Ignorance is Hell - Chapter 07

by Mik

Mulder is sitting up, cross-legged, in the middle of my bed, drowning in one of my tee shirts, his glasses perched on the end of that nose, a cup of tea cradled in his fingers, while he turns pages in a file. He looks like a cross between an ancient and an adolescent. He hasn't had a shave in five days, his hair is falling in his eyes, his lips are pursed up in a thoughtful frown. I want to knock him backward in that bed and ravish him. But Scully would get in my way. She's perched on the side of the bed next to him, studying burn patterns on the photos of two bodies found in Philadelphia the week before the hostage situation.

They both sense me in the doorway, studying them, and they look up in tandem. They are so much a part of each other, even in these extreme circumstances. I think, in some ways, I love them both.

"Did you need something, Sir?" Scully asks. She's always been Rule Book Bureau, even in jeans, in my bedroom. Extreme circumstances, indeed.

"No, just checking on the patient." I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. "Steve says I must somehow convince him he needs more than tea to take his meds." I make myself smile sympathetically at Scully. "How do you feel about trying to force-feed him some eggs?"

She looks at Mulder, and there is a look of pure affection on her face. I almost expect her to reach out and brush hair from his eyes. "Oh, I think I can get him to eat," she says calmly.

Mulder ignores her, slurps loudly from his teacup and turns a page of the file in his lap.

I turn and go back downstairs.

Stephan and Tom are in the living room, their heads together. They look up at me. "How is he?" Tom asks.

I shrug. "Who knows? They're hard at work. I'm not a part of this process." I tap my chest. "Believe me, they're more productive when I leave them alone at this point." I start for the kitchen. "Scully's going to force some eggs down his throat to go with his meds."

They rise and follow me into the kitchen. "So, what's going to happen?" Tom persists.

I look at them, appreciating them both so much. They've both given us the entire weekend. "I don't know," I admit. "I've got to go back to work tomorrow, act normal, but Mulder's pretty coherent now, and he's good with a gun. Scully could probably call in and look after him -"

"Fuck that," Tom barks. "One of us will stay." He shoots a look at Stephan as if he expects his partner to object, but Stephan's expression is one of complete agreement. "I'm concerned about what happens when he decides how this maniac is going to strike again."

"Then I call out a task force and we go in," I explain. "Everyone will be fully briefed on the situation. These guys are the best there is," I say proudly. "We'll get him."

"And what happens to Fox?"

It's weird hearing another man call him that. I don't even call him that, although I was once given leave to do so. I try not to let the distaste show in my face. In fact, I try not to let anything show in my face. "He'll stay here, of course. He's in no shape to go in on a bust." I think I see something in Stephan's eye that is both knowing and unflattering. I scowl. "I wouldn't let him, no matter what our relationship, not after this."

"All right, how do you protect him after this happens?" Tom asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I mean, doesn't he have to testify, and all that? I thought you said there might be moles in the Bureau." He takes a sip and offers the cup to Stephan. "How safe is he?"

I'm bewildered by Tom's interest. "I...I don't know," I say honestly. "Mulder's always been in a peculiar situation there. He has friends...high up friends, and there are those among them who seem to delight in building brick walls right in his face but catching him before he slams into them. I don't really understand it all." I realize I'm sounding just like him. I pull eggs from the refrigerator, shrugging. "There are forces at work there that I never get to see."

Stephan looks at Tom and then back to me. "We want to take him to Los Angeles with us," he blurts out.

I stare. "Why?"

Stephan thinks my question is odd. To him the answer is as obvious as the carton of eggs in my hand. "Well, who would think to look for him there? Tom and I are going back to see his kid sister get married. We'll take him with us. He couldn't be safer." Stephan grins. "Tom will make sure I keep my hands to myself, and I'll make sure no one else lays a finger on him. What do you think?"

"Why?" I repeat.

Stephan's grin fades. "Because you love him, Walt," he says quietly. "We saw what happened to you after Sharon died. I don't want to see that happen again." He puts a gentle hand on my sleeve. "Let us take him with us. He'll be safer there than any place else."

I don't know what to say. Part of me is willing to agree out of hand. If Mulder is successful, and especially if he's not, his life won't be worth much for a while. Sending him to California under the protection of two men with excellent marksmanship and a vested interest in his well-being would go far to create some peace of mind. On the other hand, could I bear to think of him clear across the country, with strangers? I pull out a small, cast iron skillet, put it on the stove, and make a great show of focusing on Mulder's food. "You'll have to talk to Mulder. He's a grown-up. He makes his own decisions."

