Steal Your Fire Away
Lifeboat Trilogy Book III
by Claire Dobbin
"Looks like you could do with some help, Mr. Skinner," he remarked,
taking the foil containers from Skinner's hands.
"Thanks, Joe. I should have made two trips, I guess," Skinner said.
He placed the bags on the desk and reached for his gun. Joe took it
from him and Skinner signed the security book. As usual, the guard
made only a cursory inspection of the items Skinner had carried in.
Skinner had gotten to know the man over the two months he had been
visiting Alex and appreciated the friendly, respectful way the man
treated him.
"Are we in Room 1 today?" Skinner asked.
"Yes, Sir," Joe told him, "it's free, if you want to go on in. I'll
take these to the staff kitchen." He pointed to the foil containers.
"Thanks Joe, I'll come get them when we're ready."
Joe nodded and Skinner moved down the familiar corridor towards the
treatment room. He closed the door behind him, put the large bags down
beside his chair and hung his jacket on the coat rack. A quick check
of his watch told him he had a few minutes before Alex and Dr. Massie
would arrive and he sat down for his first calm moment of the day.
Since they'd returned from Florida, Fridays had become hectic for
Skinner. They were also the best day of each week.
On Friday he would finish work an hour early, go home to shower and
change into something casual, then he'd pick up whatever food Alex was
in the mood for before driving to White Oaks for their five thirty
session, which was Dr. Massie's last appointment of the day. At the
end of the first session the doctor suggested they remain in the
treatment room to share the pasta salad Skinner had brought for Alex
as a change to the institutional food he ate every day. The shared
meal became a very important part of the weekly routine. When Dr.
Massie left them at six thirty they had an hour together, with his
permission, before security checked and locked the offices and
treatment rooms on the ground floor and Alex was escorted back to his
room.
There could be no physical dimension to their time together, other
than being close and quiet with each other; the security system
ensured that. But it allowed them to decompress after being apart all
week, each involved in their own busy schedules. They didn't even talk
much. They kept that for the phone call Skinner made to Alex last
thing each night.
As with the visits, they had to be discrete on the phone. Dr. Massie
had warned them that the facility's calls were randomly monitored.
Since Skinner couldn't talk about what went on at the Hoover Building
and Alex didn't want to talk about White Oaks, the conversations were
awkward in the beginning. They had fallen back on discussing the news
and the weather and sports for the first couple of calls. But
gradually they began to talk about themselves and each other.
At first it had surprised Skinner that the simple exchange of ideas
and interests could be so intimate. Then, in a moment of insight, he
realised that in some of his relationships he'd used sex as a means to
avoid getting to know his partner. When you took away the heat and
haze of the sex, you were left with the person. He'd always found
being emotionally intimate with another person difficult. It consoled
him in the long lonely nights to know that he and Alex were doing okay
with emotional intimacy. He was even more consoled when he looked
forward to the day when they'd have the intimacy and the sex. The
thought of that sure helped with the long and lonely nights.
And Alex was turning out to be a much more complex individual than he
had anticipated. The Krycek he'd known was like a comic book character
below whose ingratiating façade dwelt evil incarnate. The Alex he
loved was well read and had a quirky view of the world that was never
predictable. Skinner could tell that he was the first person who'd
ever taken the time to listen to Alex's opinions on a whole slew of
topics. Everything from how to cast a fly fishing line to the impact
of global political strategies, and knowing it made him feel damned
good. When Skinner thought about it, with the phone calls and the
dinners and no sex, it felt like they were doing the old-fashioned
courtship thing.
He was feeling contented and at ease when Dr. Massie bustled into the
room.
"Evening, Walter," he said, using his first name as they'd agreed in
the beginning.
"Evening, Doctor," Skinner replied, needing the formality.
The doctor leaned back in his armchair and fixed Skinner with a
serious look.
"I think it's time we call Alex's bluff on this 'Stepford' patient
routine, don't you?"
Skinner just looked at him, letting his confusion show.
"Aahh... so you're under the impression it's going well?" the doctor
questioned.
"Isn't it?" Skinner asked. "I mean he's so calm and positive and... "
"Eager to please?" the doctor finished for him. "That's the problem.
He's telling us what he thinks we want to hear, and he's spent enough
time in this facility to be able to write the script."
"But," Skinner began, his happy Friday feeling punctured like a
balloon on New Year's Eve. "He's trying so hard."
"Walter, I can honestly say I've never seen a patient try so hard, and
with such good intentions." He chuckled as he continued, "Every yoga
class, every Tai chi class, every group therapy session, there's Alex
in the front row. And if he isn't in a session, he has his nose in one
of those 'self help' books shipped in by the case load from that
sister of his in California."
