Blood of Abraham - Chapter Eight

by Mik

I stood there long enough that my silence could answer for me, but not long enough to figure out why he had asked.

He never looked my way. To all outward appearances he was completely focused on the kid, but I knew - I could feel he was waiting for my answer.

I surrendered. What the hell, my career had been on the fast track to nowhere for years. "On the record?"

He smiled down at the baby. "Just making conversation, Mulder."

"Yes," I said, trying hard not to sound ashamed, "I have."

He pulled the kid up against him. "You've been very discreet."

Bram started to make some familiar sounds. The sound checks before an extended performance of howling. "It might be as simple as lack of frequency, no established pattern." I reached for the kid. I wanted Skinner out. Now. Again. Now he had yet another motive for taking Bram away. For taking everything away.

He managed to stand without bringing the kid within my reach. "There's a standard expectation of behavior, Mulder. You haven't been seen deviating from it."

"There haven't been that many occasions to deviate." That was certainly true. Twice at Oxford with a fellow American student; once before that disastrous relationship with Phoebe Green, and once again after... to sort of get the taste out of my mouth. My first year at the Bureau, I met a guy in a hotel gym while on a field assignment. It hadn't gotten very far before I got paged away to investigate a crime scene. And then there was that time, two years ago, in an alley behind a bar. That was the one I was ashamed of. I had been lonely, desperate and a little drunk. I don't even think I saw the guy's face.

Skinner was holding Bram to his shoulder, patting him, the look on his face as intent as Bram's, as if he was listening to my internal inventory. "Never anyone special, Mulder? Ever?"

"Obviously, you don't count my wife," I responded dryly.

"Only because you don't."

I sighed. "If you're asking if I have..." I made a face, "a boyfriend, I fail to see how that's relevant to Bram's parentage."

"No, you're quite right. There is no connection. I was merely being nosy." He carried the kid into the bedroom without so much as a glance at me for permission to invade what should be my most private space. Of course, once you've invaded a man's sexuality, what else could possibly be private?

I followed him as if he'd tugged me behind him like a toy on a string. He had Bram on my bed and was jerking a diaper from the package. "For the record," I announced from the doorway, "I don't. No boyfriend, no girlfriend."

"That's a shame." He said it as if he believed it was. "Having a partner - of either sex - might make it easier for you to retain custody."

I bit down on my lip, guiltily. "Since we're delving into the deepest of confidences here, I'm not all that sure I want to."

He didn't look up, but I still felt a disapproving frown directed at me.

"I mean, sure, he's all cute and adorable when other people are around," I rushed on, feeling the need to defend my position, "but when it's just me, he turns into Regan from the Exorcist."

"I very much doubt his head can spin all the way around," Skinner said mildly, pulling a wet diaper away.

"No, but the room gets icy cold and he does speak Aramaic."

"Oh, so he is related to you." He chuckled. "Seriously, Mulder, if you had more help, you'd be able to appreciate what a perfectly charming, normal child he is." He held him up at the ankles to slide the diaper under him. "Have you run his footprint through any database? All hospital born babies are printed and catalogued now."

"No," I confessed. "After we ruled out any reported missing children, I decided to keep him under radar 'til the DNA was run."

He tugged the tapes into place effortlessly, even though Bram was bouncing and making noises that were half dove-like coos and half demonic cackling. "What's the point," he asked, taking the wet diaper into the bathroom as if he knew that's where I kept the soiled ones, "if you don't intend to seek custody?"

I rested against the doorframe heavily. "Honestly? I don't know." I sighed, just as heavily. "The decision to find out who he belonged to was made in a rush of emotion. I saw the note and the lamb and he looks so much like Samantha..." I let the explanation go. He didn't need it, and I'd heard it a hundred times in my head already.

Skinner lifted the kid off the bed and looked at me. "What are you going to do?" he challenged quietly.

"I don't know," I repeated. "I felt a very strong obligation to my sister's memory, but I have nothing against the kid, either, so I wouldn't deliberately inflict myself on him in a parental role."

