TITLE: Sad Lovers and Giants 16/? - Echoplay

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 16/? - Echoplay

by Mik

"Wh..." I felt as if the words I couldn't possibly have heard took the very breath from my body. "What did you say?"

He looked up at me. He did not appear feverish or irrational. In fact, he looked more lucid than he had in a week. "I killed him," he repeated. "My father." His fingers were knotted in my shirt, and they trembled slightly, but his eyes were clear and his voice was full of conviction. "I did it."

"Mulder." I put a hand over his mouth, and warned, "Don't say another word. You're confessing to a capital crime. I'm bound to report this if you persist."

He twisted away from my hand. "I know. And you should. I should be punished." He pulled one of his hands from my shirt to mop water from his eyes. "I did it. I remember it now."

"No." I used the towel I'd draped over his shoulders to wipe his face. "You're remembering wrong." I know I was begging. "You've been through tremendous trauma the last few days. You're not thinking clearly. You've -"

"I am thinking clearly," Mulder broke in. "Probably for the first time in years. I know you want to protect me, but you can't." His voice quavered slightly and he turned his face away just enough that I could no longer see his eyes. "You can't."

I wanted to. I wanted to gather him in my arms and hold him, ward off any other evil that threatened to touch him. But he was right. If what he was saying was true, there was nothing I could do to stop what would happen to him. But was it true? "How sure..."

"Very sure." His profile wrinkled up in a rueful frown. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I need to. I need to." He turned back just that fraction of an inch, as if seeking permission to go on.

All I could do was shift in my awkward position, crouched beside him, and dread what would come next.

"I haven't ever been certain what happened that night. I remember what I told the police, and I think I thought that was the truth then, but it's gnawed at me, ever since. It's just been a murky shadow for me for years. Now there's a bright light on it, and I can see what really happened."

He dragged dripping hair back from his face. "He was going to tell me something. I thought he was going to tell me something about his work, something he was sorry for." His eyes left mine, and his face hardened. "But he was never sorry for anything he did." He started to push himself up off the floor. "He went into the bathroom then ... to get some pills, I think." He staggered out the door, rubbing the towel over his face.

"Mulder, please," I implored. "Stop and think this through before you go on."

"Oh, I am thinking about it." He dropped down onto the foot of the bed. "I can't help thinking about it. I can see it as if it's happening again, right now."

"You're seeing it wrong," I insisted. "You've just remembered a horrible crime that was committed and...and..."

He smiled at me sadly. "And you think I'm rewriting history so that I can finally have my revenge on my rapist?" The smile faded. "No." He nodded as if he was trying to convince himself. "I killed him. He's dead. I shot him."

"Agent Scully and the local police found no evidence that you were the one who shot him," I pointed out. "Agent Scully actually ruled you out. Remember?"

"She ruled out my gun." He looked down at the towel in his hands. "I didn't use my gun."

"Mulder, do you realize what you're doing? You're forcing me to turn you in."

He nodded. "I deserve to be punished."

"You've been punished enough."

He shook his head slowly. "No, you and I both know it doesn't work that way." He held the towel out to me. "I was in the living room, waiting for him to come out. I heard him say something. Something like...'What do you want?' or 'What are you doing here?' I thought he was talking to me, but he sounded...alarmed. So, I went in."

"You told police you didn't go in until you heard the shot fired," I reminded him.

He nodded. "I don't actually remember going in," he admitted. "I remember waiting in the living room ... hearing him say something. Then...I remember standing there in the door, looking in." He looked up again. "He was there, you know. He was..."

Mulder stood and went back to the bathroom door. "He was standing in the tub, with the curtain drawn ... like this. Dad was standing...here." He moved around in front of the sink. "Kry..." he swallowed, "Krycek had the gun aimed at him. He was saying something, something spoken very low and sort of threatening." Pain and confusion welled in his voice. "I don't think it was English."

"Krycek? You're sure it was Krycek?"

