to the valet park. "I don't know what to say."

"How about what you just told me?" she suggested softly. "He probably really needs to hear it now." She sought his eyes. "Mulder, if you could have seen him that night..."

"I'd rather have seen you, in my pajamas," he answered, with a grin.

She gave him a disapproving frown. "I don't take talk like that from a married man."

A married man? Since when? "Do you think of me like that?" he asked abruptly.

"Like what?" She was releasing her seat belt.

He caught her arm before she could unlock her door. "Married. Do you really think of me as a married man?"

She surprised him with a nod. "You know, I really do. Maybe it's because I went to the wedding. I saw how he feels about you, how you feel about him. But, I do see you as a married man. Kind of...you know," she shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "...Off limits."

Mulder smiled, slightly. It was comforting. If someone as analytical and by-the-book as Dana Scully looked at their bizarre arrangement as a reasonable reality, then it must be true. His fingers tightened on her arm. "But I'm always there for you. You know that, Scully?"

She gave him the most beautiful, Mona Lisa smile it almost broke his heart. "I'm counting on that, Mulder," she said, and pushed her car door open.

Upstairs, she took her key from Mulder, and let the bellboy take her bags into her room. Mulder went into his room, dropped his briefcase on the bed, unlocked the adjoining door, and put his garment bag in the closet. He glanced at the bed longingly and dropped into one of the chairs near the window. He wasn't going to run the risk of falling asleep and missing what Scully had to say to him. He rubbed his face with the heels of his hands, and glanced at his watch. It was almost lunchtime in D.C. He wondered if he should call Skinner and let him know his two 'favorite' agents had made it in one piece. He decided against it.

There was a tap at the adjoining door. "Come in," he called, and felt his heart rate start to climb in anticipation.

She had changed, shed her Scully skin, and was wearing jeans and a pale pink sweater. She looked shy, but definitely not uncertain. "Ready to talk?" she asked.

He nodded, indicating that she should take a seat.

She eased down on the end of his bed, lowered her eyes to her hands, drew a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. "I went to Baltimore, to think about something I had recently learned."

Mulder felt his chest tighten. More cancer? Another threat? Something about him? Something about her? He nodded again, not trusting his voice.

"Actually, Walt suggested it," she said with a little laugh.

'Walt'? He nodded again.

"I mean, about going to Baltimore. He didn't know about the other part." She looked up, sought his eyes. "I wanted to talk to you about it before I told anyone else." She looked down again, sweet, and shy and vulnerable.

Mulder didn't nod anymore. He was tensed, waiting for the worst possible news.

She lifted her eyes again. "I want to have a baby."

"Oh, Scully," he said on a long breath.

She put up a hand. "I know, I know. There's no way I can have one. Not," she amended with a shrug, "the conventional way. But I've been to see my gynecologist, and he assures me that there's enough...structure in place for me to undergo embryo placement. That's what I'm going to do." She sought his eyes. "What do you think?"

Mulder felt a rush of warmth for her. It did break his heart. "I think that, if that's what you want, I'll support you any way I can."

She let out a breath, as if she had been holding it. "Dr. Hanson says that donor eggs are easily obtained these days, that they're safe, and less expensive than they once were. They're anonymous, of course, but I can pick and choose genetic traits."

"Red hair and a big brain?" he suggested, smiling.

She shrugged. "Anyway, that's only part of the picture. Since I don't have too much to contribute regarding the mother's genetic properties..." She paused, choosing words. "...I decided I wanted to have some control over the father's genetic properties."

Mulder felt his gut tighten too. He thought he knew what she was asking, but he wasn't secure enough in his assumption to speak. He could only nod again.

"So, what I'm asking from you, is that will you be the baby's father?" she finished in a high, breathy voice.

He was quiet for a moment. The idea...being the father of Scully's baby, it was like Christmas and birthdays and Samantha's homecoming in one sentence. But, what if that was all she wanted? "I need something clarified here," he said, distantly, not daring to get his hopes up. "Do you want me to merely donate genetic material, or do you want me to be the father?"

