TITLE: Sad Lovers and Giants 14/? - Far From The Sea
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: A blizzard. A power cut. Finding their way in darkness.
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 20^th 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: Sad Lovers and Giants, the two things hardest to conceal.

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.

Sad Lovers and Giants 14/? - Far From The Sea

by Mik

"He's just sitting down there, Sir." Agent Scully met me at the door of the Public Library. The place was still shut down as a crime scene, and even though it was Sunday, curious public milled around outside the yellow police tape, and a forest of microwave dishes on van towers sent news out to the world that a madman had been caught, and the daughter of a Senator had been saved. I'd even actually heard Mulder's name mentioned as I pushed through the throng to find his partner.

She held out her hand. "Thank you for coming down. I didn't realize you were no longer on the Task Force ..." She let her voice trail away curiously.

I took her hand, but not her offer to explain. "I don't understand why you called me."

"He won't be moved from that room." Her voice dropped to that discreet murmur she has. "A.D. Hopkins is threatening to file a 5150 if he doesn't come out."

My heart pitched downward in my chest but I tried to keep it from my face. I was breaching nine kinds of protocol to interfere after I'd signed off this team, but I couldn't let him break apart all alone. He may have been damaged years ago, but I'm the one who reopened the case he'd long ago filed away. "I still don't understand ..."

"He keeps saying your name, Sir," she blurted. She blushed. "Just your name. Over and over."

I'm not sure what embarrassed her, Mulder's behavior, or what she might have concluded about it, but I wasn't going to think about that. "Show me."

"This way, Sir." She directed me to a door at the back of the main room of the library, a door still labeled with the familiar yellow and black civil defense sign we've all grown up with, and learned to ignore. The door was propped open, and we went downstairs into the fallout shelter, just the way I remember the drills in school. I could almost hear the siren, and my fifth grade teacher calling out, 'Duck and cover. Duck and cover.'

We came down into a dimly lit room, clearly unprepared for what would be required in the event of an actual emergency. It was cluttered with boxes and books, and stacks of chairs. Propped against a wall there were dozens of cots that probably had not been moved in forty years. Some things had been moved and rearranged in the last few hours, making a wide path, undoubtedly for CSI teams and stretchers. There was still an acrid smell of gunpowder in the heavy, uncirculated air, and other, far worse smells. "You shot the suspect, Agent?" I asked, recalling one report I'd received.

"Yes, Sir." She was unrepentant. Unlike Mulder, who grieved every time he fired his gun, Agent Scully was very prosaic about the use of her weapon. She didn't pull her gun needlessly, but she was always prepared to use it if she had to.

"And the victim?" I prompted.

"She's been recovered, and is undergoing physical and psychological evaluations right now." She pointed to a hole in the far wall, where a steel door hung on one shattered hinge. "In there, Sir."

A young man from the local law enforcement approached me, looking frustrated. "I'm sorry, Sir. Crime scene, no one's -" he stopped when he saw my badge. "Sir, I'm supposed to seal the area, but he won't come out."

"It's all right, Officer," I soothed. "I'll take care of it."

It was horrible. That was my first impression. A small room, ten by ten square, reeking with smells worse than to be found in an open grave; debris and human excreta everywhere. A hole had been ripped open in the far wall, and there was evidence that whatever came out of that hole had been shot and killed as it did so.

The stench of urine and sweat and blood and feces made my eyes burn and my stomach revolt, but I couldn't leave. I was held captive by the most horrible thing of all.

Mulder, in shirtsleeves and Kevlar, crouched against the wall, his head hanging forward, his hands wrapped around his body tightly, as he rocked slightly on his heels, and breathed in slow, labored checks. I wanted to enfold him in my arms, I wanted to pull him away, I wanted to comfort him, rescue him. I stood there. "Agent Mulder."

He didn't look up. He didn't flinch at my voice. He knew I was there. He just rocked slowly.

I forced myself closer, kneeling gingerly amid the squalor. "Agent Mulder, it's time to go."

"He said it was my fault," he mumbled.

"Your fault? How could this be your fault?" I risked a hand on his shoulder. "You saved her, Mulder."

His head moved back and forth in denial. "Not enough. I didn't save her enough."

"Mulder, she's alive." I slid my hand under his arm and tried to urge him up. "That's all that matters."

"No." He jerked away from me so violently I thought he was regressing again. "Sometimes still being alive is even worse." He lifted his head, and his face was streaked with tears. "What he did to her ..."

