Little Things (part 11 of 15)

by Mik

Skinner leaned a hip against the Ford, his arms folded over his chest, oblivious to the rain falling in a steady stream. His eyes were fixed on blinking lights flashing in the distance. His stomach was a knot of emotions; rage, concern, remorse, and terror. The last twenty-four hours had been another reign in hell. If he closed his eyes, he saw a kaleidoscope of emotions on Mulder's face. Vulnerable, making Skinner ready to put an ad in the Blade; sated, on his knees in the shower; terrified, on his feet in the shower; pleading, in his apartment; furious, in Skinner's office; rebellious as he left. And now? What would his face be like now? There had been bloodshed on the scene. Two bodies. Mulder and Scully? Franks and his hostage? Who? The ambulance was bringing back two injuries, too, one critical, one not life threatening. Would Mulder's face be the pale white of lifelessness, or twisted into the flush of agony?

Skinner sighed. And the last thing I did was raise a hand to him, he berated himself. He was hurt by Mulder's suggestion, and he was more hurt by Mulder's rejection. He sighed again and shifted his weight, watching the ambulance work its way down the hillside.

Yesterday morning started out so well, he thought, waiting, his eyes never leaving the light bar atop the red and white van. He had been feeling vulnerable himself, ever since his conversation with Scully the night before. When Mulder asked to join him in the shower, initiated the sex, and seemed so satisfied by what he had accomplished, Skinner realized, with sudden clarity, what he was about to lose. He knew if he didn't make love to Mulder right then, he might never get the chance.

He didn't mean to frighten Mulder, he certainly didn't mean to harm him, but even when Mulder struggled against him, even when his eyes were wide with terror, Skinner was too driven to let him go.

Mulder did manage to break free. And then he put distance between them, making vague promises about the weekend. He practically left skid marks going down the stairs.

Skinner was hurt that Mulder had gone directly to Scully, in the wake of something so emotionally tumultuous, and he was stunned at the level of his own jealousy for Mulder's partner. When Mulder tried to approach him, make amends, he turned away, let his jealousy make him a monster. And when Mulder came to him, in the middle of the morning, demanding to go up to Connecticut, part of him denied it out of spite. Of course, there was another part that denied it because the last time Mulder and Franks tangled, two schoolgirls were shot, and Mulder ended up with a four inch gash in his abdomen and powder burns on his temple. But when Mulder accused him of denying it simply because Mulder wasn't willing to 'put out', Skinner just lost it. He wanted to hit him so bad, he still trembled at the emotion.

"Here they come, sir," said Agent Lourdes, a local operative. "They're bringing the bodies back in another vehicle."

Skinner launched himself away from Mulder's car and ran up to the ambulance. The driver wasn't going to stop, but Lourdes flagged him down. "Who's on board?" Lourdes demanded.

The driver rolled down his window. "I got a police officer who coded at the scene, and a woman with undetermined internal injuries."

"Open it up," Skinner demanded tersely.

"Sir, we've got --"

"Open it up." Skinner came around to the back of the ambulance as the doors were pushed open. Two EMTs were working feverishly on a figure in blue. Dana Scully sat on a bench, slightly hunched over, her tan trench coat covered in mud and blood. "Agent Scully?"

Scully's eyes were full of fire. "What did you want me to do, sir?" she challenged. "Let him go alone?"

"Where --" Skinner stopped himself, made himself see priorities. "What happened? How bad are you hurt?"

"A couple of broken ribs," she said, wincing slightly. "I got pushed down some stairs."

Skinner's jaw tightened. "Where is Agent Mulder?"

Scully lowered her eyes. "I don't know, sir," she said quietly. "The firefight began before I could get back up there." She lifted her eyes again. "Sir, this man needs to get to a hospital."

Skinner nodded and gestured for the doors to be closed. He stepped away and looked back up the hill, his gut in a new knot; dread, guilt, grief.

The second ambulance came down the hill without flashing lights or sirens. There was no hurry to deliver its contents. Skinner drew a deep breath and steeled himself. "Stop it," he told the agent at his side.

The ambulance was flagged down and the rear doors were opened. Two black body bags were on the gurneys. "Who are they?"

The EMT looked down at him sadly. "Well, the gunman was taken down, unfortunately, so was one of the hostages."

Skinner nodded. "Has the family been notified?"

"Not that I know of, sir."

"Get me the names and addresses." Skinner didn't like this task, but he had done it, and he could do it again.