Tom looks at Stephan.

Stephan looks at Tom. "You ask him. He likes you better."

Tom shakes his head. "This is between him and his boss."

"His boss?" Stephan mocks.

Tom nods. "In this case, yes."

Scully appears, an empty teacup in her hands, a scowl on her face. "He … wants you, Sir," she mutters.

We all arch brows at her expression. "Do you know why, Agent Scully?" I ask tersely.

She glances at Tom and Stephan and shakes her head. Yet, she does not look happy.

I shrug at them, and follow her to the stairs. "All I said was a little soap and water might not be a bad thing now," she complains under her breath, as she keeps pace with me.

"Oh." I struggle not to laugh. "And what does he expect me to do about it, tell you you're wrong?"

She shakes her head again. "I don't know, Sir. All I know is he refused my help."

We've reached the top of the stairs, but she doesn't go in. Instead, she tilts her face up to me, and says, "I'm feeling pretty useless here, Sir. Why won't he let me help him?"

"Agent Scully," I answer carefully, "have you ever known your partner to make anything easy on anyone? And you are far from useless. You're probably the only one who has managed to keep him in line the past few days. I know Tom, Steve and I couldn't keep him down or force him to take those antibiotics the way you have. You're a calming and comforting influence on him. But even I wouldn't want to convince him that you could give him a bath." I push the door open. "You wanted to see me, Agent Mulder?" I demand gruffly.

He scowls past me at Scully and points. "She says I smell."

"You probably do," I agree. Actually, he doesn't. Not that I can notice, anyway, and I've taken every opportunity I can to get close to him, including curling up next to him the past three nights.

He continues to glower. "She won't let me take a shower."

I continue to look down my nose at him. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know." He stops just short of a whine. "Tell her I can."

I turn to look at Scully. "Why can't he?"

"Because he can't walk across a room without falling down," she says. "I don't want him tripping or falling in the shower."

I turn back to him. "It seems reasonable."

He shifts the glower from her to me. "Then what does she expect me to do about it?"

I give Scully another look. "Well?"

"I could give him a -"

"No."

We both turn. Mulder is glaring at his partner. I've been on the receiving end of that glare. It singes.

I sigh loudly. "Come on, Mulder." I march toward him. He cringes slightly. "Agent Scully, what about the wound?"

"Well, it should stay dry," she agrees.

"Go downstairs and get plastic wrap." I begin tugging the tee shirt off, leaving him in nothing but a pair of loose boxers and a tasteful arrangement of gauze and surgical tape.

"Hey, wait a -"

"You hush," I warn sternly, kneeling beside him. "Dana, go and get the plastic wrap," I repeat, fumbling around for the duct tape that has been abandoned on the floor for days.

"'Dana'?" he mocks then his eyes widen at the thick gray roll in my hand. "You're not seriously considering -"

"Do you want a shower or not?"

He shrugs gingerly. "It doesn't really matter to me."

"It matters to the rest of us, Agent Mulder."

Scully has reappeared with the plastic wrap. She watches, amused, as I literally wrap Mulder's torso like potato salad and then tape the edges in place.

Mulder is not so amused. "Now what?" he demands.

I hand the plastic wrap to Scully. "Now you take a shower. Come on." I catch him under the arms and guide him toward the edge of the bed. "Do you think you can walk, or shall I carry you?"

"I can walk," he insists indignantly. But he still leans on me, allowing me to support him with hands placed gently at his waist.

At the bathroom door, I turn to Scully. "Excuse us, Agent Scully. We're going to take a shower."

Once the door is shut, Mulder turns to me, a taunting grin on his face. "Now, what?"

"Down, boy," I tell him sternly as I lean him against the wall, a hand against his chest to keep him upright, and start the water. "You're a wounded man. You can't get yourself all worked up." Satisfied with the temperature, I reach out and tug his shorts down. I am pleased to note there is the beginning of an erection there. "Come on, into the shower with you."

He considers the shower stall and then lets his gaze and his grin slide back to me. "Are you sure I can stand up all by myself?"

"No." I strip out of my jeans and shorts in one movement. "That's why I'm going to take one with you. You know, Agent Mulder, I wouldn't do this for all my agents."

