Choices Cost – Chapter 01

TITLE: Choices Cost - Chapter 01 - Pay or Play

NAME: Mik

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17. M/Sk. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing – STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.

SUMMARY: Walt's a lumberjack, and that's okay. He sleeps all night and he works all day.

ARCHIVE: Anywhere as long as my name and addy stay attached.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist...

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything.

Author's notes: This is still my beta's baby. But, Nicky, Skinner isn't always who you think he is.

If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Choices Cost – Chapter 01 – Pay or Play

by Mik

He was tapping a pencil against my report, the desk lamp shining down on that smooth, bald pate. I shifted in my seat, waiting for him to raise his head, sigh and begin one of those speeches that begins, 'Agent Mulder, are you trying to suggest that...'

Next to me, Scully was looking down at a small scuff on her shoe. She was irritated by it. Scully doesn't like scuffs, and spots and stains. She's stared holes in ties of mine simply because a little errant coffee somehow managed to materialize on them. We'd been uncomfortably polite to each other all morning. I'd barely spoken to her Saturday as we flew home, hadn't hounded her a half dozen times Sunday while I wrote my piece of the report. We didn't meet for breakfast this morning, a Monday morning tradition since … probably forever.

"Agent Mulder, are you all right?"

I jerk my gaze from the toe of Scully's shoe. "Yes, sir." I sat up a little straighter. "Why, sir?"

He tapped the paper again. "This is the most concise, to the point, and well-documented report you have ever turned in to me."

My eyes narrowed. "Your point is not lost on me, sir," I mumbled.

"Agent Mulder, I wasn't trying to make a point." He sounded slightly wounded. "I was sincere. Are you all right?"

I shot a glance at Scully. "Fine, sir." I started to lever myself out of my chair. "Thank you for your concern."

"Did I dismiss you?"

No, but if you don't, I'm going to make a fool out of myself any minute, I thought. I dropped back into my chair. "No, sir. Sorry, sir." Damn it, white shirt, sleeves rolled up. The guy's got forearms like my thighs. I flashed on an image of his forearms around my thighs and actually felt the stirrings of an erection. Oh, Mulder, this is getting out of control. You need something else to obsess on. Quick.

"Very well." He closed the folder. "That will be all - Agent Mulder, would you mind waiting a moment?"

"Why, sir?" I stopped just short of a whine.

He sent a look toward Scully, who had frozen, halfway out of her chair. She stood and moved toward the door. He waited until she had pulled the door shut behind her. "Are you all right, Mulder?"

I swallowed. "Fine, sir," I repeated.

"I'm concerned for you. You've been through a great deal recently and -"

"Has Scully been talking to you, sir?" Concerned for me? Oh, man, Daddy …

"No." He frowned sharply. "Why would she be?"

I shrugged. "No reason." I started to stand again. "Excuse me -"

"Mulder, I want you to take some vacation. You need it. Go see your mother. Go fishing. Go get laid."

I almost choked. "S - sir?"

He was actually blushing. "You heard me." He looked around his office. His voice was gruffer than usual. "It might do you some good."

I swallowed tightly. Well, I asked for a new obsession. Now I have one: the sound of the surly one instructing me to have sex. "Thank you for the advice, sir." I started to stand.

"Here." He pulled a packet of papers from a desk drawer.

"What's this?" I looked and read the top line. REQUEST FOR TIME OFF. Oh, right, he just happened to have them in his drawer? "Getting a little heat from the seventh floor, sir?"

He was tapping the pencil again. "Where will you be taking you vacation, Agent Mulder?" His eyes were on mine. I couldn't see them through the reflected glare of his desk lamp, but I could feel them.

I felt a little hitch in my chest - the kind you feel when you're thirteen and the prettiest girl in school accidentally looks your way. I looked at the papers again. "I'll...um...let you know, sir." Well, that has to be a record: fourteen 'sirs' in fifteen minutes. "Excuse me." I turned toward the door. It felt like my ears were burning. It felt as if he was watching me go. It felt as if I wanted to turn around and catch him watching me. I didn't look back.

Scully was at her desk, her back to me as I came into the glass partitioned space we now called an office. She flicked a glance over her shoulder as I sat down. I spread the forms out in front of me and sighed. "Did you have anything to do with this, Scully?" I asked.

"You need a rest, Mulder," I heard her say patiently. "One that doesn't involve a hospital stay."

I didn't bother to look up. She does think I'm going around the bend. Great, two warring emotions and neither one the kind I want to curl up and savor for the next week. I folded the papers carefully and tucked them into my desk drawer, and reached for a folder on my desk. I opened it, flipped through papers I had read before, looking for something I might have missed, a detail, a fact, a glance, a murmur, a deep, embarrassed voice telling me sex would do me good...