"Yes, sir." Skinner backed up and let the ambulance go. He let his eyes go back up the hillside. Where was Mulder? "Who else is up there?"

Agent White got on his radio. He came back to Skinner, consulting notes. "Crime scene -- do you want their names?"

Skinner shook his head. "Anyone else?"

"Well, two of the hostages. They're being debriefed."

"Two hostages?" Skinner looked back at the retreating ambulance. "I thought there were only two."

"Well, yes, sir, a man and his son. But, your Agent Mulder managed to negotiate the release of the boy. He was severely asthmatic and needed medication."

Skinner was proud of Mulder for that. He brought his gaze back to Agent Lourdes. "But in exchange for what?"

"Himself, sir."

Propelled by a wave of nausea, Skinner turned back in the direction the ambulance had taken. "Let's go. Take me wherever that ambulance is going."

"The morgue, sir?"

He always knew one day Mulder would send him to a morgue. "Yes, the morgue, damn it."

Skinner sat on the edge of his seat, all the way. He couldn't even stand the confines of his seat belt. When they rolled to a stop in front of the county building, Skinner jumped out almost before the car had stopped. He flashed his badge and started running. "Excuse me," he said, catching a young lab assistant by the arm. "An ambulance just brought two bodies in, gunshot victims. Where were they taken?"

A little frightened by the urgency in Skinner's voice, the young man could do nothing but point. Skinner released him and ran. He got to the prep room just as they were opening the bag containing the earthly remains of Weston Franks. The other bag was still zipped up. Skinner stood at the window and stared, in dread. As the second bag was opened, it was immediately obvious what the cause of death would be. Most of the top of the head was gone, exposing blood, bone, and bits of pink and gray. But there were still little tufts of chestnut hair. "Oh, Fox," Skinner groaned, pressing a hand to the window. The madmen of the world had finally won.

He started to pull himself away, to find some dark hole to climb into and grieve, when he saw them ease the body out. There was a silver band on the body's left hand. The man was married. It wasn't Fox. Oh, thank God. It was the boy's father, oh God, that poor child.

Skinner went back down the hall, uncaring that there were tears on his face. How dare he be relieved -- happy -- to see that the body belonged to someone else? Someone else was going to know that moment of grief that he had felt, but they were going to know it for the rest of their lives.

Agent Lourdes was still in the car, waiting. Did the A.D. from Washington think one of his agents was dead? That would explain the slump of his shoulders, the tears in his eyes. Hesitantly, he put a hand out, as Skinner opened the car door. "I'm sorry, sir," he said.

Skinner looked up. "Take me to the hospital, please. I need to talk to Agent Scully."

"Yes, sir."

Scully was on a gurney, in a blue and white hospital gown, her trench coat thrown across her lap. She looked pale and disheveled, and mad, and scared. When she saw Skinner, she looked up hopefully.

He shook his head. She lowered her eyes. "How are you, Agent Scully?" He asked, because he had to.

She shrugged tentatively and winced. "Broken ribs, fractured collar bone, sprained wrist and ankle."

"And the police officer?"

"Much improved, sir." She nodded toward the curtains at her left. She looked back. Her voice was a paper thin whisper. "Sir, they said there were two bodies …"

Skinner put a hand on her arm. "I've been to the morgue, Agent Scully. It wasn't Agent Mulder."

She swallowed. There were tears in her deeply blue eyes. "If they find him --"

"When they find him, he's going up on charges," Skinner said brusquely. He had no choice. "He defied a direct order. He put other agents in peril, he caused unnecessary bloodshed --"

"If you'll excuse me, sir." A young man in a blue uniform pushed through the curtains, looked at Agent Scully as if seeking permission to speak, and then looked at Skinner. "With all due respect, sir, your Agent Mulder probably saved lives last night. A lot of lives. If nothing else, he saved that boy's life. That boy had an asthma attack really bad, and his coughing and choking was making Franks crazy. He was going to shoot the poor kid right in front of his mom and dad. Your Agent Mulder talked to Franks until he calmed down, and then he convinced him to let the kid go get his medicine, and to let his mom go, too. He convinced him to let us go too, but we couldn't, of course."

