Big Deals (part 8 of 13)

by Mik

Mulder came awake, aware of someone watching him. He twisted around and looked up. Skinner was in the rocking chair at the foot of the bed, the book in his hand closed over his fingers, looking at him. "What is it?" Mulder mumbled, blinking into the soft light of Skinner's reading lamp.

"Nothing. I was just looking at you."

Mulder pulled himself upward, and draped his long arms around his knees. "Why?"

"Because I like looking at you," Skinner said simply, sliding a bookmark into place and putting the book on the floor. "It's been eight months and I still can't seem to accept that you're legally mine."

Mulder rubbed his eyes. "You'd better. I'm non-refundable." The conversation made him uncomfortable, even when he was half asleep. "How's your mom?" They had come down to Atlanta to visit Mrs. O'Hara when she fell and broke her hip. They had gone directly from the airport to the hospital, because Skinner wanted to share the good news, but afterward, he sent Mulder home with his stepbrother, while he stayed with his mother and stepfather for a while. Skinner had spent four hours at the hospital, leaving Mulder alone with Kyle. Kyle had followed him around like a stray puppy, shyly touching his shoulder when he talked. If it hadn't been so pathetic, Mulder would have killed him, buried him in the backyard, and then told Skinner a story about alien abductions.

"She'll be okay," Skinner said, reaching up to turn off his light. "I don't think she's even aware she broke anything. She's so high about the baby, nothing else seems to be registering."

"She's taking it so well," Mulder mused, watching Skinner come to the bed, shrugging off his robe. "If it was my mom..." Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara seemed to be delighted that Skinner was going to become a father by proxy. They thanked Mulder over and over for including Skinner in the process, as if they thought Mulder could have had a choice in the matter.

"You've got to call her one of these days," Skinner said, tugging blankets around his legs. It was a narrow, old-fashioned four poster bed, not the type meant for two tall men to share. "She's got a right to know she's going to be a grandmother." He tugged his glasses off and put them on the bed stand.

"I know," Mulder agreed flatly. "It's just that, in order to do that, I've to explain how she'll become a grandmother, and then she'll want to know why I didn't wait until I got married to do this, and then I'll have to explain that I did get married, and then I'll have to bring her new son-in-law around to visit, and right about that time you and I will be arranging a funeral." He winced. "Or, you'll be arranging one. She might just kill me."

"Your mother loves you, Mulder," Skinner said, without conviction. He began to ease himself down on his back.

Mulder watched him, waiting, eager for Skinner to shift and squirm and make himself comfortable, and then he slid down, leeching himself to Skinner's side. This was the best part of marriage, he thought with a contented sigh. His arm draped across Skinner's chest felt every muscle, every ripple, every breath, every strong, sturdy heartbeat. He kissed Skinner's shoulder, and sucked lightly on the skin. He was getting to a point where he suspected he was addicted. He needed to hear Skinner's voice, touch his skin, taste him at least once a day, or he couldn't function.

He felt Skinner chuckle, and shift slightly, letting one broad hand find his hip and dip down toward his groin. Blindly, he knew every nuance of Mulder's body, knew where to stroke, where to pet, where to squeeze. Mulder felt himself getting hard, and he drew in a shuddering breath. "Kat, we'd break this bed," he warned. "And as accepting as your stepfather is, I don't think he wants to know what we actually do at night."

"Well, we've got to do something." Skinner pulled him into his arms, drawing Mulder's lithe frame up and over his own broad chest. "All the way down here, I was thinking I wanted you. It seems like it's been days."

"It has been," Mulder agreed. "I think it's been a week." He turned his head so he could rest his cheek on Skinner's shoulder, let Skinner's hands play over his back, his shoulders, his neck, his buttocks. "I've been so busy with Scully gone, I don't have any energy left for you. And you, A.D. Skinner, are definitely high maintenance."

"Oh, and you're an easy keeper?" Skinner asked, giving him a slight pinch. "Honestly, Mulder, it's only paperwork," he chided. "I've been dealing with it for years."

"Yeah, and you've got Kim," Mulder retorted. "I don't have anyone." He started to roll away. "If we're going to discuss work, I'm going to sleep. Bureau reporting practices are definitely a mood killer."

Skinner's arms tightened around him. "Stay. We'll talk about something else. How is Dana?"

"Fine. I told you she wasn't taking time off because of the pregnancy. She just wanted to go to California to see her brother and his wife. She'll be back in a week." Mulder lifted his head, and peered down into Skinner's eyes, dark and glowing without the protection of his glasses. "You'd better start saying something romantic, buddy, or this whole excursion is off."

"Romantic? Hmm. What would Mulder think was romantic?" Skinner pretended to think carefully. "E.B.E.s? Roswell? Poltergeists?"

"Stop, stop, stop." Mulder wiggled away from him.

"Seriously." Skinner reached out and stroked Mulder's back as he settled, face down in the narrow confines of the bed. "What is romantic to you?"

Mulder shook his head, in the pillow. He wasn't a romantic person. He didn't have a clue. "What are you thinking, right now?" he asked, muffled by the pillow.

"I'm thinking you've got the sexiest shoulders I've ever seen on a man," Skinner said, dragging a fingertip across one.

"They're skinny, and I don't stand up straight," Mulder countered.