I shut the folder and looked around the room. Scully was at the file cabinet. My palms were sweating. I reached for my jacket. "I'm going to take my lunch a little early today, Scully," I announced. "See you around one."

Alone in the elevator, I pressed my cheek against the coolness of stainless steel. This has got to stop, Mulder, I told myself.

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

The new office smells different. I was used to dust and old manila files and the exhaust fumes escaping the parking structure through the failing ventilation system. My new office smells like copy machine toner and plywood. It smells a bit like Scully's shampoo or body lotion or whatever it is that smells like wildflowers. That smell was faint today. She said she was spending my vacation at Quantico. So I had blissful solitude to look forward to. I just didn't have to look forward to it at home. I eased the drawer of a filing cabinet open and tugged out a stack of files. Something to take my mind off Walter S. Skinner's forearms and brown eyes.

At ten o'clock I might have killed for coffee, even the bottom of the pot crap I could smell from the bullpen. But I came in here early so no one would know I was here, and I couldn't risk a run down to the coffeepot and give myself away. It occurred to me as I decided that, that I couldn't risk a run to the men's room either. Shit.

Focus. Focus. Focus. I kept my eyes fixed on words that I didn't give a damn about, just so I wouldn't think about coffee and bathrooms and Walter Skinner. I succeeded so well I didn't hear the door open, the annoyed sigh. I only heard the "Are you trying to get brought up on insubordination charges, Agent Mulder?"

I sat up with a jerk. "Putting in a few extra hours without pay is hardly insubordination," I snapped, rattled by his presence. Another white shirt, another perfect tie, another set of sleeves rolled up. Another scowl.

"It is when you were under orders to take vacation time," he answered, sounding so very tired of me.

"I..." I stopped, closed the file with a shrug. "I didn't have anything else to do."

There was a momentary look...compassion?...tenderness?...pity?...that flickered across his face. Then it hardened, became business-like. "I thought you would go to your mother's?"

"I'd rather be charged with insubordination," I muttered, fussing with the stack of files before me. "It wasn't...ah... convenient, sir," I answered louder.

He heard me. I knew it. "What about a trip?" he proposed. "Skiing or camping?"

I lifted the files and brought them to the cabinet. "Too early for skiing and I've never been camping."

His look of incredulity was beautiful. I wish I hadn't been too embarrassed to enjoy it. "You've never gone camping?"

I smiled tightly into the drawer. "Unless you count spending the night in the Everglades with a partner who was never a Girl Scout, trying not to be attacked by some kind of alien fungus man, no."

He makes these decisions in a fingersnap. I never could think or plan or come to conclusions as fast as he does. "Go home, Agent Mulder. I expect you packed and ready to go at four o'clock."

I looked back at him, blankly. "Uh … go?"

He sighed, a loud, aggrieved sigh. "I am going to make sure you have a vacation if I have to take you into the wilderness myself and tie you to a tree for a week.

Tied to a tree for a week with Walter Skinner...I shook my head sharply to get that image out of my mind.

I heard his sharp intake of breath. "Are you defying a direct order?" he demanded.

I looked back again. "No, sir, I...uh..." He was glaring holes in me. "What should I pack?"

"You really have no idea?" The incredulity was back in his voice even if it wasn't in his face.

"Well, no, sir."

He looked at me, pain creeping in around his eyes. "Did you ever...do things with your father?"

I shrugged, awkwardly. "Well, we were in Indian Guides together for a while."

"Well, there you -"

"When I was six and the closest we got to going camping was an all nighter around the Weber in someone's backyard." The idea of Bill Mulder going out into the wilderness...I felt myself smirking. "It wasn't exactly roughing it."

He pursed his lips. "Jeans, sweatshirts, thick socks, boots. A fishing pole if you have it..." he let the idea trail away as he saw me smile, helplessly. "Very well. Just make sure you bring enough to keep you warm at night. It will get pretty cold where we're going."

"And that would be where, sir?"

He smiled! Well, it was just a little turn up on one side of his mouth, but it was beautiful. It actually made my breath catch in my throat. "You just wait on events, Agent Mulder." He turned back to the door. "Four o'clock."

I glanced at my watch and nodded. "Yes, sir." I watched the door shut. Camping. Woods. Isolation. Cold nights. Walter Skinner. I was having a near death experience. Come to the light, Mulder. Come to the light...

I didn't waste time tidying up. I had the eerie feeling he was standing at the end of the corridor waiting to see if I followed orders. I was probably four minutes behind him leaving that office.