"Of course." Skinner wondered how Mulder could have calmed someone down. People always had to calm him down. "Even so --"

"And when the S.W.A.T. team arrived, Franks wanted to start shooting out the window. Sir, he had an automatic pistol with a twenty-one round clip. He could have taken out the entire team before he was stopped. Mulder stopped him from doing that, too. He kept him calm, knew just how to talk to him, even made him make poor Mr. Cole more comfortable where he was tied up, and made him apologize to Agent Scully for calling her a … a …" he lowered his eyes, as if he was afraid to repeat the epithet in Scully's presence.

"A broad," Scully squeaked out.

Skinner had an irrational urge to laugh. Even when faced with an automatic weapon, Mulder would protect Scully. "He broke the rules, Officer," he said sternly. More sternly than necessary in order to control his need to laugh, his need to scream in frustration 'Where the hell is Mulder?'

"With all due respect, sir," the young man repeated. "When it comes to saving as many lives as he might have saved, fuck the rules. Sir." He turned on his heel and went back through the curtain.

Skinner's eyes were still wide with shock as they found Scully's. She was looking at him, with tears and fire in her eyes. "I'm outgunned," he said in defeat.

"Where is he, sir?" she asked again.

"I don't know. Crime scene is still out there, maybe they've uncovered something." He put a hand on her arm again, and squeezed. "I'll go out there and see."

Agent Lourdes was waiting in the hallway. He had heard shouting, and he was a little anxious. For one of the Assistant Directors to come out to a scene was pretty remarkable. If he got mad, it must have been something pretty bad. He was determined to keep his nose clean, and not catch any of the fallout. When he saw the A.D. come out of the cubicle, he snapped upright.

"I want to go up there," Skinner said.

"But, they --"

"Give me your keys, if you're not willing to obey a direct order," Skinner snapped. Was he losing his authority? Is this what Mulder was doing to him?

"This way, sir," Agent Lourdes said.

The drive was slow and difficult. Franks lived well off the highway, in a little enclave of houses built for those who liked to be far away from it all. At the present, the Coles had been his only neighbors. It was still dark. It was almost eight hours since the firefight went down. Eight hours, no sign of Mulder. The crime scene crew was gone, only two police officers remained, trying to comfort Mrs. Cole. As Skinner climbed out of the car, he felt his gut wrench. Mrs. Cole was several months pregnant. He walked toward her, offering her his hand, his condolences. She took his hand, she cried.

Finally, when Skinner could ease himself away, he turned and went toward Franks’ house. One side of it looked like Swiss cheese. He'd heard that expression before, when describing the scene of a shoot-out, but this place really did look like it. He swallowed and stepped inside. Even downstairs, he could still smell the acrid smell of gunpowder. He was walking on glass, broken bits of wood and plaster. He looked up. At the top of the stairs there was a hole four feet wide in the wall. He looked around, wondering if he should go upstairs, if he was prepared to look at blood that might be Mulder's. He drew a deep breath and climbed, flicking a borrowed flashlight back and forth, looking for some hint, some sign.

The loft-like room looked like a bomb-site. The walls were pockmarked with shrapnel and splattered with blood. There was glass everywhere. In the hole in the wall, half a window sash hung eerily, swaying slightly, in an unseen breeze. The curtains that had covered that window were in a pile on the floor, the heavy wrought iron rod, stabbing into them like a spear. The bed and the chairs were basically bloodstained kindling. But there was no place for Mulder, no sign that he had ever been there. Swallowing back his grief and frustration, Skinner went back downstairs. He's probably hiding somewhere, that son of a bitch, Skinner thought. He knows he's in deep --

He stopped and cocked an ear, not sure that he had heard right. Not sure he had heard anything. Then he heard it again. He lifted his head Heavenward. He had been listening to that sound every night for almost a week. It was a beautiful sound. He turned and ran back up the stairs. He heard it again. There, under that pile of draperies. On his knees, he shoved the heavy curtain-rod aside, and started pawing through the curtains. Then he touched something -- a chair leg? An arm? He pawed some more, and touched something else, something slick -- blood? He pulled his hand free and he could see it was blood. He started digging more frantically, and there: Mulder, eyes closed, face as pale as the moon, a dark circle at his temple, his arms twisted behind him, bound to the back of a broken chair. He was coughing.

Skinner didn't stop to think. He reached out and gathered the limp body to him. He felt tears spilling down his cheeks, but he didn't care. Mulder was alive, miraculously alive. He cradled the body against him, smearing blood on his shirt, his hands. With one hand, he managed to work the back of the chair away, and Mulder's arms relaxed against his back. Mulder groaned softly as blood began to rush back into his hands. His wrists were bruised and bloodied. Skinner dug his hand into Mulder's pockets, praying he had the key.