"Just me and Scully, I'll bet," he answers with another grin.

"Do you want me to call her in here?" I challenge. I reach for the door.

There is a momentary flicker of panic in his eyes. "No."

"Get in there." I put a hand at his waist, let him rest a hand at my shoulder as he steps into the shower, and under the water.

He sighs loudly. "Heaven." Closing his eyes, he turns into my arms. "Heaven," he repeats quietly.

I slide my arms around him lightly, caressing his shoulders, his back. I can feel that halfway to passion stiffening of his pressed against my thigh. I kiss the top of his head. "Tom and Steve want to take you to California," I whisper, licking salty water from the side of his face.

He opens his eyes, looks up at me. "Why?"

"To keep you safe until this is over. I think it's a good idea. No one would look for you there." I reach behind him, adjusting the spray of the water, groping for the soap. "Tom and Steve will look out for you. I can focus on catching this son of a bitch, without worrying about you."

He stiffens against me. "I'm a big boy, Walter. I can -"

"Hush." I press a kiss to his mouth. "I know you can, but you're hurt, you're exhausted and you're only one man. Let them help out a little. They are the two people we can trust." I begin to work the soap between my hands. "You'll like it out there. Tom's family lives right on the beach in Los Angeles."

"I hate the beach," he grumbles as I work the lather over his shoulders.

"Liar." I bring the soap down over his arms, and across his hands. "You spent every summer in Rhode Island."

"I'd like to point out that it was my father's idea." He's not grumbling now, he is leaning into me, arching his back toward my soapy hands.

"Oh, is that a fact? And where would young Mulder have chosen to vacation?" I ask, smiling as I slide my hands over the plastic wrap to the small of his back and then lower.

He answers with nothing more than a contented sigh.

I could spend the rest of my life running my soap covered hands over his firm ass and between his cheeks, but I know that much more of that pursuit will cause one or both of us to lose control and that might even be fatal in a shower stall. "Okay, turn around. I'll wash your hair," I offer.

He cocks a brow at me, amusement dancing in those hazel eyes. "With what?"

"Listen, smartass," I warn, with a not so gentle slap to his ass. "You could be in here alone, or Scully could be -"

"Okay, okay." He turns, fumbles around in the sundries shelf and comes up with a bottle of tea tree shampoo.

I spill a small circle into my palm, work it for a moment until it fills the stall with the warm, clean scent of eucalyptus and then I begin to rub it into his thick, dark hair.

"This is kinda' sexy, Walt," he murmurs, his eyes shut tight against the light blue suds dripping down his brow.

"I use to wash Sharon's..." I stop speaking and work the lather more vigorously.

He's silent a long moment. "I'm really sorry about your wife, Walter," he says quietly.

"Shh." I back him under the spray. "I'm just sorry she suffered." The remark is more for her than for him.

He opens his eyes, and blinks against the sting of shampoo. "I thought she died instantly."

"The suffering came before," I answer flatly. I cup water and spill it over his face. "Better?"

He nods jerkily.

"Are you going to L.A. with Steve and Tom?"

"Do I hafta'?"

For a moment I see the face his father must have seen every summer as they packed for Providence. "No, I'm not going to force you. I'll just feel a whole lot better if you do."

He sighs again heavily. "I'll think about," he compromises.

"Thank you." I kiss a drop of water from the bridge of his nose. "Tom promises he'll keep Steve away from you."

A flash of grim humor darts through his eyes and fades. "I really ought to be here -"

"What can you do, Mulder?" I argue a little more roughly than I should. "You can't even hold a teacup steady right now. How in hell are you going to hold a gun? And there's no way I'd let you get anywhere near this maniac without a weapon in your hand."

"But you need -"

"You've given up all the insight you can manage already. If anything else occurs to you, you can e-mail me or Scully." I turn the water off and grope for towels. "I'd sleep better knowing you were out of harm's way," I finish, hoping that's a compelling argument.

"I bet you'd sleep better if I was here in your way," he retorts, with a naughty chuckle.

"No. I wouldn't sleep at all, if that were true," I counter, rubbing him vigorously except around the wound. I wipe his eyes gently. "Please, Mulder. If I asked it as your A.D. you could tell me to go to hell, but as your..." I stop and look at him. What the hell am I to him?

He is considering the question, too. "I'll think about it," he repeats kindly. "Promise."

