Same Game XII - Technical

TITLE: Same Game: Part XII - Technical

(Part 1 of 2 parts)

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: mikdok@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

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.

SUMMARY: Sometimes it’s HOW you know.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist ... Flames? Send 'em to my brother, he's having a barbecue.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current. Skinner has always been their boss. And I don't give a damn how many arms Krycek has, he doesn't get to play.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything.

This is for Geoffrey, who gave me permission to play with his characters from "What You Want", for the owners and shareholders of the Chatterers Gallery for their love, support and lifetime supply of "Peeps", and querida Susan, for her brilliant execution of all things beta.

If you like this, there's more at http://homepages.go.com/~frogdoggie/3wstop.html

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Same Game XII - Technical (part 1 of 2)

by Mik

"Hands and knees."

I complied. I was too hot and horny to think how ridiculous I might look with my ass in the air. His hands were sliding over my hip, my thigh, my ass, as if he was examining horseflesh. I didn’t care. I’d be his pony-boy for the night if it would take that lost, slightly vacant look from his eyes.

It had been a miserable three weeks. My so proud bulldog had been relieved of duty ‘pending an investigation’. They actually sent security to watch him empty his drawers and escort him out of the building. Everyone knew there would be no investigation. It made my blood boil, but the powers-that-should-but-don’t made it very clear Scully and I were not to pursue this ex officio or we’d suffer the same ignominy. I can’t swear to it, but I’m pretty sure they had security watching us that afternoon to see if we’d made some attempt to catch his cross if he stumbled.

It made it hard for us to be together. I managed to find a place we could rent by the week, no questions asked, but our time together was so tainted by what had happened to us that sex was rare and frequently had the flavor of mindless duty.

But, there was that bright pink of sunrise on the horizon. Scully and I had pulled together a series of ‘investigations’ over the years that clearly showed someone on the outside helping someone in the Bureau and we now knew who both someones were. We hadn’t discussed it with him, because what we were doing was just a tad on the side of dirty and I didn’t want him to be asked, under oath, if he knew anything about it.

My optimistic mood had followed us into the bedroom this fine Wednesday evening, and Walter seemed to actually be interested in a little serious pin-the-tail-on-the-Mulder. His hands were warm and smooth, sliding over my skin. He pressed a hot kiss to my shoulder. "You feel good," he said against me.

"I could feel better." I wiggled my ass at him.

"I don’t know how." His hand slid down between my cheeks and rubbed lazily.

I did feel good; his mouth working to leave permanent brands on my shoulder and his fingers working to leave permanent brands on my libido. I wanted to hurry him a bit, but I wasn’t going to do anything to break the mood.

"That’s good."

"Is that a question or a statement?" I grunted. "If that’s a question I would have to say yes. If it’s a statement--Skinner!" I know I yelped as his fingers parted me and his thumb probed my butt. I wasn’t prepared for that. We hadn’t gone in that direction since we first discovered this weird and wonderful attraction to one another. I had almost gotten the feeling that once I returned the favor, he was unwilling to put it back on his tab. So we had satisfied ourselves with groping, rubbing, stroking, sucking and some mind bending make-out sessions.

His other hand came up to stroke my side. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I lied. "Just caught me by surprise."

I felt his fingers tighten on my hip. "I really want to make love to you," he said quietly. "Be in you."

This was an unexpected quality to find in the bulldog; this sweet, almost romantic diffidence. He was, by nature, by position, by experience, a very controlled, take-charge individual, but the more comfortable we became in one another’s presence, the more he allowed me glimpses of something softer underneath. No. Not soft. There was nothing soft about this guy and I like it that way. But this shyness, this profound desire to do what will please me is incredible and at the same time intimidating. I can never give him access to the places where I’m vulnerable and it’s damned unfair.

"Mulder?" He sounded slightly anxious.

I looked over my shoulder at him. "Help yourself, bulldog."

He was sliding both hands over my ass, but he paused. "What?"

I was reaching for pillows. "I said to go ahead. I’d like that."

"What did you call me?"

"Ummm …" Oh, shit, did I say that out loud? "…bulldog?"

He surprised me again. He laughed. His eyes widened, his face opened up and he genuinely laughed. He smacked me on the ass, causing me to tumble over, then he gathered me against him. "I never know what to expect from you." He let us both fall so that we were a tangle of limbs and sweat on the hotel sheets.

I twisted around until I could study his face. He looked relaxed. The first time in weeks. It wasn’t the way I wanted to get him there, but hell, whatever works. "Well, that’s your email nick, isn’t it?"

