Author: Daydreamer
Posted: 12 November 1998

Familiar Feelings
A Companion Piece to Susan Proto's Familiar Faces

Mulder smiled at Scully as they walked through the small park near their office. “Skinner's gonna be there? Again?” he said jokingly.

She rolled her eyes then looked up at him. “Yes, Mulder, Skinner is going to be there. You know he's seeing Mom on a fairly regular basis now.”

Mulder chuckled, “Yeah, I know. It's just hard for me to picture Skinner and your mother. He's so . . .” He shrugged. “And your mom. She's so . . .” He grinned. “Well, you know.”

They both laughed. “It does seem rather odd to me too, Mulder,” Scully agreed.

“I have to admit, this is not the Skinner I've come to expect. I didn't realize the man had a sense of humor at all. He continues to surprise me.”

Scully was smiling. “My mom brings out the best in people.” She looked up at him, her smile widening to a grin. “Just look at you, Fox,” she teased.

Mulder smiled back. “Well, he certainly seems smitten with your mom.”

Scully laughed again. “Smitten, Mulder? Come on, this is the nineties.”

“Yeah, well, I don't think Skinner is a totally nineties kinda guy.”

“Probably a good thing,” Scully commented. “I don't think Mom would really want a nineties kind of guy.”

Mulder stopped walking and pulled Scully into an embrace. “And what about you? Do you want a nineties kind of guy? 'Cause I gotta tell you -- I'm completely smitten here.” He gave her a lopsided grin, his eyes soft as he looked down at her.

“I want you, Mulder,” she said, “only you.”

He kissed her softly, then turned, taking her hand, and they began walking again.

“So, what time do we have to be there?” he said.

“I told Mom we'd be there around noon. That'll give me a chance to help her with the potato salad and deviled eggs. You and Walter have been given the honor of handling the barbecue.” She smiled slyly at him.

Mulder groaned. “Oh, please, no. Not that. You know how I am with charcoal.” He eyed her pleadingly. “And besides, I'm afraid of fire.” He grinned.

Scully laughed again, “Oh, suck it up, Mulder. You can handle it.”

Mulder sighed, then said, “Well, one can only hope Skinner knows how to handle a grill; otherwise, you better take sandwich makings.”

“God,” Scully breathed as they stepped outside, “what a beautiful day!”

Mulder had to agree. He looked up at the cloudless sky, the sun a perfect circle in the endless Carolina blue. “Amazing for this time of year. Still warm, but the trees are already turning.”

“Well, with this glorious display from nature, I won't mind the ride to Baltimore at all!”

Mulder smiled indulgently as he looked at Scully. “Your display is pretty glorious, too,” he commented. Her jeans were snug and fit just right to his mind. Her auburn hair tumbled around her face, the ends just brushing the collar of the oversized cotton sweater she wore. Oversized, but her natural charms were still noticeable.

She laughed and took his arm as they walked to the car. She was obviously excited, the idea of a day off with family and friends something she had been looking forward to for some time now.

“You driving?” he asked as he opened the passenger door.

“Nope. I'm planning to kick back and enjoy the view today,” she said as she slipped into the car.

“Me, too,” he murmured, giving her denim clad legs a quick glance before shutting the door and walking to the driver's side. He climbed in, started the car, and they were off.

When they arrived, Margaret met them at the door, immediately engulfing Scully in a huge hug, then turning to pull Mulder down into her embrace as well.

“There you are,” she said. “I didn't think you'd ever get here!”

“Mom,” Scully said, “it's 12:02! I told you we'd be here by noon. I hardly think you had reason to get concerned.”

Margaret smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Well, I was just beginning to get a little worried.” She took their arms, leading them into the house. “Come on, there's lots to do.”

Mulder and Scully followed her through the house to the kitchen. Skinner was there, standing at the counter by the sink, slicing tomatoes into cubes.

Scully and Mulder exchanged a quick glance and a sideways smile. Domestic Skinner? Then Scully said, “Hello, Sir.”

He looked up, smiling, and said, “Walter, remember? It's Walter off duty.”

“Oh. Right. Hello, Walter,” she said, the name still unfamiliar on her tongue.