"Are you …" he heard the croak against his chest. "… getting fresh?"

He looked down. Mulder's eyes were open. Skinner smiled. He couldn't help it. "I should be putting you on report," he said, touching the bruise at Mulder's temple, brushing away the blood-caked hair that clung to his brow.

"How come it took you so long?" Mulder's voice was barely audible.

Skinner found the key, and worked the cuffs.

"How did you find me?" Mulder moaned as his arms were released and he tried to pull them forward.

"I heard you coughing," Skinner answered.

One side of Mulder's mouth curled up slightly. "Thank God for bronchitis," he said, and his eyes slipped shut.

For one heart stopping second, Skinner thought Mulder had died in his arms. His arms tightened in his grief, crushing Mulder to his chest. Mulder made a small whimpering sound. Oh, thank God, he just passed out. Skinner eased him back against the pile of curtains and rose on shaky legs. He moved to the hole in the wall. "Hey," he yelled. One of the police officers and Agent Lourdes looked up. "Get another ambulance up here."

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

Skinner sat at his desk, considering the reports in front of him. Every code in the Bureau said Mulder should be sanctioned, but there were eleven different statements on his desk telling him that Mulder had saved lives that wouldn't have been saved otherwise. What was he supposed to do? If he followed the book, Mulder would take it as a personal attack. If he went with his gut, and followed the requests for leniency, then Mulder might think he was getting away with something.

He drummed his fingers on his desk. He hadn't seen Mulder in a week. He wanted to go to the hospital when Mulder was transferred to Mercy, in Alexandria, but he had no reason to. Mulder hadn't asked for him, and A.D. Skinner did not habitually call on his agents once they were deemed out of danger. He didn't know where he stood with the agent. But he knew he missed him.

There was a knock at the door. He looked up. It was Kim. "Agent Scully is here to see you," she said quietly.

He nodded. Agent Scully hadn't spoken to him since that night in the hospital, either. She had hovered over Mulder while his injuries were assessed, demanding CT scans, and EEGs. She had been only mildly comforted when Mulder opened his eyes and recognized her. She stayed with him long after the A.D. felt he was in the way, and had no excuse to stay.

"Sit down, Agent Scully," he said tersely, even when he meant to be kind. "I thought you were still on leave?"

"I'm feeling much better, sir, and there was a lot of paperwork to catch up on." She sat, her lips twisted up in a disapproving frown.

"You wanted to discuss something with me?" he prompted.

She hesitated only a moment. "Yes, sir. What are you going to do about Agent Mulder?"

Skinner shut the file and pushed away from him. Now he had to make a decision he didn't want to make. "I'm going to recommend a very brief suspension," he said heavily. "He did disobey a direct order."

Scully's eyes flashed, indignantly. "He saved lives --"

"And that's why he's not being fired."

She fell silent. Her eyes darted around. Her lips parted, pressed together again.

Skinner knew how she felt. He felt the same way. There was something he wanted to -- no, needed to know, and she was the only one who could tell him. He was an Assistant Director. He knew how to take charge. He took charge, timidly. "Did you … talk to Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, sir." Her eyes came to his. "Every day, sir. Why?"

"No, Agent Scully. Did you talk to him?"

"Oh." She sat back for a moment. "No, sir."

"Why not?" He stopped. He was prying. "If you don't mind telling me?"

"Well, sir," she looked down at her hands, and a sad, little smile flickered over her face. "I know you said that he had feelings for me. But I've reason to believe that those feelings have been replaced … by stronger feelings … for someone else."

Skinner's heart pumped one extra beat. He wondered if Dr. Scully heard it. "Agent Scully …"

She lifted her eyes again. "He talked about her, sir."

"He did?" Now he thought his heart stopped beating altogether.

Scully nodded, trying to be matter of fact. "Yes, sir. That first night in the hospital, when he was so out of it. He kept …" She bit down on her lip. But when she spoke, her voice was strong. "He kept saying 'Kat, Kat, Kat'. And then he would say, 'Don't leave me, Kat'."

For the first time in his life, Skinner was grateful for his glasses. He knew Scully couldn't see the tears that welled up behind them. "Perhaps you misunderstood."

"No, sir." She swallowed. "I didn't. He was very distraught. He was pleading with her not to leave him."

