TITLE: ...But Dreams Are Free - Chapter 05 - Safer On the Outside
NAME: Mik
E-MAIL: ccmcdoc@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: M/Sk
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: Four years after Choices Cost.
ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Nnnnnnnnnope.
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Skinner 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.
But when I become king...
Author's notes:
Yeah, I know I said I wouldn't finish this...but...
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.
...But Dreams Are Free - Chapter 05 - Safer On the Outside
by Mik
The first few days were those days where I was telling myself it was okay, I'd be all right, but I was sitting at the computer hitting UPDATE on my email over and over as if I really believed a message could have come in since I checked thirty seconds before. I carried my mobile with me, even into the can. I told myself he was gone, but I believed he would come back. Sure, maybe he needed a couple of days to process events, maybe a few days in D.C. with Agent Scully, and he'd sort it all out.
But there were no phone calls, no emails, unless one counted offers for penis enlargement products, Viagra, or pictures of lusty housewives, none of which interested me. I only wanted to know one thing; did he miss me? No...two things; did he miss me and was he coming back?
Then I got angry. I shut down the computer and refused to turn it back on. I spent a lot of time tramping around the property, smelling the smoke of the fireplace in the mists of each morning, drinking my coffee on the deck and telling myself how much I was enjoying myself now that I could enjoy all these pleasures in blissful silence. I read books. One after another, on the deck, by the fire, in bed. I read books I'd bought for him. I read magazines and all the recipes in the local newspaper. I did all of this with a smile plastered into place in case I saw myself in a reflection, so I'd know I was happy, that this was the life I had planned for myself.
I went to supper in town even though the weather made the roads an adventure. I sat at the same table we'd shared, and had the same server. She popped gum and giggled and sashayed just the way she had done, and I longed to see Mulder's critical consideration and chilly dismissal. I needed to know that no gum popping, hip shaking, giggly girl in D.C. was going to make him forget me.
"Where's your brother?" she asked me, between loud cracking sounds.
The noise made me cringe. "My brother?"
"Yeah." She pointed her pen at the empty chair. "The cute guy."
"The cute guy," I said stiffly, "is my partner." Just like that. I said it. I put it out there to a stranger that I loved another man. And he wasn't even there to hear it.
"Yeah? Business...oh, that kind of partner." Her brows went up and her lips pursed knowingly. "So, where is he?"
"Family business," I explained, and picked up the menu.
"Oh." She sounded disappointed for a moment and then it was forgotten. "Soup's chicken noodle tonight. When's he coming back?"
"I don't know." I folded the menu and held it out to her. "I'll have a steak and salad." She was still standing there, popping in my ear. "He'll be back soon." I'm sure I was still smiling. In fact, at that point, I might have still believed it. I'm not sure I wanted to believe it anymore. I wanted to accept it, heal, move on, have no expectation, no chance to be disappointed, to be hurt. But there was that stubborn little hope at the back of my heart that said, 'No, Walt, he couldn't leave you, he loves you, he'll be back.' And damn it, if that wasn't the voice I listened to.
Still, as his ghost sat glumly across the table as I picked at my steak and salad, even that little hope was having doubts. I could still picture his face; the loneliness and despair. He was torn, I know he was. He was forced into a choice he didn't want to make, and the only other option was to force me into a choice. He chose not to force me to make one. But I wish I'd been allowed a voice in the decision.
What would I have said if he'd
put it to me? Would I have followed him to
I didn't have the answer
to that one. I only knew I wanted the dream back. I wanted the love of my life
safely ensconced at the fireside of my dream home, by my side. I wanted him in
my arms at night. I wanted him to share the rain and sun and snow. I would hate
being in
"I should have never left D.C."
"Is something wrong with the steak?"
I looked up from my plate, sharply. My gum popping server had been replaced by a strapping young man in a white shirt and hideous tie. My heart did a backflip in my throat and settled in my chest again. "No, it was fine...I just wasn't as hungry as I thought. Could you ask my waitress to package this to go and bring me a double scotch, single malt?"
He smiled and scooped up my plate. "I'll take care of it for you, Sir."