"They feel great when I have my arms around them," Skinner returned easily. "I'm also thinking I'm going to explode if I don't get into you somehow."

Mulder lifted his head again, smiling wryly. "I'm supposed to fall for that line?"

"Come on, Kit, tell me what you want." Skinner leaned over and let his tongue trace Mulder's lips.

"I want to be in our jacuzzi, with you kissing me and doing us both," Mulder answered, rolling onto his back. He had always believed that the first time it happened, in Los Angeles, the experience was so intense because it was new to him, and it could never be duplicated. But since they moved into that house, Skinner had duplicated it many times, and added some new twists that made it better than ever.

"That's going to be a little difficult, since we're in Atlanta," Skinner drawled. "But, if you want a hand job -"

"No. I only like that when we're in the jacuzzi," Mulder said. "But I can think of something else I like." He wiggled his way under the bedclothes, and found Skinner's penis, inflamed, and waiting for him. He let his tongue trip around the giant head once or twice and then let it slide deep into his mouth. Above him, Skinner let out a loud moan. He pulled his mouth away. "Kat, you're going to wake up your stepdad."

True enough, faintly, they heard a door open, down the hall, and shuffling footsteps come their way. Mulder scrambled up and laid down against the pillows just as there was a light knock on their door. "Walt?" It was Chris, and he sounded concerned. "Walt, are you all right, Son?"

Skinner grabbed his robe and went to the door. "Sorry, Chris," he whispered. "Ki - Fox just had a nightmare. He's okay."

"A nightmare?" Chris sounded as if he thought Fox was a little too old for nightmares.

"He has a sleep disorder, Chris," Skinner said apologetically. "It's a neurological thing. He'll be all right. Sorry he woke you."

"Well, if everything's all right..." Chris was backing away from the door, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nightmares..."

Mulder waited until the door was shut before he sat up indignantly. "I didn't have a nightmare. You should have said you did. He already thinks I'm a pansy ass."

Skinner climbed into bed. "Come here, pansy ass."

"Fuck you, Skinner." Mulder rolled onto his side. "You're going to pay for that one."

"Come on, Kit," Skinner's voice took on an uncharacteristic wheedling tone. "We're going to be here, sleeping in this bed, three more days. Do you think I can wait that long?"

Mulder looked over his shoulder at him. "I've had to wait longer than that," he reminded him.

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

Mulder nodded at Kim as he came into the outer office. She was eyeing him speculatively, so he dropped a glance to his tie, to see if he had spilled coffee or anything. "He called?" he said.

She nodded. "Go on in."

Skinner was on the phone when Mulder went inside, but he waved Mulder to a chair enthusiastically. Because he had come upstairs without Scully, Mulder, as had become his practice since their relationship went public, left the door slightly ajar and went to 'his' chair. Skinner hung up the phone and pulled a file toward him. "I've got great news."

"Yeah?" Mulder eased himself back in the chair. It had taken him seven years to get truly comfortable in that office. "Winston was caught in a compromising position with Ronnie, from the mailroom? What?"

"You remember when we were in Atlanta, and you were complaining about the paperwork?"

"I have vivid memories of that weekend, yes," Mulder said. They had teased and struggled with each other for four days before locking themselves in the basement, away from Kyle, for about half an hour for some down and dirty on their knees sex. It had been fantastic. "But I don't think it was paperwork I was complaining about."

"You mentioned it," Skinner said, with a hint of a warning in his voice. "Anyway, Quantico has some first year trainees available for internships. I got one for your department." Skinner pushed the file across the desk. "You're going to love it. His name is Monty."

"There's a name near and dear to my heart," Mulder said, opening the file. "Nineteen, huh? Monty Shires. Sounds like a pseudonym. Have we run his prints? We don't even have a picture of him."

"These kids are brand new. His picture will be along in a day or two. What do you think, Mulder? Your own little …" He frowned. "What did you call yourself the other day?"

"Dogsbody," Mulder supplied, amused that Skinner found all those stupid little expressions of his misspent youth brilliant. "Gofer, grunt, it's all the same." He hugged the file to his chest. "And to think he's all mine. Scully will love this. Someone to go on munchie runs for her. You should see the way this woman eats. I can't believe she's only gained eight pounds since she got pregnant. When does he start?"

"He's coming in tomorrow morning for processing. We can all meet him around …" Skinner flicked a glance at his calendar. "… eleven o'clock? Bring Dana, too."

Mulder nodded and pushed the file across the desk. "Fine. In the meantime, I've got another late nighter. If you happen to think of me, you can have pizza delivered. Order half with extra pickles." He got up and went to the door.

"Kit?"

Mulder turned, surprised that Skinner would use their bedroom name at the Bureau. "Yeah?"

Skinner had an expression of loneliness and wistfulness and hunger. "Don't make it too late, huh?"

Mulder sighed clear to his suddenly weakened knees, and went out. Kim was looking at him again. Mulder leaned over the desk. "Why don't you take him out to dinner tonight?" he whispered. "I've got to work late again, and he's not really housebroken yet." He was gratified to see a little gleam of appreciation in her eyes before she started to blush.

Downstairs, a noticeably pregnant Scully was routing through his drawers. She looked up guiltily as Mulder came in. Then she frowned. "Damn it, Mulder, where are all your sunflower seeds?"