“Well, it's still Mulder for me,” Mulder said as he walked across the room towards the AD.

Skinner turned. “What? I don't get to call you Fox, like Maggie does?” he teased.

Mulder smiled, but his eyes narrowed in warning. “Don't even think about it,” he said.

Skinner laughed uproariously and reached out and slapped Mulder on the arm. The younger man immediately cringed, stepping back several paces, dropping to a crouch, and lifting his hands in a protective gesture before his face.

Time froze. No one moved. No one said anything. All eyes were glued to Mulder.

At last Skinner said, “Holy shit, Mulder. Are you all right?” He took a step forward, hand reaching out, then stopped, uncertain if his offer of help would be welcomed.

Mulder's eyes were unfocused, and it took him a minute to see the hand, partly extended to him. He looked up to find Skinner's face hovering in the air above him. He closed his eyes for a long moment, then stared at the floor as he rocked back onto both heels. He caught his balance and rose awkwardly, looking around to see Maggie and Scully both staring at him.

He flushed, turning bright red in embarrassment. “I, uh - well...” He dropped his head and shrugged miserably. “Sorry.” He turned and darted out the back door and into the backyard.

Scully started to follow, but Skinner reached out, stopping her. “No, Dana. This is the second time he's reacted like this. Remember the office a few weeks ago? Well, I was the trigger both times. Let me go talk to him.”

She studied him carefully, then slowly nodded. “If he gets upset you come get me,” she ordered.

“I'll come get you if he gets too upset,” Skinner amended.

Finally, Scully nodded again, and Skinner went out the back door.

He found Mulder seated at the picnic table, studying the wooden boards as if they were the most interesting things in the world. He approached slowly, and when he was several feet away, he called, “Mulder?”

The younger man looked up. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes. “I, uh, would really like to be alone, Sir,” he said.

Skinner took two steps forward. “It's all right, Mulder,” he said.

“No, Sir, it's not all right. It's never all right.”

Skinner took another step and then gently reached out and laid his hand on Mulder's shoulder. The younger man flinched at the touch, but then stilled himself. “I -- I'm sorry, Sir. I know you aren't going to hurt me.”

Skinner slowly began to knead the shoulder, feeling the tight muscles, the tautness through the back. He took another couple steps forward, till he was standing directly behind Mulder.

“That's right, Mulder,” Skinner said. “I would never hurt you.” He paused, then added, “Do you really know that?”

Mulder shrugged. “I think so. I - I think I know that. But sometimes, it -- it just washes over me like a wave, and I can't do anything about it.”

Skinner placed his other hand on Mulder's other shoulder. His legs were flush against Mulder's back, and he began a gentle massage of the other man's shoulders.

“Can you tell me?” he asked softly.

Mulder dropped his head into his hands. “I don't know,” he whispered.

Skinner slowly slid his hand down to Mulder's chest, and pulled the younger man to him, in a gentle hug. “You can, Mulder. It's OK, you're safe. I'm not gonna hurt you.” He released him, leaving his hands to rest lightly on his shoulders, and said once more, “Tell me.”

There was a long, heavy silence, then Mulder shuddered and drew in a deep ragged breath. “It was always so sudden, so unexpected. I'd think everything was OK, and suddenly, he'd lash out, and I'd go flying across the room. I - I wouldn't even know what I'd done.”

He looked up, his eyes meeting Skinner's. “I was a good kid,” he said, vestiges of disbelief in his voice.

Skinner patted him gently, “I'm sure you were, Mulder.”

“No. Sir, this is really important! You've got to understand. I was really a good kid. Especially after Samantha disappeared. I felt so guilty, and my mom needed me so much. And I guess somewhere deep down inside of me, I figured if she could disappear, I could too. So I was really a good kid.” He dropped his head again.

Skinner squeezed his shoulder. “I understand, Mulder. You're right. It is important. And I'm sure you were a good kid.”

