Choices Cost – Chapter 02

TITLE: Choices Cost - Chapter 02 - Day or Night

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: Walter pitches tents, Mulder pitches fits.

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: Still yours, beta-baby.

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 02 – Day or Night

by Mik

I'm not sure what woke me. It wasn't my television. It wasn't my alarm. It wasn't traffic sounds on the street below me, or in the hall outside my door. It was...I strained to place the sound...birds! What the hell were birds doing singing outside my window?

I opened my eyes, and looked around. My window wasn't where it should be. Nothing was. There was just that hint of grey light that says daylight is on the way but got delayed at the station. And it was cold. An almost bone chilling cold that made me want to burrow down into blankets and hibernate 'til Spring. I started to sit up, check my watch, do a quick mini mental status check, but there was a weight across my middle that kept me in place.

Nervously, I sent my glance right and nearly swallowed my tongue. Walter S. Skinner, the scourge of the sixth floor, was snuggled up to me, his arm draped across my waist, his cheek pressed against my shoulder. What did he say about X-Files finding me?

But - here's another X-File - I liked it. I relaxed. I sort of settled into it, trying to picture how I came to be wrapped up in his arms. He was warm. His weight felt good against me. And besides, he looked damned cute laying there, almost smiling, that bare face relaxed in repose. I resisted an urge to slide my hand over that bald head.

It didn't last, though. Within a few moments, he must have sensed I was awake, because he shifted, and snorted and rolled onto his back, stretching like that bear he warned me about. I turned my head and watched him. Wow. He must have been something as a field agent. He must have been hell as a Marine.

He sat up, stretching again, and looked down at me. "Feel better?" he asked.

I gave him a quizzical smile. "What? One night in the great outdoors is supposed to make a new man out of me?" Keep sleeping with me and I'll make a new man out of both of us. See if I don't. Good grief, Mulder! I felt my cheeks redden and I began to make a great process out of escaping from my sleeping bag.

His voice was soft but matter of fact. As if to say, 'what about it, but no big deal.' "No, I meant the nightmare."

I froze. Kept my eyes firmly fixed on the plaid flannel lining of my borrowed sleeping bag. "Uh … nightmare? What nightmare would that be, sir?" Shit, I don't remember a nightmare. He's going to have me committed again, and this time he won't let me out, no matter how many Zombie Pincuses there are out there.

"The one you were having about three this morning," he answered, too casually, climbing out ahead of me and reaching for his boots. "Believe me, Mulder, the bears are now afraid of you."

I felt a swirl of sickness at the bottom of my stomach. I knew what came next; the sneers, the derision, the disappointment. I knew my dad's speeches about my nightmares by heart. I knew I suffered from a sleep disorder exacerbated by trauma, but to my dad, it just proved I was weak, a failure as a son. "S - sorry," I began, still avoiding his eyes.

"So am I," he agreed, pushing back the tent flap, letting in a rush of cold, misty air. He took a long look out, and breathed deeply of air that seemed suspiciously full of something I'd have to describe as oxygen. "I hope dragging you up to the mountains didn't reopen some old wounds." He paused, flicked me a look. "Do you want to go home?"

Weak. That's what he thinks I am, I realized. A class A wimp. It hurt to think that he thought that. In fact, it hurt more than I expected. "No. Of course not. It just …" I shrugged. "It just happens sometimes. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

He shook his head and looked away. "Don't apologize. I have some doozies myself, some nights. I nearly got kicked out of my condo right after I moved in because the divorce brought so much of it back to me." He climbed out of the tent.

I sat there a moment. I almost wanted to cry in gratitude.

He reappeared. "Of course, cuddles don't work as well on me. You may have to get a good size stick if I start thrashing around in the night." He was gone.

I stared at the tent flap. Cuddles? Is that what happened? Daddy, the Lumberjack, cuddled me when I had a nightmare. I felt the tears sting my eyes that time.

It took me a long time to get out of the tent. By the time I could scramble out and force myself to my feet, he was piling rocks into a ring, and laying twigs over it. I watched him for a moment. "Don't waste a bullet, sir," I advised dryly. "I've got matches in my backpack. They're even waterproof. I learned my lesson in the Everglades."

He looked back at me, bewildered, lifted a branch about the size of my leg and broke it over his with a loud crack.

I flinched. Well, I always knew he could break me in two. And yet, seeing that simple, concise gesture seemed to kick-start my libido. Oh, shit … It's going to be a long day.

He put the broken pieces into the pile and dug into one of the many pockets of his jeans, producing a lighter with the Marines logo on it. "Never leave home without it." He knelt and flicked the lid of the lighter back, and with a snicking sound, started several small flames among the twigs and branches.

I looked down at it, admiringly. "Cool," I murmured. "What are we going to do with it?"

"Start breakfast," he answered and stood, heading for his truck.

I looked after him. Food. I like a man who plans ahead. "Uh, sir, is there a bathroom in the back of your truck?"

