Blood of Abraham - Chapter Thirteen
by Mik
The last thing I heard from the television was something about the worst blizzard in ten years. Then the power surrendered to the forces of nature. This meant that I not only lost the nightly pleasure of calling Bill O'Reilly names, but the portable heater I'd set up in the bedroom doorway sputtered, fizzled and stopped. I cocked an ear toward the bedroom to see if the sound woke the kid, then settled back against the futon to listen to the wind howl.
At least it was Friday. I wouldn't have to try and brave the streets in the morning getting back up to D.C. I wondered briefly if the storm was grounding Scully. She'd left the office ahead of me eagerly anticipating a shopping weekend in New York with her mother. I'd wished her well, and in all honesty, not given her another thought. Upon reflection, that was remarkable for me. After her departure, my main concern had been wondering just how badly the Gunmen would have trashed my place by now.
As friends and sources of unique information, they were invaluable. As nannies they were incomparable, but as houseguests they left much to be desired. After the bris, when it was 'official' that I was going to keep Bram until someone bigger than me told me otherwise, I had tentatively broached the subject of finding a permanent daycare solution, and had been soundly remonstrated by all three of them. The 'little dude' or BJ as he was now affectionately known, was not being trundled off to a 'soulless, corporate incubator'. They were going to take responsibility for him, and just moved their base of operation to my place for ten hours every day. Consequently, my apartment was rapidly taking on the look and smell of their personal environment, which I didn't mind visiting, but didn't want to live in.
Cleaning the place after their departure was becoming my daily exercise, augmented by walking the floor with Bram every night. But all that was done now, and I could lie back leisurely, and for once, let the storm rage outside instead of inside me.
Which I did 'til I considered the coffee pot. It had become routine for the gunmen to have a fresh pot of coffee waiting for me when I got in at night, and whoever was doing it knew a hell of a lot more about making coffee than I did. I would hate for that to go to waste. Dragging my ass off the futon, I fumbled through the mess on the table for matches, which led me to the candles that had been used for the celebration, still lined up on the shelf in the dining room, which enabled me to find my Thermos in the cupboard, which allowed me to save the rest of the coffee for the long cold night ahead.
During that very brief process, the room had grown noticeably colder. At that point I was only moderately concerned. After all, I'd been to both poles, I knew, as the good rabbi would say, from cold. I lit more of the candles and pulled my trenchcoat down from the hook in the hallway. Bundling up on the futon, my hands wrapped around a coffee, I propped a newspaper upon my knees and tried to read by candlelight.
It got colder fast. The coffee was unpalatable in minutes. My fingers were aching soon after. I went to the bedroom for sweats and gloves and extra socks. When I started back to the living room, tugging the gloves on, I caught, from the corner of my eye, the shadow of the crib and noticed restlessness within. Peering over the railing, I could see he was squirming under one of those useless scraps of blanket about the consistency of toilet paper and festooned with lambs and teddy bears. Great for photo ops but useless in a blizzard. I dragged the blanket off my bed, picked up Bram and went back to the futon.
The kid fussed momentarily and then settled against my chest. I wish I could say that since the bris, Bram had bonded with me, but not a lot had changed between us, except that he had begun to tolerate me in small doses, allowing me to handle or hold him without squalling, on either of our parts. And frankly, the room was getting cold enough at that point that he might have been willing to snuggle with the devil himself.
I'm not sure how long we were lying there, bundled together and drifting toward sleep, but the sound of my mobile did jerk me out of something close to unconsciousness and I nearly tumbled the kid onto the floor while I fumbled for it. "Mulder."
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah," I yawned. "Fine. And hello to you, Scully."
"It was just reported that a power grid in Alexandria failed."
"Really?" I shifted carefully. Bram was making noises. That unexpected jostling probably woke him. "I didn't see that. My power's out so I can't watch television."
"Smart ass."
"Scully, language," I mocked her.
"Are you all right?" she repeated. "Are you warm enough? How's the baby?"
"We're fine. I've got a full Thermos, plenty of blankets and candles, and there's still some of that Mexican food left from Wednesday, so we won't starve. Thank you for your concern, though."
"How are you going to warm up Mexican if your power's out?" she challenged. "Microwaves need electricity."