I should be relieved but for two things; one, he didn't give a promise that he would do it, and thinking about it will only make him more determined to stay, and two, he didn't rush in with a definition for my place in his life. "Okay," I say impatiently. "Sit here. I'll get you something clean to put on." I tug my jeans on, and drag my hands through what's left of my hair.

Scully is sitting on the bed, chewing at a fingernail and she looks up, takes me in, and gives me a querulous glance.

"He...uh...couldn't stand up on his own," I explain gruffly. "I had to hold him up." I tug open a drawer and rummage around, pulling out green plaid pajamas that I don't believe I have ever worn.

Scully, bless her, doesn't even raise a brow at my explanation. "He's going to be okay."

Is she assuring me or herself? "Of course he is."

"Do you know what is strange?" she says thoughtfully.

"About him?" I fold the pajamas over my arm. "How do you pick just one thing? Everything is strange." I make myself smile. After all, we've both decided he's going to be okay.

"When I went up to Boston...I cleaned out his apartment while I was there." Her eyes shifted away from the bathroom door. "It looked exactly like his apartment here. Exactly. Right down to the dead fish."

I should be surprised, perhaps even alarmed, but it's almost a comforting notion that he's so predictable. I shrug casually. "Well, Mulder's very methodical. It makes sense that -"

She's shaking her head. "I could understand him preferring a certain floor plan or even a kind of décor, but there is no décor. I mean...Sir, you saw the way he lived down here. With all the nice places in Boston, don't you think he'd..." she let the words trail away. "It just struck me as strange." She finally looks up at me. "My inclination would be to take that opportunity to change. It was as if he was trying to recreate something he felt he'd lost."

I have the sinking feeling that she's trying to ask me something. "I'd better get these into him." I back toward the door.

In the bathroom, Mulder is sitting on the toilet seat, shifting awkwardly as if the plastic wrap is somehow chafing him. Putting the pajamas on the counter, I kneel and carefully peel the tape away. "Dana says your apartment in Boston was just like your apartment here," I say with equal care.

"Hey, you know..." He shrugs. "Go with what works."

"Mulder, take it from me. That wasn't working." After having unwrapped him, I slide the soft flannel over his shoulders. "Has she given any indication that she knows..."

He pushes my hands away and works the buttons. "Knows?"

"About us." I lift his feet and slip the pants over his legs.

"Not to me. To you?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm reading too much into the things she says, the looks she's giving me." Arms around his waist, I lift him gently and pull the pants into place. For a moment, I let my arms linger around him. I had forgotten how good it feels to hold someone.

His hands rest on my shoulders. His voice is soft and slightly wistful. "Would it be so bad if she did?"

Why does it seem that having Scully know would be the same as having the whole world know? And would it really be so bad to have the world know I loved this man? Again the doubts twist up inside me. "No," I lie. I look up. "Are you going to tell her?"

He's looking down at me as if he can see what I am really thinking, fearing really. And there is something rather sad in his voice when he answers, "Only if she asks."

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

He must be feeling better. He's raging at me. I have sent Scully home for a well-deserved rest while I attempt to pack a suitcase for him. I want to put him on a plane to California tonight. He's predicted where Malcomb will strike next, we've worked out details for surveillance and approaches to prevent loss of life. He's gone over every pressure point he can think of to use in talking Malcomb down. His work here is done and now I want him out of the line of fire.

He is resisting, naturally. He's worked hard on this, invested more than the usual symbolic blood, sweat and tears. For all the world knows, he gave this one his everything.

He's not officially dead, of course. The forensic team could not definitively state that all the bodies were recovered from the burned out hull of the warehouse, but no corpse has been identified as his. He's merely deemed missing in action, and presumed dead. And in an effort to keep him from being realized dead, I want him in California until the smoke clears.

I know he must be feeling better. He is up, pacing the room, spitting heated protests in my direction. I keep patiently repeating that the decision is his, all the while packing as if it's a done deal. It is. He's getting on that plane if I have to pack him in a duffel bag and ship him as airfreight. It's hard for me to be angry at him, even if he is being stubborn bordering on childish. It is so damned good to see him up and moving under his own power. And after five chaste nights in my arms, I'm so hungry for him I'm not really hearing him, just watching the way the words move his mouth; the frowns, the scowls, the biting of his lower lip.