Skinner knew all about those since he'd carried them in. He had a new
one in the bag beside him entitled 'Being Happy'. He had the distinct
impression from the message pencilled into the flyleaf that Olga
wasn't offering it as an option.
"But all the effort and good intentions in the world are to no avail
unless he begins tackling the issues he has to deal with," the doctor
was saying. "He's not dealing with them, and Walter, you're aiding and
abetting him."
"You'll have to explain that, Doctor. I've done nothing but be
supportive—"
"Precisely," the doctor interrupted. "Being supportive is good; being
realistic is better."
"I have no illusions about—"
The doctor interrupted him again, "Oh, Walter, come on, I've listened
for eight weeks to all those rose tinted plans for the future. But let
me ask you this—do you think Alex is ready to go out there and deal
with whatever life throws at him?"
"But I'll be there—"
"You can't be with him 24/7, nor should you be. When I told you he
needed a supervisor, I told you his mother could do it but that you'd
be better. That's because I felt you'd be better at giving him the
space he needs, within a defined structure." The doctor smiled at him
before he said, "I think I underestimated just how protective your
nature is regarding the people you love. Please don't be offended, but
you're smothering him. You solve every problem for him, you deal with
every difficulty. That's not good for Alex and while we're on the
subject, it's not good for your relationship. He may have been glad of
it in Florida. He's content with it now, but as he gains independence,
it's going to begin to chafe. It's just not who Alex is."
Skinner said nothing. He could recognise himself in the doctor's
description. He'd always been the big brother who'd shepherded his
siblings around. They still came to him with their problems. He'd had
the same role in his platoon in the Corps. Sharon and he had struggled
with his over-protectiveness. It was one of the issues that had
finished them. The hurt and frustration of having let Mulder be taken
still rippled through him.
"Walter, that sounded harsher than I intended," the doctor said, his
tone softening. "Such commitment is admirable, you just need to learn
when to back off with him."
Skinner nodded agreement.
"The sexual relationship complicates matters. You are both still in
that early obsessive phase which doesn't, thank God, last that long,
but you're operating on a purely emotional level with him now and no
matter what your head knows, your heart sees only the good in Alex.
But Walter, Alex Krycek is a trained killer who has used his skills
efficiently and without compunction. If I am going to recommend his
release to the House Committee, I'm going to have to be convinced that
by doing so, I will not be putting either society or Alex at risk. I
don't convince easily."
"You didn't see how he was in Florida..." Skinner began lamely.
"I would hardly call that an acid test," the doctor said. "What
happens the first time he faces a situation in which he feels
threatened, or someone he loves is threatened, or he's just plain
pissed off?"
The doctor's voice trailed off when he noticed how Skinner looked away
from him at the words.
"Alex reacted the same way when I talked to him about this. Something
happened in Florida, didn't it? Something you didn't tell me about."
The doctor stopped talking and waited for Skinner to speak. There were
a few minutes of silence and then Skinner told him about the incident
with Mulder and how it ended in the Sheriff's Office. He didn't tell
him about his assault on Alex. It was just too painful to say out
loud.
The doctor listened neutrally to the account before saying, "At least
it gives us a starting point, but I can tell you Walter that I am
pretty pissed off at not being told about this. I figured something
significant must have happened to send you rushing back home, but I
assumed it was anxiety over the developing relationship that brought
you to my office that day. I'm disappointed in you. That was one hell
of a risk you took, leaving him like that. If you are to continue to
be his supervisor I will have to be sure you'll never do anything like
that again."
Skinner felt ashamed. He was also terrified that he'd destroyed the
doctor's trust in him.
"I give you my word, Doctor, it will never happen again," he said as
sincerely as he knew how.
The doctor let him stew for a long moment before he said, "I accept
that. But let me warn you, I expect you to be completely honest with
me, and I expect you to talk to me. What you're taking on is damned
hard. Alex isn't the only one who needs support. That's what I'm here
for."
"Thank you, Doctor," Skinner told him. "You've been exceptionally kind
to us both..." his voice trailed off, embarrassed.
"Most of my time is spent trying to put together pieces that don't fit
anymore, but occasionally I get the chance to make a difference. Alex
is such a case. I think he can make it. I want to see him walk out of
here."
"I'll do whatever it takes," Skinner told him.
"Okay," the doctor said, checking his watch as he buzzed through to
ask the orderly to bring Alex to the treatment room, "then I suggest
you buckle on your seatbelt because we're in for a bumpy ride."
Skinner sat silently waiting for Alex to arrive. Only a few minutes
passed before the door opened. Alex looked more anxious than usual
when he came in. As always, Dr. Massie busied himself with paperwork
while the two men greeted each other. Skinner stood up and returned
Alex's hug, holding on tightly.
