Ignorance is Hell - Chapter 04

by Mik

There is a tentative tap at my door. I don't flinch at the sound anymore. After a month, I'm pretty certain it isn't Mulder. I haven't had any contact with him since I walked out of that hotel room in Charleston. Well, that's not entirely true. The following Tuesday, as I climbed into my car after a long, mind numbing day, where, again and again, my mind insisted on revisiting some scene from the weekend, I found a small, brown paper bag on the driver's seat. Prudence would have indicated that I should call Security, but I reached for it mindlessly, opened it, and inside I found a dog-eared copy of Oath of Fealty, and a note, in unmistakable handwriting that said, 'You left off on page ninety-three'. For a month I've slept with that damn thing on my bedside table. I'm surprised I haven't slept with it under my pillow.

I think I had almost hoped he would challenge me, force a confrontation, burst into my office full of wounded pride and rage. I think I envisioned a need to hold him down, as I have done on other occasions, and enjoy the feel of his body struggling beneath mine. I think I even fantasized soothing him, stroking his hair, kissing away tears, safely behind closed doors. But he never came.

I have been straining my ears for some whisper of his name, some snippet of his life, his career, but nothing. He's ceased to exist. I don't dare wonder casually, to Kim, how he's doing. I can't request his jacket to check on him. I can't ask anyone outright if he's still on this planet. I just have to hope and pray and wonder.

I've done everything I promised myself I would do. I walked out of that hotel room and didn't look back. I haven't allowed myself to question whether or not it was right. I haven't allowed myself to wonder if that encounter profoundly changed me, or merely satisfied a natural, normal heterosexual curiosity. I have forced myself not to imagine what my life would be like today if I had stayed one more day, one more hour. I've focused myself on the here and now, the right as I perceive right to be. I've even dated - women. I've refused to go soft over the memory of the hurt in his eyes. I'm a hard-assed ex-marine. You can crack nuts on my hide. And I'm proud of it.

And now this knock on my door. "Come," I bark, my eyes fixed on a roll out sheet in front of me.

There is silence. But there is something else, familiar. A faint scent. Not of fox, but of terrier. I raise my eyes. My little red haired bulldog, in a pale green suit, looks down at me. "Agent Scully. This is a pleasant surprise." I stand belatedly, offer her a hand, accept hers, indicate that she may take a chair. "How are you?" It's a shock to see her. It's as if his ghost, his voice, his emissary has come to my door to make me rethink all I have thought the last few weeks. Scully, in my eyes, will always be a part of him. It's unfair to her. At this moment, it's more than unfair to me.

"I'm fine, Sir, thank you," she says in that so sweet, so precise way. "And you?"

I shrug. "Bored, I must admit. Things aren't as lively without you and Agent Mulder around. How is Quantico? Are you enjoying teaching again?" I ease back into my chair, reach for a pencil, fiddle with it. "How is Agent Mulder? Do you see him much?" Please tell me he's fine. Please tell me he's eating and sleeping and running and catching the bad guys. Please tell me he misses me as much as I miss him.

She shakes her head sadly. "No, I don't." She hesitates slightly, weighing a decision she made before she knocked on my door. "He's transferring again, you know."

Stunned, I stare for a moment. Regaining my composure, I say, "No, I didn't know. Where's he going?"

She lifts her chin, and there's that amazing flash of fire that I remember, that blue flame that shoots out of her eyes and hovers around her like the Northern Lights. "He's going back to VCU. They've promoted him. He's going to be the new ASAC in Boston."

Promoted. Boston. VCU. They'll kill him. "Is that why you're here, Agent Scully?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

"No...well, yes, Sir." She looks down at her hands, folded, ladylike, in her lap. "I'm concerned for his well-being, Sir. I was wondering if there was any way you'd...dissuade him."

I grit my teeth, the way I always had to do when speaking to him, to her, to them. "Why would I do that, Agent Scully? This is a good career move for him. A promotion, a chance to get back to where he once was."