She seemed surprised that he would ask such a question. "I want you to be the father," she said, emphatically. "Anyone could donate sperm, Mulder. I want you and Walt to have active roles in the child's life. Is that..." She risked a look up at him. "Is that asking too much?"

Mulder stopped thinking. He came out of the chair and caught her, pushing her back on the bed, kissing her cheek, her throat, her temple, her lips. He was squeezing too tight for her to breathe, and all he heard from beneath him was her helpless little sighs, intermingled with laughter. "Mulder? Is that a yes?"

He backed away, embarrassed. "Yes."

She sat up, brushing her hair back, straightening her sweater. "This has got to be the only time on record when the decision was more fun than the conception."

Mulder ducked his head. "Sorry. I got...carried away."

"It's okay," she assured him.

"When do you...I mean, there's obviously some kind of timetable in place," Mulder began.

She nodded. "Dr. Hanson says we can probably start the procedure next week."

So soon? "What do you need me to do?"

She blushed a little. It looked so sweet on her that he almost pounced again. "Well, you'll have to have your sperm count determined and then...um...abstain for a couple of days."

"Trust me, that's not going to be a problem," Mulder said grimly.

She looked up, surprise and worry overshadowing her happiness.

"Forget it," he said quickly. "And then what?"

She drew a deep breath. "Well, then you provide the...genetic material. After the fertilization, I'll have to have them implanted. You don't have to be there for that."

"I'll be there," he promised.

She nodded, and there was a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. "And then we wait and see."

Mulder nodded, too. He was too overwhelmed to really think clearly. He and Scully were going to have a baby. Without ever having sex. And they call my department Science Fiction, he thought with a rueful chuckle.

She looked up at the sound of his laugh. "What?"

He shook his head. "Technology."

She seemed to understand. But she was Scully, and Scully was genetically engineered to understand. "You know, it doesn't always work on the first try," she warned.

"Hey, you can have all the genetic material you want, free of charge," he offered. Then he frowned. "This procedure isn't inexpensive, is it?"

She shrugged.

"I want to pay half."

"Oh, no, Mulder, this is -"

"I'm putting in half of the genetic material, shouldn't I pay for half the procedure?" he argued.

"You just bought a house," she protested, her cheeks getting redder.

It was his turn to shrug. "I can afford it. You and Kat always assume that I was living one step away from bankruptcy. The reason I never had any money is because I put it all into savings accounts. Between twelve years of credit union, and the last advance I got, I could have paid cash for that house. Now, let me help pay for this." He leaned forward, catching her hands. "Scully, there's one thing you've got to understand. If I do this, I intend to be there all the way. I will be the baby's father - good or bad. You can't meet Mr. Right and move to Los Angeles, and expect me to just forget you and the kid ever existed. I plan to be part of everything that goes on in his life."

Her eyes were wide and wet, but her mouth quirked. "His?"

"Or hers. Stop changing the subject." He squeezed her fingers. "Want to change your mind?"

She shook her head, fervently, squeezing back. "That's the reason - one of the reasons I wanted you to do this. I knew you'd take it seriously, you'd want to be a real father. I want my baby to have that. I couldn't imagine anyone more loving or caring than you, and I couldn't think of anyone I trusted more than you." Her voice quivered. "I hope he has your eyes."

"And your nose," Mulder laughed.

She pulled her hands free and rubbed at her eyes. "Do you want to discuss it with Walt?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, let's surprise him."

"Mulder," she said, with a warning note in her voice. "This is too big a decision for you to make without sharing it with him. I won't let you use this baby as payback for the house."

"I'm not," he protested indignantly, even though that was exactly what he was doing. "Trust me, Scully, this is the way to do it. He wants kids. He's been trying to convince me that we ought to pursue adoption. I just don't want to put him through the ups and downs while we get the procedure right. I'm just going to wait until we're sure." He smiled at her, winningly. "It will make a great surprise, believe me." He stopped, realizing that he was discussing the possibility of becoming a parent with his female partner, and adoption with his male partner, and it suddenly seemed so bizarre. He saw her looking at him thoughtfully, and he felt a need to add, "It goes without saying that you don't have to worry about any...health issues with me."

"Oh, I know, Mulder. Neither one of you has ever been in a relationship like this. I'm not worried about any STDs."