"Mulder, you need to get out of here." I stood, tugging him up with me. He resisted, of course, probably more out of habit than need, but I am bigger than he is, and I would have my way.

I wrapped an arm around his waist, and pulled, pushed and guided him out into the main room. The police officer was hovering anxiously a few feet from the door and he snapped to attention when we stumbled out. "Officer," I called, backing Mulder up to a stack of boxes. "Go find Agent Scully. Give her these keys." I held out my car keys. "Tell her I want to escort Agent Mulder out without any press or other interference. Tell her I want my car moved to the exit most efficacious for that event."

He reached for my keys, his brow wrinkling up. "I...uh...Sir?"

"Tell her to move my car around back," I snapped.

"But, Sir, I can't leave the crime scene," he whined. "I'm supposed to -"

"I'll be responsible. Now go." I kept a hand on Mulder, to make sure he didn't bolt or fall. "Go on." I waited until he was disappearing up the wooden stairs before I looked at Mulder again. "Don't worry. I'll take you home, now."

"I can't," he whispered. "I have to -"

"You've done what you need to do. You did what no one else could do." I couldn't help it, I let my fingers work through his hair, sticky with the mud of sweat and dust. I'm not sure, but it felt as if, just for a moment, he leaned into my hand.

There was a step on the stairs and I pulled my hand away guiltily. It was A.D. Hopkins. "Skinner," he barked. "What are you doing here?"

I'm not sure if it was the guilt of being on scene of a case I no longer had any authority in, or with an agent over whom I no longer had any authority, or because I was touching that agent, but I was feeling guilty and belligerent about something and it came out in my voice. "Agent Mulder needed -"

My tone did nothing to improve his. "Agent Mulder is my responsibility now. You're out of your jurisdiction here."

Mulder dropped down from the boxes where I'd put him. "Agent Mulder is Agent Mulder's responsibility," he announced in a flat, beaten voice. "Agent Mulder is going home."

"I did not discharge you," A.D. Hopkins blustered. "You still have reports to file on this case. I need your debriefing."

Mulder's shoulders sagged for a moment, and when he straightened there was an uncharacteristic and dangerous rasp to his voice. "I've been on this case over sixty hours without a break. My debriefing can wait until I've had some food and sleep."

He twisted away, staggering slightly, and I reached for him instinctively. He knocked my hand away, but as he did, his hand fell against my arm, and I was sure that time, he gave my arm a very slight squeeze. "Agent Mulder, find Agent Scully. She has my keys. I'll drive you home if we can't get you on a plane tonight." I shot a defiant look at Hopkins. "Unofficially."

"He needs to be debriefed," Hopkins persisted. "A suspect was killed in the course of performing your –"

Mulder reached back and jerked his service weapon free from the holster at the waist of his slacks. For a moment I thought he was going to draw on Hopkins the way he had me. But he just thrust the gun under Hopkins' nose. "Take a good whiff. I didn't shoot him." He held it there. "That's all the debriefing you need from me. I wasn't even in the room when he was shot. I was with the vic." The gun trembled, and he lowered his hand. "I'm going home."

I turned to Hopkins angrily. "You've been given a gift, Hopkins. Despite Bureau opinion, he's a damned fine agent. Use him wisely, and you'll reap the rewards." My jaw clenched. "Screw with him, and he'll go up in flames, and take you with him." I spun on one heel and followed Mulder up the stairs.

Up in the main room of the library, Agent Scully was arguing with Mulder about driving. "I can't leave until IA is through with me," she was protesting. "You shouldn't drive anywhere, much less all that way. Wait until - there." She saw me and pointed. "Sir, your car is parked in the back, as requested."

"There you are, Agent Mulder." A woman I only recognized by her position in Internal Affairs, approached looking officious. "I need your statement."

Mulder looked as if the next word he heard would break him. He drew a shaky breath and faced her. "I don't really have a statement to make about the incident. I had left the area before -"

"Did you instruct Agent Scully to..." she paused to consult notes, "shoot the bastard?"

Mulder's eyes widened, mystified. He looked to Scully. "Did I?"

She put her hand on his. "Don't worry, Mulder. It had nothing to do with -"

"Agent Scully, please step over here while I speak to Agent Mulder." The woman moved between them. "Did you or did you not so instruct her?" she demanded.

"I didn't instruct her to -"

"Then this report is a lie?" She pointed to the papers in her hands. "I have the testimony of two other agents present that you gave her those instructions."

"They weren't instructions. They were ..." I saw his eyes go over her shoulder, searching for Scully frantically. "They were an excited utterance."