He insinuates himself between me and the suitcase I'm trying to fill, and the warm scent of him floods me. It is with monumental effort that I keep my hands at my sides and not throw him backward on the bed and mount him. "Are you listening to me, Walter?" he growls.

"Yes, Mulder," I answer blankly. I'd never noticed the fine definitions of his face before.

"I'm not going to California," he states emphatically. "This is my baby, my bust. I'm going to be here for it. You're not shunting me off to the nursery while the big boys play."

His breath brushes heatedly across my lips. His eyes are narrow strips of grey green. His color is healthy and high. His body is inches from mine. I could envelop him in my arms in a moment, crush him to me, never release him. "That's not it at all, Mulder," I tell him. "You know how dangerous it could be for you to have a visible role in this operation. We need you alive for testimony when the time comes." Very deliberately, I reach around him to drop a stack of tee shirts into the bag, and let our bodies touch.

I feel him shiver slightly and I know he is about as unaffected by our proximity as I am. "Walter." His voice is very low, with a hint of entreaty I wouldn't expect him capable of. "Please."

I take his shoulders, and manage not to dig my fingers into his flesh. "Mulder, please be reasonable. I'm not sending you off with a nanny to keep you from being under foot. Believe me, no one wants you close by more than I do." I surrender, and kiss him softly. "But I want you close by for a long, long time."

He kisses back as only Mulder can kiss. I'm melting inside. When he breaks the kiss, he looks up at me, through a veil of lashes that is as unexpectedly flirtatious as his voice had been moments again. I can almost feel them flutter against my balls. "I suppose," he concludes with a chuckle that tickles my balls, "that Dr. Feel Good is standing by downstairs with chloroform if I don't agree?"

"Of course not!" I can't hold the indignation long. I give in with a laugh. "Just a hypo of Ativan."

He rolls his eyes. "Of course." He leans in for another kiss, and works his way over my lips, my chin and down my neck to a place on my throat I had no idea was so sensitive. As his mouth fastens there, his fingers start to work the buttons of my shirt. I'm starting to ache from my belly down.

I put my hands over his. "Mulder, we can't. Tom and Steve -"

"Hey, you said they were experts in this area." He's laughing against my throat. "Maybe they could give us pointers."

I feel myself blushing, everywhere, and I push his hands away. "You're not ready for this."

"The hell I'm not." He presses against me and I can feel a sizeable erection beneath his sweats. "Come on, Walt. I need you. I need you." He pulls at me urgently. We tumble back onto the bed and the half packed suitcase. He groans.

I scramble off, anxiously. "Did I hurt you?"

He opens his eyes. "No, but I'm going to hurt you if you don't do something, and do it quick."

For a moment I manage to hesitate. There is even a temptation to run downstairs and ask for a medical opinion about making love to a man who has recently been so severely injured. In the end, I make an administrative decision, lie down next to him and roll him up and over me, so that he rests against me. His face caught between my hands, I begin to devour his mouth. I am surprised to find that having my feelings for him revealed, even to two other people, is very liberating. I kiss him with more fervor than I have allowed myself to date.

He lifts his head, looks down at me, panting. "Good grief, Walter … what are you taking for this?"

I work a hand under his tee shirt and pinch a nipple lightly in reply.

He groans again, a much different groan, and grinds himself against me. "Cut the crap, Walter. Are you going to fuck me, or what?"

"What." I roll him again, pin him with a hand on his belly and strip him of his sweats in a gesture so savage I actually tear the fabric. Kneeling at the side of the bed I spread his long legs wide, and fix my mouth on his ball sac, sucking hard.

He takes the groan up an octave. "Oh, God, Walterrrrrrr."

It is only then that I realize the door is still slightly ajar. I stand, and look down at him, panting, my cock so hard that walking will be painful. "Don't move," I command.

"No moving here, boss," he promises, one hand snaking down to rub his rigid penis.

I slap his hand away. "No touching. Mine." I manage to get to the door without hobbling, push it shut and lock it. I come back to the bed, shedding jeans as I do, and fall to my knees between his parted legs, almost in worship. His body is beautifully hard and there is a slight sheen of sweat and a faint flush of arousal working in concert to give him an almost otherworldly glow in the late afternoon sunlight. I think back to the moon glow on his body that first night, and I feel a rush of horny pride that this body now belongs to me. I lift his heavy cock and begin to lick. Long, wet, thorough, lapping up and down his shaft and under the ridge of that bluish mushroom cap. Tongue pointed and stiff, probing the slit, leaving a trail of warm saliva up and down and under and around.