"Yes, Sir," she agrees, in a dark, not quite insubordinate tone. "Nearly dead. Sir, I don't know if you know what working in VCU nearly did to him eight years ago. He gets so..." she stops, raises her eyes to mine. She can't see any emotion there. I've trained it all away. She gives her head one sharp shake, almost as if to erase the conversation. "No, Sir, I know this isn't any of my business. Agent Mulder is a grown man. He knows the risks he's taking. Please forgive me." She starts to rise.

"Agent Scully." I say her name sharply, stopping her before she reaches the door. "I know that he had a very difficult time in Violent Crimes. I know that he very nearly had a breakdown. I know that his … special skills were overused. But as you say, he's a grown man. He knows what choices he must make." We all know what choices we must make, damn it. "Perhaps eight years with the X-Files has given him a little reserve of strength."

She nods but her expression is doubtful. "Perhaps so." She turns back to the door.

I scramble for something else to say. I want her to wait. I want to know..."Have you seen him recently?"

"Yes." She nods again. "I had dinner with him last weekend." She doesn't make this sound as if it was a pleasant experience.

"I haven't seen much of him since...since he transferred," I say carefully. "It was a terrible blow for him. I've been concerned too."

Her eyes on me are cool. Her expression completely devoid of feeling, and yet I know exactly what she thinks. If I was truly concerned I would have gone to him. I actually lower my eyes. "We were never...I didn't think he would accept anything from me." I don't mean to allow it, but a hint of my pain colors the very edges of my explanation.

She relaxes a little and comes back to the chair she used to always occupy during our meetings. "He was doing well for a while. He seemed a little reserved, as if he was keeping himself in check, even around me, but he was doing very well at his new assignment. I was always hearing through mutual friends that he was excelling. People were surprised that he was the same old Spooky Mulder." She smiled faintly. It was gone in an instant. "Then I guess it all finally got to him. The last month, he's been very withdrawn. It took me a month to get him to come to dinner again. I heard that he's been applying for just about any position that's opened up, as if he's been desperate to get out of D.C. Even his -" She cut herself off, and her blue eyes went round in surprise.

"Even?" I prompt.

She draws a deep breath, clearly conflicted. "Well, Sir, his mother called me a week or two ago. She said his phone calls are very stiff and formal, and irregular, and you know that's not normal for Mul - Agent Mulder. He's always been very dutiful toward his mother."

"Yes." I know that. I'm not sure how I knew, but I do. "What do you want me to do, Agent Scully? I'm not his supervisor anymore. He never looked upon me as a friend, so I cannot see him accepting any 'friendly' advice from me." Especially not now.

She licks her lips. She does that just like he does, or maybe he learned it from her. "I think he needs some kind of intervention before he makes a mistake that could cost him his career, and more."

I sigh. What she is asking is completely inappropriate, even more so given our recent history. But she's absolutely right. Returning to Violent Crime on a full time basis would kill him. "All right. I'll try to talk to him. But I haven't seen him in weeks. It's not as if we cross paths anymore."

"I know that. I was hoping you would..." She lowered her eyes and lifted them again, just a flicker, but that too reminded me so much of him. "He's coming to my house for dinner on Friday night. Would it breach protocol for you to come, too? Maybe together, we can talk to him."

I don't want to come. I don't want to meet him, face to face, in front of Scully. What if he loses his temper? What if he reveals what happened? But I want to see him. I didn't think it mattered, but here I am, listening to her voice, smelling her perfume, and remembering all those times he sat next to her, and I miss him so much, I miss what he brought to my life when the X-Files were open, and I miss what he brought to my life that moment when my mind was open. And what if I didn't come, and he goes to Boston and falls apart, does something foolish, gets himself killed through carelessness? Do I want his blood on my hands? "I'm no longer your supervisor, Agent Scully. I don't believe it would be a breach of protocol."

Relief literally gushes out of her. "Thank you, Sir." A smile that breaches protocol. No wonder he loves her. "Around eight o'clock?"

I nod and stand with her. "Can I...should I bring something?" I offer awkwardly.

"Yes, all the wisdom you've gathered over the years." She pauses at the door. "Thank you again, Sir."

I slump down into my chair as the door closes and want to bang my head on the well-polished wood of my desk. Walter, are you out of your mind? It was only for the weekend. You promised yourself. You don't break promises. You don't need to see him. You can't see him. Ignore that weird painful thumping in your chest. It's heartburn. It will go away - impulsively, I press the intercom button. Kim's voice spills out of the box. "Yes, Sir?"