Skinner drew a deep breath, tried to put together the apologies that he owed her. "Agent Scully, I'm very sorry that I led you to believe anything --"

Her head came up sharply. "Oh, no. I would have felt this way whether you and I ever discussed it. He's my partner. He's my friend. I love him for that. And that will be enough." She coughed slightly to clear her throat. "And I think that's all I wanted to say. He's getting out of the hospital today. I don't know if she's coming to pick him up."

Trust me, she's not. He focused on her. "Would you rather I went, Agent Scully? Just in case?"

"No, sir. If she doesn't come, he'll call me. If I don't hear from him, then I'll know he's being looked after." She stood. "Thank you for seeing me."

Skinner stood and offered her a hand.

Scully looked down at it, stunned. She accepted it, letting her small hand fit into his.

"Did I ever tell you what a remarkable agent you are, Dana?" Skinner said with an unexpected rush of emotion. "What a remarkable person?"

She gave him a watery little smile and let her fingers slip away from him. In a moment she was gone.

Skinner sat at his desk a moment longer. Then he signed the recommendation, and buzzed Kim.

She came in. "Yes, sir?"

"Would you see that this goes through proper channels?" He handed her the file.

"Yes, sir." She stopped at the door and looked back. "Are you all right, sir?" she asked. "You've been a little … distracted this week."

Skinner had pushed away from the desk, and was looking out the window, his fists resting on his hips. He looked at her over his shoulder. "One of my agents defied a direct order. He put himself and another agent in harm's way. However, in doing so, he saved lives, countless lives. Still, he did go against orders. It's been a difficult position to be in."

Kim nodded. "Yes, sir. But I'm told he was very brave."

"Thank you, Kim. That will be all." He heard the door shut, and he turned his attention back to the mall below his window. He could see his reflection in the glass. He was smiling.

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

He shifted restlessly in the dark. It was after six. The hospital said Mulder would be discharged by five. Had he called Scully after all? The thought hadn't even occurred to Skinner. How was he going to explain his presence here, if he did? He thought about going into the bedroom to wait. Scully would never go in there. As he started to rise from the stiff, lumpy leather sofa, he heard the key in the lock. He waited, trying to come up with plausible denial, if Scully was with him. The door opened, and he could see Mulder's hunched silhouette in the doorway. He was alone.

He could hear Mulder sigh heavily, as if walking was an effort. He dropped his keys on the counter in the kitchen and shut the door behind him. Slowly, he came down that short hallway and into the living room. He stopped. "Oh."

Skinner stood, wanting to rush to him and gather him into his arms. But he remained where he was, uncertain of his welcome, despite what Scully had told him. "Agent Mulder?"

"Have I been dismissed?" Mulder asked quietly, resignedly.

Skinner reached for the lamp on the table.

"Don't," Mulder commanded. His voice was husky. "Am I?"

"No. Three day suspension." Skinner saw him sway uneasily. He took a step toward him. "Should you be out of the hospital?"

"I'm fine. My head feels like an elephant stepped on it, but other than that, I'm fine." He turned his head. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk."

"I thought you didn't have time," Mulder answered flatly. He took a step, dropped into a chair, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Kit …" Skinner didn't know what to say. He waited, hoping Mulder would fill in the blanks, be brave for both of them. Mulder's shoulders jerked. Laugher? Tears? He put out a hand, touched him, tentatively.

"What's the matter with me?" Mulder sobbed. "I feel like I've gone insane. Nothing makes sense to me. My life was never clear-cut, but I knew some things. I would never vote Republican, I'd never forgive that black lunged son of a bitch, I'd never fall in love with another man."

Skinner's fingers squeezed his shoulder. "Mulder, I never should have --"

"No, you shouldn't have," Mulder said vehemently. "You let Pandoro out of his box, and the world isn't going to be the same, for either of us." He rubbed at his eyes, angrily. "You can't stop me from doing my job, just because you want to protect me."

"I know," Skinner said tightly. "I knew it when I told you no. It's always hard to send you and Agent Scully into the field, but now … I don't know what I'm going to do. But I want you to believe I didn't tell you no just because you told me no."

"I know." Mulder's voice was barely a whisper. "You're a lot of things, A.D. Skinner, but you're not petty. I was petty. I was mad, and I was stupid, and I was petty. You should have pounded me into the carpet right there." He pulled himself up on shaky legs. "But I'm not sorry I disobeyed you." Even in the dim light of the apartment there was a fire in his eyes. "I saved lives up there. I know I did. I knew him, I knew how he ticked, I knew how to stop him from hurting people. You should have appreciated that. I saved lives. I did good, A.D. Skinner, whether it ever shows up in a performance review or not. I did good."