He is moaning, rocking his hips up and down, his head tossing side to side. His hands hover over my head, wanting to hold my head, force me to take him in deep, finish him. But I'm only beginning.

I suck on his balls, I lick the crease between thigh and torso. I nip, kiss, suck, chew. Under his cock, into his navel, under his balls. I take the burgeoning head into my mouth and suck lightly. When I can stand it no longer, I lift myself over him. I wrap his long legs around my hips. His eyes are wide, hot and riveted on me. With one hand on the bed to brace myself, I use the other to take both cocks into my hand. With his liberally smeared with my spit, and both of us leaking pretty copiously, I don't really need any extra lubricant to work them together.

He lets out an otherworldly sound as I begin to pump. The feel of his flesh against mine is almost more than I can stand, and I have to grit my teeth and tighten my gut to keep from spurting all over his heaving chest. His hands enfold my shoulders, and his fingernails dig into my skin. But the pain is only an intense addition to the pleasure of his body wrapped around me, rutting against me.

At last his head rolls back and he releases a long creamy rope over my fingers and his belly. His body sags and he sighs something like a death rattle. A moment later, I come with a choked off shout. I may have said his name. I may have yelled 'Fuck'. I may have recited the Declaration of Independence. I don't know. Something garbled and desperate came out of my mouth as something equally desperate burst from my body. The arm holding me up and off his body begins to tremble, and I roll over, and off the bed, landing on the floor with a grunt, and a contented 'huh'.

A moment later, he shifts carefully and looks over the edge of the bed. "You okay?"

"Well?" I cock a brow at him. "Was I?"

"Ohhhh, mannnnn." He flops back on the bed. "I won't be able to move for a month."

"Sure you will." I struggle to sit up and look at him. What a piece of art. Crème covered bronze; his still thick cock twitching on his belly, as if in death throes. "Damn. You are beautiful." I am surprised at myself that I let that observation out, and so is he. He looks at me, shakes his head and closes his eyes.

"Are you all right?" I ask him, pulling myself to my feet, and catching a few stray drips before they get to the carpet. I grab one of the tee shirts from the suitcases, and wipe myself haphazardly.

"Dunno," he gasps. "Am I?"

I lean over him and kiss him roughly. "More than all right." I take a quick swipe at his belly with the sticky shirt. "Do you want to take a shower before you get ready to go?"

"Go?" He opens his eyes. The languid pleasure drains from his face. "You mean, you still expect me to go?"

For some reason his words wound me. Was this explosion of passion nothing more than a highly charged misdirection? "Mulder, this doesn't change how I feel, and it bothers me that you think sex will get you your way."

"My way," he echoes harshly. "All right, all right." He sits up and pushes my hands away as I try to help him stand. "I'll go."

"Mulder, I..."

"Damn it, I said I'll go." He stands up and staggers toward the bath. "Let me take a shower."

"Do you need any help?" I offer.

His only answer is to shut the door in my face.

"Damn it," I say with feeling, to no one in particular. I wipe myself down a little more and pull my jeans on, angrily. Damn it, why did he do that? I pull a clean shirt from my closet and shrug it on as I stomp downstairs.

Tom and Steve are in the living room, sitting side by side on the sofa, watching the game, Steve's head on Tom's broad shoulder. I go into the kitchen to avoid them. I pour myself a cup of coffee. But coffee is not what I want, and I go back to the living room, to the bar in the corner, and pour myself a couple of fingers of scotch. I can feel Tom and Steve watching me with more interest than they were watching the game. When I toss the drink back and glance over my shoulder, they are exchanging worried glances.

"He's being difficult?" Tom asks.

Stephan is considering me, speculatively. "I think he was very hard to deal with." His face splits in a grin.

Tom looks shocked. "You mean, you...you..."

Stephan laughs at Tom's expression. "Oh, you delicate little virgin. Of course they did."

"But Fox's injuries …"

Stephan stops laughing and looks at me. "Oh. Do you think that was the smartest course of action?"

I scowl at them both, embarrassed and trying to hide it. "I was very careful."

"How is he?" Tom asks, reaching for the television remote and shutting down ESPN. "Is he going with us?"

"Yes," I sigh heavily. "I convinced him."

"I like your style, BIL," Stephan laughs and looks at Tom. "Why don't you ever convince me like that?"