"Could you come here for a moment?"

She comes to the door, peers in. I gesture her inside. "Yes, Sir?" She looks alarmed.

I realize I must still be scowling and I school feeling away from my face. "Agent Scully just told me that Agent Mulder is transferring back to VCU. Did you know anything about this?"

"Me, Sir?"

I smile patiently. "Kim, you are known to have a very reliable underground of Bureau information. Had you heard anything about Mulder going back to VCU?"

She nods. "Yes, Sir. He's going to Boston. He applied for ASAC Villarobles' position when he retired. Weird, isn't it?"

My smile softens indulgently. "After all these years, you're just noticing that he's weird?"

She doesn't smile back. "No, he's even weirder than usual." She makes a jerky gesture that might be a shudder. "And creepy."

"Kim," I say, "you've got it wrong. He's spooky."

"No, Sir. Lately, he's creepy."

"How so?" You're asking too much, you're showing too much interest, I warn, but I don't withdraw the question.

She shakes her head. "I don't know, just something about the way he skulks around. He doesn't talk to anyone. He's worse than when he first went down to the X-Files. Well, you wouldn't remember what he was like then. You met him after he'd been around Agent Scully for a while. She helped him improve his social skills a little."

I smirk in not so mock horror. "They used to be worse?"

She nods. "And now they're worse than before. I never knew he had such a terrible temper. Frankly, I think he got the job because they wanted to get him out of here. He's too good and too careful to be fired now, but he's twice as hard to work with."

"Well, maybe he will be happier closer to home. He's from Boston, isn't he?" He's from Chilmark, I know that. Lately I've been memorizing every detail I could find about him.

She shrugs and nods. It is immaterial to her. "Somewhere around there. Is that why Agent Scully came by? It was nice to see her again. She was always nice."

"Yes. She's a fine agent and a good person. I'm always glad to see her." How textbook can you get, Walter? I give her a dismissive nod. "Thank you, Kim. That will be all."

I sit there, slumped in my executive chair, the one they give you when you prove that you can make decisions under all sorts of battle conditions, including the scourge called Mulder, letting bits of fact rain on my thoughts like pebbles. Boston. VCU. This is going to kill him. He knows it. He's doing it deliberately. He's committing emotional suicide. I did this to him. Son of a bitch!

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

Seven fifty nine. I double-check my watch as I press the doorbell. I will not grab him, pull him into my arms the minute I see him. I will not.

Scully opens the door, and there is a tiny flash of disappointment in her eyes. For a moment I think I've misunderstood, then she recovers, steps back, invites me in. "He's running late. May I take your coat, Sir?" Her eyes widen as I shrug out of my trench coat, and reveal that I've changed into jeans and a black pullover. I'll bet they both think I sleep in suits. "I had hoped he would get here first, and maybe have a chance to have a glass of wine and loosen up a little. The minute he sees you, he'll know something's going on."

I start to pull my coat back into my hands. "Do you want me to -"

She tightens her grip. We have one brief moment of tug-of-war. "Oh, no, Sir. He called. He'll be here soon. Come on through. May I offer you a glass of wine, or a beer?"

"Beer," I tell her, admiring her apartment. It's warm and tidy, and filled with feminine charm without being prissy. There's a real sense of order as well. It suits her. "And please, relax. It's after hours, and I'm not your AD anymore. Call me Walter."

She looks a bit startled and uncomfortable with this offer. "Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir...umm, that is, Walter." She finishes with a helpless, "Sir."

"At ease, Scully," I say with a chuckle. "Call me Sir, if it's easier."

She relaxes gratefully. "Thank you, Sir." She disappears into what must be the kitchen and returns with a bottle of good Irish ale. I am impressed and I think my smile reveals that. "You know us Irish, Sir. We know a good thing when we see it."

"Thank you." I twist the bottle cap away and drop it into a wicker wastebasket near her computer desk. "Have you given any thought to what sort of approach we're going to take with him?"