"I..." I almost said I'd use the stove, but I knew how ridiculous that would sound. "Cold tamales aren't bad, you know. Did you get out or was your flight canceled?"
"We got out of D.C. but we couldn't land in New York City, so we got diverted to Albany."
"I'm sorry." I meant it. I think she'd really been looking forward to shopping. The last few days it had dominated her conversation, second only to discussing Bram and our recent religious commitment.
"Oh, no, it's fine," she assured me distractedly. "We can go antiquing. Do you have enough diapers? Formula?"
"Scully, I'm fine. We're fine. Besides, what good would it do you to know if we were about to run out of anything? It's not as if you could fly down and drop off a case of diapers for me. But I promise," I added quickly as she started to argue, "we're fine. I stopped at the store last night. We're set for the duration."
It took a few more minutes to convince her of our ability to survive, but she did finally get off the phone when I told her I needed to conserve the charge on my battery for emergencies. She gave me the phone number to the bed and breakfast they'd gotten into, and made me promise to call if I needed anything and then wished me well.
I put a hand on Bram's back and sat up to put the phone on the table. Bram opened his eyes drowsily. "Shh, it was just your Auntie Scully being Scullyish again. Go back to sleep." I settled into the futon, rubbing his back. "We're fine."
Well, we weren't fine, really. The temperatures dropped below zero by ten o'clock. Frost had crystallized the windows, and wind railed impatiently against the shutters and eaves. I could hear emergency vehicles whining not so far from us. That wasn't unusual, but the fact that the sirens didn't come and then fade into the distance was. I could picture paramedics struggling through huge drifts of snow, in danger of becoming trapped, fire trucks and ambulances wailing in their frustration.
I had gotten every blanket in the house together to make a sort of nest in the futon for us. Bram was starting to cry and shake, and I wasn't sure, but his lips seemed a little blue. The first sly fingers of fear started to tickle the back of my neck. Maybe I could survive exposure to arctic temperatures, but he certainly could not. I dreaded the moment when I'd have to unwrap him and expose his flesh to the air to change his diapers.
Determined to keep him as warm as I possibly could, I zipped him into my sweat jacket, and tucked it into my jeans to make a sort of carrier for him to keep him close to me while I groped around in the kitchen to warm him a bottle. At least the stove was still working.
By eleven, the cold was severe enough to worry me. I started getting up every fifteen minutes to walk around the living room four or five times, rubbing Bram's cheeks and fingers briskly, and then scrambling back into the pile of blankets. I hadn't heard a sound from any of the neighboring apartments in hours, which was eerie. Even the sirens had been silenced outside. It almost felt as if Bram and I were the only ones left. Just us and that miserable, wailing wind outside.
The last of Bram's formula had actually frozen in the bottom of his bottle. I was starting to feel unbearably drowsy, and forced myself into the most uncomfortable position possible to keep awake. I hummed television theme songs and jingles, and rocked Bram. He fussed quietly but didn't scream or squirm.
At eleven thirty, a terrific bang could be heard downstairs, and it rattled through the building, making Bram startle and cry. I was bouncing him and trying to soothe him when there was another bang, this time in my apartment. I jerked around and saw an abominable snowman standing in my doorway.
It spoke. "Get your things together." It pulled the white, snow crusted cap from its bald head and came further into the room. "You'll freeze to death here. Come on."
"Skinner? How the hell..."
"Come on, no time to argue. Let's get that baby back to my place. I still have power." He marched into my bedroom.
"What the..." It took me a moment to think beyond the fact that I had been rescued...and I liked it. I pulled myself off the futon, still bouncing Bram. "What are you doing here?"
He was filling Bram's bag with diapers and other accoutrement. "It was on the news. Half of Alexandria's without power. I tried calling you, but cellular service must be down as well." He pulled open a drawer and scooped things indiscriminately into the bag. "Come on. Get your things together."
"How did you get here?" I demanded, still standing uselessly in the doorway. "Even emergency vehicles are having trouble."
"I borrowed a neighbor's four wheel drive," he answered impatiently. "Give me the baby. You pack." He jerked Bram from my arms. "Are you all right? Have you eaten?"
I surrendered Bram to him only because he offered me no alternatives. "I...no, I haven't." I pawed through the bag he'd packed and added a few things. "Scully called me earlier." I don't know why I said that. I guess it was something to say besides 'Thank God you're here.'