"Because you're so easy all I have to do is tell you to bend over and you're in heat," Tom retorts, and smacks Stephan's thigh.

"Easy?" Stephan snorts. "What's wrong with that?"

I pour another scotch.

Mulder comes slumping down the stairs with the air of a put-upon teen, in tight jeans, a black pullover and a jacket slung over his shoulder. He looks much the same as he did that first time in the hotel in Charleston. I know it's deliberate on his part, but it's working and I can't help staring longingly. At that moment, crossing the sill in that suite, everything was new and uncertain and there were possibilities I didn't even dare dream about. Now they are realities, and fall in line with hurts and heartaches and regrets and desire. But right now I just want that thrill back, the thrill of touching him for the first time.

He shoots me a dark look then manages a smile for Thomas and Stephan. "I guess I'm coming to California with you."

"You see, Tom? I told you those legs worked."

Mulder smiles again, this time, a bit self-deprecatingly. "I owe you two a lot. Thank you doesn't seem to be enough."

Stephan surprises us all by standing up, dropping an arm over Mulder's shoulder and fixing him with a look that had pinned bigger men against a wall. "I'll tell you what would be enough, Fox. Love him." He points toward me. "Never hurt him. That will be plenty."

Mulder flushes almost guiltily. "I'll do that."

Stephan drops his arm and shoots me a look. "We'll meet you two at the airport?"

We both nod, without looking at one another. Stephan kisses Mulder's cheek lightly. "See you in a while, Fox. Hey!" he protests, as Tom smacks him firmly on the ass.

And with, our two saviors are out the door. And we're alone, with a lot of feeling.

"I didn't want to make love just to change your mind," he says sullenly.

"I know," I say, but everything about me says I'm lying. I look up, and try to find words to explain, but none come.

"You do this all the time, you know," he bursts out. "Either you leave or you push me away...to 'protect me'." He makes quotes in the air with his fingers, a gesture I abhor. "Let me clue you in, Mr. Wally-I-know-everything-'cause-I'm-Assistant Director-Skinner. I'm a big boy. If I'm big enough for you to fuck, then I'm big enough to make my own decisions about my safety."

I swallow tightly. "Yes."

"Yes?" He waits. "Is that it? Yes? What does that mean?"

I finally sigh, heavily. "I just went through the worst few days of my life, thinking you were out of my life, then believing you were dead, then knowing you were dying." I feel tears and I look away. But I can't keep them from my voice. "I don't want to go through that again."

He glares at me. "That's not fair."

The doorbell rings.

I move past him, trying to find words, and knowing, in reality there aren't any. The only good reason I have for urging him to go to California is my own selfish desire to keep him alive for me.

It's Scully. She's frowning. "Is he going?"

I step back and let her look down the hall to where Mulder continues to slouch and scowl. "Yes," he hisses. "I'm going."

I have a feeling Scully wants a moment with him. They're doing that nonverbal communication that I've never fully comprehended or appreciated. "I'll get your bag," I offer, and take the stairs, grateful to be out of the room. I know it isn't going to be pretty.

I don't know exactly what it is she says to him while I'm up there, but he is a bit calmer, and looking a little less murderous, even though there is still a cloud of rage barely concealed in his eyes when he looks my way.

He sits in the back seat with Scully on the way up to the airport. I know it is just one more childish, albeit silent outburst on his part. Scully offers me no sympathy, offers him no censure. She has her notebook out, they are going over last minute contingencies, but I can feel the heat of his eyes whenever he looks up at me. And it is an interminable drive to the airport.

We collect his boarding pass, check his bag, and hover in the waiting room until Tom and Stephan arrive in a breathless little hurricane, both trying to blame the other for their tardiness. I'm aching as they all exchange hugs and kisses; Tom and Scully, Stephan and Scully, Mulder and Scully, Stephan and Mulder, and finally, laughing at himself, Stephan and Tom. Then Stephan turns to me and offers me a big bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. "'bye, BIL. Be good."

Tom offers me a hand and pulls me close. "Don't worry, we'll bring him back in one piece," he promises in a whisper.

I turn, hopefully, to Mulder. He offers a hand. "Good luck," he says, shoulders his flight bag, and strides down the boarding sleeve. Tom and Stephan exchange looks and follow, and my heart drops to my belly. I've done it again.

- END chapter 07 -
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