"No, Sir. I was hoping you'd have some idea. I mean, you're so good at crisis management."

I stiffen. Mulder said that to me, once. "Where did you get an idea like that?"

"Well, Sir, you are." She makes a generous little gesture with one hand. "You wouldn't be in your job, if you weren't. Mulder told me that, once. I suppose he's seen you manage a lot of crises."

"He's caused a lot of crises for me to manage," I return.

She actually laughs. "Yes, Sir."

There is a sharp rap at the front door. I feel my gut tighten. I want so badly to see him, and yet, I am terrified.

"There he is." She waves toward a large, overstuffed sofa before a fireplace. "Make yourself comfortable."

I remain standing. I hear murmurs in the hall. I recognize his, the way a mother can pick her newborn's cry out of an entire nursery of squalling infants. He comes down the hall behind her, sees me and stalls. "Agent Mulder," I say. My knees are becoming rubber, that thumping is back in my chest, only louder this time. What the hell is the matter with me?

His eyes are black fire. Hatred, as molten as lava, pours from them. But his lips twist up in a grotesque attempt at a smile. "A.D. Skinner, Sir. This is a pleasant surprise." He actually comes into the room, and offers me a hand, but the heat from his eyes never wavers. He is as much as telling me to go to hell, even as he says how much he misses seeing me around the Bureau these days. "To what do we owe this honor?" he finishes.

"We're celebrating your promotion," Scully says quickly.

He looks at me, another, more pained look. "Oh? How did you hear about it?"

"Oh, I hear things," I say. "Things I want to hear," I add meaningfully.

"Really?" His eyes narrow. "I suppose finding out that I'm no longer a threat to the D.C. Bureau might be something you would want to hear," he decides. "Scully, do you have another beer?" Before she can answer, he puts a hand on her arm. "I know where it is. I'll get it."

Scully sends me a worried look. "He's in a bad mood," she whispers. "I hope this works."

"Me, too," I agree.

Mulder comes back with his own bottle. "Something in there smells awfully good, Scully. I can't believe you cooked for me." He looks back at me. "Unless you're just showing off for your old boss."

"No, I'm trying one of my mom's recipes. She's hoping to domesticate me," she adds as an aside. "Why don't we sit down?"

We all gather in her little living area, she takes the rocking chair, I take the sofa, leaving room for Mulder, but he goes to the dining room table and brings another chair, spins it around, straddles it. I study the beer in my hand, to keep from staring at him. I suddenly feel as I have been starving for the past month, and Mulder is a banquet.

There are several moments of painful silence before Scully says bluntly, "We don't want you to take the VCU position."

"'We'?" He arches a brow and looks from her to me and back again. "Is that the royal we, or are you two in cahoots about something?"

"Agent Mulder -" I begin.

"And who the hell gives you the right to make those kinds of decisions for me?" he continues, anger giving his cheeks an unnatural flush. "I've worked my butt off for the Bureau for fifteen years. It's about time I started seeing some reward for it."

I try to begin a speech. "No one doubts your contributions to the Bureau, Agent Mulder, but -"

"You shut the hell up," he says, whirling on me. "Sir."

"Mulder!"

He literally rips his gaze from me. "Scully, you and I have been through the best and the worst together, you're my best friend, but it's time to let go." He lets his eyes trip toward me and back to her. "I know it, you know it. I need to get out of D.C. This is a great opportunity for me. It's a promotion. I deserve it. Besides," he tries to grin. It doesn't work. "Fraud is boring. At least I was never bored in Violent Crimes."

"You nearly worked yourself into an early grave," Scully shot back, completely uncharmed, unmoved. "You forget, I've read your medical file - all of it, even the stuff that never gets into your jacket. It nearly killed you. I don't want it to have a second chance at you."

His face hardens. "Scully, much as I appreciate your concern for me, you're not my partner anymore and you sure as hell aren't my mother. You're getting to go on with your life, now it's my turn."

The pain on her face is too much to bear. I won't tolerate it, not even from him -especially from him. I stand up abruptly. "Excuse us, Agent Scully. Agent Mulder and I are going to go for a little walk. We'll be back in a few minutes." I reach for Mulder's arm. He jerks away from me, hissing something that ends with 'bastard'. "Mulder, don't forget that I can pick you up and deer pack you out of here, if I have to. Now, on your feet."