"How is she doing?" He asked it because I had mentioned it, and he's just programmed to inquire about his people. "Doesn't he have a coat?"
"She's fine. She's antiquing in Albany with her mother. He's got one of those hoody things." I pointed to the garment hanging on one post of the crib. I pulled a couple of my own 'hoody things' from the cupboard and pulled one of them over my jacket. "Bunny hug," I added impulsively. I went into the bath for my dopp kit.
"What?" He put Bram on the bare bed and tried to work flailing little fists into sleeves. "This isn't going to be enough for him."
"Bunny hug. That's what they call those things in England." I tossed him my second sweatshirt. "Wrap him in that."
"Fascinating," he grunted, rolling Bram up in my Knicks sweatshirt.
"Yeah." I dumped more socks and shorts into my own bag. "Skinner, are you sure you want to do this?"
He turned an almost black stare on me, as if he couldn't believe I'd just asked that, and if it turned out I had, in fact, uttered such an inanity, he was going to thrash me at the earliest opportunity. I swallowed. "We need stuff for his bottles." I zipped my bag and darted out into the living room.
We packed everything we could think of into the basket Bram had arrived in, and I carried that and my own bag, while Skinner held Bram and his car carrier and, with me as torch bearer, we fought our way downstairs and out to a massive SUV Skinner had left idling at the curb.
The wind knocked me back a step as I came outside. There were drifts up to my shoulders in some places. Just in the time it took us to install the car carrier and get Bram secured inside, there was six inches of snow on the floorboards of the vehicle. "I've got coffee in the Thermos," he told me, climbing up into the driver's seat. "And I've got casserole waiting at home. Things will be fine."
And this time I believed it.
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We got Bram fed, changed and settled in his basket in Skinner's guest room before he brought me a tray by the fireplace. "Better?" he asked tersely.
"Oh, yeah," I agreed. I could feel my toes again. "Thank you for coming for us, Skinner. I...um...well, thank you."
He was quiet, hovering over me.
I risked looking up at him. He was frowning. "You wouldn't have come except for the baby, would you?"
"Oh, I don't know." I forked up something with potatoes and gravy and delivered it to the appropriate orifice. "If I'd known you had coffee and a fireplace, I might have found a way here on my own."
I don't know that he liked that answer. "Hmm...well, eat up. I'll find linens for the guest bed."
"Don't go to any more trouble for me. I can sleep anywhere." I had another bite. "This is good. Where did you get it?"
He stopped at the foot of the stairs. "From my kitchen."
"Yes, but...hey, you cooked?"
"Yes," came drifting back down the stairs.
I thought of Scully's warning and smiled, in spite of myself. Hell, he could fight blizzards, knock heads together, dress in leather and cook...I might be in love.
I had finished the food and taken the tray into his kitchen before he came back downstairs. I had never been in his kitchen before and it intimidated me. It was like something out of one of those designer programs on HGTV; granite counters, copper pans hanging from what almost looked like bondage equipment, a large, spinning carousel full of exotic sounding spices. And everything was spotless. The only thing out of place in there was me.
"Need something else?"
I jerked around, the tray still in my hands. "I...where do you want this?"
He took it from me, and put it on a counter. I had the oddest suspicion it would vanish the moment I looked away. "I'm going to put you down here in the study tonight and we can leave Bram upstairs. That way you can get some sleep and if he needs anything, I can hear him." He was urging me toward the door without touching me. "There's a pull out bed in the study."
I took my eyes from the tray but didn't move them quite to him. "You're going to a lot of trouble, Skinner. I appreciate it."
"Well, what are friends for?" He directed me toward the room where Bram's basket had been.
Friends? Somehow I'd never entertained the notion of Skinner being a friend, even though, for the last ten days he had been more intimately involved in my life than my ex wife had ever been. "Well, it's still appreciated," I insisted lamely. "I'm not sure how I could repay you for all your help."
He jerked the bed out in one fluid motion and brought a stack of linens to it. "Nothing required." He snapped a sheet out over the mattress. "It's not the most comfortable, but I daresay it's better than what you're used to sleeping on."
"Most floors can say that." I reached for the next sheet. "Here. Let me. You've had a long night."
He didn't argue. "I'm going to have a brandy before bed. Do you want one?"