Mulder gaped. Then he pointed. "So that's where they've been disappearing. I thought I had started eating them in my sleep. You've got a craving for sunflower seeds?" He laughed.

"I can't help it," Scully said indignantly, and started through his drawers again. "This is your baby, remember?"

"Sunflower addiction is not a genetic trait." Mulder went to a filing cabinet and pulled out a small bag. "And why is it my baby whenever you're not feeling well?"

She ignored him, easing the bag open gently, so as not to lose one precious seed. "What did Walt want?"

"To give us a chance to practice parenthood." Mulder went to his desk and sat, pulling a file across to open and consider. "He got us a summer intern to help with paperwork. This kid's nineteen years old. His name is Monty. Who named their kids Monty in the eighties?"

Scully ignored him, brushing sunflower seed husks from her lips with a dainty movement. "Why is he being so generous?"

"Because he's tired of me coming home at eleven o'clock every night. It's not his fault the Bureau has decided every file for the past fifty years has to be catalogued in the computer." Mulder turned a page. "Scully," he said thoughtfully. "Did you know there were fourteen cases of feral children found in Georgia alone in the past fifty years?" He looked up at her. "And further, did you know that Skinner's from Georgia?"

"Is there a connection, Mulder?"

"I don't know." Mulder looked up, feigning deep concern. "But if I were you, I'd hold off on deciding who the second kid's father is going to be until I find out."

Scully was making a face. "There's not going to be a second kid, Mulder," she said emphatically.

"Just last week you were determined this one wasn't going to be an only child," Mulder reminded her.

"Last week, this one wasn't camped over my sciatic nerve," Scully answered, brushing seed bits from her lap. "And what would Walt say if he heard you alluding to him that way? And isn't he from Texas?"

Mulder blinked at her. "He's from Atlanta. He lived in Texas during his teens. And he isn't going to hear me allude to him in any way. He'll never know this conversation took place."

Scully looked up again. "You must be a fount of knowledge about him now."

Mulder was surprised at the suggestion. "I am … intimate with certain aspects of him," he conceded. "And I'm not talking about sex," he added as she started to make a face. "I know he went to high school in Texas because I saw a picture of him playing football, and there was a picture of the Texas flag in the background. I know he was born and raised in Atlanta because his mother told me."

"But don't you ever ask him anything?" Scully said, suddenly sad. "Aren't you a little bit curious about what goes on behind those glasses of his?"

Mulder was surprised by her unexpectedly forlorn expression. "Well, sure. I ask him stuff all the time." Like, will you overlook this fatal flaw in my paperwork and approve the car rental anyway? He pursed his lips together. "We don't...chat much."

"He's such a fascinating man," Scully mused. "If I were in your position, I'd be asking him questions all the time. Think about it, Mulder. Think where he's been, think what he's seen, what he's been through."

Mulder suddenly felt very guilty. And irritated. "Well, Scully, cheer up. After he dumps me for being so boring and inconsiderate, then you can have a bash at him."

"I might," she retorted, pertly. "Kim and I have decided you're not good enough for him."

"Well, that would explain the long, cool stare this afternoon." Mulder turned another page in his file. "By the way, when the pizza comes, I'm not sharing."

"Pizza?" She sat up straight. "What pizza?"

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

Mulder would later look back on it and decide the dark blue suit wasn't the best choice that day. It was Skinner's favorite, and that was the reason he chose it. He was trying to get past a little snit they'd had when Mulder finally got home. Skinner was upset because Kim asked him out to dinner, and when he politely refused, told him it was at Mulder's behest. Skinner interpreted it as a hand-off, when Mulder only meant a bit of mischief. Since Mulder had to go upstairs and make nice with the new kid on the block, he might as well look good to Skinner, so Skinner would have something to think about for the rest of the day.

He even wore a white shirt, and an almost somber tie. He gave himself a quick study in the mirror at the back of the closet door. Skinner really liked this suit. Mulder didn't see the attraction.

When he got to work, there was a message that Scully had a doctor's appointment and wouldn't be in until after lunch. Great, I get to orient this kid by myself, Mulder grumbled. At eleven o'clock, he reluctantly pushed himself away from his desk and went upstairs. Skinner's door was open, and Kim was away from her desk. He rapped a knuckle on the door and came in.

Skinner's eyes brightened a little as they went over him. Mulder knew Skinner well enough to know that he did appreciate the effort, even if he did address him as if his jaw was wired to his spine. "Agent Mulder, where is Agent Scully?"

"Routine doctor visit," Mulder answered, with an easy flip of his hand. "Where's our wunderkind?"

"Kim went to get him," Skinner answered. He scowled. "You embarrassed her last night."

"I did? I was downstairs, minding my own business," Mulder said indignantly.

"You set her up for an embarrassing situation."

"Well, it wouldn't have been embarrassing if you weren't such a tight-ass."

There was a slight knock at the door. Kim appeared around the corner. "Umm...sirs? Monty Shires is here." Her expression was one of dread.

Skinner and Mulder exchanged perplexed glances. "Send him in," Skinner said firmly.

The door opened. Monty Shires came in.