He tips his head back, staring at me. Seeing that I am deadly earnest, he rises, slowly, moves out of my reach and puts the bottle down. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, Scully, call the cops," he calls, trying to sound nonchalant, as we move out the door.

He is silent as we go out into the hallway, out the front door and down the steps to the sidewalk. When we are a good block from Scully's house, I draw in breath to begin another speech and he whirls around. "Don't you dare!" he hisses. "Don't you dare start telling me whether I can or cannot take this promotion." For a moment he chokes and splutters on his rage, but finally manages to push on. "What gives you the right to come into my life and tell me how to live it? You forfeited your rights, buddy. You forfeited them back in Charleston. Now, get the hell away from me."

I catch his shoulders, force him around to face me, stare into his eyes. I want to pull him into my arms and hold him tight, but we're on a busy residential street, and I don't dare. "Mulder," I begin, and I cannot go any further. I've choked down these words for so long, I don't know how to get them out.

"Don't 'Mulder' me," he warns, but he has nothing to support his threat.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," I begin again.

"Hurt me? What makes you think you hurt me?" He tries to laugh. It's pointless. He knows it. He knows I know. He squirms in my grasp and surrenders. "I never saw that coming, you know." His voice is soft, bewildered, resigned. "I didn't ask for it. I didn't mean to let myself feel anything for you, but you didn't play fair. You weren't the stiff, hard-ass I was expecting. You were being...I don't know...sweet...romantic, I really thought you cared." His lip curls bitterly. "It was quite a blow to my self esteem to find out I really was just a one-night stand to you."

His expression is breaking my heart. He looks like he is fighting the tears that burn in my eyes. I tighten my hands around his shoulders to keep from reaching up to stroke his cheek, touch his hair. "You weren't. You aren't. Oh, God, Mulder, if you only knew," I say through clenched teeth. "But you're not so stupid as to not see that we couldn't keep it up, not and keep our jobs. You had to understand that we couldn't see each other once we got back to D.C."

"Which is precisely why I'm leaving," he tells me. He's trembling beneath my hands. "I can't stay here. I can't keep living on the edge, terrified that I'll run into you and give everything away because I can't help the way I feel, I can't control the way I feel. So help me, I want to hate your guts, I want to hate everything about you, but all I have to do is hear your name in passing, and I'm water. I'm a damned schoolboy, thanks to you, and I hate it. I've got to go, get out. I've got to, now, or I'm going to make a fool out of both of us." He breaks free. "Go on, I know it's hilarious. So, have a good laugh, and then get out of my life. Just...get out of my life." He turns and starts walking back up the street.

I'm winded. His words have knocked the breath from me. "Agent Mulder," I rasp. He keeps walking. "Agent Mulder." I take several swift steps, and catch him, once again forcing him to look at me. "I'm not laughing." I look around the neighborhood. There is no place to take him, just for a moment, to show him how deeply I feel. "I can't tell you what the past month has been like for me. Hell isn't strong enough a word for what I've been through. I never meant to feel this way, either. I was really just indulging one of your crazy ideas, just trying to let us sleep nights, and then you walked into that hotel room, and you looked so damn scared and vulnerable and ..."I sigh helplessly. "...gorgeous and I was lost. Everything I knew to be right and proper disappeared, folded right under my feet, and I was free-falling, just like you. After one kiss..." I find my own voice catching. "Please, Mulder. Don't go to Boston. Please."

He won't meet my eyes. "I have to," he whispers. "Now I have to go all the more." He breaks away from me, and into a run, away from Scully's apartment, away from me.

I have to go, reluctantly, back to Scully's apartment and tell her I've failed. I have tears in my eyes. I can't face her. I find a phone booth. I call her. I tell her Mulder and I are going for a little man to man talk. I sound so confident, so self-assured. It's all a lie. Then I hang up, dial Mulder's cell phone. His voice is rough, raspy as he answers. "Mulder - don't hang up," I command quickly. "I want you to meet me at the Red Roof Inn on the Eighty Five. I'll get a room. We'll sort this all out. Please come, Mulder. I really need to see you." I disconnect before I can hear him tell me to go to hell.