Mulder arched a brow at her. "How did you know that?"

Scully smiled at him. "It's so obvious. You're both so overwhelmed by what's happened to you. It's so clear that neither of you ever thought you'd be in a relationship like this. You're not … stereotypical."

"Thank God," Mulder said with feeling. "There were these two guys that lived across the hall from us in the condo..." He made a face. "One of them called me cupcake."

It made Scully laugh and she fell back on the bed, holding her stomach. "Cupcake," she repeated, in a choked giggle.

Mulder leaned over her, his hands on either side of her shoulders. "If you ever call me that, I'll only kill you. Is that clear?"

"Oh, Mulder," she giggled. "You won't let me call you Kit, Sweetie or Cupcake. What's left?"

"Mulder," he said. "Same as ever." He straightened, because he had a tremendous desire to ease his body down over hers and practice collecting genetic material. It had been nearly a month, and suddenly his body was screaming for release and she looked very sweet in that pink sweater. He made himself sit down, hoping she didn't notice that he suddenly had an erection. "So, what does Maggie say about all this?"

She continued to lay there, giggling and brushing a renegade tear or two from her eyes. "She doesn't know." She struggled to sit up. "I told you, I was telling you first."

"What do you think she'll say?"

"Well, obviously, she'll wish I was married." She was sobering. "But, she'll be glad I picked you as the father. She knows you'll be a good father. She told me once."

It was Mulder's turn to blush. "Why would she tell you something like that?"

"Because she believes it. We were discussing my nephew, Matthew and what a good father Bill was becoming. We decided that Charlie is going to be dreadful as a father. But we thought you would be great. There's something, deep within you, that's almost childlike, and you're so full of compassion, and loyalty, and...and..." Another tear spilled over. She reached out for Mulder's hand and grasped it tightly. "Oh, thank you, Mulder. I was so afraid you'd turn me down."

"Why?" Mulder was stunned. How could she think he could refuse her anything?

"Because I know you think you wouldn't be a good father, and because I know you had feelings for me and -"

"Had? They haven't changed."

She looked away. "You shouldn't say things like that. You'll hurt Walt."

"'Walt', as you call him, knows exactly how I feel about you," Mulder assured her.

"Does he know how you feel about him?"

"Go away, Dear Abby," Mulder complained. "So, why didn't you ask 'Walt' to do this for you?"

She laughed and stood. "Oh, he can be the father of my next child," she promised.

"Hey, Scully, why don't you just move in with us?" Mulder suggested impulsively. "There's plenty of room in that house. And then we can just take turns. First me, and then Kat, and then me, and then - oof." Scully had given him a good punch to the stomach.

"You're obviously delirious from lack of sleep," she concluded. "Get some rest. I'll see you at dinner tonight."

Mulder walked her to the adjoining door. "Have fun breaking out."

She laughed quietly. "I hope he has your twisted sense of humor, too."

"You'll live to regret that," Mulder warned, and closed the door.

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

Skinner glanced at his watch. Six o'clock. He hadn't heard a word. Of course, if a plane had crashed on its way to Chicago, he'd have heard about that by now. And Chicago police had not located any bodies carrying Bureau identification. And Mulder and Scully rarely called in to announce they had arrived safely. Still, he wished he knew …

When he was married, whenever he went on the road, he always called Sharon, to make sure she locked the back door, and that the car was running properly, but really just to reassure her that he was all right. Why wouldn't Mulder do that? Because Mulder wasn't all right. He hadn't been all right for some time. Skinner ached just thinking about the way Mulder had looked that night. The way he folded up and surrendered himself to whatever wrath Skinner might display. It broke his heart to imagine Mulder at twelve, at fourteen, at sixteen when he went away to school, allowing himself to be beaten, just to satisfy his father's need to feel powerful. At sixteen, Mulder could have easily turned the tables on his father. Skinner had seen a photograph of Mulder at that age, and he had seen Bill Mulder. At sixteen, Mulder was probably five or six inches taller than his father, and was pure muscle. But he withstood silently, the only gift he could give his father that would be accepted was his total submission. And now he was giving that same gift to Skinner.