"What's wrong?" Alex whispered to him.
Skinner shook his head and pulled away. The two of them took their
usual positions opposite each other. Skinner looked at Alex's trusting
expression and felt a gnawing pain begin in his gut.
"Sorry for the delay, Alex, Walter and I needed a few minutes," the
doctor explained.
"S'okay," the young man agreed, before asking, "Is there something
wrong?"
The doctor ignored the question and asked instead, "Alex, can you tell
me what you were feeling when... " he glanced at the notes he'd made
"... this Fox Mulder attacked you in your mother's home."
Alex turned back to Skinner, his brows knitted together, a flush
creeping over his cheeks.
"Walter told me about it when I asked him, as you should have done,
Alex," the doctor admonished.
Alex deliberately looked away from Skinner then and spoke to the
doctor. "It wasn't that big a deal. He took me unawares. I forgot that
because things are different for me now, doesn't mean people like
Mulder see it that way."
"Not that big a deal? I'd have to disagree, Alex. You were assaulted
in front of your family in what is now your home. You then went out
and assaulted two police officers."
"They came after me," Alex defended.
"Not in an aggressive way, Alex," Skinner said quietly.
Alex looked at him, his expression lacking any warmth, and spoke in an
equally cool tone. "You weren't there."
Skinner didn't reply but tried to communicate with his body language
that he was on Alex's side.
"So you feel you were justified in acting as you did?" the doctor
asked.
Alex fidgeted uncomfortably. "No... I should have gone with them... I
figured it was Walter's doing... but I wasn't ready to go home..." he ran
out of steam.
"You say things are different for you now," the doctor was continuing,
"but this incident sounds like 'unreconstructed Alex Krycek' to me."
Alex glared at him.
"Well fuck..." he spat out and pointed in the direction of the lockdown
wing "...then why don't you just lock me back in that hellhole and
call it a day?"
"Is that what you want?" the doctor asked, unruffled.
Alex drew in three calming breaths. Skinner watched the younger man
battle to control the emotions raging within him. He willed him his
strength and support.
One more deep inhalation and noisy exhalation and Alex looked at them
both before saying quietly,
"No, that's not what I want."
"Good," said the doctor with conviction.
Skinner loosened the grip he had on the chair arms, only then
realising the tightness of his hold.
"Alex, you've come a long way," the doctor was saying, "and I know
it's been hard, but now you're in the home stretch."
The younger man rubbed his hand wearily over his face and looked over
at Massie.
"This is going to be the toughest part though. During your time here
we've stripped away the learned behaviours. Now we're down to the
instinctual. You get a handle on those and you're home."
He stood up and gathered his papers into the file. He took something
from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Skinner. Turning to
Alex he placed his hand reassuringly on the younger man's shoulder.
"You're going to get there, Alex."
He walked to the door and took hold of the handle. "That's enough for
today," he said opening the door and stepping through, but he halted
and turned back to look at the two silent men.
"By the way, I'm resetting this to session one." And he was gone.
Alex had the sense to wait until the doctor was well out of earshot
before he stood up to kick the doctor's chair as hard as he could.
"I fucking hate him," he said clinically to the closed door.
Skinner found his legs and his voice and he walked over to Alex,
pressing himself against his lover's back as his arms wrapped around
the tense body.
"I hope I'm not included in that," he whispered into a convenient ear.
Alex relaxed and leaned back against him.
"You I fucking love," he told Skinner. "Even if you have a big mouth."
Skinner turned Alex round to face him and guided them to the part of
the room he thought was most obscure to the security system. There he
kissed Alex as passionately as he knew how and was repaid with the
man's moaning, ravenous response. When it began to get out of control
Skinner drew back and asked breathlessly, "What were you saying about
my mouth?"
Alex's green eyes cleared to focus on Skinner's swollen lips. He ran
his thumb gently across them and Skinner opened his mouth to pull the
thumb inside, where he sucked on it rhythmically.
"This beautiful, sexy mouth?" Alex growled softly. "I'd say it's just
about perfect."
Skinner reluctantly released the thumb and took a minute to study the
beautiful face, the smooth pale skin, the wide-set almond eyes,
dancing with life, the too short upturned nose, the smiling
kiss-reddened lips. Finding perfection in another form.
He chuckled to himself, remembering Dr. Massie's words about the
obsessive stage.
"What?" Alex prompted.
Skinner avoided the question by taking the laminated card the doctor
had given him out of his pocket and holding it up so Alex could read
what it said.
Alex whooped in delight.
"Yep," said Skinner, just as delighted, "a whole weekend pass. Want to
revise your opinion of the good doctor?"