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

I wait, pacing. It's been two hours since I called him. I came directly to the motel, not even bothering to go back to my place and get a bag, too afraid that I'd miss him. He should have been here by now. Seeing him was a mistake. I cannot believe how much desire I had for him, pent up, put away like a good little heterosexual male. Seeing him, even seeing all the hatred that he had for me, twisted the key in the lock and the feelings came pouring out, spilling over me, drowning me in the reality of my own, very powerful feelings. There's no denying it. I love him. I can't push him away again and I can't let him leave me. We have to work something out.

The phone rings. I jerk around to it as if I expect it to open fire on me. "Hello?"

There is a heavy, hesitant sigh. "What room?"

"Four oh nine." This amazing thrill rushes through me. He's here. We can talk. We can work something out.

A few minutes later, there is a knock at the door. I go to the door, remembering my convictions the last time I let him into a hotel room, remembering how they came out, stillborn.

He has a paper bag tucked under his arm. He brings it in, looks around. "Not quite the same, is it?" he murmurs. He is determined to be flip, arrogant, the obnoxious subordinate always the bane of my existence. He will not be that sweet, shy vulnerable man who came to me in Charleston. He thinks he's being strong for both of us.

"There wasn't time for that," I tell him. I want to grab him, drag him to me. I wait, wanting to see what steps he'll take, which ones he'll allow me to take. I've got him here, and I will take great care not to scare him off. "Sit down. Do you want me to take your jacket?"

He puts the bag down on the edge of the bed, and shrugs out of the denim jacket. "What did you tell Scully?"

"That we were going to have a man to man talk." I take the jacket and put it on a hanger next to mine. "She's very worried about you. So am I."

"Really?" He drops back on the king-size bed heavily. "You could have fooled me."

I don't turn. I have my hands clenched in the sleeve of his jacket. "What did you want me to do, Mulder? Send you roses?"

"That might have been nice," he says, and lets himself fall back until he is laying over the edge of the bed, his legs dangling down.

I turn. I have to drag in breath and count to twenty. I remember seeing him like that before, just before I made love to him for the first time.

"Something, anything to let me know that you remembered who you'd been with." He rolls slightly, onto his side, props himself up on his elbow. "By the way, is that why we're here? So you can get a little more?"

I come across the floor, grab his shirt front and drag him up to his feet. I want to hit him. I want to hurt him the way those words just hurt me, but I stare down into his eyes and all I can do is pull him against me, and kiss him, harshly. "Damn it, Mulder," I hiss against his lips. "Why does this have to be so hard?" I let him go.

He staggers slightly. "What do you want from me, Walter?" he returns, dropping down onto the bed again. "Pretend nothing happened, that there was nothing between us, go on about my life, but stay in D.C. following bank frauds, just so you can sleep nights? Fuck that."

"No, Mulder, that's not what I want. I want to have you next to me, sleep with me every night, go out to dinner with me, have a life with me. I want you back on the X-Files, making my life crazy every damn day and then coming home and making up for it every damn night. That's what I want, but there's no way it can happen. What I don't want is for you to put yourself at such great risk, just to avoid seeing me."

"I haven't been."

I'm breathing hard, as if I've run a marathon, and as I struggle to catch my breath, I watch him frown, shake his head, and look up at me sadly. "I haven't been."

"What?"

"Avoiding you, avoiding seeing you. You don't know how many times I've nearly collided with you the past few weeks. It's almost become a joke the way I duck into closets and dart down stairwells when I see you coming. People think you're still reaming me out for things that happened when I was under you." His grin is as cold as death. "They don't realize how true that is."

I grab a chair and pull it up to the bedside, to look at him. "Mulder, what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know." His hands are fidgeting in his lap and I reach out, capture them in mine. For a moment he resists, and then he relaxes. "I honestly don't know. You're right. It would be impossible to have any kind of relationship, given what we do for a living, it's just the way you..." He sighs, and his lower lip quivers slightly. "The way you did it, did everything, it left me off balance. The last thing I thought when I showed up at that hotel was that we would do anything more than a little tentative touching, and decide whether it happened or not. I never really believed I'd end up in bed with you. I never could have imagined that you would have tried so hard to make it romantic. I felt as if I had been wooed, seduced. It was amazing, and it lasted a whole twelve hours. Then all of a sudden, you yanked the flying carpet out from under me. And I never expected that."