On my way down to my car, I tried to put this swirl of anticipation in its proper place. Couldn't do it. I wanted to go tramp around in the woods with him. Daddy's taking me camping …

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

I had been pacing between the phone and the front door for at least fifteen minutes and it wasn't quite four o'clock. Every time I got to the phone, I wanted to dial his cell and tell him I'd decided to take my mother to Prague or something. By the time I'd get back to the door, I was envisioning throwing myself into his arms when he arrived. What the hell is the matter with me?

Four exactly, I heard his sharp rap at the door. I was almost back to the door anyway, so I made myself stand still and get a couple of deep breaths before I responded. For a moment, I felt like some teenage girl trying not to appear too anxious on a first date. Another impatient rap and I lunged for the door. "Sorry, sorry," I muttered. And then I stared.

Daddy was a lumberjack! Shit. Tight jeans tucked into pale gold Doc Martens. Red and black flannel shirt, cuffs rolled up above his elbows. A leather scabbard in his belt, the carved ivory handle of a knife digging into his hip. The only thing he missed was one of those hats with earflaps and an ax swung over his shoulder. I could be Babe, his blue ox.

My scrutiny annoyed or amused him, but who could tell? "May I come in?" he asked in that tolerant drawl.

I backed up, wordlessly.

He sent me a glance, taking inventory; jeans, sweatshirt, my old motorcycle boots. He nodded. "You packed?"

Still wordless, I pointed to my backpack.

He scooped it up, grabbed my leather jacket and shoved it at me. "Relax, Agent Mulder, and you just might enjoy yourself."

Oh, I thought, shrugging into my coat as I followed him out the door, I really hope so.

Downstairs, at the curb, was another surprise. I had never even imagined that Skinner owned any sort of personal vehicle. He always just appeared places, spawned, as it were, from nondescript government issues. What waited at the curb was massive, immaculate, ancient. I blinked at him.

He smiled again, slightly. "'62 Ford," he answered my unasked question. "Rebuilt eight cylinder with overhead cams." He pulled the passenger door open and I got a whiff of old, but well cared for leather. I had to climb in. I half expected to feel his hand on my butt, giving me a boost. I half hoped …

I dropped gracelessly onto the bench seat and sat, stunned. This crush on the boss was unacceptable on so many levels, not the least of which was if he found out, he'd kill me.

He climbed up and slid under the wheel and cranked the key, shooting a glance at me. The engine rumbled and roared to life. "What did you expect? A Suburban?"

I gave him a blank stare. Oh, he meant that monster SUV. "No. I didn't expect anything." The damn truck sounded just like him. "This is … uh … nice." I looked at him. "Did you do this?"

He actually laughed! A.D. Skinner laughed! Deep, rich sound. Oh, man, I could drown in it. "Son, I've had this truck since I was sixteen years old. I've done just about everything to it, and it has done just about everything to me."

Son. He called me Son. I'm doomed.

"Relax, Agent Mulder," he said for the second time, moving the monolith on wheels into traffic. "You might accidentally have some fun."

Ah, that growl. Everything will be all right now. I settled back in the seat, and looked down at the car in the lane next to us. "Gee, they all look like ants from up here …"

I felt more than heard him chuckle. It rippled through my entire body, and settled uncomfortably around my groin.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, he reached for the rounded, chrome knobs of that thing in the middle of the dash between us. Radio, I explained to myself. That's what they used to look like. I held my breath. What kind of music would A. D. Skinner listen to? Then I felt a tremor of disappointment. A. D. Skinner probably listens to Capitol News or CNBC or some of that shit. I let myself fall back against the seat.

Do you want to know what comes out of a radio from the sixties? Music from the sixties. A Beatles' song. I actually recognized it. I slid him a quick look. And he smiled back at me. Okay, it was that same little lift of one side of his mouth, but hell, if I want it to be a smile, it's a smile.

"A little before your time, I suppose," he said, but he didn't change the channel-station-whatever. He actually turned it up. He loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.

"I remember the Beatles," I answered disdainfully. All right, I was eight when they broke up, but how could you live in a land of People Magazine and the Internet and not know the Beatles? Abbey Road and Paul is dead and Yoko Ono and who shot J.R. and John Lennon.

Another song came on, something I did know and like, a little Motown. The stuff I used to dance to in my room, back when I was young enough and foolish enough to think I could dance.

"Agent Mulder, are you humming?"

I could feel my cheeks flush. "Yeah," I answered belligerently. "I've even been known to break into song."

"Yes," he said dryly. "Agent Scully has filed complaints."

"This is going to be a fun week," I grumbled and settled lower in my seat.

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

"Agent Mulder?"

I brushed impatiently at the annoying buzz.

Then it brushed back. "Agent Mulder."