"Yes." His fingers tangled in my hair. "It just sounded so strange coming out of your mouth."

"Yeah, well, speaking of my mouth …" I started licking my way up his nearest pec.

I felt him drag me up so that our mouths could meet. There was a hunger in his kiss that had been absent for a while. I climbed up and swung a leg over his stomach, rubbing my ass against his cock, thinking it might remind him where we left off.

The kiss ended abruptly. He pushed at my shoulders until I sat up and looked down at him. "What is it?" I asked--well, no, whined. "Am I hurting you?"

"No." His hands slid down my sides and settled at my hips. His dark eyes went over me. I swear I could actually feel them touch me. "This has been so good," he said softly.

"Uh … ’has been’? I don’t think I like the sound of that."

"We can’t keep it up, Fox, you know that."

I rocked back against his cock, still hard, though starting to lose its urgency. "I’ll bet I could if you let me try."

"No." He held me still. "This, us. It’s going to get you killed."

"You playing dangle and jerk is going to get you killed, Mister. Don’t be a cock tease. Come on." I tried to lean toward him and kiss him, but he held me firm.

"Listen to me. There are things about this case you don’t know."

"I know more than you think, bulldog." I knocked his hands away, and settled flat against him, trying to nuzzle up against his neck.

"No. You don’t know it all. And if you keep trying to figure it out, you’re going to be hurt." He caught my face between his hands and held firm. "Listen to me. This is a righteous bust."

I wanted to laugh. You know that nervous little giggle you get when you hear something embarrassing, or incredible? It was the laugh you’d let go if you caught someone coming out of the bathroom, with his dick still hanging out. Stupid, adolescent, Beavis-Butthead-huh-huh-you-said-bust. But, at the same time, I wanted to scream at him for saying something about the man I believed in. "Walter, there is no way you could have done that. You were with me that night, and I’d have told OPR that if you hadn’t handcuffed me about it."

His fingers played over my cheeks and lips. "Do you remember that night at the restaurant, when you said I’d tangled with Briggs before?"

"Yeah." I sat back and looked down at him. "And you told me I was riding the wrong profile."

"I lied."

Something hissed in my head. "Oh?" I dismounted and settled, cross-legged on the bed beside him. "Tell me about it."

He rolled onto his side, fixed his eyes on my knee and then, with palpable effort, brought his eyes to mine. "I had occasion once, many years ago, to offer him two very disparate options, sort of Truth or Consequences."

He began to tell the story, slowly, as if it was being sucked out of him by a stomach pump, and just as messily. It was a horrible story about a pimp and kidnapped boys and cocaine.

I took it as long as I could. "But, all you have to do is tell the OPR this guy’s got history with you--"

"Mulder, his accusations are still true," he cut me off. "It doesn’t matter if it happened last week or last decade, it’s still true. I violated basic law enforcement principles. The man has, as they say, a legitimate beef."

No. I don’t believe it. I won’t. "Okay, so how is it going to get me killed?"

"Because, if you go to the OPR and give them our alibi, you expose yourself, but basically, for nothing. And you know, once you are exposed, you’re dead. You know that."

"So, you sit back and let him literally get away with murder this time."

"Agent Mulder." That tired sound was back in his voice. "There is the inescapable fact that what I did was illegal and--"

"The bastard’s dirty, Walter. He doesn’t deserve to get away with this."

"What I did was dirty, too," he insisted quietly. "I don’t deserve to get away with that."

"You did what you had to do to get a killer off the street."

"So, the ends justify the means to you, too?"

That hurt. Me, riding at the head of the company, with Truth as my banner. "No." I unfolded myself and slid off the bed, groping for my pants. I’m gonna’ find this fucker and force-feed him MY gun.

"Where are you going?"

"No place," I answered, flatly. "Just, if we’re not going to have sex, I might as well have some dinner. I missed lunch today because I wanted to be able to get out early."

"Fox …" He reached for me. I didn’t mean to brush him off, it just happened. I left him in the bedroom and went out to what passed for the kitchen in our little ‘honeymoon’ cottage.

He came out a few minutes later, still naked, dragging his hands over his scalp. He came up to the chair where I was slumped, flipping channels, and frowned down at me. "What are you eating?"

I looked down at the bowl in my hand and then up at him. "Cap’n Crunch. Why?"