"Well, damn it, Kit, I don't want it," he snarled aloud.

His office door pushed open. "Sir?" It was Kim. "Did you call me?"

Skinner focused on her. She had worn the same air of disapproval for three months. He was getting good and sick of it. "It's after six, Kim. Why are you still here?"

"Just finishing up a few things." She frowned at him. "Did you call me?"

"No."

"But, you did say something?" she prompted.

"I am allowed to speak, occasionally," he growled.

"Yes, but not usually to yourself," she returned. She narrowed her eyes. "Do you want me to call and see if he checked in?"

Skinner's eyes widened in surprise, and he knew that she knew him well enough that even with the glare of the lamp in his glasses, she had seen the response.

Kim looked over her shoulder and then back into the office. "You're concerned because this is the first time he's gone out of town since you two had that fight."

"If that's an answer, I missed the question," Skinner said, shortly. It irritated him that Kim's efficiency and competency would come, literally, into his bedroom.

"I'll call the hotel, sir." She backed out.

If there had been something within his immediate reach, he would have thrown it at the door. You see what you're doing to me, Kit? he demanded silently. Resolutely, he reached for a pen, picked up a budget roll-out, and began to tick off items that could be recharged to another department.

A few moments later, Kim knocked on the door. "Excuse me, sir. Your...Mr....um, Agent Mulder is giving his speech right now. I asked the hotel to have him call you when he was through."

Skinner couldn't help it. He was relieved. "Thank you, Kim. Good night."

Kim remained at the door. "What am I supposed to call him, sir?"

"Agent Mulder," Skinner said impatiently.

"When I am referring to him in a more personal level," she persisted. "When you were previously married, I referred to her as your wife. What do I call him?"

"Agent Mulder," Skinner repeated, straight-faced.

Her eyes widened.

Skinner's mouth twisted, struggling against a smile. "Hey, if I have to call him that, so do you."

She looked at him for a moment, believing him. "Well," she said awkwardly. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Kim," he said, feeling better.

She still hovered in the door. "Sir. You know I don't approve of homosexuality," she began.

Skinner looked up. Was she about to quit? If so, why didn't she do that back in November when he told her his plans? "You've made that apparent, Kim," he agreed.

"Well, I just wanted you to know that, while I don't condone what you're doing, I know that he...that Agent Mulder makes you happy. So...I guess, now that I've had a chance to reflect on it, I'm glad you...you know..." She twisted her fingers at her waist, nervously. "...got married."

"Thank you, Kim," Skinner said with a slight bow of his head. "I feel much better now. I would hate to lose you because you had an ethical disagreement with me."

"Oh, no one could ever say you were unethical," Kim protested.

Skinner winced inwardly. Mulder could. He did. "Thank you, Kim. Now, why don't you go home? You've put in a long day."

"So have you, sir," she pointed out.

"Yes, but I have no one to rush home to, tonight." This was delivered with a wry smile that down-twisted into sadness at the end.

"Would you...would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?" she asked shyly.

Skinner was stunned. In the seven years Kim had been his assistant, she had never, ever, indicated that they even had private lives, much less allowed the lines between them to blur. "I...think that would be very nice," he decided. He closed the budget roll-out and put it in a drawer. "Let me get my coat."

Kim nodded and backed out of the office door.

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

They went to the Iron Horse, simply because Skinner couldn't think of another place. Kim was very quiet, such a departure from Kit in his prime, Skinner thought. She was polite, and sweet and deferential, all completely unlike his new partner. She asked just the right amount of questions to keep him talking while they drank their coffee, and she never asked anything that even remotely touched on his relationship with Fox Mulder.

Skinner was enjoying himself, much to his surprise. It had been a long time since anyone asked about his experiences in school, his law career, his early days in the Bureau. Mulder certainly never did. When Mulder talked, it was about whatever popped into his head at that particular moment, whether it was the process of making cheese, or how much blood a person could lose before there was no longer any hope of revival (and oddly, both those topics had been touched on in one long, disjointed conversation). Kim also laughed in all the appropriate places, and could smile sympathetically too.