"Mmmm,"Alex muttered noncommittally.
Skinner was the one to end the embrace.
"Considering this," he said tapping Alex on the forehead with the
pass, "I don't think we want to step on any toes."
They walked back to the centre of the room.
"Ready for dinner?" Skinner asked. "I got the chilli, extra hot, just
like you wanted."
Alex tugged at the front of his jeans before sitting down.
"Sure," he said, "it'll go with the mood."
Skinner drove home from the facility with his mind buzzing. Many
things clamoured for his attention but over-riding them all was the
thought of spending next weekend alone with Alex. Strangely, they
hadn't talked at all about how or where they'd spend it. He thought
that Alex probably assumed they'd go to his apartment or maybe to a
hotel or bed and breakfast nearer the facility. He knew it was a
perfect example of what Dr. Massie had talked about earlier, namely
Skinner being the decision-maker in the relationship. He knew he
should have involved Alex in the decision, but somehow the moment he'd
realised the doctor had given them a weekend pass he knew he wouldn't.
Just this one last time he wanted to take the initiative.
Knowing there was little chance he'd be able to sleep anytime soon, he
went to the gym and began a workout. It was populated with people
like himself who were spending a Friday night working out their
problems and frustrations by working out their muscles. He soon
settled into his routine, using it to process what had happened so he
could sleep. He'd need all the rest he could get for the busy days
ahead.
By nine thirty the next morning, he'd already spoken with Dr. Massie
to confirm that if the weekend went well it would become a regular
arrangement and was on his way to view properties for rent in
Virginia. He concentrated on two areas, Hampton and Fairfax. Both
were situated equidistant between White Oaks and DC, and had an
abundance of the type of property he was after, a simple two or three
bedroom cottage on its own private lot. Beside him on the passenger
seat were twenty or so flyers he'd printed off the net for properties
that seemed to have potential and a list of names and addresses of
local realtors.
A long and gruelling seven hours later, when he was just about ready
to give up for the day, he found it, the perfect place for them. He
knew it was right the minute he laid eyes on it. It was just outside
the town of Cedar Fork, only two miles off the main Richmond to DC
highway, but had a completely rural setting. A long gravel driveway
led to a grey stone cottage with a shingled roof. It was sheltered by
a copse of mature beech trees and had extensive lawns on all four
sides. The windows and door trims were painted white, the shutters a
dark brown. A solid oaken door with frosted glass on either side
opened into a spacious hall lined in oak panelling. Skinner didn't
need to go any further to know that the house had a good 'feel' to it.
There was a warmth that had been missing in many of the places he'd
viewed that day. Getting that feeling was more important to Skinner
than a leaky roof. A leak could be fixed.
Walking through the rooms one by one, he wasn't disappointed. The
living room was dominated by a large stone fireplace and had
comfortable 'make yourself at home' furniture. Next to it was the
kitchen, large and well equipped, and with a huge range that took up
most of one wall. The bathroom was fitted with gleaming white
porcelain and tiles. The master bedroom, with its ensuite bathroom,
and two others ran along the back of the house. Finally, there was a
utility room filled with raincoats and umbrellas and boots, as well as
the washer/dryer.
He'd spent the day trying to see properties through Alex's eyes. He
knew the man well enough to know that he liked simple, clean lines and
natural materials. This house had both, and there wasn't a frill or
flourish in the entire place. The realtor told him it had been
restored by a professor from George Washington University who used it
in the long summer vacation to write up his research findings. That
meant it was available on a three-month lease at a reasonable rent
considering the area it was in. He signed for it immediately, pleased
when the realtor said he'd forego the usual references, since Mr.
Skinner was, after all, someone important in the FBI. Happy with the
outcome, he drove home with plenty of time to spare before his call to
Alex.
The next five days were a blur of activity for Skinner. By Wednesday
he admitted he was going to need to take some time off work if he was
to achieve everything he'd planned so he had Marie re-schedule all his
appointments for Thursday and Friday. She also made arrangements to
have his mail and calls redirected to the new address. He left the
Hoover Building around two and went straight to Crystal City to finish
his packing. It was his last night in the apartment, something about
which he felt no pain at all. It had proved remarkably easy to sell
the property and he'd received a succession of offers that surpassed
even the realtor's optimistic evaluation.
Now that he had somewhere else to live he saw no reason to delay
moving out and he arranged with a removal company to pack up and put
all his furniture into storage. Since the Hampton cottage was fully
furnished, he needed to bring only his clothes and a few items such as
his computer and CD collection. By Thursday afternoon he had emptied
and closed up the Crystal City apartment without a backward glance and
was settling into his new, albeit, temporary home. He spent the rest
of the day spring cleaning the cottage and turning it into a home.
