Blood of Abraham - Chapter Fifteen
by Mik
The official blizzard might have ended at some point that Saturday morning, according to the National Weather Service, but the wind continued at gale force levels, and snow continued to swirl and settle against the doors of the skyline terrace. We'd gotten word that the power grids, which had managed to withstand the initial blow sixteen hours before, were now failing like ripples in a pond and might even strike the hallowed towers of Skinnerville. The lights had flickered once or twice but never actually went out, even though we were making preparations for that event. Skinner had several logs by the fireplace, and had sent me on a scavenger hunt for emergency flashlights from upstairs cupboards and candles and matches from the kitchen.
Despite the potential danger lurking outside, Skinner seemed to be approaching it like a great adventure, humming to himself as he prepared Brobdingnagian sandwiches and thermoses of coffee. Bram, however, seemed to be taking my point of view; that this could be inconvenient at the least, and downright life threatening at the worst, and he wasn't sitting still for it. I spent quite a lot of time walking him around the condo, trying to coax him into lowering the volume before neighbors pounded on walls or formed lynch parties.
"Here, let me have him for a while," Skinner offered as I took him for his fiftieth turn around the great room. He held out a cup of coffee in trade, which seemed like a very good deal.
"Sold." I held the wriggling bundle out gratefully. "He likes you better, anyway."
Skinner didn't bother to contain his smile as he gathered the kid out of my hands. Seeing him smile twisted something in me. It was unnatural. I didn't want him smiling. My boss was a perpetual scowler. This guy...it was just wrong. "No, I don't think that's true," he said, bouncing Bram lightly in those massive arms. "But he might appreciate a little variety." He walked to the fireplace and back, humming. "Another reason to consider my proposal."
The word gave me an odd little zing in my spine. It made me want to hide. I'm not sure if I wanted to hide from him, or from me, but I definitely wanted to get away from something. I couldn't let him know his offhand remark had affected me like that, so I tossed out a smart retort, as was expected of me. "Oh, did you propose?" I shot back cockily. "I missed that."
Skinner surprised me by having a ready rejoinder. Without bothering to look my way, he said, "You didn't miss it, you ducked."
That thoroughly flustered me. I mean, throughout the years, Skinner's flustered me often enough. He's made me speechless with fury, and utterly bewildered by his inability to see evidence right under his nose, but this was something different. It was...personal. Intimate. The worst thing was that I wasn't sure if it was deliberate, or if I was only seeing shadows that Scully had suggested with her dire warnings, and honestly, I'm not sure which was more disturbing. I dragged a hand through my hair, hunting for a response that wouldn't make me sound like a complete idiot. "Well, yeah..." was the best I could manage.
He wasn't pursuing it, anyway. He was singing Waltzing With Bears in a very low voice and Bram was absolutely entranced. The expressions of mutual affection and trust they exchanged made me feel left out suddenly. I gave my full attention to the cup in my hand. This whole new side of Skinner business was getting dangerous. I decided to do what I always do when I'm in trouble. I patted down my pockets for my mobile, flicked it open, and hit Automatic Redial.
Actually, I was surprised Scully was in the hotel room to receive my call. I really expected her to be out antiquing...whatever the hell that means...with her mother. But she was there, sounding drowsy and a bit congested. "Hello?"
"Hi, it's me. Mulder." I realized he had turned to look at me so I took the call into the kitchen. "How's Albany?"
"I wouldn't know," she sniffed. "I think I'm coming down with the flu. I'm congested, achy and febrile, and..." she paused, "and never mind that. What the hell is going on with you?" Her voice sharpened. "Are you all right?"
"Well, that's a matter of opinion." I was intentionally keeping my voice down. "We're out of immediate - hush, and I will explain," I said when she started to demand an explanation. "We're out of immediate danger as far as weather is concerned, but we're sort of trapped here at Skinner's place 'til the roads clear." I peered out into the great room. They were on the second verse of Waltzing With Bears. "Scully, did you know he had a butler's quarters?"
"How would I know that?" I could hear her groan softly as she twisted around in her bed. "I've never been to his place. And anyway, what is the significance of that, unless he's got you locked in there."
"The significance of that is he thinks it would be the perfect place to house a nanny."
"A...nanny."
"Yes, a nanny. A full time, live-in nanny."
I heard her murmur thank you to someone, presumably her mother, and then whispered into the phone, "Is this some kink we didn't need to know about our boss?"
That should have made me laugh. But it didn't. It didn't even seem funny. "No, I meant for Bram. He thinks I need more reliable day care for Bram than the Gunmen."
"Well, I agree with him there, but," she stopped to cough loud enough to burst my eardrum, "what good would it do for a nanny to live in his... ohhhh."
She got it. "Exactly."
We shared a long moment of silence before she asked, "And what do you think of that idea?"
How the hell could she ask me that? "Oh, come on, Scully, what do you think I think?"