It took them both a moment to remember their manners and rise from their chairs. "M - Miss Shires?" Skinner said, offering her his hand.

Mulder didn't even think to hold his hand out. Monty looked like one of those sweet young things that advertise porn on the internet; billowing clouds of white blond hair, enormous baby blue eyes, a figure that any fashion model would envy, and a sweet, demure little smile. She was dressed in what Scully would later define as a slip dress, with a linen blazer shrugged on over it. She looked almost like a schoolgirl, with her brown leather bookbag on her arm.

Mulder had to jerk his eyes back and fix them on Skinner's tie. If he looked any higher up, he knew he would see that Skinner was about to explode too. "Interesting name," he murmured, indicating she should sit down.

She floated down into what Mulder always thought of as Scully's chair. Being taller than Scully, it was an easy fit. She crossed her knees as if she was born that way, and brushed her hair back from her face with both hands. "My real name is Monette," she explained. "But I have five brothers, so they just hung the name Monty on me." She smiled innocently. "I hope that didn't cause any confusion." She looked from Mulder to Skinner, earnestly, and then back to Mulder, less so.

Mulder swallowed tightly and forced his lips into a wooden smile. "Why did you want to join the Bureau?" he asked. Damn it, why didn't he ever ask Skinner that?

"Oh, because I was fascinated by the history of it," she said, utterly earnest. "All the mystique. All the security. All the defense. It's like football, in a way. Playing football with the nation's fate. I want to be part of the team." She brushed her hair back again, and smiled.

Mulder looked at Skinner, silently begging for help. "Well, you'll be working with my partner, Agent Scully, and myself. I hope you don't mind, but we're kind of the waterboys of this team." He made himself stand. "Shall we go down - to my office?" he added belatedly.

As he held the door for her, he glanced back at Skinner. Skinner's face was impassive, but a vein was sticking out on his neck, and his fingers were already reaching for the telephone.

Mulder, who could ignore anyone's curious stares about bruises, his wedding ring, the rumors that followed him throughout his career, felt incredibly conspicuous, walking down the hall, this runway waif at his side.

They took the elevator. She stood against the wall, arching forward slightly, as if to brace herself, but it pulled the fabric of her jacket away, and Mulder realized with a shock that she wasn't wearing a bra. Didn't anyone ever tell these recruits about dress codes? He was struggling for breath as they reached the basement. When the elevator doors opened, and she could see he really wasn't kidding, he thought for a moment she would change her mind, he even prayed for it, but she smiled suddenly and looked up at him. "Must be very mysterious to be going on all the way down here."

She paused in front of the office door. "Fox? Is that your name or did you have big sisters to hang names on you?"

"No big sisters," Mulder said, sliding his key into the door, and finding it was unlocked. "Just one little one. She wasn't responsible for the name." He pushed the door open.

Scully had evidently arrived just ahead of them, and was putting her purse down on her desk, shrugging out of her coat, her back to the door. She turned slightly at their entrance, and the expression in her eyes was revealing in the extreme.

"Ah, Agent Scully," Mulder began, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like that of a thirteen year old still suffering the indignities of puberty. "This is Monette Shires, our summer intern. Monette, this is Agent Scully. You'll probably want to work closely with her. She is the embodiment of Bureau protocol, and she's easily the smartest person I've ever worked with."

Scully sent him a flash of surprise that was then colored with sympathy. She turned and held out a hand. "How do you do?"

"Oh, my God, you're pregnant!" Monty squealed and rushed forward to press her hands to Scully's stomach. "How wonderful for you. Congratulations. When's it due?"

"November," Scully said, taking a step back. She looked over Monty's head to Mulder, brows high. "Actually, you should congratulate both of us," she said, quite deliberately. "Agent Mulder is the father."

Monty backed up and turned around, let her eyes slide over Mulder and then back to Scully. She worked up a sweet smile and declared in a different but equally breathless voice. "My goodness, you do work closely with your partners in the Bureau, don't you?"

Mulder frowned at Scully, wondering why she felt she needed to say that, especially the way she did, but then he understood, and he was grateful. "Well, it's not Bureau protocol," he said, in that mild tone he used when he neither wanted to encourage nor offend someone. "But Dana and I have always worked very closely." He looked around the room. "Well, anyway. These are the X-Files. Um...Dana, do you want to tell her what the X-Files are about? I need to..." He rubbed his hands together. "… wash my hands." He deliberately ignored the bathroom off their office, turned on his heel, and marched upstairs.

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

Skinner was on hold, drumming his fingers, when Mulder burst back in, without knocking. He held up his hand, holding off Mulder's explosion. "I know, I know," he said, and finally, with a growl, dropped the receiver into place. "She's young and green and probably gushes, but her record, thus far, is impeccable. Quantico thought she'd be a good match. She's studying forensics."

"She's nineteen," Mulder pointed out. "How did she get into Quantico?"

"You were in at twenty," Skinner pointed out, wondering why he felt he had to defend the decision. When he selected Monty from the profiles provided, he thought the kid would be a great match, and that Mulder, with his temperament and teaching style, would take him under his wing, sympathizing with a kid four years ahead of his peers.

"So, she's finished college already?" Mulder asked, something in his voice changing. "Where did she attend?"