Skinner reached out, and dragged Mulder against him, holding tight, his fingers clutching and clinging to the limp fabric of his shirt. He knew he was crying, he knew his tears were falling on Mulder's ear, his throat, his collar. "When they couldn't find you for eight hours, I thought I was going to go out of my mind. When I went to the morgue, and I saw them pull that body out of the bag, and there was just this little bit of brown hair still on the skull …" He couldn't say anymore. His stomach had come up and closed off his throat. He didn't need to say anymore. Mulder was sobbing against his shoulder.

After a while, Skinner eased their bodies apart. "Scully said you asked for Kat in the hospital."

Mulder lifted his head. "Did I?"

Skinner nodded. "I wouldn't have come here tonight if she hadn't told me that."

Mulder tried to smile. The left side of his face didn't work so well. Nerve damage caused by that iron rod hitting him at the temple. The doctors felt the results would be temporary. "I guess I'm glad I did."

"I know I am." Skinner tugged a handkerchief from his pocket, dragged it across his eyes, and then brushed it tenderly across Mulder's. "Are you hungry? I thought I'd take you out for pizza or something."

Mulder lifted a brow. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Well, I don't think there would be anything wrong with me taking a subordinate out for pizza if the guy just got out of the hospital after saving more lives than John Wayne."

Mulder chuckled softly. "Why don't we just order in?"

Skinner backed away. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Mulder's chuckle faded into a frown. "What's wrong?"

"The way I feel right now, I wouldn't be responsible for my actions," Skinner answered frankly. "I don't feel like ruining this uneasy truce because I couldn't keep my hands to myself."

"Are you saying my virtue is in danger?" Mulder was chuckling again.

Skinner turned to face him, grateful for the near darkness. "Let's start right here being totally honest. There are two things you need to know. Dana Scully has very strong feelings for you. If she ever suspected that your offhand remarks were serious, she'd be yours." He waited a moment, wondering how Mulder would respond to this revelation.

"And the second thing?" he asked quietly.

"That I love you, and I really want to make love to you. I've never, ever had any desire to have sex with a man before. But I really want you." Skinner sighed and turned away. "And you have no idea how hard it was for me to tell you that."

Mulder touched his arm. "Yes, I do. I told you how I felt, Kat. I'm not ruling it out, I'm just saying I'm not there yet. That is such a huge step that it's practically irrevocable for me. I can't take it until I'm sure where I am with you, with me, with the world at large. I'm the king of bad relationships. This is new, it is totally unexpected and I'm extremely insecure in it. And you have no idea how hard it was for me to tell you that."

Skinner covered his fingers with his own. "Well, I can see that my job is to make you secure," he concluded. "Now, do you want pizza?"

Mulder shook his head. "I am so tired, I'd drop with a mouthful of pepperoni --" he stopped and half his face grinned wickedly. "Anyway, no. Can we do it some other time?"

"Do you want me to stay awhile?"

"Am I safe?"

"Yes." Skinner moved to pull him back into his arms. "Yes, you're safe."

They ordered the pizza to be delivered, and while they waited, Skinner helped Mulder change into a clean pair of running pants, white socks and a tee shirt from his Academy days. Every bruise, stiffness or laceration was treated to gentle kisses, eliciting an occasional sigh from Mulder, but no other indication that he was aware of the way Skinner was worshipping his body.

Skinner wanted to pull Mulder into his arms, hold him close, feel Mulder's heart thudding against his own, just know that he was alive, and that he was his own, but he didn't. He didn't know to what extent Mulder was willing to accept his affection. He didn't know where Mulder had drawn the line, and he didn't want to inadvertently step over it. After Mulder had changed and washed his face and brushed his teeth, they settled down, side by side on Mulder's lumpy leather futon, and flipped channels. Mulder made wry comments about a movie that had been dubbed for a Spanish channel. Skinner tried to get him to focus on a baseball game. They ended up, somehow, watching Pop-Up Videos on VH1.

The pizza came, and Mulder made a valiant effort to eat it, in fact, he did pick the pepperoni and mushrooms off of one whole piece. Skinner watched him for a little while, as he ate his own slice, and then got up, smugly. He was proud of himself for coming prepared. He went to his suit jacket, thrown over the back of a chair, and dug things out of his pockets. He dropped something into Mulder's lap.