"Well, that's what I thought," she said, but I swear there was the tiniest note of relief in her voice. "How long do you think you will be there?"
I glanced around his kitchen for an answer, and saw the two large thermoses of coffee waiting on the sideboard. "Until the Spring thaw, I think."
"He won't be able to stand you that long," she predicted.
"Either that or his neighbors will draw up a petition to have Bram and I thrown out," I countered ruefully. "If these walls are anything like the walls at my place, his neighbors are already boiling tar and plucking chickens."
"I don't hear him," Scully said. "Where are you?"
"In the kitchen. Skinner's got him quiet for the moment. Sang him into submission, I think."
"Sang?" She made it sound as if I had suggested Skinner shot the kid at point blank range.
"Yeah. He sings. He also hums. And cooks. And makes hospital corners with his sheets."
"Skinner," she said doubtfully. "Our Skinner. Walter S. Assistant Director Skinner?"
"The very one," I agreed. "Butler's quarters, gourmet cuisine and lullabies. All in one hardass package."
"Mulder, I think you need to go home."
I was startled by the fervency with which she spoke. "But Scully, I can't go home...blizzard, remember? Big snow drifts, lots of wind...no power?"
She sneezed in reply.
Something prickled at the back of my neck. "Well, try to feel better, and happy antiquing. I'll talk to you later." I folded my phone and turned around.
Skinner was standing in the doorway. "She doesn't know you're gay, does she?"
I don't know if I blushed because he had caught me in the act of hiding an essential aspect of my identity from my partner, or if because I thought he might have overheard much of the conversation, or if it was just the speculative gleam in his eyes, but whatever the core reason, I blushed. "No," I admitted. Quick! Change the topic before he can pursue it. "Where's Bram?"
"Asleep upstairs." Skinner moved a step or two into the kitchen. "Why did you never tell her?"
I wanted to back up, but I couldn't let him think I was a coward, so I stood my ground. "I don't know," I answered truthfully. "It just never came up between us." I shrugged and took a step away. "There were lines we just never crossed."
He was looking mildly disappointed in me. "I always thought you two..." he paused expressively.
I shook my head. "No."
He reached out.
I flinched.
His hand rested on my shoulder. "Mulder, I'm not inviting you to live here with any ulterior design to get you into my bed. If I wanted to sleep with you, I'd just ask you to sleep with me. I'm inviting you here because it would be a good solution for me as well as for you. We could be … a family." He saw me start to wrinkle my nose and he rushed on. "I'm not talking about 'gay daddies', although I can't understand why you find that so offensive. I'm saying two people working together to give a child a decent life. I need that as much as he needs you." His hand fell away from my shoulder. "That's all."
"I know," I lied. 'If I wanted to...' That stung.
He knew I lied. "Well...let's have some lunch and catch as much of the game as we can before we lose power," he suggested with a little too much enthusiasm.
"Sounds great." I helped him collect plates and napkins and other things, but something was niggling at the back of my brain. Just why didn't he want to get me into bed? In all these years...I'd never gotten one 'vibe' off him. And I was capable of picking up vibes. Back in the days when I was partnered with Alex Krycek, I frequently got the feeling he wanted something more than fashion tips, but I already had so many other reasons why I wanted to kill him, I sometimes wished he'd make a pass just so I could shoot him. But I never felt one untoward glance come my way from Skinner's vicinity. Maybe he really did just want a family. Or maybe he really did just want a son. My son.
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After consulting the news reports and the window, we decided to stay one more night there at chez Skinner, and make our way home on Sunday. Skinner didn't mention his offer again, but went about the necessary day to day obligations of life as if there was nothing extraordinary about having another man and a baby in his space. He did paperwork, he worked out, he watched 'the game'.
The game was an interesting experience. I'm a Knicks fan. I make no apologies for that. He is a basketball fan. An ardent one. From the first buzzer, he was hunched forward in his chair, elbows on knees, teeth clenched, muttering directions, arguing with calls, grunting with every impact, groaning with every miss. I honestly couldn't tell you which teams were playing. I know that neither team was the Knickerbockers, therefore, they were just a piece of the conglomerate known as all the others. But I believe Skinner could tell you the names, ages, vital statistics, home addresses, blood type and first lovers for every guy on the floor that day. He is passionate. Just watching him, I could smell the sweat and stale beer, I could taste the overpriced hotdogs, hear the roars, catcalls and cheers of the crowd. He was a multimedia production in one lazyboy recliner. And when the power flickered out for a moment in the middle of a power play, he released a string of words that would make rappers blush.
There was a moment of heavy, embarrassed silence. Embarrassed on his part, because he must have remembered I was still there, and embarrassed on my part, because it was like hearing a nun swear. I wanted to grin, but couldn't scrape my jaw up from the floor.