He slept late on Friday morning, in the expectation he wouldn't be
getting much sleep Friday night. When he did get up he enjoyed a
leisurely breakfast and drifted through the rooms of the cottage,
moving things from place to place. Around two he drove into Cedar
Fork and bought the things he needed for dinner, two prime steaks and
Idaho baking potatoes. The local bakery yielded up freshly baked
bread and a coconut cream cake, which he knew was something Alex
liked. Arriving back at what was now 'home', he put the food away and
lit a fire in the living room. When he had put fresh linens on the
bed and moved things around for a second time he gave up and got ready
to drive to White Oaks.
By four forty-five he was sitting in the lobby of the facility trying
to be unobtrusive behind a copy of 'Mental Health Monthly'. The main
door opened and a group of people walked past him towards the admin
area. He recognised Dr. Massie's voice and sank further into his
seat.
"Walter?" said the familiar voice.
He looked over his magazine and smiled ruefully at the doctor who was
checking his watch in a teasing way.
"Okay Walter, you can take him," the doctor said quietly and laughed,
"I know I haven't a snowball's chance in hell of getting anything done
with the two of you today anyway. You can tell him it's his reward
for a good week's work."
The doctor went to the main desk and made a call. When he put the
receiver down he nodded to Skinner and disappeared down the corridor
following his colleagues.
Skinner paced up and down for another five minutes before the security
door to the first floor opened and Alex was handed over into his safe
keeping.
Skinner glanced over for the tenth time at the very subdued Alex who
sat beside him. This time Alex returned his glance and smiled at him.
"It's okay, Walter. I just had a tough week," Alex explained. He
dropped his head back and closed his eyes. "You have no idea how good
it feels to be here with you."
Skinner reached over to massage Alex's shoulder, then ran his hand
along the shadowed jaw line.
"I think I might have an inkling," he said, looking over just as Alex
turned towards him. Reluctantly he broke the eye contact to look back
at the road, but he kept his hand resting on Alex's shoulder.
"This is our exit," he told the younger man when the sign for Cedar
Fork loomed in front of them.
"We aren't headed for the city?" Alex asked.
"No, I thought we should have a fresh start," Skinner told him. "I
hope that's okay?"
"Fine by me," Alex said. "DC isn't exactly my favourite place. So
where are we staying?"
"Just a couple of miles, a cottage I've rented for the next few
months," Skinner explained. "It's private... and quiet. Here's the
turn."
He drove into the narrow country road as dusk was beginning to take
hold, the white roadside fencing gleaming in the car headlights.
Another mile and the fencing gave way to the gravel sweep at the
entrance to the cottage driveway.
Skinner carefully steered the car along the uneven surface and brought
it to a halt outside the solid stone building.
"Here we are," Skinner said to Alex, as he reached into the back to
retrieve the weekend bag from the back seat.
Alex silently climbed out of the car and walked through the crunching
gravel to the front door of the cottage, well lighted by the glow of
the lamps Skinner had left burning in the hallway and living room.
Skinner closed and locked the car before following Alex to the
doorstep. He took the spare key from his pocket and handed it to Alex
when he drew level.
"Your key," he said, and waited for the other man to open the door.
Alex used the key and went inside, his eyes darting around to take in
his new surroundings. Skinner placed a hand on the small of his back
and suggested, "Why don't you take a look around. I need to check on
the fire."
Alex nodded and disappeared towards the kitchen while Skinner went
into the living room and began to build up the fire. The cottage's
efficient heating system meant inside was comfortingly warm compared
to the chill March evening, but the fire was the 'heart' of the house
and Skinner had tended it lovingly since he'd arrived. Satisfied that
the fresh logs were taking hold, he turned round to find Alex in the
doorway watching him.
"Well," Skinner asked, "what do you think?"
"It's great," Alex said, coming into the room to stand before him. He
still wore his jacket and Skinner caught hold of the lapels as he
said, "I was kind of hoping you were going to stay."
Alex shrugged his way out of the jacket and Skinner threw it over the
back of the nearest armchair. Immediately he pulled Alex into a firm
embrace, sensing the man needed his strength.
"Dr. Massie told me you did good work this week."
Alex's only response was to wrap his right arm just as firmly around
Skinner. The older man found himself at a loss. This was not how
he'd expected Alex to be and he had to clamp down on the
disappointment he felt.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked.
A shake of the head was the reply so he just held on, content to wait
until Alex was ready. It took several long minutes, but eventually
the younger man loosened his grip and took a step back.
"I really could use a shower," he said gathering a handful of his
sweater and bringing it to his nose. "I smell of that place."