Mulder looked up, looked down and looked up again, and for one heart stopping moment, he was smiling. He put his pizza plate on the coffee table, and gently ripped open the bag. As he lifted the first few seeds to his mouth, a look of contentment glazed over his eyes. After that, he was even willing to go back to the baseball game.

Skinner managed to get him turned around, so that he was lying on his back, his head on Skinner's thigh. His face was still turned toward the television, and his hand made a slow and steady path back and forth, from his lap to his mouth, delivering seeds, collecting shells. Skinner didn't really care about the game. He watched Mulder's face, counted how often he blinked (he was a slow blinker), looked for any animation on his part if the Orioles scored (none -- he didn't seem to understand that was a good thing), admired the strong, straight line of his jaw and that full, sensuous lower lip.

He would touch Mulder sparingly. A caress of his forearm, a fingertip brushing hair from his eyes, knuckles sliding across his cheek. Mulder endured this, possibly enjoyed it, but he gave no sign. He was lost in baseball and sunflower seeds. At one point, however, during a commercial, Mulder murmured a faint, "That feels nice."

During another commercial, Skinner realized that Mulder had turned and was looking up at him. "Yes?"

"I wish we were at your place," Mulder said, dragging sunflower seeds from his lips.

"Why?"

"Your bed is more comfortable."

Skinner felt his temperature jump about two hundred degrees Fahrenheit. "Do you want to go over there?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "You're not going in tomorrow. We could have three days, plus the weekend together."

Mulder shifted around, bringing himself into a sitting position. "Kat, I'd like to go over tonight, but --" he held up his hand as Skinner started to get up. "I'm not ready to live in your back pocket. If I go over it will be for the night, not the week, okay? It's not you." Impulsively, he put the hand on Skinner's cheek. "It's me. I need to be alone sometimes. I think it's genetic. It might be why I never got married -- at least part of why I never did. So, if I go, are you going to be upset if I want to leave tomorrow?"

"Would you ever come back?"

Mulder thought about it. "Sure. Maybe even tomorrow night. Maybe not until the weekend. But I need to feel that it's okay for me to come and go. I told you, I'm not housebroken yet."

Skinner nodded. "Fair enough." He stood and held out a hand for Mulder, hauling him up into an embrace. "You take all the time you need," he whispered. "You're worth waiting for."

Even in the blue light of the television, it was easy to see that Mulder was blushing. He eased away from Skinner's embrace. "I'm going to take my car. I'll meet you there."

Skinner had a moment of insecurity of his own. "Okay." He reached for his jacket. "I'll leave a trail of M & M's for you."

"You've got M & M's?" Mulder's voice was lighter, playful.

Skinner dug into his pockets; M & M's, Jelly Bellys, Gummi Bears and pretzels.

Mulder came over the coffee table, caught Skinner's shoulders and kissed him. Then he plucked the M & M's out of his hands. "I'll see you in a little while."

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

When Mulder finally rang the bell, Skinner had convinced himself that he wasn't coming. He almost lunged for the door. And there was Mulder, smiling half a smile, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hand behind his back.

"Get in here," Skinner growled. Pulling Mulder inside, he heard a crinkling sound, and was surprised when Mulder produced something from behind his back. "You're not the only one who can bring flowers." Mulder pursed his lips. "You didn't seem like a roses kind of guy."

They were sunflowers, big and bright, with dark blue irises and purple and white stock. It was almost a … masculine arrangement. Stunned, touched, overwhelmed, Skinner took the flowers and carried them into the kitchen. Did he even own a vase? He heard Mulder come into the kitchen behind him. "You're off the medication, aren't you? Do you want a beer?" He found a deep, green glass bowl in a cupboard over the refrigerator, and filled it with water.

"Actually," there was a wistful note in Mulder's voice, "I'd really like a cup of tea." He went to the stove and picked up the kettle. "They had to intubate me a couple of times, and my throat just hasn't quite recovered."

"Why did they have to intubate?" Skinner demanded, angry, terrified.

Mulder shrugged. "I wasn't included in the decision making process, so I'm not sure. Scully says my blood pressure dropped at one point to roughly the level of a corpse, but that was just blood loss. Anyway, I had some kind of systemic shock, and for a while my lungs stopped cooperating." He filled the kettle and put it back on the stove.