"Down, boy," I muttered to myself as he walked away. "It was just an enquiry."
His name was Dustin. I learned this when I was paying my bill several hours later, and he was still there, working behind the bar. He was ridiculously young and well groomed, with impossibly straight white teeth which he showed to best advantage with lots of big smiles. I may not have the most sophisticated gaydar in the world, but I could have picked up his trail with a penny favor compass.
It was tempting, I admit it. It wouldn't have taken a single word, just a well gauged glance and he would have been in the truck with me, heading back to the lodge. But there was still hope in me somewhere that Mulder would be coming back, that we weren't done, and so long as we were still together, I wouldn't cheat. I couldn't.
So I rushed home at an unsafe speed, rattling and bumping and slipping here and there on the weather damaged road. Surely I would be rewarded for my steadfastness, surely there would be some word from him, some sign that he missed me.
I didn't lock the door. I didn't put the doggie bag in the refrigerator. I raced upstairs and powered up the computer.
There was no word from him.
But there was an email from pstmrtmdc@gmail.com. It was a gently worded missive, informing me of the flight and time of his departure that morning.
So he went.
Without saying goodbye.
Which, in its own bitter way, was a goodbye. A very final one.
I sat there a long while, wondering what to say, what to do. Some men would have raged and flailed around, trashing the room, swearing, hating. Then get drunk, sleep it off and feel better. Some men would skip the violence and just get drunk, perhaps several days in a row. I felt like doing both, but was capable of doing neither. Finally, with burning eyes, and heavy sighs, I went back downstairs. I needed to do the 'right' things. I locked up the truck. I locked the doors and pulled the shutters. I put the leftovers away.
I was going to go back to bed and read, but I got only as far as that first step before I turned around and opened the refrigerator again. I stared at it for a long time. I reached for my mobile. I dialed.
"Hello, Dustin, this is Walt Ski-yes, that's right, Skinner. I was wondering..."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
There must be a scale between guilty and excited. I'd started the week redlining guilt, but by the time I had supper in the oven and clean sheets on the bed Wednesday night, I was deep into the green of excitement. I didn't want a new relationship. I just wanted to hear a friendly voice. Dustin was probably dumb as a post and I'd probably never raise the conversation above video games and punk rock, but with his face, just the noise would be welcome.
I had heard again from Dana. She wanted to know
if Mulder had called me after he landed in the
Dustin arrived only a few minutes late, which was actually an improvement on Mulder. I took it as a compliment. He rode his ATV in the rain, which might have been another compliment, I wasn't sure. Compliment or not, he arrived soaking wet, and that was as good a reason as any to get him out of his clothes. There was something just inherently nice about serving supper to a muscular young man wearing my bathrobe. A young man who smiled in my direction, who thanked me for every little gesture, who enjoyed the food, noticed the effort, said 'please' and 'thank you', even made an effort to laugh at my jokes.
He was somewhat more clever than a post. In fact, I'd rate him right up there with a steel girder. He was in school to study theatre, of course, and only worked summers and holidays at the lodge. He read newspapers...or at least scanned Yahoo! News because he was able to express opinions on several topics that weren't on the sports page or in the theatre section. He was also clever enough not to have opinions about that which he knew little or nothing.
He helped with the dishes. He kept the fire stoked. He chose music from my collection without rolling his eyes or asking for something I didn't have and never would.
In short, he was a perfectly charming companion.
In short, he was not Mulder.
So, when we were sitting on the sofa, wine in hand, listening to music, watching the fire, and even I could see the green lights in his eyes, I couldn't follow through. I put my glass down, sighing reluctantly, and said, "You're a very nice young man."
Something shuttered in his face. "But..."
"I'm not sure where I stand in an existing relationship," I said, feeling he deserved as much honesty as I could produce.
"I don't understand."
"I've been with someone for several years."
He looked around the room, which was completely devoid of any sense of Mulder. "Where is he?"
"He's in
"So...you're...cheating on him?" He sounded hurt and confused, as if the concept was totally beyond his ken or conscious.