Skinner buried his nose between Alex's neck and shoulder. "You smell
of you," he said, lifting his head, "but go shower if you want.
There's plenty of hot water, so indulge. You'll find fresh towels and
toiletries in the cabinet in our bathroom. I'll start dinner."
Alex feathered his lips across Skinner's. "Thanks, Walter," he said
and left the room.
Skinner turned back to the fire in the hope of finding some insight in
its glowing, living patterns. The sessions he'd had with the doctor,
both alone and with Alex, had been emotionally intense. But he knew
there were nothing compared to those between Alex and the doctor in
private. Dr. Massie had used the phrase 'stripping away' to describe
the process they were undertaking. It didn't sound like a pleasant
experience.
He felt sympathetic about Alex's sensitivity to the smell of the place
where he was confined. He hadn't noticed anything but a faintly
institutional odour in White Oaks, but he understood the strong
response a smell could evoke, either good or bad. It occurred to him
that all the clothes that Alex had brought carried a similar 'taint'
so he detoured on his way to the kitchen to get some of his own
clothes for Alex to wear.
The connecting door between bedroom and bathroom was ajar and he could
hear the pounding of the water in the shower. He'd just opened the
drawer in the dresser when he heard it, the sobbing hitch of Alex
trying to control his breathing. He quietly leaned into the doorway
and saw Alex sitting on the closed toilet seat, his head bowed and his
shoulders tightly bunched. He'd only gotten as far as removing his
sweater and it lay at his feet, forgotten.
Skinner pulled back into the bedroom, unsure of how to act. Alex had
made it plain he wanted to be alone and Skinner now knew why. His
easiest option would be to leave as quietly as he entered and give
Alex his wish. But he stayed where he was. The easy option was rarely
the right one. What if, despite what the doctor had said, Alex had
been given too much space all his life? What if, just this once, Alex
needed to hold on to someone stronger?
A line from a song flitted through Skinner's mind...'no room on the
lifeboat, you can hold onto me'.
'Everyone's entitled to at least one lifeboat,' Skinner thought
reasonably and steeled himself to flaunt every deeply ingrained 'guy'
taboo in the book.
He walked back into the bathroom, turned off the shower and ignoring
Alex's surprised look and reddened eyes, pulled him up into a
ferocious hug. The man's resistance lasted about ten seconds before
he clung on for dear life.
"Let it go, Alex," Skinner said, suddenly fearless, and Alex took him
at his word.
Alex made up for a lot of lost emotion in the next hour or so. It was
something he needed to do, that much was clear to Skinner. The final
defensive position in Alex's psyche had been breached by whatever
passed between him and Dr. Massie in their last session. The path was
opened for Alex to grieve. What he grieved for Skinner could only
surmise. His lost life, the choices he'd made, the things he'd done?
Maybe all of the above, maybe something he couldn't even imagine.
When the first crushing wave of it began to ebb away, Skinner lifted
Alex's head from his shoulder and looked into the crumpled face.
There were no words for what he needed to say so he let his hands talk
for him as he swept the dark hair back from the sweaty forehead and
began to undress the exhausted man. The shirt joined the sweater on
the floor and Skinner, with great gentleness, removed the prosthesis.
A fumble with tight fitting jeans and forgotten shoes and Alex was
left only in his boxers. Skinner stepped away to restart the shower
and strip off his own clothes, then he slipped off the final piece of
underwear and guided Alex's weary body under the powerful spray of
water.
Joining him in the water, he leaned the younger man's back against his
chest and began to shampoo his hair. He lingered over the task,
massaging as he washed, rinsing the soap away meticulously before
repeating the process. Finishing with the hair, he took a new bar of
soap and washcloth and began to lather and cleanse Alex's skin to wash
away any trace of White Oaks. Along with it he willed away the hurt
his lover was feeling, hoping that Alex recognised in this act his
acceptance of him as he was, body and soul. And to reinforce the
message he did something he'd never done before, not even during
lovemaking—he took hold of the disfigured arm and touched it
everywhere, with all the sensitivity he could muster.
Then he turned Alex towards him so that the spray was at his back and
kneeling before him, washed the long legs and feet as the comforting
water swirled around them both. Needing only to tend to the most
intimate part of his lover, he re-soaped the washcloth and began to
wash his genitals with a knowing touch. When he reached forward to
soap behind the balls, Alex's hand splayed out against the tile to
support himself as the cloth contacted his anus. Skinner looked up at
him to find his eyes tightly shut. Not wanting to start something
neither of them needed right then, Skinner quickly washed the cock,
watching it become half hard under the stimulation. But it went no
further and Alex titled his head back so the water sluiced down his
face and the front of his body, enabling Skinner to quickly rinse away
the remaining soap.