He stared at me. He gets this look of sort of stunned disbelief that always makes me feel that a dinosaur has come to life behind me, or Elvis rose from the dead or something.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing." He went to the windows on the other side of the room and peered out. The way he stood there, fist on hip, body cocked to one side, it looked almost as if he was … posing for me.

Well, I couldn’t help it. I came close to drooling. "You look pretty good in profile, if you’ll pardon the expression."

He turned just to give me half a smile. "I’ve always said you were good for my ego."

"Oh, EGO," I snorted. "I always thought I heard you say ulcers."

"Oh, those, too." He looked back at the window.

I put the bowl down and came along beside him. I wanted to touch him, feel him, find some way to reassure him, and bring him back to me.

I must have made some kind of sound, expressed my need some way, because he finally turned from the window, and right into my arms. For a moment, we only kissed. ‘Only’ is such a misleading word. It implies that we did nothing more than press our mouths together when in truth, we were passing our need, our curiosity, our hunger to one another. I wound my arms around his thick, bull neck and he slid his fingers up under my shirt to stroke my skin, drag his nails across my nipples, making me moan into his mouth.

I backed out of his kiss and went to the sofa. For a moment, I considered untying my shoes, and then I just kicked them off. As I straightened, I found him at my side, his cock so hard it was almost against his belly.

Impulsively, I dropped to my knees and took the crown into my mouth, flicking my tongue rapidly along the ridge. This elicited a loud groan from him and I felt his fingers grope for and find my shoulder. After all this time wanting him and unable to arouse him, his reaction was as exciting for me as anything he had done or might do this evening.

I started to suck in earnest and his fingers and balls both tightened. I pulled away and settled down on the sofa to strip off my socks. Standing to work off my slacks, I found his fingers at the buttons of my shirt.

In another minute I was on my back, knees pushed impossibly high, his face buried between my legs. I tried, I really tried to contain myself, to savor the sight of his bald head framed by my thighs, the sensation of that perpetually frowning mouth smoothed around my cock. But I was writhing and whimpering so bad, he backed off of me and growled, "Turn over. Now."

Finally!

_________

Well, it wasn’t exactly the reaction I had expected, I’ll give you that.

We’d nailed the bastard. He was in our hands, singing arias of guilt. He was recanting. He was confessing. He was revealing all, in a scared, whiney little boy voice. In another ten minutes, I figured we were not only going to have Walter back riding our ass as A.D., but we were going to find the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa and Amelia Earhardt.

Walter was standing at the back of the room, listening, arms folded over his chest, silent and still. Every few minutes, I’d sneak a peek, first at that OPR Queen, and then at him. She was melting, blushing, ready to grovel, and Walter was getting stonier and stonier. Finally, Ms. Cassidy leaned over and murmured something at him, and he nodded, politely, turned and walked out.

I excused myself a few minutes later, eager to start celebrating.

He was in my office, and he didn’t look ready to party.

"Congratulations … sir," I said, wanting to embrace him.

I was surprised and annoyed when he held me off. "I gave you a direct order," he said, coldly.

I backed up a step at the tone in his voice. "Excuse me?"

His face was stony, but reddened in unexplained anger. "Not two days ago, I told you to back away from this."

"Oh, I didn’t realize you could give direct orders in bed," I snapped.

It took to that moment to acknowledge that he was shaking. "I am your direct supervisor, your superior. I gave you an order. You disobeyed me."

I found myself starting to shake. "Disobeyed you?" I slammed the folders in my hand down on the desk. "Damn it, Walter, this isn’t about the Bureau. This is about you. About us. I did this for you. Don’t you understand that? You can’t bust my chops for--"

"You disobeyed me, Fox. Don’t you understand that?"

I stopped shaking. I froze. I mean, dropped to zero degrees Fahrenheit. "What are you going to do? Spank me?" I asked quietly.

"Don’t tempt me now, Fox."

"Don’t Fox me. We’re on company time. You can call me Mulder. Or Agent Mulder. You don’t have the right to call me Fox, here." I turned away from him. I stung everywhere. I had been slashed to ribbons and hadn’t even heard my dangerous darkness coming. "I don’t think you have the right to call me Fox, anywhere. I didn’t realize how little respect you have for me." And I didn’t realize how much that would matter.

-END of part 1-

Attention: I DID NOT WRITE THIS STORY. I'm posting this for my friend, fellow author, and brother in arms, Mik. Please send all feedback to Mik at mikdok@hotmail.com Nope, nope, absolutely not responsible. Don't blame me. Honest. Take it up with him. - frogdoggie aka Jay Fox

TITLE: Same Game: Part XII - Technical

(Part 2 of 2 parts)

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: mikdok@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

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.