Mulder nodded, then looked up gratefully. “Even then, I knew I was a good kid. And so, I couldn't make sense of why he kept hitting me like that.” His eyes fell again, staring at the ground. “It was a long time later before I came to understand that I was just a convenient outlet for his rage. It probably wasn't even really directed at me. But I spent my whole adolescence trying to stay out of the way of his arm, his hand, his fist, his foot. Trying to figure out what I'd done that time. Promising I'd never do it again. Trying to convince myself I'd do better next time. And somewhere in the back of my head, trying to convince myself it wasn't my fault. Trying to stay sane.”

Mulder gave a little shake and pulled away from Skinner, rising to walk a little ways away and stand by a small garden shed. “I guess that's why I went into Psych. Trying to understand myself.”

“Gotten any insights?” Skinner asked.

“Yeah, some,” Mulder replied. “I mean, I know on an intellectual level, it wasn't my fault. I understand the syndrome. But, uh, understanding it doesn't change the experience.” He gave a shaky little laugh.

“And some learned behaviors are so deeply ingrained that you just -- respond -- without thinking, even in a totally different context.” His voice was surer now. He turned and met Skinner's gaze. “I'm really sorry, Sir.”

“No, Mulder. You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who should apologize. I knew, from what happened in the office a few weeks back, that that type of horseplay had the potential to upset you. And I didn't think. I did it again. And I am truly, very sorry.”

Mulder nodded gravely, accepting the apology. He stood looking at the ground, then wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself. “You know what was worse?” He looked up, searching Skinner's eyes. “Worse than the beatings, worse than being hit?”

“No, Mulder. What was worse?”

“Being ignored. He completely ignored me. And I swear, as I got older, I used to provoke him on purpose, just so he'd look at me, talk to me, acknowledge me, touch me. Even if it was -- to knock me across the room -- at least he touched me. He knew I was alive. I was still there.”

Skinner closed his eyes, and drew in a quiet breath. When he opened them, Mulder was staring at the ground again.

“I missed -- having a father who touched me. Before Samantha disappeared, he used to read to me. He read to us both. He'd come sit on my bed and talk to me, when he got home, late at night. He taught me to play chess. He would pat my shoulder as he walked by, or ruffle my hair. He touched me a lot before Samantha disappeared.

“I never did figure out why he did it. At first, I thought he blamed me for losing Samantha. I was being punished.”

Skinner winced at the nonchalance in Mulder's tone, the attitude that his father's behavior was acceptable and understandable in light of his 'crime.'

“But as I got older and realized how much he drank, I thought maybe it was because of the alcohol. And then, after the divorce, I thought maybe he just couldn't be bothered. I just don't know -- and now, I guess I never will.” This last was uttered as a mere whisper.

Mulder stood in silence, then murmured, “Yeah, that was the worst. I - uh...” His voice trailed to silence and he shook his head. “That was the worst.”

Skinner stood looking at the tall young man, arms wrapped protectively about his body, head down, gazing at the ground. One toe drew lazy circles in the grass, his lower lip quivered, and as Skinner watched, a fat tear slid down his face to splash against his shirt.

He stepped closer to Mulder, then said gently, “Mulder, not every man who touches you will touch you in anger.”

Mulder nodded, a short, jerky up and down movement of his head. “I know that, Sir. I know that.”

“Mulder, look at me.”

Mulder lifted his head, his eyes seeking Skinner's. “Sir?”

“You were a good kid, Mulder. You didn't deserve that.” Skinner opened his arms and extended them towards Mulder. “You deserved to know the good touches -- gentleness, care, love. Now, you're a good man, Mulder. You need to let this go.”

Mulder's eyes were full, and as he looked at Skinner standing there, arms open, waiting, the tears began to fall. “I don't know if I can, Sir,” he choked.

“You can, Mulder. It's all right.” Skinner stood patiently.

Mulder took one step forward, then froze, arms tightening around his chest, and he rocked in place. “I don't know if I can,” he said again.

“You can, Mulder, you can.”

He took another step and Skinner's fingers brushed his arms. He grabbed him and pulled him into a tight embrace. The younger man began to sob. Mulder buried his head in Skinner's shoulder, the tears poured out, and he grieved.

There, in the arms of a man he respected, a man he looked up to, a man he had come to care for, a man who cared for him, he was finally safe to grieve. To grieve for the little boy whose father had forgotten how to touch him in love.