Skinner stood and shut off the flow of water. Stepping out of the
shower he swiped at his own body a few times with a towel to take off
the worst of the water, wrapping the towel round his waist. Alex was
out of the shower already and had a towel in his hand, but Skinner
took it from him and dried him as methodically as he had washed him.
When he was satisfied he threw the towels in the hamper and pulled
Alex with him into the bedroom.
He settled them both in the big bed and reached out to switch off the
bedside lamp, drawing Alex to him. The man shuddered as Skinner's big
hands moved across his chest and abdomen. Skinner could sense that
Alex had indeed been 'stripped down' to the core of his being and it
had left him raw. With his body and stroking hands he tried to soothe
the vulnerable man in his arms, replacing the layers of hurt and
suspicion with love.
Alex released a long sighing breath and leaned back into him. It
wasn't the way Skinner had anticipated spending his first night
together with Alex after months of enforced separation, but with his
lover held close at eight forty-five on a Friday evening he found
himself glad to drift off into an exhausted sleep.
A tantalizing smell coaxed Skinner back to consciousness. Reaching
out across the bed he found it empty. The light from the bathroom,
though shaded by the half closed door, was sufficient to show him that
Alex was not in the room and he looked at he clock groggily to find it
was just after four am. Remembering he'd left his glasses in the
bathroom, he stretched and pulled on a pair of sweats before going to
fetch them. Then he followed his growling stomach to the kitchen where
he found Alex, also dressed in a pair of his sweats, on the verge of
overcooking the steaks.
Alex gave him a quick, uneasy look which Skinner ignored as he whipped
the pan out from under the grill.
"There oughta be a law... " he mused aloud as he looked at the
overdone prime cut of meat.
Alex snorted. "Anything that's not 'tartare' is cooked too much for
you, Walter," he responded.
Skinner thumped the pan on the counter, saying, "We are looking at
incineration here, Alex."
Alex snorted again and forked the steaks onto plates already filled
with scrambled eggs.
"Let's go back to bed," he suggested. "That's where I was bringing
these before the critic arrived."
"Not a bad idea," Skinner agreed, "considering it's four in the
morning."
"Tell that to my stomach," Alex said, already on his way out of the
kitchen, plate in hand.
Skinner silently agreed, following with a tray holding his plate, two
mugs of coffee and toasted chunks of bread.
They settled themselves in the bed to enjoy the food. Skinner found
it hard not to interfere as Alex laboriously cut up the meat
single-handed with the sharpest knife from the kitchen, but they both
managed and finished their meal.
"I have to admit that was damned good, Alex," Skinner said, putting
the tray on the floor beside the bed.
"Thanks Walter, for last night. Massie didn't pull any punches this
week," Alex said, leaning into his side. "And thanks for bringing me
here. It's like a real home. Mom's was great, but this feels like
it's mine... ours... even if it is only rented. It kind of
overwhelmed me... "
It all came out in a tumble of words and Skinner gratefully drank in
every one of them.
"That's good to hear," he said. Wrapping Alex up in his arms he
asked, "So you really like it, then?"
"Yeah, I can't wait to see outside. How much land is there?"
"Eight acres," Skinner told him. "The land behind the house fronts
onto a lake. Locals say there's decent fishing in it."
"Maybe next weekend..." Alex murmured, leaning over to nuzzle at
Walter's lips. He pulled back abruptly, running his hand over
Walter's jaw, then his own.
"Uh, got to do something about this," he stated, pulling Skinner with
him from the bed.
They went into the bathroom together and Skinner allowed Alex to seat
him on the closed toilet lid and take off his glasses to place them on
the shelf above the basin. He watched the younger man fill the basin
with warm water and swish a washcloth through it for a few moments.
Fascinated, he watched Alex manage to squeeze out most of the water
from the washcloth with one hand. It was carefully wiped over his
face, then dunked into the water again. When he took it from the
water a second time he handed it to Skinner who used it to warm his
skin and open his pores, ready for the shave.
Alex hunted through his weekend bag for his shaving kit. Opening it,
he took out the heavy Merkur chrome razor and a fresh blade. He
fitted it and placed the razor on the basin's edge. A tube of shaving
gel rested on the shelf and Alex squeezed some out onto the porcelain
beside the razor. Skinner threw the washcloth back into the water and
leaned back when Alex came to stand in front of him. Dipping his
fingers into the gel, Alex worked it into a lather on his lover's
skin. Turning, he picked up the razor and began to shave in smooth
strokes.