Skinner suggested dinner, which she accepted shyly, and allowed him to order - another thing Mulder would never tolerate. Then he began to ask her questions. He was stunned to find out that his assistant had an MBA. "Why are you working as my assistant?" he demanded. "You could be -"

"You hired me while I was in school. You tolerated all my odd hours while I was trying to attend classes and write papers. You let me use the data banks for my research. How could I be so disloyal to you, after all that?" she asked, earnestly. "Besides," she added with a shrug of her shoulders. "In today's economy, I'm either overqualified, or they've filled their quota of MBAs at McDonalds."

"It's a damn shame," Skinner said, equally earnest. "You're too talented to …" Then he stopped. "But, you are talented. You're really a miracle worker. You're underpaid and underappreciated, but you really are talented. You can handle a dozen tasks at once, keep track of my miserable schedule, fight off those who would want to invade the inner sanctum, and you do it all with a sweet smile. You really are amazing."

She blushed and ducked her head. "Thank you, sir."

"Well, Assistant Director Skinner, where is your charming young man this evening?"

They both looked up. D.D. Ashcroft was at their table, his puffy face split by a cream licking grin.

Skinner felt himself blushing. "In Chicago," he answered, calmly. After all, there was nothing wrong with him taking his assistant on a much deserved dinner break. "You remember my assistant, Kim? Would you like to join us?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to interfere." He put his hand on Skinner's shoulder and squeezed. "You be sure and tell him I said hello. By the way, that was a remarkable performance that night. The song, I mean. I'm still thinking about it." He moved away.

Skinner didn't know whether to be enraged or amused. Ashcroft was defending Mulder!

"Song?" Kim repeated, when she could find her voice.

Skinner gestured faintly. "Agent Mulder sang a song at a dinner we attended," he said. There was no need to mention that it was at their wedding dinner, since that was a subject she didn't care for. "Everyone was surprised to find out he could sing."

"I am surprised," she admitted. "What was the song?"

"A Rod Stewart song," Skinner said. "I don't remember the name." You bastard, he thought. You really don't remember the name.

She looked at him for a moment. "I'll bet you sing, don't you, sir?"

Skinner caught his breath. "I … not in a long time." Look at those eyes. So different from his, but so sweet, and demure and wise. He looked away, uncomfortably.

Their food came. They ate in silence for a while. Then, there was the tiny chirp of his cell phone. As he unfolded it, he looked at Kim. "Excuse me. Skinner."

"Mulder." He sounded tired, cranky.

"What can I do for you?" Skinner asked politely.

"I don't know. I was told you wanted me to call."

"Oh, yes. Kim left that message. How was the flight?"

"Didn't you hear? We crashed somewhere over Dubuque. Where are you?"

"The Iron Horse."

Mulder was stifling a yawn. "Drinking alone? On a Monday?"

"No, I'm having dinner. I...invited Kim to dinner."

"Kim? Our Kim?"

"My Kim," Skinner corrected. "How did the speech go?"

"Fine. I showed slides of Hoover in drag. The black cocktail number was the favorite. I'll let you go. Good night." There was a click at his end.

Skinner looked at his phone. He wasn't sure if he meant to make Mulder jealous, and he wasn't sure he liked the idea that he had tried. The worst of it was, he wasn't sure if he had succeeded. He tucked the phone back in his pocket and picked up his fork.

"You're very discreet, sir," Kim said approvingly.

"Well, as discreet as I can be, considering it's Mulder," Skinner said, trying to laugh. The bloom was off the evening.

"I would never have suspected that he was gay," she confided in a whisper. "I always thought he was in love with his partner."

Skinner chewed baked potato and swallowed. "He isn't. And, he still is."

Kim's brow crinkled up, confused. "Sir?"

Mulder would have followed that. It was the way he talked. Skinner learned it from him. "He isn't gay. And he is still in love with Agent Scully."

"But, he's -" She stopped, and her face went a deep shade of red. "I always assumed he seduced you, sir."

Skinner laughed out loud, and other diners turned to look at him in annoyance. "Would you be shocked if I told you it was the other way around?" he challenged.

The red was gone, replaced by white of shock.

"I guess you would be," Skinner concluded.

"I would never believe you were gay," she murmured.