SUMMARY: Sometimes it’s HOW you know.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist ... Flames? Send 'em to my brother, he's having a barbecue.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

If you like this, there's more at http://homepages.go.com/~frogdoggie/3wstop.html

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Same Game XII - Technical (part 2 of 2)

by Mik

Everything was blood red. Damn it, I poured my guilt and grief out to him and he didn’t care. He went right on, charging into things like a spoiled brat wanting his way. Who gives a rat’s ass if it’s right or wrong? Agent Spooky Mulder wants it, consequences be damned.

I had been dragged into the Bureau on a moment’s notice to face one of my greatest failures. He had not aged well. What hair he still had was long, stringy and shock white. He had the gaunt and hopeless look of a man who despairs surviving ‘til his next fix. His eyes were hollow and wild. And his voice was sharp and breathy and fearful, but compelling.

And now Mulder had the nerve to look wounded because I wasn’t thrilled with his stolen offering. "What did you do?" I rasped, ignoring his murmuring.

He blinked at me, reminding me of a puppy who encountered a closing door. "Nothing." There was an uncharacteristic lack of belligerence in his voice I should have noted. "I got him to recant."

"HOW did you get him to recant?" I persisted, with harsh patience. "What persuasion did you employ?"

"Nothing," he repeated. Something flashed in his eyes, green flares going off. "What difference does it make? He lied and then he told the truth."

"What difference does it make?" I grabbed his shoulders and shook him, the grief and guilt bursting out of me yet again, now heavily laced with rage. "Fox, didn’t you hear me the other night? Didn’t you learn anything from my mistake?" I don’t know what hurt more; the loss of innocence, that he didn’t see the loss, or that he lost it for me--another sin that I would have to silently seek absolution for the remainder of my life.

Now I had the reaction I had expected and it was too late to turn it off. He brushed me off, angrily. "Don’t pull that bullshit on me, Skinner. I got you back your career. I gave you back your fucking life. Don’t go morally superior on ME."

"It’s no favor when I’ll have the guilt of what you’ve done over my head."

His eyes narrowed to flat, green lines. "… ’the guilt of what I’ve done’? Who do you think you are? My father? What gives you the right to assume responsibility for my actions, in or out of bed? What I do is my responsibility, Walter Skinner, not yours."

The ‘blood red’ was back, staining everything. "You are my subordinate," I reminded him, heatedly. "Your actions in the line of duty are my responsibility."

"Subordinate," he repeated. "I guess that’s what I’ll always be in your eyes."

Then it hit me. The words he had muttered came back to me. But I was too damned mad to reach for him. I just stood there, glaring. Dying inside.

He angled one dark glance up at me. "It’s nearly six, sir. I’m off duty. Do you need my itinerary for the evening or shall I just report back to you on Monday?"

I swallowed painfully. "No, Fox, we’re not doing this again."

He stood up very straight. "Even though I’m off duty, sir, that still does not give you the right to address me that way."

I took a step toward him and was irritated that he backed away. "There’s no point in walking out on me. At least have the courtesy to discuss this."

He shrugged on his jacket. "There’s no point in discussing this. I thought I was helping you. I didn’t know I was burdening you for life."

My pride wanted me to let him go. Something else overruled, the something that remembered those hellish days last month when I let him walk out. I wasn’t willing to let him walk out again. Even if it meant groveling just a bit. "Please, Fox. We can work this out. I--I was angry. I overreacted. Let’s have some dinner and … and work this out."

"No, sir." He adjusted his tie, and reached for his briefcase. "Excuse me, sir." He turned and reached for the door.

I lunged. "Listen to me." I had him stopped and I didn’t know what to do. I searched his face, hoping for inspiration. "I love you."

That touched him. I saw the feeling ripple through his body. And the defiance in his expression softened to something akin to regret. He lowered his eyes. He spoke very softly. "I’d rather have your respect than your love." He shouldered me out of the way and pulled the door open. "Good night."

I’m not sure how long I stood there. Long enough, I suppose. I was caught, mid-mourning, by Scully as she came through the door, eyes focused on the file in her hands. She bumped me, looked up, murmured a faint, "Excuse me, sir," paused and looked away.

If I hadn’t just had a large piece of my internal structure sliced out of me, her obvious discomfort in my presence would have pierced me. As it was, I felt the glancing blow and winced. We had not had much contact since that Saturday afternoon in my condo, but those rare times we had seen one another, others had been around, and I must say, she maintained her poise much better than I. This, however, was the first time we had been alone since her discovery.