The power came back on at that moment, and the television came back to life, mid beer commercial. We both looked at the screen as if it was the most important beer commercial in the world. The holy grail of beer commercials. When it was over, he settled back in his chair, hands neatly on the arm rests. I stood up and said something vague about checking Bram.
"Here." He jumped up from his chair and shook something at me. A big chrome flashlight, the kind cops used to carry. "In case it goes again while you're on the stairs."
I didn't want to take it. There was something almost...phallic about it. Still, I let my fingers slide around it, warm from his hand. A jolt like cold electricity raced up my arm and I looked away before it reached my eyes and he could see it. "Be right back," I muttered and took the stairs two at a time just to get out of his presence.
At the top of the stairs, I paused and took a deep breath, dragging my thoughts back under control. It wasn't so much that my boss used profanity...it was that he, Walter Skinner, was revealing himself at his most primal level...food, shelter, competition, dominance. It was intimidating, terrifying...hot. Yeah, hot. I've never thought of myself as unmanly. I might not be the biggest or strongest, but I rank up there pretty high in the smarts department, and sometimes that can be just as effective...except when you break it down to the most elemental plane. There comes a point where, no matter how smart you are, bigger and stronger is going to win. And a winner is always attractive. It's evolution in action.
I hadn't been looking for this attraction. I hadn't been looking for anything. I just sort of tripped over it. A glance back down the stairs told me he was wandering around in the living room, I could see his shadow moving beneath me, and for just a moment, it reminded me of a panther pacing in a cage. Did I want to unlock that cage and step inside? No. Absolutely not.
Bram was on his stomach in the middle of Skinner's bed, with pillows making a containment dam around him. A dam was appropriate for this little flood of life changes that had rushed into my world. I still didn't understand how he could be my son, but I doubted it a little less every day. I couldn't say we were developing any sort of mystical bond, mostly he just aggravated me, but that was just more evidence he was mine. After all, what would my son do best? Annoy others, of course. I smiled in spite of myself and reached into the pile of pillows to turn him onto his back.
"Hey, what do you make of all this?" I whispered, patting his stomach as he squirmed and made little noises of protest. "Uncle Walter wants us to live with him. I don't know … he's got nicer digs than we do. You'd have your own room. And a pool. And a nanny. And, hell, if you wanted, I bet he'd put a pony on the balcony for you." And stability and strength and wisdom and far more patience than you'll ever get from me, I added silently and a bit sadly.
I slid off the bed and stood there. For Bram, there was only one choice. For reasons comprehended only by Skinner himself, he was offering my son an environment of safety and security, of superior care, of the privileges of privilege. For me, however, the choices were far less clear. Skinner said this was all about Bram, but I had to be factored in somewhere. If I were to accept what he said, it was just to be an arrangement of convenience. No demands or expectations on either side. But how could there not be? How long would it take before I was looking to him for some kind of sub rosa support against Kersh, or help smoothing some political path for me? How long before he got impatient with my mannerisms, work ethic, beliefs, messy habits?
And what if he wanted to see someone romantically, or just for sex? How long before I got possessive and jealous? What if what Scully said was true? How long before he wanted more than my share of the rent and a face on the other side of the breakfast table? How long before I wanted to give more than that?
"No," I said aloud. "Sorry, Bram. No."
The lights went again as I started down the stairs. I nearly stumbled, and leaned hard against the wall to get my balance while I fumbled with the flashlight. When I flicked it on, Skinner was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me. "You okay?" he called, putting a hand up to shield his eyes.
I nodded, but then it occurred to me he couldn't see my response. I pointed the beam of light down at his feet. "Yeah, fine." I didn't want to go downstairs. I wasn't ready to be alone in the dark with him. "But if the power stays out, I should put another blanket on Bram."
He nodded back. "There are some extra blankets in the spare bedroom. Top shelf."
"Right. Thanks." I turned, retracing my steps.
The pitched ceiling of the room put the shelves in the cupboard out of reach for the average basketball player. On my toes, my free hand braced against the door frame, I used the long, aluminum handle of the flashlight to nudge the edge of a box upon which a stack of blankets lay, hoping to tip the pile into my arms. I succeeded beyond my wildest expectations. The blankets tumbled over my head, draping me in a thermal burka, and the box followed, one corner smacking my temple hard enough to make me see stars even under the blanket, in the dark. I staggered back and ended up on the floor in a heap. Rubbing my temple and swearing, I pushed everything away and scrambled around for the light, which had gone rolling out of my reach.
"Mulder?"
"I'm okay," I called out, pulling myself to my feet. "Be right there." I started scooping up blankets and dumping them on the bed. The box had opened during the fall, and scattered things on the floor. Despite the fact that each item was wrapped in some kind of chamois bag, there was an unmistakable scent in the air, and I reached for one of the bags that had rolled near my feet. I opened the bag with some trepidation and flashed the light inside.
"Holy shit," I mumbled. Even I recognized leather wrist restraints when I saw them.
End Chapter Fifteen