"I'm not. I guess I'm bisexual, although, until I got involved with Mulder, I didn't know it." It felt good to be totally honest with someone.

"Then he did -"

"No. I just decided I was interested in him." He reached for his scotch. "Look, Kim, I know you'd never dream of asking, so I'll tell you. I don't really think the feelings we have for each other are sexual. They are so deep they defy description. The sex is just a by-product, and not the driving force. We like being together. We...love each other." At least, Skinner amended silently. I love him. "There, now, I've been as blunt as I can be. Do you have a problem with it?"

She surprised him by smiling a little. "It's very romantic, isn't it, sir?"

Skinner nodded. "I think so."

"I never thought of you as romantic."

"Few people do."

"Does he?"

Skinner nodded again.

"Is he?"

Skinner thought about it. "Romantic? No. It isn't in his nature. But, he's very honest, and affectionate. He's fun to be around."

"He makes you happy, sir." It was a statement.

"Very much."

"Except lately."

He looked up.

"Well, you seemed so happy for so many months, and then, this past month, you've seemed so unhappy. Ever since you hit him." There was a note of disapproval in her voice again.

"How did you -"

"Sir," she said, in a patronizing tone. "He had a big red handprint on his cheek. Everyone knows you hit him."

Skinner didn't realize this. He lowered his eyes. "I was wrong to do so."

"Yes, sir." She waited.

"I ruined everything," he confessed in a rush.

"He won't forgive you," she said.

"Oh, he's forgiven me," Skinner said, annoyed. Mulder shouldn't have. "But, he doesn't trust me anymore."

"Oh, sir." Kim's soft eyes got very wide with fright. "And now you're having dinner with me." She looked in the direction Ashcroft had gone. "And he'll tell him about it."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Skinner soothed, but without much conviction. "Mulder's very reasonable about things like that. He's not jealous in nature." Still, he caught himself signaling for the check. "I'm afraid this didn't turn out to be a very pleasant evening for you."

"Oh, no, sir. It was a real pleasure to get to know you better," Kim said sweetly. She dabbed at her lips with the napkin. "And I've always been curious about this place."

"What did you think?" Skinner signed for it.

"It's very nice." Kim stood, collecting her purse.

"I'll see you home," he offered.

"Oh, no, sir, my car's at the office."

"Then I'll see you back to your car." Skinner had this irrational desire to pull her into his arms and hold her, just for the sense of security her calm presence could provide. But he didn't. He escorted her to his car, and drove back to the Hoover in silence. Then he went home, achingly alone.

The new house was big. He didn't realize how big until he started moving their furniture into it. The living room looked so empty with his sofa and two chairs - even the home theater didn't help fill it. The dining room needed a table twice as large. And the bedroom … the bed that had filled up his bedroom in the condo, fit at a nice angle to the fireplace and windows, and left enough room for Mulder's huge dresser, his own stairmaster, and another king-size bed, if they wanted one. The room that they had converted to a den was only half full and there was one bedroom completely empty.

As he walked down the hall toward the kitchen, his footsteps seemed loud and hollow around him. As they were moving over the past week, he realized he missed being able to hear Mulder, know exactly where he was at all times. Mulder could disappear on him in this place. "You were out of your mind to buy this place," he told himself, and was startled by how loud his voice sounded in the emptiness.

He paused by the table in the living room and checked both answering machines. Mulder's was blinking. His was not. He was tempted to listen to Mulder's messages, but he didn't. Mulder needed some arena of privacy, and Skinner didn't feel like invading it now. He sorted the few pieces of mail that had been forwarded. Mostly flyers, although there was some paperwork from the Title company and from the credit union. He slit the envelopes open with a thumbnail and scanned over the title work. They finally put the house in both names. The credit union said he had … this wasn't right. He didn't have anything near that amount in his credit union. He had used it for the down payment. He flipped the paperwork over. He stared.

He didn't even know Mulder used the credit union. That little prick had almost eighty thousand dollars in his credit union. Well, maybe he hadn't gotten around to moving the advance into his mother's trust fund. No, there was no large deposit, just a steady four hundred and fifty dollars every month. Skinner was stunned. No wonder he always looked like he was down to his last dollar. He put a quarter of his take home away every month, and spent the rest on Italian suits and silk shirts.