"No." I smiled, trying to soften the situation or his perception of it, which, unfortunately was exactly what he thought it was. "I'm having a meal with a very nice young man."
"Well, you may call it 'a meal', but you certainly gave me every indication that it was more." He was tugging at the edges of my robe.
"Yes, I did," I confessed. "You
see, I'm not sure if he's coming back. He...well, he wasn't happy here and he's
had a chance to work in
He weighed this information. "Is he coming back?"
I blinked a few times. I didn't want to destroy my image by breaking down. "I don't know." I reached for my wine and took a quick drink, one of those movements of misdirection; so he wouldn't see how dangerously close to tears his question had brought me, and so I wouldn't have to consider the truth of my answer. "We left it on rather bad terms."
"Oh. I see." As I said, definitely smarter than a post. He put his own glass down. "I shouldn't be here."
"Dustin, I-"
He moved his hand as if he felt that I had reached out to him, even though I had not. "No, I'm flattered you thought I'd be a good distraction, but I'm not about distracting people." He stood up, still fussing with the edges of the bathrobe. "It's not I have anything against a fling, and if that was all it was going to be, I'd be cool with that." He tested his plain white briefs, drying by the fire. "But I don't get in between people who don't have their shit together." He dropped the robe and quite unabashedly dressed. It wasn't done for titillation. It was simply a matter of efficiency.
He had a nice body. Nicer than Mulder's, by all standards but my own. He was well muscled, but not overly so. He was tall, lean, tanned, and clearly comfortable in his own skin. He had no false modesty, and no unwarranted pride. It was a pleasure to watch him, especially with the firelight shading and highlighting his flesh as he moved. But it was just that.
I put my glass down and stood as he was stuffing his shirt back into his still damp jeans. "I appreciate your honesty. I'm only sorry I didn't afford you the same."
"Yeah." He looked around and picked up his wallet and keys from the table. He paused, and gave me a frank look. "Too bad."
It was a compliment and an indictment. I stepped aside so he had a straight line to the door. There was a part of me that would have liked to have kissed him goodbye, but I didn't try.
I think there was a part of him that expected me to, because his step hitched just a little as he passed, but then he kept walking, and didn't look back 'til he'd opened the door and crossed the threshold. It was just a look, nothing meaningful. "'night," he said.
"Goodnight." I stayed there until I heard his ATV roaring off down the hill. "Damn you, Fox Mulder." I rubbed at my eyes because they stung just a little.
I had an argument with myself all the while I put the wine away, and washed the glasses, and locked up the house. I knew it was a bad thing to do, it would leave me unnecessarily exposed and vulnerable. I talked myself out of it at least three times, but when I climbed the stairs, I did not stop at the bedroom but went on down to the office, and sat down before the computer.
There was no mail from him, of course, but there was another note from Dana Scully. She was concerned she hadn't heard from me. She was concerned I hadn't confirmed that I'd heard from him. I started to answer her, but the words coming out of my fingers were just too bitter. I dug into my pocket and opened my mobile, instead. I both cursed and expressed gratitude for speed dial. If I'd been forced to take the time to press each number on the lighted pad, I'd have talked myself out of it one last time.
She answered as if she had been sitting by the phone, waiting for my call. "Sir, this is a surprise," she said, though her voice said it was not. "How are you?"
How I was couldn't be expressed by adjectives, only by actions. "I invited a man home tonight," I blurted.
She said nothing. I couldn't even hear her breathe.
"Did you hear what I s-"
"I heard you."
"A waiter from the restaurant I wanted to take you to," I went on, ruthlessly. "He was young and good looking and smart."
Still she said nothing.
"And willing."
"Please don't say anymore." Her voice was fine and thin and as even as a scale.
"There's nothing more to say."
She was quiet for a moment. "He never called?"
"No."
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"So am I. I sent him home." Which wasn't exactly the truth, but was pretty close to the events.
"That doesn't matter, Sir," she said. Her voice was heavier now, weighted with disappointment. "What matters is you brought him in."
It was my turn to be quiet.
"Goodnight, Sir."
"Goodnight, Agent Scully," I sighed and shut the phone.
- END chapter 05 -