"Oh, very sure about that as well." He turned around again, facing the spot where he had indicated his father had stood. "He - my dad was surprised I came in. Krycek wasn't exactly surprised. He smiled. I remember that." He closed his eyes, his head tipping back as the memory rippled through him. "I remember that smile, it was insolent and ... cruel. My dad started to tell me to get out ..." something flickered over his face, "oddly. As if he was angry at me for getting involved."

I waited. Something was going on behind those hunted, hurting eyes. "And then?" I prompted finally.

He gave his head a little jerky shake. "And I yelled at Krycek. Started to pull my gun." His hand went to his back, as if reaching for a weapon that had been there that night. He paused again, looking bewildered. "I'm not exactly certain what happened next. My ... my dad moved toward me, and Krycek pointed his gun at me and I..." he stopped. He pushed the shower curtain back farther and looked into the stall as if he expected the scene to play out for him again. "I think I tried to grab the gun. I know my dad pushed into me and I lost my balance over the edge of the tub."

Suddenly, he seemed to realize he was standing in front of me, naked, and he bent down to pick up another towel. "I fell into Krycek and he dropped his gun. Then..." he shook his head. "Somehow Krycek got out the window. I used a towel to pick the gun up, and my dad..." His fingers were clutching the towel so tightly his knuckles were as white as the cloth. "He was yelling at me. Telling me I let him get away, that I always fucked up everything, never did anything right."

His voice became very distant and sad. "I had the gun in my hand. He told me again how worthless I was. How d - disappointed he was. How everything was my f - fault. He grabbed my arm, I think. Or my hand. I don't remember now. I just remember he twisted and it hurt. And he was yelling at me." He turned around and looked at me, very purposefully. "And I shot him."

"With the gun Krycek dropped," I said doubtfully.

He nodded. "I was holding it in the towel. That's why there was no powder on my hands or prints on the gun."

"How did you manage to pull the trigger, if you had it wrapped in a towel?" I asked.

That puzzled him. "I...don't know. But I remember feeling the recoil in my hand. And he was dead."

"Did you mean to shoot him?"

He looked as if I had shot him. "He was my father."

"So, it was an accident?" I prompted.

"No." He looked regretful but resolved. "There are no such things as accidents. I must have meant to kill him. I didn't think I did, but he's dead, so I must have done it, right?" He wrapped the towel around his hips. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I confessed heavily. "There are some huge holes in your story, Mulder. I think you need to talk to someone, either fill in the holes, or recognize it as wish fulfillment. I am willing to let you talk to a therapist before I do anything else. But sooner or later, we're going to have to take this to the authorities."

He seemed mildly relieved by my answer. "Fair enough. So...what do we do right now?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I just confessed to a murder," he protested. "What do you think, that we should go to Disney World?"

"No, I don't think you confessed to murder," I told him frankly. "I think you related a troubling image that you're not sure is memory or dream. I'm not going to destroy your career 'til we know which it is."

He was shaking his head. "That's not right, Skinner. You wouldn't give anyone else that chance."

I reached for his shoulder and started pushing him out to the bedroom. "I would if I knew his history, and knew there was some doubt about the facts as he remembered."

He turned enough to meet my eyes. "What if I wake up and decide to recant?"

"What if you do?" I guided him toward the bed. "I won't let you off that easily. I'm going to give you a chance to talk to someone, sort things out. Then we'll go to the police."

He eased back into bed meekly. "Okay. That's good." He let me pull the bedclothes up to his chest before he opened his eyes and sought mine. "Are you going to leave now?"

"Why would I leave you?"

"Oh, because..." He tugged one hand free and waved it vaguely toward the door. "You have a long trip home and..." he paused to rub his eyes, "and you really shouldn't be here and ..."

And just that fast he was asleep.

I should have left then. I should have located Agent Scully, advised her of Mulder's fragile state of mind, and left the jurisdiction. But I couldn't. Mulder had been betrayed too many times, not the least of which by me. For him to have confessed all and wake to find his confessor gone would have been the worst betrayal of all.

Many parts of his confessions, both of them, disturbed me. There were inexplicable gaps in both. I believed his allegations of abuse, but I believed there was more than he had related to me. I had the feeling he was still protecting someone - his father, himself, maybe even me from the complete truth.