"Don't sell yourself short as a parent, Mulder. You just need a little help, that's all." He waited for me to move out of the doorway.

I backed up. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Skinner, but even with a nanny, housekeeper, personal assistant and dog walker, I am just not parental material." I followed him into the kitchen. "In this case, nature and nurture are working against me."

With the kid cradled against his shoulder with one hand, he had my refrigerator open with the other. "No formula, Mulder?"

I was staring. He made handling a baby look so... natural, so effortless. I'd have dropped Bram twice by now. "I'll make some." I grabbed bottle bits from the dishrack. I sent him a sidelong look as I started warming water. "And what makes you such an advocate for my parental rights?"

"Now, that I don't know," he admitted. "If you had come to me announcing your intention to adopt, I think I would have tried to dissuade you. I would certainly have had a hard time recommending you. However, having seen this child, having seen your determination to do the right thing for this child, somehow you've convinced me that you would be good for him. And," he added, shifting the kid in his hands, "he would be good for you."

I don't know why, but his quiet conviction embarrassed and pleased me. I kept my attention fixed on measuring powdered nutrients and water. "Well," I said at length, "the issue is probably moot. In a couple of days Scully will have preliminary DNA and not only will we find out he's no relation to my sister, we'll probably get a hit on one of his parents and get him back where he belongs."

"Is that what you believe or what you hope?"

I held out the bottle. "Both."

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That Monday was not a stellar example of my skill as a parent. Although Skinner had managed to get the dear little tyke off to dreamland before he left that evening, Bram woke around midnight with a howl more bloodcurdling than anything I'd ever experienced, and I've had my blood curdled by curdling experts.

Nothing I did could induce him to give up audio hemostasis as a career, at least not that night. About four am I was seriously contemplating a phone call to 'Uncle Walter' to come back and wield his magic once again.

He was still bawling, albeit raggedly, by six thirty. And ragged was the theme that morning. My patience was frayed worse than an obsessive compulsive's prayer shawl. After yet another sleepless night, every sound the kid made was unbearable, and I was no longer able to keep my tone civil and my language appropriate. I was snapping and snarling every time he moved. I am not saying he deserved the things I was saying, in the way I was saying them, but I will insist there was provocation.

The breaking point was that moment when he demonstrated his accuracy with projectile vomiting all over my tie. I let loose a stream of invectives and dumped him unceremoniously in his crib. This just made him cry louder and me swear harder. I was still swearing when I realized someone was knocking at my door. "With any luck," I shouted, still trying to wipe used formula off my person, "that will be the stork telling me there was a mistake at the factory." I yanked the door open. "Yeah?"

It was three open mouthed godfathers.

"Come in, come in," I muttered, still dragging tissues over my shirt. "There's formula in the fridge. He's been fed once, but that's meaningless since he gave it all back to me."

Frohike ventured the first words, and they were far out of character for him. "Are you okay?" His eyes were as wide and round as his glasses.

"Yes," I said irritably. Then I tried softening my expression and voice. "Just a busy morning and I'm running late."

Langley had disappeared almost immediately and now reappeared, holding the baby, who, though sanguine and tear wet, was as near to silent as he had been since Skinner left. "What's the problem, baby dude?" Langley was asking. "Was daddy dude being mean to you?"

The other two men seemed to close ranks around him so I gulped down bitter leftover-from-last-night coffee and swung my jacket on. "Yeah, yeah," I grumbled. "I set fire to him - twice. I'm late. Page me if you need anything." I left before anyone could suggest I kiss that red sticky face goodbye.

Getting up to DC did not improve my mood. Kersh was waiting at his door when I flew out of the stairwell, huffing hard after the dash up four flights. My watch said seven fifty-nine. The look on his face told me his said something else. "You're late."

"No, I'm -" I caught Scully's warning look from the corner of my eye and fell silent, humiliation burning inside me with such intensity it threatened to engulf the whole building. I did my best and I resented being treated like a tardy schoolboy.

"In here." He jerked a thumb toward his office.

I dropped my keys and briefcase at my cubicle and followed. Scully remained at her desk.