"I handled it badly," I confess. "I foolishly believed that it was nothing more than sex, that it wouldn't matter and we could both walk away, feeling a little silly and smug because we had this little secret, and go back to our normal lives. I never meant for it to turn into what it did."

"Which was what?"

"Come on, Mulder, you know what I'm -"

His hands tighten over mine. "No. I want to hear you say it. What do you think happened in Charleston?"

I wait a long time. I know what words will eventually come out of my mouth, out of my heart really, but I wait to see if he'll give in first, give me an out. He doesn't. "I think we … maybe just me … fell in love in Charleston."

I hear a little sound, and I look up. He's caught his breath, he's biting down on his lower lip. "Do you mean that?" he asks after a moment. "Did you fall in love with me?"

"I think my feelings for you became clearly defined," I answer honestly. "I think I've always felt very strongly about you, I just didn't understand what those feelings were. Now I know."

"You didn't answer my question," he complains.

"No, Mulder, I didn't fall in love with you in Charleston. I just realized that I did love you, that I probably have for a very long time."

"Oh." He was quiet for a moment, then he turned and reached into the bag. "Want a beer?"

I pull back, hurt. I've confessed. I want to hear his confession. I take the beer, and twist it open.

He opens his bottle, takes a long draw and stretches up to put the bottle on the nightstand. "I did fall in love with you in Charleston. It totally rearranged me. This was not something I would have ever thought possible, but since you left, I have done nothing but think about you - not just the sex," he says quickly. "Although that was probably the most amazing weekend of my life, sexually speaking. But I thought about the way you look, talk, walk, take command of situations. I thought about the way you tried to support me when Scully was so sick. I thought about the way you took charge of situations that I could have blown up. I thought about all the times you stood to the right, but out of my field of vision, so I couldn't see whose side you were on. I thought about the way you were so gentle with me that night, the way you held me, gave me time to relax, to appreciate who you are." He sighs deeply. "We're in a mess, Walter. I love you, and I can't stand being so close to you, and not be able to even drop by your place for a beer without setting off alarms." His voice drops to an agonized whisper. "I have to go to Boston. I don't have another choice."

He loves me. For a moment, that's all I hear. Then I hear the despair in his voice, and my heart, momentarily full, begins to break. "There are choices, Mulder. There are always choices. Maybe if we were careful, very careful. Maybe if there was some reason why we were spending time together. If we were working on a project, or if we had a mutual hobby, or if the X-Files were reopened..." I raise my eyes, gauging the effect of that suggestion.

He's staring at the space between us, shaking his head. "There's no way, they would never..." he reaches clumsily for his beer.

I stay his hand, drawing it back into mine. "It's still in the negotiating stages," I say gently. "But I have been trying various channels to generate some interest in reopening the project." Believe in me, I want to add. But don't build up too many hopes.

"This is just a carrot you're dangling in front of me, isn't it?" he says with a doubtful frown. "Don't go to Boston and maybe, if you're a good boy, you'll get the X-Files back."

I shake my head firmly. "Mulder, I have too much respect for you to do something like that." I pause, I have to grin. "But for argument's sake, how good a boy would you be?"

He shakes his head, he's not ready to see humor anywhere. "Oh, no. I get where I get on merit alone."

"And look where you get," I remind him.

"A Red Roof Inn." He actually laughs. "Look, I'll think about it, okay? But you think of this, A.D. Skinner. If I was up in Boston we could meet in New York, and no one cares what goes on in New York."

"Does anyone care what goes on in a Red Roof Inn?" I ask. I want him so bad.

He reaches into the bag again and tosses KY and condoms into my hands. "Evidently not."

I look up at him.

He shrugs, that wonderful, jerky motion that is uniquely his. "Hey, it's been a long time, Walter. Even if I hated your guts, there are certain parts of you I'm developing a real fondness for."