"Sure," I muttered, making an effort to smooth the sheets out. If it had been up to me, I'd have just rolled myself up in the blankets and felt set for the night, but with Skinner watching, I had to go through the motions of caring how the bed was made. It was like having my mother stand over me, making certain I'd made my bed before I left for school. "Where's the kid?"
Skinner nodded toward the stairs, just outside the door. "I put him in my room. There's more room in there, he'll be warm enough, and if he cries in the night, I'll hear him. You can get a full night's sleep. You really do look like hell."
I didn't comment. What could I say? Thank you? What he said was true, but still, Bram was my responsibility. I needed to get used to looking out for him on my own. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're just enjoying playing Daddy for a while. It gets old very fast. Trust me."
"Fine. Take advantage of it before I get tired of the role," he countered with a chuckle. "I'll get that brandy."
I left the blankets in a heap and followed him. He filled two glasses, warmed them in those big hands and held one out to me. "Slainte."
"L'chaim," I retorted and took a sip. It rippled in a warm, soft wave down my body. "I have to say you're pretty good at the whole Father Knows Best thing. Why is it you never had kids of your own?"
He looked down into the bowl of his glass. "I did."
I sat. Well...toppled. One minute I was standing there, the next I was seated on the hearth, looking up at him. "You did?"
He shrugged faintly. Maybe it was pain that twisted his body. He never looked at me. For a moment, he debated continuing, I could see the struggle in the way both hands moved over the glass, in the way his shoulders sagged then straightened. I guess my undiluted disbelief was the deciding factor. He began very quietly. "In the beginning of our marriage, Sharon wanted children. I confess, at the time, given the nature of my job, and my general outlook on human nature, I was ambivalent about bringing more children into the world, but for her sake, we tried and tried. No luck. Then one day, a miracle happened. She was pregnant."
He took another drink. Bigger than a sip. More a gulp of fortitude. "I was still a cop, still working impossible hours, still bringing home my rage at the unfairness of it all. And there she was, big and beautiful and happy. I thought she was happy …" his voice trailed away. He took another one of those big drinks. "I wanted to believe she was. The baby was born. A girl. She wanted to name her Jennifer. I said fine, kissed her and went back to work."
I was reeling. This was something I'd never known about Skinner, something that rearranged him in my brain. Not so much the fact that he'd fathered a child, but the way it seemed to have affected him, and how deep he'd pressed it inside himself.
After a moment he spoke again. "There was something...not quite right with her. I didn't know what it was. She was too quiet. She never cried. To me she seemed the perfect child. No walking the beat all day and then having to walk the floor all night. She was just a pretty little doll that stayed in her bassinet and made no demands." He looked up, but not at me. He looked back into a place I'd never been, looking at things I'd never seen. "She died when she was about six months old. Her heart just stopped." He swallowed. "They thought it was SIDS at first. Then they did an autopsy. There was something wrong with her heart. Some congenital defect, and her brain had never gotten enough oxygen." A little emotion escaped in his voice and he went quiet for a moment to recapture it. "Congenital. My fault. I was devastated. Then Sharon told me...she'd had an affair. Jennifer wasn't mine, after all." His hand tightened around the glass, and I thought it was going to shatter. "I don't know which was worse. Knowing..." he swallowed again. "Knowing...I don't know which was worse."
I didn't know what to say. I just sat there, helpless.
He sucked all the revelations and feelings back into himself with a deep breath. "Anyway, I have played the part before." He put his glass back on the bar and held out a hand to me. "You're doing much better at it than I did."
I accepted the hand and he pulled me to my feet. I met his eyes for a fraction of a moment, and there was still so much pain inside them that I felt an urge to comfort him somehow. I put my free hand around his neck, and hugged cautiously. "I'm...I'm sorry."
His arms came around me, tight; one big hand splayed out over my back, one in my hair. I felt the wetness of his pain on my cheek as he pressed his face against me. One shudder went through his body. Then he pulled himself together, and pulled away from me. "Thank you." He sniffed. "It's getting late." He took the glass from me. "Let's try to get some sleep. 'Night."
"Yeah..." I stood there long after he'd gone upstairs, hurting for him. I had just learned what it meant to know I was a father, I couldn't imagine being told I wasn't. "'Night."
End Chapter Thirteen