But we were not alone. Walter Skinner was arranged more comfortably in one of those conference chairs than anyone had a right to look. He stood when I entered, and offered me a hand. "How are you feeling, Agent?" he asked politely.

I froze. I knew what was going on. It was barely eight o'clock on Monday morning and here was Skinner, seated in Kersh's office, waiting for me. He had practically gone directly from my place to Kersh's office to share my confession, and now they were going to justify getting me out of the field entirely. I jerked my hand back and sat without being invited, not out of churlishness but because my legs failed under me. "Better," I mumbled belatedly, "thank you."

The other men sat as well. I slumped in my chair and shot mutinous looks at Skinner, feeling quite a lot the way Bram had looked that morning when Langley rescued him from the crib. Betrayed. Used. Those two words were beating a jungle drum warning in my head. I was completely insensible to what was going on around me. I just couldn't take any more. Anything more inconvenient than a paper cut was going to put me on the roof with an assault rifle.

"Agent Mulder?" Something about Skinner's voice grabbed me before I lost control entirely. When I looked up, his expression was one of apparent concern. "Evidently, I may have been too hasty in accepting his assurances," he was saying to the man on the other side of the desk.

I tried to focus. They were both looking at me with some degree of expectation. "I... um..." I swallowed and tried to sit up. "I beg your pardon?"

"You still don't appear to be very well, Agent Mulder," Assistant Direct Kersh was observing, as if illness of any sort might be a human failing, and an egregious one at that. "Assistant Director Skinner was just telling me he had gone to check on you while you were ill - as he considered it an extremely unusual situation for you - and you assured him that you would be well enough to be at your desk this morning." He was making it sound as if I had lied just so I could come in and infect everyone.

"No, Sir," I said hotly. "You assured me I would be well enough."

"Nonsense." Kersh waved the assertion away. "I am not a prognosticator in any form. I am no seer or soothsayer. There is no way I could predict your..."

I know I was looking at Skinner in disbelief but when Kersh stopped talking, I forced myself to look back at him. "Sir?"

"Agent Mulder, what is that on your tie?"

I looked down and fingered the offending spot guiltily. "I... um..." That seemed to be the extent of my speech.

Kersh looked from me to Skinner and then back to me, exasperated. "Agent Mulder, you are obviously too ill to be working. You had no business coming into work today."

"But you said -" I felt Skinner's foot shift and press against mine, with intent. "Yes, Sir." I stood and the wobbly effect was not feigned. Skinner even stood to put a hand at my elbow.

Whatever was going on, it worked on Kersh. He was all solicitation at that point. "Should you be driving, Agent?"

"I'll be -"

"I don't think so," Skinner put in. "Perhaps, Dr. Scully could -"

Kersh cut him off. "I can't have two agents out of the department at once."

Skinner's eyes narrowed. "Come on, Agent, I'll see you home. Let me go up to my office and pick up the reports I was working on." I swear he emphasized the word 'up' to remind Kersh where he was in the Bureau hierarchy.

Scully lifted her head from a file as we emerged and I sent her an appealing look as Skinner directed me down the corridor. She was puzzled but she didn't follow, nor affect any kind of rescue.

Skinner was absolutely silent 'til we reached his office and he began giving instructions to his assistant. I missed most of it, finding myself swimming in an unexpected pool of nostalgia for the place. It never occurred to me I might miss getting reamed by Skinner, but a few months with Kersh had made me appreciate a great deal about my sojourn under Skinner's watchful eye.

I did not speak, either, until we were in his car and pulling out of the parking structure. "Ummm... Skinner, you do realize I'm not really sick."

"Of course, you are," he countered, eyes on the road, countenance bland. "Assistant Director Kersh said so."

I wanted to laugh but still wasn't exactly certain of my status at that moment. "Why did you get involved?"

He smiled faintly. "Agent Scully expressed concern regarding Assistant Director Kersh's intentions. She feared he was looking for ways to unfairly discipline you," he paused a moment, making certain I understood the difference between Kersh's plans and his own disciplines in the past. "I decided to give some weight to your claim. And surely being no less discerning than I, he was bound to see how ill you were."