Skinner saw he had made another mistake. The blond hair and baby voice might not be a threat to their happy home, but brains could do a lot of damage. "She's a transfer student from Prince of Wales University."

"She's English," Mulder concluded. There was something in his eyes, a dangerous glimmer.

"Born there." Skinner looked down at the file. "Came here when she was three, her father's American, went back over there for college." He looked up. Mulder was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, there's no indication that she can't do the work." What he really wanted to say was 'I'll get rid of her the first chance I get'.

Mulder nodded, and Skinner was on alert. Mulder had changed his mind too fast. He knew Mulder. He knew this was dangerous. Someone was going to get hurt. He couldn't believe that he was actually hoping it was Monty Shires. "Is that all?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes, sir," Mulder muttered, and turned, almost meekly, and left.

Skinner waited until the door was shut, before he lowered his forehead to the desk, and banged it, once. OhGodohGodohGod.

The door pushed open, and he straightened. Kim was at the door. Kim was coming in. Kim was shutting the door. Kim was looking like she was going to scold. She dropped down into 'his' chair. "Are you out of your mind, sir?" she asked calmly.

Skinner drew a deep breath, trying to look stern, disapproving. "What are you referring to, Kim?" he said, deciding to pretend there was nothing to worry about. After all, Mulder was his. Everyone knew it. If mere femininity and brains could topple him, then Scully would have had him long ago … Scully, the mother of his baby, the object of his lust. Skinner was getting heartburn.

"You know," Kim said. "Her." She leaned forward in her seat. "She's going to cause trouble, sir. She's set her sights on your … Agent Mulder."

"I think you're -"

"Sir." Kim's voice was tinged with patronizing pity. "You should have seen the look on her face as they came out of the office. She looked like the winning actress on Oscar night and she was taking her trophy home."

"It doesn't matter what she thinks," Skinner pointed out, trying to convince himself more than Kim. "It's what he thinks." He waited for her to respond. "What did he look like?"

Kim's sympathy was spread toward Mulder. "A gaffed fish, sir."

Skinner's hands made a limp sort of gesture on the desktop. "I can't yank her off the assignment. It would look like I don't trust him. Besides, Agent Scully -"

"Agent Scully is pregnant. Do you really think she's going to be out in the field much longer?"

"He wouldn't take an intern out in the field," Skinner said. "It's against Bureau - oh, look who I'm talking about." He wanted to put his head in his hands. "I could send them both out, now, while Scully's still able to travel."

"And what will you do with Agent Barbie?" Kim asked.

"I'll get her reassigned," Skinner said. "There's no sense having an intern, if the entire department is out in the field." He stopped. "I haven't got a single case that would warrant sending them out, do I?"

She shook her head.

Skinner sighed. "All right, Kim. Suppose your husband was assigned an Agent Barbie. What would you do?"

"I'm not married, sir."

Skinner gave her an exasperated look. "Work with me here, Kim. What would you do?"

Kim smiled at him, knowingly. "First, I would make sure he knew how much he was loved. And then I'd make sure he went into the office exhausted every morning." She stood. "Of course, that's how I'd do it. You might want to shop around for options."

Skinner thought about it. "Could you get Agent Scully on the phone and send her up here - alone."

"You're going to leave them alone together?" Kim asked.

"It's a chance I have to take," Skinner said grimly and reached into his drawer for some antacid.

Scully came up a few minutes later, looking irritated, looking concerned. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Agent Scully." Skinner had risen at her arrival, and waited for her to take her chair before he sat. "You've met your new intern?"

"Oh, she's very … enthusiastic, sir," Scully said.

"What did Agent Mulder think of her?"

Scully's eyes narrowed. "Ask me what you really want to know, Walt."

He chuckled grimly. "Busted. Do you think there is going to be much temptation there?"

"On whose part?" Scully answered. "Mulder looked absolutely frantic when he brought her down there. But, that's just a first impression. You want my first impression? She could wear him down. She wants to wear him down."

"You've been talking to Kim," Skinner grunted.

"No, I've been looking at Monty. There's a lot going on behind those big baby blues of hers." Scully shrugged. "You have nothing to worry about, Walt. She's pretty, she's smart, she's going to fuss and coo over Mulder like he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. You know how Mulder hates all that."

Skinner's throat tightened. "Suggestions, Agent Scully?"

"Take her to the shooting range and use her as a target?"

"That sounded like a remark from a jealous woman."

"Damn straight," Scully agreed. "Look, I still haven't quite forgiven you for taking him away from me. I'm sure not going to let some breathless baby doll take him away from you." She leaned forward as much as her little, rounded tummy would allow. "You'd better keep him chained at the hip for the next few weeks, until the cooing starts to pall. He's a good, loyal man, Walt, but he is only a man." Scully rose. "If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."

"Find an X-File for him," Skinner suggested. "If I could get you two out of town for a few days, I'd have an excuse to reassign her."

Scully nodded. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, I hope she can type. She could help us with all that cataloging." She went to the door.

"How did the doctor's appointment go?"

She shrugged and smiled. "Everything is going right on target, except that Dr. Hanson misses Mulder." She frowned, bewildered. "What is it about him, anyway?"

"Pheromones," Skinner suggested.

"That was a very Mulderesque thing to say," Scully observed.