"Agent Scully," I said, stiffly, and reached for the door.

She raised her eyes again, looked around the office, and zeroed in on me. "Where is Mulder?" she asked.

Well, that caught me by surprise. Not ‘Agent Mulder’, just ‘Mulder’, informal, almost the same as asking ‘where is Fox’, almost the same as asking ‘where is your lover’. And the tone of her voice did not match her usual reserve and respect. She was clearly disconcerted to see me there, and alone.

"He … uh … left." My fingers curled around the doorknob. I could jerk the door open in my usual, abrupt manner, or I could linger, see if she’d give me an opening. For what? How the hell should I know?

She looked at her watch. She looked at the clock over the door. She looked as if she might come look at my watch. "Early for him. Did you have …" She glanced around. "… plans?"

"We did."

Her bright blue eyes came back to me. "Oh?"

I sighed. I did not want to come running to her with our difficulties, but if anyone could give me insight on Fox William Mulder, it was she. This woman had a Ph.D. in the subject. Still, I wouldn’t force her to become involved in something she clearly wished to have no part in. "It’s a long story, Agent Scully," I said brusquely, "and not one I believe you would be comfortable hearing."

She surprised me once again. Something in her expression softened. She came near me, looked up and said, "Keep in mind that he did it for you."

"I told him …" I stopped. If this office was under surveillance, we were all done, anyway. "I told him not to. A direct order."

She smiled. It was a small smile, the kind that comes when you’re trying so hard not to laugh out loud. "And since when has that meant anything to Agent Mulder?" She put her hand on my wrist, and pulled. "Come sit down." A beat later she added, "sir."

I resisted. "Agent Scully …"

She pulled again. She’s strong. I don’t think it was physical strength that brought me to Mulder’s battered chair, but the strength of her conviction. In a moment, we were face to face, knee to knee. And she began, oh so delicately, to put words together. "I don’t understand this relationship, sir. It’s very difficult for me. Not so much the homosexual aspect of it, although that surprises me, and yes, it does cause me some personal conflict." She paused. "It’s the fact that you are his direct superior that disturbs me. I never thought you would breach protocol like that."

I looked down at my hands. Then I looked at hers, folded neatly in her lap. I looked again. Her knuckles were white. "Do you feel he was coerced into this relationship?"

"No."

I looked up. "Then what is it?"

"Just because Agent Mulder is a willing partner in this arrangement does not mean that it is right."

She might just as well have said, ‘Walter Skinner, you KNOW better.’ I nodded. "He shouldn’t have done this. Briggs was--"

"--telling the truth?" she broke in. "I know. But, sir, he was still dirty."

"How did you know?"

She smiled again. This was softly smug. "He tells me everything. I’m his partner."

"He didn’t tell you about us," I pointed out.

She stopped smiling. "No." Her eyes skittered up the wall, to a poster with a stereotypical spacecraft and the legend I WANT TO BELIEVE. She brought her gaze back to me. "And that should tell you something."

I looked at the poster. I didn’t see it. I looked at her, brows arched.

"He was protecting you."

Then I could see it. He would risk alienating his partner for me. Before I could reply, she added, "He tracked down Briggs and made him recant, for you."

"He got that confession with threats and extortion--"

"Sir." She pressed one hand against my knee, lightly. "There are only two people in the entire world Mulder would sacrifice truth for. I believe one of them is me. I think the other is you." She pulled her hand back. "The question is, are you willing to accept his sacrifice?"

I hadn’t really thought of it as his sacrifice. And it was. Shit. And I reamed him for it. I pushed the chair back and stood. "Thank you for your interpretation, Agent Scully."

She stood, too. "Sir."

I looked down at her.

There was a well of feeling in her eyes so deep I was suddenly in danger of drowning. "Yes, Agent Scully?"

"I don’t … that is … my personal feelings aside …" She bit down on her lip, struggling to keep that well from splashing over. "You will not hurt him."

Damn it, now I had a lump in my throat. "No, Agent Scully. Not if I can help it."

I moved toward the door. "You know, I shot him once," she reminded me.

I looked over my shoulder at her. "Yes."

The light overhead glinted off her eyes, making them gunmetal blue. "I’m a damn good shot."

I chuckled, in spite of the grimness of the situation. "I’ll bear that in mind, Agent." I left her.