"You gaslighted him," I accused.

"Would I do something like that?" he asked, the picture of wounded innocence.

"Frankly," I lingered a moment over my seatbelt, "I don't know what you would do. When I saw you in Kersh's office I thought... that is, it seemed..." I stammered into embarrassed silence.

He cast a rueful glance my way and returned his attention to the road. "You thought I was going to share the information we discussed last night," he concluded.

I was thoroughly ashamed by his tone. "Well, yeah."

"Mulder." Just that one word, but, oh! the meanings behind it.

I could hear the voice of everyone I'd ever disappointed; from my mother and father all the way to Scully, with stops to collect former friends, teachers, wives and lovers. I kept my eyes in my lap. "Well..." No. There was no defense for it.

"I suppose I really don't have much credibility with you, do I?" he mused.

"Well..." I repeated.

He reached across the car and unerringly patted my thigh. "I should work on that."

I risked a look in his direction. His eyes had never strayed from the road. How did he... "What about you?"

He didn't evade the unfinished question. He didn't play coy. He didn't even glance over at me to make certain he knew what I wasn't quite asking. He just answered. "Yes."

I scrambled for something to hold on to as that reality check lunged out in front of us. "Y – you... whoa! Wait a minute! You're saying you... whoa!"

He was chuckling at me but missed all the obstacles that seemed to lurch into view. "I'll take that as leave to assume you didn't know."

"Know? I had no clue. I would never have believed it if I did." I was struggling to regain my composure. "I'm not sure I believe it now."

"It's true. I wouldn't go so far as to proclaim myself 'out', but many people do know. The only reason I never counted you among that number was that I figured that the only way someone as intuitive as you didn't already know was simply because your thoughts were not... forgive the expression... bent that way."

"I'm intuitive enough," I conceded, finally relinquishing my grip on the door handle, "but there are still possibilities too extreme even for me. I had no inkling."

His mouth began to draw up in something like distaste toward the end of my speech. "Did I make a mistake in thinking you should know?"

"No." I frowned. "You know about me. I know about you."

"That almost sounds threatening... like an arms war."

"I suppose it could be," I conceded, still frowning.

"So, I really don't have any credibility with you."

He sounded so disappointed I had to look up at him. Could it be possible that he wanted more than credibility with me? If that was the case, I was turning in my membership card to Intuitivism, Inc. "I didn't mean it that way," I recanted. "I just meant... oh, hell, I don't know what I meant."

"I know what you meant, Agent." His voice was crisp. "Let me assure you of what you evidently do not already know... gay men can be friends without expecting more."

I didn't know whether to be affronted by the suggestion or relieved by the news. Or... maybe, disappointed by both.

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By the time we reached Alexandria, the silence between us was frigid. I wanted him to drop me off and keep going, but he insisted he had to come up. It was expected that he was seeing me safely inside, given my alleged physical state. He was so frosty toward me, I was determined not to let him know he'd actually pinched some feeling inside me. I decided to act as natural and unaffected as possible. Unfortunately, natural is not a normal state for me.

The Gunmen were hunched around my coffee table, Frohike on the floor, Langley, with Bram in his arms, on the sofa, an electronic game of Battleship between them, Byers at Langley's side making stratagems. They all looked up when Skinner and I came through. "Oh, another one," Langley said, and made a move.

Byers stood, smoothing his tie.

Frohike groaned at the results of Langley's move and returned his attention to the board, tossing a comment over his shoulder as he did, "Brought home another stray?"

I knew they were curious why Skinner was being so attentive to me. I went into extreme whimsy to cover my own confusion and embarrassment. "Just call me Peter Pan," I answered, dropping my briefcase on the table. "I have Tinkerbub there," I said, pointing my keys at Bram, who was chewing on one of Langley's fingers, "and the Lost Boys. Now, if someone wants to help me build a trap in the hallway to catch a Wendybird, then we can all go hunt pirates."

End Chapter Eight

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