"Apt, though, wouldn't you say?" Skinner looked up. "Dana, did Dr. Hanson ever actually do anything to him?"

"Calm down, Walt. If he had ever really stepped out of line, I'd have shot him. No, he's just very touchy-feely with Mulder, and he leers and gushes a lot. He's sort of the gay version of our new intern." Scully's expression was one of grim amusement. "He's going with me to the doctor on Friday. They're doing another ultrasound and since Mulder wants to know what the gender is, and I don't, he's going along to see it read."

"What time, Friday?" Skinner asked, consulting his calendar. "Maybe I'll come, too. If that's all right," he added quickly.

Scully surprised him with a bright smile. "Actually, that would be great. Mulder's really wanted you to get a chance to be more involved. It will be at four fifteen. I'll tell Mulder to give you the address." She turned, opened the door, and paused. "I wouldn't worry, sir. He is loyal, above all else, he's loyal."

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

They still didn't know if it was a boy or a girl. At the last minute, Mulder chickened out, said he didn't want to know, that he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret from Scully. But it was enlightening for Skinner, who arrived just late enough that he wasn't immediately associated with Mulder and Scully, to watch Scully's doctor in action. There was no question that he was delighted to see Mulder, and no question that Mulder wanted to recoil as much from his voice as his touch. It was very satisfying to step up behind Mulder, putting a possessive hand on his shoulder, muscle his way into the exam room. When the doctor started a demurer, Mulder and Scully both insisted, even though Skinner felt very awkward there, seeing Scully stretched on a table, with very little modesty provided. Fortunately for him, Mulder had become inured of the sight, and served as a shield and distraction for both Skinner and Scully. Dr. Hanson's eyes got very big when he realized that this was the ex-Marine Mulder had referred to, and he seemed extraordinarily nervous throughout the exam. Mulder left the appointment with a smug little grin.

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

"Hey, you going to work all day?" Mulder was bouncing the basketball in the hallway. "Come on out and play with me. You can do your homework later. I won't tell your mom."

"Mulder, stop bouncing that in the house. You'll ruin the floor." Damn it, Skinner thought, glaring at his computer screen. That wasn't a good thing to say. "I'll be through in half an hour. Can you wait that long?"

Mulder checked his watch. "Thirty minutes, Kat, and then I go round up Chaz and Clive for a little two on one." He bounced the ball again, thoughtlessly. "Sorry."

Skinner flicked a glance at him. This summer had been good for him. There had been few out of town trips, no viruses - alien or otherwise, no one had taken a shot at him, or stabbed him or drugged him or drilled holes in any part of him. He was eating almost normally, slept well, was getting plenty of exercise and even a little sun. Standing in the hallway, restlessly bouncing the basketball, he looked good. He was in cut-offs that showed off his long, muscular legs, and a tank top that showed some upper body definition that was new. His hair was just a little longer than normal, and his skin had an extra healthy glow. He didn't look like your average paper pusher on his way to thirty nine. He looked twenty five, and delicious, and Skinner knew he wasn't going to get another thing done. "Okay," he said with a sigh. "You win." He reached for the mouse and began shutting down his work.

The basketball hoop had been both a blessing and a curse. He and Mulder spent way too many hours out there, playing one on one, banging each other around, wrestling a little when no one else was there. Often Clive and Chaz came over, but since neither of them could play worth a damn, they were usually on the sidelines, cheering. One by one, the neighborhood kids started coming around, getting into the game.

At first, some parents didn't like the idea of their young sons playing at the house where the two men lived, but as fathers came over and talked to them, checked them out, found out they were nothing like Chaz and Clive, the concern for the children seemed to diminish. In fact, their across-the-street-neighbor once asked Mulder to babysit in a pinch, when she had to rush her oldest child to the doctor. Skinner had come home and found Mulder crawling on the floor, chasing a toddler with menacing growls while the child screamed with glee. He knew at a glance that Mulder was going to make a terrific father.

They had been playing for about an hour. Skinner was exhausted, but wouldn't give in until Mulder called it a day. Two of the boys from down the street had come along and they had split into teams. Mulder and Michael were beating the pants off Skinner and Troy. It wasn't until Troy's mom came, and called them home, that Skinner was able to convince Mulder to end the game. Mulder was still high, breathing hard, eyes shining. He looked like he was ready to take off. "You go on in," he said, tossing the ball toward Skinner. "I'm going to take a quick run while I'm still warmed up." He turned and was down the driveway on a lope.

"He's very athletic," Troy's mother said, watching Skinner watching him go.

Skinner was surprised she was still there. He nodded. He was still breathing a little hard.

"Must be hard to keep up with a handful like that," she murmured, and gave him a thoughtful glance.

"He's high maintenance," Skinner agreed. "But worth it."

"I imagine so." Troy's mom gave him that look again. "What about you?"

Skinner was stunned. Was this middle-aged housewife coming on to him? He chose his words carefully. "According to Mulder, I am not an 'easy keeper'."

"I imagine you're worth it, too."

Skinner gulped. There was warmth in that voice. He tried to remember if it was Troy or Michael who told him his mother was divorced. "You'd have to ask him," he stammered. Is she out of her mind? He thought. I'm forty nine years old, I'm standing here in a ratty tee shirt and a pair of Bureau running pants, and I'm sweating bullets. And I'm married to a man.