He laughed at me. "Use a bush, Mulder." He waved a hand toward the trees on the other side of the tent. "Just be careful which leaves you use to clean up. Poison Ivy can be a bitch."

"Leaflets three, let it be," I muttered at him, and scanned the area. I turned and trotted toward the growing light.

For some reason, the ground decided to head upward almost directly leaving the campsite. It felt good to push myself up the hill, full bladder and all. It helped to get over the humiliation of knowing Walter Skinner had seen a full blown Mulder-episode. It also kept me from thinking about how good it felt to know he was willing to comfort me. Huh. I wonder if he'd do that for Scully or … or … Spender. Ick.

I came to a stop abruptly because the ground did. I found myself on a ledge, looking down over a lake, spread out like mercury over the deep green of the trees in the rising sun. Wow. I always loved the sea in the morning, but this...

A V of birds swept in low along the surface of the water, in a perfect, undulating formation, scanning the water for breakfast the way Frohike would scan machine language, looking for a backdoor into someone's ICQ. Occasionally one would break formation, dip into the water, and surface, a prize squirming frantically from his beak.

"Reminds me of Washington, sometimes."

I turned with a jerk. There he was, big as life, standing beside me, lumberjack shirt open at the collar, brilliant white tee shirt beneath, a hint of dark hair at the neckline, a hand shielding his eyes from the rising sun. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"I was going to bring you up here later," Skinner said in a not quite scolding tone. "You spoiled the surprise." He looked at his watch. "Come on, breakfast is ready."

"Already?"

He cocked a brow at me. "Mulder, you've been gone an hour." He held up his wrist, showing me the time on his watch.

No. Impossible. "And I haven't..." I stopped.

The son of a bitch laughed at me. "What have you been doing?"

"Looking." I gestured toward the lake. "Just looking."

He stopped laughing and nodded. "Yeah, it's something." He pointed. "You see that dock to the left of that little bay? There's a house up there. I'm going to retire there."

"Really?" I thought I could make out a stone chimney, and maybe some smoke. Maybe. I looked at Skinner again, doubtfully. "It's a little out of the way, isn't it?"

"And that's exactly where I want to be." He clapped a hand to my shoulder affably. "Come on, Son, let's eat that food before the raccoons beat us to it."

"I'll be right behind you. I need to do what I came up here to do." Take a leak, Mulder. You can tell him you need to piss. What's the matter with you? When did you get all delicate, anyway? When he called me Son, and held me when I had a nightmare. Damn it. We've got to go home or I am going to make a complete ass out of myself and embarrass him in the process. Maybe if I broke my leg or something …

He was still standing there, looking at me oddly. "Mulder, are you sure you're okay?"

I snapped my attention to him. "Fine. Still sleepy." I feigned an elaborate yawn. "I'll be right there. I hope breakfast includes coffee."

"You can't camp without coffee, Mulder," he told me with deadly seriousness.

"Oh." I considered it. "I might learn to like it." I was lying and he knew it. I waited until I couldn't see that red flannel shirt and then I wandered off to find a bush.

I was impressed that I managed to find my way back down to the campsite.

He seemed to be, too. He tossed me a nod as I reappeared from around the tent. "Feel better?"

I didn't bother to respond. I came up to the fire and held my hands out toward the warmth while I watched him. He was filling metal plates with fried eggs and bacon and potatoes. He held up a plate as if for inspection. "Living dangerously, are we?" I asked, noting the menu.

He didn't look up as I accepted it. "Well, camping with you makes it redundant, don't you think?"

"I'm not that bad!" I protested indignantly, finding my rock and settling down. "Come on, tell me the truth. How many people have I injured - besides perps?"

He shook his head as he filled coffee cups. "Don't be so sensitive, Mulder."

Sensitive. Now that was a familiar word. A word that had haunted me for twenty five years. 'You're too damn sensitive, Fox. You're going to have to grow up, be a man, not a baby.'

"You don't like it?"

I looked up. He was standing in front of me with a steaming metal mug. "Sir?"

"You were scowling at it."

I shook my head. "Sorry."

"Will you stop apologizing?" he growled.

"S-" I took a long drink of too hot coffee, letting it scald my lips, tongue, palette, throat. I gasped.

He stopped on his way back to the fire and looked at me. "Uh, Mulder, the coffee's hot."

"No, shit," I gulped.

"Mulder." He put his plate down and came back to the rock. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

I tilted my head slightly, not really wanting to meet his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Your nightmare. It happens. To all of us." He generously emphasized the word 'us'. "Given the things you've seen and done in your lifetime, I'm amazed you get any sleep at all."

I shrugged. "It's not so bad, really." I tried to find words to make him understand. "It's just a little embarrassing to be in a situation where your boss has to comfort you like a baby."

"There's nothing wrong with needing comfort now and then, Mulder. It's human nature. We all need it." He returned to the fire and collected his plate. "We lose our humanity when we lose contact with others. You're a psychologist. You know that."