As for his confession of murder, I knew the police had never been wholly satisfied with the assassin-in-the-shower theory, and that, for a time initially, at least, Mulder had looked good for his father's death. But physical evidence had cleared him of all but the most stubborn suspicions, and I'm sure that strings were pulled above his head to make even those go away.

Shuffling his description of the events with what physical evidence supported, I could paint a picture of my own. Mulder probably witnessed the murder, probably either failed to act, or failed in an attempt to thwart the attack. Now, in his grief, guilt and rage, he was assuming all responsibility. I'm no psychologist, but I knew Mulder well enough that such a scenario made sense to me.

And if Mulder had put the bullet in Bill Mulder's chest, I had no doubt it was self-defense.

I was standing over the bed, looking down at him in the failing light of winter's early evening, when my mobile jangled in the pocket of my slacks. I moved away from the bed to flip it open. "Skinner," I said quietly.

"Sir?" It was Agent Scully. She asked many questions in a single word.

"Yes, Agent." And I answered them all.

"His mobile doesn't answer, Sir."

"It...uh..." I glanced at the wall where he'd flung it in a rage, "stopped functioning."

For a fraction of a moment she chuckled, as if she had seen many of his phones stop functioning. The laughter stopped abruptly. "He's not home. A.D. Hopkins and IAB are looking for him. They've called me several times."

"Agent, we both know he was in no condition to travel today."

She took my rebuke personally. "No, Sir. But they don't consider that...er, relevant." She waited a moment, as if she was expecting something from me. "What did you...do with him?"

"I fed him, put him in a motel room to shower and get some sleep." I glanced back toward the bed. Mulder had flopped over on his side with a restless sigh. "Stop worrying about him for now. He'll be on a plane in the morning, good as new."

She didn't respond right away. "A.D. Hopkins is going to make things difficult for you, Sir, and it's my fault. I shouldn't have brought you back in, but he's not accepting my explanation."

"Agent Scully," I broke in firmly, "you did what was right for Agent Mulder. Don't blame yourself for that. Despite what we're always told, sometimes we need to look at the smaller picture."

"Yes, Sir." There was an uncharacteristic catch to her voice. "Thank you, Sir."

"And I plan to be on a six am flight to DC, so it's possible that it might become a nonissue."

She sighed and it wasn't a happy sound. "I hope so, Sir. Thank you again. For ... everything."

"Agent Scully," I asked impulsively. "Internal Affairs has cleared you of any wrongdoing, hasn't it?

"Sir," she said carefully, "you know I can't discuss that with you, not while the investigation's ongoing."

I made an impatient noise. "I don't care about the rest of the investigation," which was a lie. Mulder was the rest of the investigation, and I cared very much about that. "I just care that you personally have been cleared."

She was silent, much longer this time. "Thank you, Sir," was all she said, telling me she had not yet been cleared.

"You're welcome, Agent," I answered. "Good luck. Goodnight." I ended the call.

I put my mobile down and looked back at the bed. There was no question that word would be upstairs by morning that I went out of my jurisdiction to interfere with a case into which Internal Affairs had been brought. Scully's call wasn't just about Mulder. It was a subtle advisory that I was expected back in D.C. immediately. But I wasn't going. Not until Mulder was ready to come back with me. I wasn't naive enough not to know it was a career changing decision.

The decision wasn't that hard, really. They expected me to leave a fellow Agent, a former subordinate, a good friend, a possibly former lover and a man who was in such a damaged state of mind that he might be a danger to himself if left alone. I would have had qualms about leaving him behind on any level of relationship, but the combined circumstances of my involvement made it impossible for me to simply drive away and leave him sleeping in a strange motel room, unprotected from his own fears and memories.

Having made my decision, I returned to the side of the bed and began to disrobe. I had just decided to give away the future as I had always known it. All I wanted now was to hold onto the only future that remained.

He started, making a muted sound of protest as I climbed into the bed beside him. I slid my arms around him and stroked his shoulder soothingly. "Shh. It's okay," I whispered into his hair. "I'm here. I won't leave you."

End 16