She gave him a teasing little smile as she turned away. "I just might."

Skinner almost ran up the stairs and inside. Then he laughed. Wait 'till I tell Mulder that someone came on to me for a change.

Mulder came in as Skinner was fixing dinner. He was sweaty and glowing and high. "Hey, thanks for the game," he said, coming through the kitchen to deliberately bump Skinner's hip. "I'm going to take a shower. What's for dinner?"

"I love you, too," Skinner drawled.

Mulder stopped, backed up a step and kissed Skinner's cheek. "What's for dinner, dear?"

"Spaghetti and a salad."

"Mmm." Mulder backed toward the door. "I could use some high carbs tonight. I'll be down in five."

"Need any help?" Skinner offered warmly. He had come to the conclusion that he was going to take Kim's advice, following Scully's suggestion could get him arrested.

Mulder chuckled from the hallway. "You are insatiable."

Skinner went to the hallway door and called up the stairs. "Hey, is Troy's mom the one who's divorced?"

He could see Mulder's legs as he stalled on the stairs. The feet came back until Mulder could lean over the banister and look at him. "Why do you want to know?"

Skinner smiled to himself. Jealousy? "No reason." He shrugged. "She was kind of ...you know...flirting with me."

Mulder came back down the steps, his eyes boring into Skinner's. "Flirting? With you?"

"It's not that incredible, you know," Skinner said defensively.

"That's just it, Mr. Wonkerstein, it's very credible." Mulder put a hand on Skinner's shoulder and squeezed slightly. It was just short of threatening. "I don't like you playing with the neighbors. They don't seem to appreciate that we have a legal and binding relationship here." His voice was very tight, and he worked to soften it to a tease. "I won't encourage Chaz and Clive, if you won't encourage Troy's mom."

Skinner felt himself flush with victory. Mulder was capable of jealousy. "Seems fair enough."

"Besides, I don't think the trained killer story would do much to scare her off," Mulder added, turning away. "I'd have to warn her that you'll want to borrow all her lingerie."

Skinner made a face, but he couldn't help laughing. "Mulder, you're a sick little pervert, you know that, don't you?"

"That's Mister Sick Little Pervert, to you," Mulder sniffed, starting back up the stairs.

Skinner turned back toward the kitchen, rubbing his back and barely stifling a groan. Behind him, the steps came back down, quickly. "Kat? What's the matter?" Instant, high level alarm in his voice.

"Nothing," Skinner said, not turning around. "I just overexerted a little today, and I think I've got a few kinks in my back."

"You've got kinks," Mulder agreed, coming up behind him to rub his neck. "They're not in your back, though." He worked a little lower. "Come on." He tugged at Skinner's wrist.

"Where? I've got pasta -"

"Turn the water off, June," Mulder drawled. "Come in and lay down on the floor in the living room. I'm going to crack your back for you." Mulder tugged again.

Skinner turned the water off and followed Mulder's lead. He remembered doing something like this a few times in Viet Nam; only then he was paying young women to walk on his back. It was great for realigning a spine that spent one too many nights in a foxhole. Foxhole, he chuckled to himself, settling, face down on the living room floor.

Mulder straddled him, and pressed the heels of his hands on either side of his spine, starting at his neck, and walking his hands slowly, with full body weight behind them, one over the other, down his back. Once or twice, he was gratified to hear a loud pop, as a vertebra settled back into place.

Skinner groaned in relief. "That's great, Kit, where did you learn it?"

"In my misspent youth," Mulder answered mysteriously.

"You worked your way through Oxford as a masseuse?" Skinner was not quite teasing. With Mulder, it could be possible.

Mulder sighed above him. "I told you I was a kept man for a while, didn't I?" He waited for Skinner to nod. "I was being kept by a lady professor from Sweden. She taught me lots of tricks." He reached the small of Skinner's spine and, with a slight hand over his buttocks, moved to his neck and started over again. "The second time is the key."

Skinner relaxed, focusing on the weight on his hips. Mulder's groin was pressing against him, and while there was no indication of arousal, it did give Skinner pause to think. Mulder had once, oh so eloquently, said that Skinner needed to put it someplace. Did Mulder have that same need? Would Monty be willing to meet that need? He turned so that he could see Mulder's face from the corner of his eye. "Kit."

"Shh." Mulder's eyes were closed, his face intent, as if he was listening to Skinner's bones.

Skinner had to know. "Kit, have you ever wanted to switch places?" he stammered out.

"Oh, no," Mulder said emphatically. "I'd hate being an A.D."

"That's not what I meant," Skinner began.

"I know," Mulder cut him off, opening his eyes. "You mean, do I want to be on top."

Skinner was surprised that Mulder would know that term, but then, he did spend a lot of time on the Internet, and he also spent time with the Fruit Loop Twins, Chaz and Clive. "Yes." He waited a minute. "Well, do you?"