"Uh…yeah," I agreed stupidly. I watched him pour himself coffee and settle down on a log next to the fire. "Um … Sir?"

"Walter."

I blinked at him.

He wasn't looking at me. He was forking dangerous amounts of cholesterol into his mouth.

"What?"

He raised his head and flicked a look my direction as he chewed. "My name is Walter."

"Yes, I know that."

"Call me that. It sounds..." He swallowed. "Weird for you to call me Sir up here."

I took a bite.

"What is it?"

I blinked at him again.

"You started to ask me a question." He reached for his coffee. "Come on, Mulder. Relax. I haven't killed one of my agents outside the line of duty in years."

I tried to smile. I knew he was trying to make me comfortable. "I wanted to know why you brought me up here."

"Because you needed it." He took a long draught and put the cup down. "You were on a suicide bent."

"I was not!" I spluttered.

"Mulder." Just that one word. I had no argument for it. I didn't accept it, but I couldn't argue it.

"Work is good for me," I finished lamely. "It gives me focus." I knew I sounded like a petulant child.

"There is such a thing as too much of a good thing," he answered almost gently.

He still hadn't told me what I really wanted to know. "Even if that was true," I persisted, "why did you bring me here?"

"Because, when you were left to your own devices, you came right back to work." He picked up his plate again and pointed his fork at me. "Now, eat, before it gets too cold."

"No. Why did you bring me here?"

He stopped chewing. He looked at me. He sighed. "Because I thought it might be good for you not to be alone."

Well, I didn't have an answer for that one. I picked up my fork and started pushing food around on my plate. The truth is … I was alone. My sister was a memory, my father was dead, my mother had abdicated her role, and Scully … well, Scully and I would never be equals in any kind of relationship because we had no equality in our passions, desires and goals. If I abandoned all those things about me she couldn't accept, there wouldn't be anything left for her to want.

"Why did you agree to come up here?"

I was jerked back into the moment. "My superior gave me a direct order?" I answered uncertainly.

"You didn't have to," he replied, flicking the last of his coffee out over the fire.

"No, I suppose not," I admitted. I looked up at him, watching him scrape his plate into a plastic bag. "But, to be honest, sir - um, Walter, when you give an order, it's a little hard to realize I have options."

"That's bullshit." His dark gaze shot across the camp to pin me in place. "I don't think I've ever given you an order you complied with, at least without being at gunpoint."

He had me there. I owed him an answer I neither understood or completely accepted. I shook my head regretfully. "Then I don't have an answer for you."

He continued to look at me. "I think you do," he said thoughtfully, perhaps sadly. "And when you're ready, you'll give it to me."

I looked around the campsite. How does one go about deliberately breaking one's leg?

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

We finished our meal in silence, cleaned up and put down the fire in silence. Stowed our gear in the truck in silence. With a mere nod of his head he beckoned me to follow him. Hands in pockets, I started off, him in the lead, and watched his shoulders swing wide as he marched over hilly terrain, watched his legs move in long even strides no matter which direction the ground was going, watched his butt...

I admit I was confused and even a little bit frightened. Now, I realize that there are homosexual tendencies in all humans. They are stronger in some than others, strong enough that people act on them. Most humans elect to stay within what society determines the 'norm'. I had honestly never been aware of anything more than the natural curiosity of adolescence and that had faded the first time I got my hand under a girl's shirt.

But lately I had been having strange thoughts. I had caught myself measuring the movements of other men and finding something oddly graceful and alluring about them. I had let old curiosities stray into my nightly routine with the VCR. I hadn't gone so far as to actually rent a gay video, but I had caught myself imagining the sensation of muscle and sinew and sweat instead of the soft, silky and perfumed curves I normally envisioned.

More and more lately, my nights did not end with a groan of release but with a moan of longing and a sigh of dissatisfaction.

There was something specific I had been seeking. The fantasies I began to develop involved a man of a certain 'type'. Of a certain size, build, strength of character. Really, it was the character that mattered more than anything. The physical aspects of his manhood mattered only in that he was bigger and stronger and tougher than me.

And then I started remembering all the times I had come in contact with Walter Skinner's body. The way he could take me down, wrap me up, control me. I would remember the breadth of his chest, the heat of his body, the strength of his hands. The strength of his character showing even in physical situations. His determination to control me yet striving never to hurt me. He never hit me. Never used violence. Only size, and strength and power. And now …

"Still with me?"

I looked in the direction of his voice. He was halfway down the ravine, looking up at me where I had stopped, staring out at the lake. His posture was one of impatience; hands on hips, head cocked upward, that remarkable chin jutting out.

"Yeah." I started to move. Too fast. The root of a tree decided to reach out and grab me and I went, quite spectacularly, forward, hands over my head, careening toward him. Even as I tumbled headlong toward a broken neck, I was comforted. Well, now we could go home and Walter Skinner will never know I've been jerking off thinking of his ass.

- END chapter 02 -