I smile - no, I grin. I reach out for him and yet he pulls away from me, rolling across the king-size bed and up into a sitting position. I literally gape in surprise. "Mulder?"

He's shaking his head again. "I just want to say this before you start touching me and turn me into some boneless slut. This can not, will not be another one-night stand."

"No," I agree, the smile evaporating. "It can't be." I start to crawl across the bed toward him. "These have been the most miserable weeks since Nam, maybe in my entire life. I never want to go back there. We must be careful, we will be careful, but," I have him now, and I pull him close to me. "This is the beginning of many, many nights together." I kiss his brow, his temple, his cheek. His lips I will take when he offers them to me, no sooner.

He dips his head, avoiding me. "Swear it," he whispers.

I look down at him, surprised. He wants declarations? That's not Mulder's style. He takes things as he finds them.

He sees that I know that about him, and he shakes his head. "There's no one else I would ask this of," he tells me quietly. "But then there's no one else whose word means anything to me. If you swear that you love me, then I'll believe you. You won't lie to me, Walter. So, swear it."

I capture his face in my hands, his beautiful face. When did I start to believe that a man could be beautiful? His features, taken individually, are not remarkable, except perhaps those eyes, but the whole is an amazing portrait, something that must be seen to truly appreciate. And more, there is something within that face, the spirit, the honor, the man himself, that makes the sum of those features more than the whole. "Fox Mulder," I say gravely. "I swear I love you."

His eyes darken with feeling that only he understands, and he leans up, lets his lips brush mine, just a tantalizing taste of him. "Thank you," he says against my mouth.

I ease him backward on the bed, straddling his body on my knees, to work the buttons of his shirt, expose his strong, swimmer's chest. I press kisses from his collarbone to his navel, and he laughs a little breathlessly. I make a mental note to myself to dedicate the rest of my life to making him laugh. Scooting down, I work the buttons of his jeans in anticipation. I know what waits for me there. As promised, a stiffening cock rises up from the denim confines. I kiss that as well. I back off the bed, to remove his shoes and socks and tug his jeans away. Then I stand and gaze down at my handiwork. He is spread out, arms and legs akimbo on the bed, naked from the waist down, wearing only a chambray shirt, unbuttoned, spread open, his penis red and shaking. It is singularly the most arousing thing I have ever seen in my life. "That," I say, cocking my head to one side, "is a good look for you."

He smiles at me. What a smile. "Thanks, but it doesn't quite meet Bureau dress code regulations."

"Fuck regulations." I toss his jeans onto the floor and pull my sweater over my head.

"That's not a bad look for you, Walter," he says, pulling his hands up to cradle his head. He crosses his ankles, waggles his hips just enough to make his cock bounce. "Keep going, Mr. Skinner," he murmurs, in a silky purr that is unbelievably erotic. "I demand parity."

I can't get out of my shoes and socks and jeans fast enough. In a moment I'm lying next to him, and we are devouring each other. We do not talk, we do not concern ourselves with what we will do in the morning. We just focus on the texture of one another's skin, the sinew and bone of our passion. We roll over and over, kissing, touching, exploring, remembering. Occasionally one of us laughs, a soft, surprised whisper of sound that echoes between us. We do not know what amuses us, it might be something so simple as the pleasure of being together. We don't question it, we trade it, we share it.

And then finally, sticky and sweaty and spent, we lay together, a tangle of arms and legs in rumpled bedclothes, gasping and sighing. I kiss the top of his head, pull him hard against me, daring the whole world to take him from me. "I missed you," I whisper.

His fingers slide through the hair on my chest, toy with it, tug a little. "I'm glad. I'd hate to think I went though all that alone."

"You're not going to be alone anymore, Mulder," I promise fiercely. "For whatever it's worth, we're together now." I reach blindly around us, to gather the edges of the bedspread up and curl it around us like a pita bread. "How's that?" A Mulder gyro.

"Mmm." He's drifting away now. I know we should get up and take a shower, sweat and semen are going to glue us together, but the weight of his head on my shoulder feels so good, and his breath is so slow and even and warm on my throat, and I …

In the morning, he is gone. I am alone.

- END chapter 04 -
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