Embarrassed, he carefully folded up the statement, slipped it into its envelope and took it upstairs to put it with Mulder's other mail and paperwork. Maybe Mulder wouldn't notice that he didn't open it himself. Eighty thousand dollars? What was he grousing about this house for?

Why should I be surprised? Skinner asked himself with a chuckle. Nothing about Mulder made sense. In the past few months, he had learned a great deal about the animal Volpine Mulderus. Mulder loved to run, but he didn't do it for fitness sake. He did it for the endorphins. He loved that high, but he had no use for people who used drugs or alcohol. He could not sit down to a table and enjoy a meal for the meal's sake. He didn't really grasp the concept of taking food from a plate. He nibbled, snacked, grazed. Sunflower seeds, of course, were his snack of choice, but Lifesavers, licorice and M & M's would do in a pinch.

Mulder was basically fidgety, couldn't sit still for long, but if a television documentary or basketball game caught his attention, he was lost for hours. He rarely read, but had no trouble spending hours on the Internet. He spoke in a husky rasp, but when he sang (and yes, he did sing when he didn't know anyone was around to hear him) he had a very pleasant baritone.

He was playful, moody, and occasionally sexually insatiable. He didn't really seem to care for most forms of sex, but he had become a champion at oral sex, reducing Skinner to putty in seconds, and he loved to cuddle. There were times when it seemed that he was trying to climb inside Skinner's skin, but otherwise, he didn't care to be touched. And he couldn't stand strangers or even acquaintances to touch him. Skinner felt almost privileged that he and Scully were allowed close enough to Mulder to actually make physical contact with him.

Mulder could rage against general injustices (and often did, at length) but could not express anger at any personal slights or wounds.

He was sweet, compassionate and funny, but he was not romantic. He was a wonderful dancer, but that was true whether he was by himself or wrapped in Skinner's arms. Skinner smiled at a memory of Mulder, months ago, before they had become involved. He had come down to the basement one Sunday, he couldn't recall the reason, and through the crack in the door, saw Mulder at his desk. He was listening to something loud and raucous, dressed in blue jeans, Doc Martens, his blue FBI jacket, while he worked on his computer. He was dancing in the chair, swinging his head back and forth, completely uninhibited, his eyes closed. At one point, he jumped to his feet, wiggling his ass and swaying, sliding his long, elegant fingers down his body. Looking back on it, it was probably one of the most erotic and primitive displays Skinner had ever seen, and if he had known then what he knew now, their affair would have started right then.

The hardest part of knowing and loving that wild animal, was that, no matter how he felt about Mulder, he never knew how Mulder felt about him. He was no fool. He knew he held no physical attraction for Mulder. He was in his fifties, and although physically fit, was hardly a young man. He was bald. He wore glasses. He was, in Mulder's words, a tight-ass. Mulder was beautiful, and men and women wanted him. Mulder didn't seem to notice.

He also knew that, no matter what Mulder said and did, he was still not totally comfortable in a same sex relationship. He was, by his own admission, still looking for that father-figure's approval and he got it in bucketfuls from Skinner, so he traded sex for the warmth, compassion and approval that he needed.

Still, Mulder was loyal and faithful and generous. He would never dump Skinner for another man, and he'd be very, very gentle about ending the relationship for another woman. Skinner's throat tightened. For a moment, he wished desperately that Mulder and Scully could have made something work. It would have been good for both of them. He closed his eyes and remembered the image of Mulder at the wedding; kneeling before that altar, his head bowed, his eyes shut, his hands trembling slightly. It was a picture he was going to carry with him to the grave - a place he was going to end up sooner than later, if he and Mulder didn't get their kinks worked out.

He had tried being gentle with Mulder, tried to appreciate his grief and lack of trust. Now, he just wanted to see if the old wives tale of hitting an amnesiac on the head would work for Mulder. If slapping him once sent him so deep inside himself, could he be slapped out of it? No, he decided firmly. It's not worth trying. But damn it, I've got to think of something. Well...Mulder won't be home until Friday. Maybe I can think of something by then.

- END part 3 of 13 -
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