Skinner stared at him, horrified. No one told him any of this. If he had known, they couldn't have blasted him out of that hospital. "Are you all right? Should you be-"

"I'm fine," Mulder insisted, routing through cupboards for a cup. "I may look like a skinny little wimp, but I'm pretty strong. And I guess all those antibiotics I'd been taking helped reduce the shock." He put a tea bag into the cup. "Stop staring at me like that, Kat. I'm fine. Even this is supposed to go away." He gestured at the limp downturn of his lip. His eyes flicked up as he spooned honey into the cup. "But I sure am glad you found me."

"Me, too." Skinner put a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed, gently. "When I invited you over, I was really hoping --" he cut himself off. "But, not tonight."

Mulder looked up at him, exasperated. "I invited myself over, remember? And the only reason I did was because I wanted to be in your arms, in your bed. I've missed you, Kat. I thought about you a lot the past week. I'm sorry about what happened in the shower."

Skinner nodded. "Me, too."

"I didn't mean to make you feel you couldn't touch me at all," Mulder said ruefully. "I like it when you do." He did that jerky one armed shrug. "We weren't a very demonstrative family. I'm not used to all the patting and petting, so I know sometimes I seem a little stiff to you. But I do like it." He lifted his eyes. "I think that's what I like most of all. The sex …" That shrug again. "It's pretty mind-blowing, but it isn't what keeps me coming back."

Skinner nodded. "Sex isn't everything, in the best relationships. But I still want to try again. I mean, there's something I want to do, something that Sharon and I used to do. I think you'll like it, if you relax and trust me." He knew he was blushing but he made himself meet those widened hazel eyes.

"What … um … exactly does it entail?"

Skinner smiled at him. "Get your tea and come upstairs," he directed. "I'll show you."

They started out kissing and caressing each other gently. Mulder was willing, even eager at this point. He was laying beside Skinner, rolled into his arms, his own hands running back and forth over Skinner's shoulders and chest. His mouth opened to accept Skinner's own, as Skinner held him, touched him, slid his hands down his chest, belly, groin, pleased to note that there were no new scars to add to his collection. When he touched Mulder's erection, he felt a small groan beneath his lips. "Like that?" he whispered into Mulder's mouth.

"Like?" Mulder repeated, thrusting himself forward.

This was the most open and willing Mulder had ever been about sex, and Skinner luxuriated in the freedom to touch and explore his skin, his muscles, the secret places no one else ever went. Finally, he couldn't wait anymore. He pulled himself up onto his knees over Mulder. "Okay," he announced. "We're going to give this a try."

Mulder put a hand on his wrist as he reached into his bedside table. "Kat, I'm not sure …"

"Shh," Skinner said, taking a brand new bottle of lubricant from the drawer. "This is just a little step, it isn't the whole leap." He worked himself between Mulder's long legs, and encouraged him to bend his knees. He rubbed a little of the lubricant onto the fingertips of his right hand. He reached out for Mulder's hand with his left. Balancing carefully, he leaned up and kissed lips that were suddenly trembling. "Trust me?"

Mulder responded with a jerky nod.

"Okay. If it hurts, or gets too weird, squeeze my hand." He waited for Mulder to nod again. Then he eased his hand down into the crevice between Mulder's buttocks. Mulder stiffened, and clenched his fingers. Skinner looked up. Mulder's eyes were shut tight. He was swallowing. "Do you want me to stop?" Skinner asked quietly.

"Just give me a minute," Mulder said in a breathy voice. Finally he nodded. "Okay."

Skinner eased a fingertip to Mulder's anus. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and he waited. No squeezing. He pushed his fingertip inward. Mulder twitched a little. "Shh," Skinner soothed. He let his finger move in and out slightly. "How's that?"

"It's … it's okay," Mulder said. His voice was so soft.

Skinner smiled and curled his finger slightly, imitating something that Sharon had learned to do so well.

"Oh, my …" Mulder's back arched up off the bed. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, wide-eyed.

Skinner smiled, smugly. "The prostate, Agent Mulder. Haven't you ever had a physical?" He moved his finger again.

"Not like that." Mulder's words came out in little gasps.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"What else are you going to do to me?"

"This." Skinner eased a second finger in. "And this." He let both fingers rock in and out in a slow, lazy rhythm. "And this." He released Mulder's hand and reached for his erection.

"Oh, you're going to kill me," Mulder moaned.

"Do you want me to stop?" Skinner asked again.

"Yeah." Mulder swallowed. "In about three minutes."

Skinner smiled to himself. One more hurdle cleared.

- END part 11 of 15 -
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