I sat up with a jerk, and looked around. Of all the stupid, humiliating things to do, I managed to fall asleep in front of my boss. I sensed more than saw his concerned stare in the darkness and glanced away.

"Don't sleep well, do you, Agent?"

"No, it's just car rides are enervating," I answered, allowing myself a thorough stretch.

"That would explain the number of rental cars that you have wrecked." He was chuckling as he backed out of his door.

"You know, this is my vacation," I snarled at him. "I don't have to take this abuse."

"Quit your whining and get your butt out of the car. We're on my time, now."

I was startled by the command, the language but most of all by that barely hidden chuckle in his voice. I moved, obediently. Sliding down out of the truck, I took in our surroundings, as a trained investigator should. There was a lot of surrounding, and not much else. In fact, there was nothing else. It was just a clearing among trees. I thought I might hear water nearby, or maybe it was the wind in the treetops. And it was, as promised, cold. "Where are we?" I asked, rubbing my arms.

"Someplace where no X-File will find you," Skinner replied, reaching past me to get our bags out of the space behind our seats.

The flannel of his sleeve brushed against the back of my hand and I swear to you it made me shiver. "Wanna' bet?" I muttered.

"What's that?" He handed me my backpack. Then he handed me a flashlight. "Ever put up a tent?"

"Not so it would stay up," I admitted. "Listen, sir, you're not exactly spending the weekend with a Mountie, here."

"Relax, Mulder, you are." He thrust long, thin metallic things at me.

I shivered again. So he always gets his man, huh? "Okay, Dudley Do-Right, what do I do?"

"You just hold the flashlight, watch and learn." He took the tent poles away from me, wandered off a few feet, looked around, and began to lay out canvas.

Man, look at him, I thought, letting the beam of light trail carelessly from where he was setting up our shelter to his shoulders and back. Why couldn't my dad do stuff like this?

"Mulder, a little light here?" he grunted.

"Sorry." I jerked the light back toward his hands. He had arranged the canvas and the poles into something shaped like a boxing ring. I had a mental image of him in silk trunks and nothing else. I know I sighed.

He didn't look up. "How can you be sleepy? You slept all the way up here."

"I'm not -" I cut myself off. "I don't know. You're the one who said I needed a vacation."

I found a rock big enough to accommodate me and I settled on it, cross-legged, while he fashioned our bedchamber out of canvas and metal poles. He just seemed to know what he was doing. It would be dawn and I'd still be wondering how the poles fit into the grommets or whatever those round metal holes are called. In less than a half hour, he was done, standing back, hands on hips, studying the structure critically.

"Well, it's not the Hilton," he said, picking up two sleeping bags, "but by all reports it's better than those flea-bags you inevitably stay in."

"I don't know," I said doubtfully, coming to the flap and swinging the flashlight around. "It's pretty small."

"There's just two of us, Mulder. How many were you expecting?"

"I don't know," I repeated irritably. I put my backpack down in a corner. We both had to hunch inside. "I don't know the etiquette of the wild. Maybe we're supposed to invite the locals."

"The locals would be bears, Mulder. I don't think you'd want to spend the night with one of them."

I cocked him a look. "Bears. Big things that growl, right? How would that be different than what I'm doing?"

He was arranging his sleeping bag, and didn't bother to look up as he observed, "You really resent having a good time, don't you?"

"I don't know. Let me know when I'm having one, and I'll get back to you." I took the bedroll he tossed at me and unfurled it.

"Wait a minute. I forgot something." He took my flashlight, leaving me in the dark, in the canvas, hunched over, wondering what the hell I was going to do in that little tiny place knowing that I was going to practically be sleeping in his arms. A moment later he returned with a massive stack of newspapers.

"Oh, good. I can catch up on what Spiderman's been up to," I murmured.

He handed me several issues. "No, put a few layers of these down before you put down your sleeping bag. It will insulate you from the cold ground."

I snuck a quick peek at a few of the mastheads; Wall Street Journal, Washington Week In Review, Republican Weekly Herald. "A little light reading?" I suggested. Ugh. A Republican!

"Better get to sleep, Mulder," he grunted, easing himself into his own bag. "We'll be rising with the sun."

Well, that's something to look forward to, I thought, trying to emulate his movements and get into my sleeping bag without putting an elbow across the bridge of his nose. Finally I managed to worm my way down into the bag and I shifted slightly, and found myself face to face with an unbespecatacled A.D. I had seen him without his glasses before, but not this close. Wow. They really do look like melted chocolate, I thought. "Um...good night." I rolled over, put my back to him. "Sir."

I swear I could feel his breath on the nape of my neck. "Good night, Mulder."

- END chapter 01 -