"You ordered your partner to kill an unarmed suspect?" she persisted.

"First of all, I didn't order her to kill anyone, and I didn't know he was unarmed. I still don't."

"Then why did you tell her to shoot him?"

He shut his eyes in pain. "Just take my statement, will you?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He emerged from the librarian's office an hour later, looking worse, if possible, than when I found him down in the shelter. He walked, or staggered, straight to me, and said, "Take me home."

I said nothing to him until after we'd run the gauntlet of press and I got him maneuvered into the car. "You okay?" I asked.

He let his head fall back against the seat. He was pale, under the dirt and blood and tear streaks on his face. "Just take me home." He swallowed hard. "Please."

I started the car. "I don't know if they bothered to tell you or not, but even though two of the agents repeated your statement to Scully in their deposition, all four stated that the perp lunged at Scully with a knife, and then and only then did she shoot."

"Skinner ..." his hand groped blindly 'til it found my arm. "Please. No more."

I stayed quiet. He settled back in the seat, but he wasn't relaxing. His body was shaking, his breath was shallow, and his skin was growing almost white. It looked as if he was going into shock. Anxiously, I glanced at my watch. He was in no condition to be put on a plane and we had to be at least three hours to his place by car, depending upon traffic. But it was two miles to the first exit with a Motel Six. I began signaling to get off the Interstate almost as soon as I got on.

He didn't lift his head to see why we stopped. He didn't seem to be aware that we had. All the same, I locked him into the car and took the keys before going in to register. I got him a room at the back, as far away from the sounds of traffic as possible.

It was only when I moved the car to the back of the boxlike building that he roused himself. "Wh - what..." he struggled to put syllables together. "What's going on?"

"A shower, Mulder. A force-feeding if necessary. A decent bed and a nap."

He turned, his red-rimmed eyes narrowed. "I have all of that at home."

"True, but home is several hours away, and you'd have no supervision there, and therefore no guarantee that you'll actually do any of those things."

His voice was thin as tissue. "I don't need supervision. I need a plane. Home."

"Yes, you do," I argued over him. "It's either this or hospital, Mulder." I held up the key. "Your call."

He grabbed the key angrily. "You have no right to do this."

"I have the right of anyone who knows you, respects you or cares about you."

"Well..." he huffed out breath, "you do know me. I guess that counts." He pushed the car door open and sent me an unfairly suspicious glance. "What are you going to do?"

I pointed to the drive through sign visible from across the interstate. "I'm going to get you some food. What do you want?"

He made an anxious face. "I don't think I want anything right now."

"Too bad, because you're going to eat. Go take a shower. I'll be right back." I waited until I saw him go inside before I put the car in reverse.

Of course he didn't follow instructions. I don't know why I expected him to. I'm just glad I thought to ask for two keys, because when I got back to the room, he didn't appear to be in any shape to open the door for me.

He was sitting, still in his Kevlar vest and filthy clothes, slumped on the edge of one of the beds, his mobile in his hands, looking as close to shattered as I had ever seen a man. I wanted to drop the food I had balanced so precariously, and run to comfort him.

Instead, I put things down on the table, keeping my back to him, but watching surreptitiously in the mirror, to see if he composed himself. But he did not. He just sat there, and tears welled and spilled freely, and he appeared unaware.

Finally I turned, bringing him an iced tea, and a napkin. I put the paper cup in his hand, and brushed the napkin over his face. "It's okay, Mulder," I promised. I didn't know exactly what I was promising, but I meant for everything to be okay. It had to be.

He lifted his chin, but his shoulders slumped even more. "I didn't save her."

I felt something cold clutch me inside. "The Dolan girl? She died?" I was not informed that her injuries were that extensive.

"I knew it, but I didn't want to believe it." He shook his head and looked down at the phone in his hands. "I just got confirmation..." he stood and threw his phone with all his strength at the wall. "He raped her."

I stared at the place where his phone had disintegrated against the wall. "At least she's alive, Mulder," I said stupidly. "That's the important thing."

"Is it?"

Something about his voice made me turn. His face was slack, his eyes were empty. He wasn't with me anymore. He just stood there, making fists and letting them go.

"He said it was my fault," he repeated, in a voice that wasn't really his, but far moreso than the voice of the child I'd heard.

This time I said nothing. I moved nothing. I waited.

He opened his mouth to speak again. His tongue went over his lower lip before he bit down on it, hard. "My fault," he said again. "My fault she was taken. My fault my mother turned her back on him. My fault for everything."