_____

I didn’t expect to find him at the motel, but I drove by anyway. He had checked out. Left a note for me to pick up my things in the Manager’s office. A rather humiliating experience, given the curious and slightly contemptuous demeanor of the manager. I drove by his place, since it was on the way home. His car wasn’t there. For one moment, I had hope. Perhaps he was waiting at my place. And then I was filled with dread. I’m not sure why.

No. He wasn’t there. I was returning to my empty house. Alone.

I toured the place that evening, restlessly. There were landmarks, if you will, of our relationship. It was like a pilgrimage: the hallway, those first desperate hungry kisses; the kitchen, him naked, him hurting, him laughing over bacon and eggs; the living room, more pain, and more pleasure; the stairs, his uncertainty; the window where he stood reading Kerouac and drinking my scotch; my bedroom, unbelievable sex, and sweet slumber. But I kept coming back to that place in the hallway. So much had happened there. I had held him while he grieved what he thought would be the loss of his partnership, I had ravished him against the door, I said goodbye to him once. I was not willing to say goodbye to him again.

I went to my phone to make a call that every fiber in my Y chromosome screamed against. The male ego said let him go, he’ll come back. But the male heart said, he won’t unless I ask, and I must ask.

He answered with a soft, and almost broken voice. "Mulder."

"Fox. I want to talk to you. I need to talk to you. Please come over."

He sighed, heavily. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"I think there is."

"Look, I don’t want to do an episode of Friends, here."

I smiled. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but if pop culture was creeping into the conversation, there was hope. "Fine. But, you need to know that I realize I overreacted."

There was silence. "Fine." More silence. "Okay, I know that. I don’t need to come over."

"Maybe you don’t need to, but I need you to." I could sense I wasn’t getting anywhere with him. "I’m not good at this. You know that. But, give me credit for trying."

"Credit?" He laughed grimly. "Now I know why so many women shoot their husbands."

"Please, I’ve already been threatened with being shot once today."

"Who else threatened you?"

There was a note of concern in his voice. My hope meter crept up. "Your partner."

"Huh. She shoots everyone. She shot me."

"Yes, and I believe she’d do it again," I agreed. He sighed again. "Okay. I’m coming over."

He did come. He avoided my touch as he came over the sill. He refused my offer of a drink. He slouched into the living room and hovered, fists shoved in the pockets of his jeans. The silence hovered between us as thick as a brick wall.

Finally, I spoke, not having any idea what to say. "I understand why you brought Briggs down. Even though it was wrong, I understand what motivated--"

"It wasn’t wrong," he said, hotly. "The guy was a lying, murdering bastard and he had to be stopped. Just because I stopped him a slightly less than ethical way, doesn’t mean stopping him was wrong. Who are you to judge the rightness of this, anyway? You got your damned job back, didn’t you?" He whirled away from me. "God, you’re just like him. Either I don’t do it right, or if I do, how I did it is wrong."

"Just like whom?"

He wouldn’t look at me. "You know who."

"Fox?"

His shoulders twitched. "When we first started this you made all those speeches that I couldn’t look for a daddy in you. I was glad because that’s not what I wanted. I know you’re my boss. I never forgot that you were my boss but I thought that here, in this place, in this relationship, I could be an equal partner. But, I’m--" he sucked in breath and let it out on a heavy sigh. "But, I’m not."

"You are," I protested before the full impact of his words could strike me, wound me.

He tossed a sneer over his shoulder. "Don’t." He turned toward me, squaring his shoulders. "I can’t do this anymore. I can’t sleep with you, be with you, knowing I’ll always be your subordinate, underling, toy, pet, whatever. It’s really just one step from sitting across your desk from you, nodding like a good little yes-boy, to sitting at your feet with a collar that says ‘My name is Fox, please return me to Walter S. Skinner’. "

I never saw the blow coming. I was knocked breathless. "Is that the way I make you feel?"

He lowered his eyes. "You did today."

"I was angry. I--"

"I make you angry a lot." It wasn’t a retort, it was a reluctant observation. He turned slowly and started for the door.

I moved in front of him. I may have teleported myself there. I’m not sure. But somehow, some way, I blocked his path. "No more, Fox. You can’t keep walking out on me." I pulled myself to my full height, and looked down the scant inch between us. "If you go this time, you go."

He met my eyes, assessing my resolve, pursing those full lips. At last, he nodded. "Okay."

Relieved, I reached for him, drew him into my arms. Held him for one blessed, Heaven on earth moment. Then he pressed a kiss to my cheek, and pulled away.

"Goodbye," he whispered.

He went.

-THE END-