Mulder was quiet for a moment, until his hands got to the base of Skinner's spine. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't think so. It's weird enough being on the bottom. I don't think I could accept the reality of being on top." He eased his weight away, almost self-consciously, and settled to the floor at Skinner's side, cross-legged. "I don't want to rule it out forever," he continued. "But I'm not ready for it, yet. Why, is it something you want to try?" His expression shifted to anxiety. "If it's something you want to try, then we -"

"It's okay, Kit." Skinner caught one of his hands. "I was just wondering, that's all. We made that decision sort of arbitrarily, and I thought we ought to re-evaluate it once in a while." He forced himself to sit up. His back felt a lot better. "Thanks. That really works."

Mulder nodded. "This Swedish professor was about five four, and weighed about ten pounds, so she used to actually walk on my back." He grinned, fleetingly. "I'd probably kill you if I tried that. But that was what I used to do for her dad when he came to visit."

"You used to give her father backrubs?" Skinner was mildly repulsed. "What would Freud make out of that?"

"I don't know, I'm not Freudian," Mulder replied as if he had been insulted by the mere suggestion. "But anyone else would make out that she paid the rent and felt entitled to ask me to do anything she damn well pleased." He stood up, making a face.

Skinner had seen Mulder submissive, giving over control to please someone else. He hated the idea of anyone abusing that. But Mulder was the first one to admit his relationships with women had not been very healthy for him. "How old were you?"

"Twenty." Mulder was pulling his tee shirt off. "And in some respects, an extremely young twenty."

"Kit." Skinner put a hand on his shoulder, sticky from sweat. "You don't feel that way here, do you?"

"Good God, no." Mulder was surprised by the idea. "We're an equal partnership, Kat. Sometimes one of us is more equal than the other, but houses and kids aside, we do everything together." He started toward the front stairs, and paused. "And that includes any little invites for coffee klatches with the neighborhood housewives."

Skinner went to the foot of the stairs and looked up. "Sure you don't need any help? I turned the water off, you know?"

Mulder answered with a little come-hither jerk of his shoulder and Skinner took the steps two at a time. "And I believed you when you said your back was hurting," Mulder complained, as Skinner caught him around the waist and propelled him toward the bedroom.

"It was, then I got this great Swedish massage and now I feel like a new man."

"I don't want a new man," Mulder protested, as Skinner started undressing him. "My old man will never forgive me."

"Sure he will," Skinner purred. "Just this once."

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

Mulder was asleep, his head on Skinner's shoulder, his arm wrapped across Skinner's chest, his hand tucked under Skinner's other shoulder, one leg tossed over Skinner's thighs. Skinner was completely enveloped in Mulder, and he loved it. Gently, he reached up and turned out his bedside light, settled back into his pillows, rested his chin on the bridge of Mulder's nose and let out a little sigh of contentment. Mulder in bed was a completely different creature than the one that caused him so much grief at the office. Mulder in bed was a cuddly toy, an agreeable, engaging combination of teddy bear and concubine. He let his fingers play across Mulder's shoulder-blade, pressing gently. Mulder answered with a deep sleep murmur of approval.

Mulder's sounds. There were so many of them, it had taken Skinner a year to catalog them and he didn't think he had them all. There was that impatient, disbelieving hiss; and the equally impatient, disbelieving laugh that came out like a snort. There was his tuneless hum, which meant something was working overtime in his brain; a niggling little problem that his subconscious wouldn't release. Of course, there was another tuneless hum that he probably thought had a tune. It meant he was pleased with himself over something. It wasn't heard often.

There were the varying degrees of his laughter. It was usually silent, just the jerking of his shoulders gave him away. Sometimes - most often, there was that deep in the chest chuckle that could barely be heard over the world's white noise. There was his wry, doubtful sort of ha-ha-ha, that wasn't really a laugh. Then there was that rare and wonderful, laugh out loud laughter, that was rich and deep and was concurrent with a breathtaking smile and sparkling eyes. Skinner lived for the times when he could make Mulder do more than just grin at him.

There were his lovemaking sounds; Skinner's favorites. Soft little moans of approval at the beginning, that were cut off as passion climbed. They were followed by an odd sort of pant, as if he panted on the intake of breath, rather than the expelling of it, it was almost a gasping sound, but very soft. Then came the little sighs, soft, high pitched, as if coming from a child, not a grown man. By this time, his eyes would be closed, his fingers clenching, he'd be lost to sensations. A battalion could march through the bedroom and he'd be unaware. And finally, that urgent, rough voiced chanting, matching the rhythm of Skinner's thrusts; imprecations, prayers, fervent orders; 'fuck me, come on, fuck me, harder, come on, just...fuck...oh...God...' And then, at last, a deep, low moan that, under other circumstances would be mistaken for pain. Skinner loved that sound.

And last, but most certainly not least, his sleeping sounds. He had this way of talking without opening his mouth; just murmurs to match the number of syllables and the proper inflections of the words he might be saying. Oddly, Skinner had learned to understand this language. When he was already asleep, and Skinner came up to bed, Skinner liked to rub his back, and his legs, and he would wiggle a little to show his approval and make small 'yummy' sounds, as Skinner called them. His other bedtime communication wasn't a sound at all. If Skinner cracked his knuckles or any other joint once he was in bed, even from a deep sleep, Mulder would jab him in the side. Mulder rarely snored - usually when he had a cold - he did sigh, deeply, in his sleep. But he didn't scream in his sleep anymore. And that silence that replaced the night terrors was the best sound of all.

- END part 8 of 13 -
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