I didn't want to hear this. But I said nothing, did nothing.

"He said ..."he started to struggle with words, "that I ... that I owed him."

That bastard.

He was quiet for a long time. "He took me down to the cellar, where she wouldn't see, wouldn't hear anything." He was starting to shake. "And when I tried to get away, he tied my hands ..." He looked down at his hands, rubbed his right wrist with his fingers. "When I screamed he put tape on my mouth."

He turned away from me, walking slowly to the window. He pushed the curtain back and tipped his head up to let the afternoon sunshine spill on his face. "I tried to be good after that." His voice had taken on a thoughtful tone. "I tried everything not to make him mad. But I make people mad." He let the curtain fall back into place and turned around again, acknowledging me with a rueful smile. "It's a gift."

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to speak, or act. I wanted to act. I spoke. "How long did it go on?"

"A year. Maybe a little bit longer." He shrugged. "One day he moved out. And that was the end of it." His eyes slid around the room, looking for ways to avoid mine. They came to his shattered phone and he knelt and began gathering pieces. "As you can see, just being alive isn't always a consolation."

I wanted to go to him. I went to the bed and sat, instead. Something was required of me. In the many roles I've played for this particular agent, in any of the roles I'd ever be allowed to play in the future, every single one of them demanded that I find some way of comforting him. "Mulder, I can't even begin to understand how much pain you've been in. I can't begin to understand what this little girl is facing. But I do know that this little girl, and her parents, and hundreds of other people are consoled by the fact that you're alive."

"Ah, yes ..." he smiled again, grimly. "I spend my life in atonement. My sister's probably dead. She probably..." his voice warbled, "died a horrible death, very much like what was intended for Carrie Dolan. I didn't save her. So I try to save everyone else."

"You couldn't save her, Mulder. You were a child yourself. You know better than I how people need to find someone to blame when they lose a child. Your parents just chose you."

"Oh, I know that." He stood and pointed to the middle of his forehead. "In here." He carried the bits of broken wireless technology to the table. "But I can't quite get it..." he pressed that finger to his chest, "in here."

"What can I do for you, Mulder?"

He seemed surprised I would ask. "Oh, I don't know. Be Superman, and fly around the world really fast, so that you can turn back time a few days?" he suggested with a weak laugh. "Or a few years?"

"Sorry, I left my cape at home."

He picked up a cold french fry. "You know, I always suspected you had one."

I looked at my watch again. "I should probably get on the road. Hopkins was right about me being out of my jurisdiction. But I want you to promise me you'll eat and sleep. No one's going to expect you in the office tomorrow. You can fly back in the afternoon."

"I wondered what you were doing here," he said, reaching for his iced tea.

"Agent Scully called me. She was concerned for you." I paused before adding, "She said you were saying my name."

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "You told me the truth, Walter. And I thanked you by pulling my gun on you. I'm sorry."

The way he said my name made something in me go soft. "Are you going to be all right?"

He started to say one thing, one of his offhand 'fine's, but he caught himself. "Does this have anything to do with why you left me?" His mouth drew up in a regretful frown. "I wasn't having nightmares, was I?"

I shook my head. "No."

"I should have realized when you asked me about MPDs. Was I disassociating? Regressing? What happened?"

I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to embarrass him any further. "It's not important now."

He caught my wrist in a steel grip. "It is important," he snapped. Then he lowered his voice. "It is to me."

"Whenever we...whenever I tried to...you fought me. You cried. You spoke like a small child." I let the words out in a rush. "You promised to be good."

His face remained impassive, but I could see it take a toll on him. I saw a muscle tighten and tremble on his neck, and his eyes got very dark. He closed his eyes after a moment, composed himself, and even managed a chuckle when he opened his eyes. "No wonder you got lost. That must have scared the hell out of you."

"It did. But I didn't realize ... not then ... I thought I was doing something to you. I left because I thought I was the one causing you harm. I didn't understand what had happened to you then."

He picked up more french fries and attempted to eat them with a disinterested air. "When did you figure it out?"

"I talked to an old Marine buddy of mine. Also a psychologist." I waited for him to react. "Do you mind?"

I think he did mind, because it took so long for him to shake his head. "No. I know you did it because you were concerned for me."

"That's true."

"For the record, leaving me caused me harm."

"It wasn't very good for me, either."

We looked at each other a long time. Long enough for me to imagine holding him in my arms again. I coughed, and looked at my watch. "Well, I'd better get on the road, that's a rental car and I need to get it back before work tomorrow."

He put his hand my arm. "Stay."

End 14