Skinner held very still to help Alex with the awkward task. He knew
from the first sweep that the razor was incredibly sharp, an attribute
essential for anyone shaving single-handed. Each time Alex rinsed the
blade in the water Skinner would move his head to a different angle at
Alex's prompt, ready for the next stroke. He held his skin as taut as
he could, but Alex didn't seem to have any difficulty. He did this
every day. A final run of the razor up under his chin and it was done.
Alex wiped over the shaved area with the damp warm washcloth and
patted it dry with the towel. He caressed Skinner's cheek with the
palm of his hand and murmured his approval at the closeness of the
shave.
From the kit he produced a bottle and held it up for Skinner's
approval. Reading the label, which proudly announced 'Colonel Ichabod
Conk's Shaving Balm' in Victorian typeface, Skinner smiled and nodded
yes. Alex did that funny move with his hand to open the bottle while
holding onto it and the cap. A flick of his wrist and he was putting
down the bottle on the shelf, the right amount of oil in his palm.
The moment the liquid touched his skin Skinner recognised its scent.
It was the one Alex habitually used, just more intense. He liked it.
It didn't have the bite of his own aftershave and there was the added
pleasure of having it massaged into his skin by the sensual hand of
his lover.
The whole experience was intensely arousing. The presence of Alex in
his personal space, the press of their legs together, the
concentration in Alex's green eyes as he worked. Above all, the
clearly defined arousal in Alex's sweatpants only inches from his
face. Skinner had kept his hands to himself with difficulty, not
wanting to be cut by the lethal razor due to any inauspicious move on
his part, but when Alex gave his cheek a final pat and reached out to
wipe his hand on the towel, he curled his hand around the enticing
bulge and rubbed gently.
"Oh, Walter..." Alex ground out, grasping tightly onto Skinner's
shoulder for support.
Skinner removed his groping hand and stood up, pushing Alex in front
of the basin as he did so. He reached over and emptied the basin,
quickly wiping it and refilling it with water for Alex's shave. His
arousal reined in, the younger man began to lather his face and
Skinner positioned himself against Alex's left side, where he could
maintain contact but wouldn't impede the man's actions. While Alex
shaved, Skinner gently humped against his hip, greedily watching every
move of his lover's in the mirror.
"Okay Walter, I get the message, I'm going as fast as I can. Believe
me, you'll thank me for this when I'm up close and personal with your
groin."
Skinner groaned aloud and Alex's reflection smiled broadly at him,
before he resumed shaving as efficiently and quickly as he knew how.
When Alex picked up the towel to wipe away the faint traces of soap
left over from the shave, Skinner slipped his hand inside the sweat
pants and began teasing the other man's anus with a blunt finger.
Alex went completely still for a moment then he fished around in the
cabinet drawer and took out a bottle of lube and a condom which he
placed on the counter. Pushing his pants down to his ankles, he kicked
them away and braced himself against the sink.
Skinner ran his hand over the beautiful ass and remembered to breathe.
He opened the bottle and slicked up his fingers. Gently sliding in
the first one he looked up to watch its effect on his lover. It made
a beautiful picture. Alex, in complete abandon, his eyes tightly
closed, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, swayed fractionally
to the rhythm of Skinner's manipulations. The one size too big T
shirt thankfully didn't succeed in covering the second most beautiful
part of the man and Skinner's peripheral vision picked up the sight of
the darkly shaded cock riding high above its thatch of dark curls.
Alex began making a soft keening sound, just above a hum, that sent a
shiver of renewed arousal along Skinner's spine. In response he
slipped in another, well lubricated finger and began stroking against
Alex's prostate. The bucking hips and frenzied expression on Alex's
face told him there was no way the younger man could hold back his
orgasm, so he fisted the cock and watched the final working out of
this act of love. Alex roared out his completion and shot all over
the sink and mirror, the sweet vibrations of it pulsing through him as
Skinner rolled his balls firmly with the palm of his hand in exactly
the right way.
Alex sagged then, only to be held securely against the older man's
chest. Skinner impatiently pulled his sweat pants down and out of the
way, hissing at the first contact of skin on skin. Picking up the
condom he watched his hands in the mirror as they tore open the
packet. He reached down and sheathed himself as Alex leaned forward
again, taking his weight on his arm.
Skinner's cock, finding its own way into Alex's crack, demanded its
due, but Skinner summoned up every ounce of restraint and waited until
Alex looked up and nodded permission. Though relaxed and willing Alex
was tight and three or four frantic strokes was all the stimulation it
took to bring Skinner to fulfilment. He rested against Alex, soaking
in his warmth and scent until he was able to stand on his own two feet
again. Slipping out of the tight channel he smiled at Alex in the
mirror, enjoying the completely debauched sight.
"Next time we do this in the bed," he warned, his voice husky.
Alex grinned back. "In the bed... on the table... in the shower... in front of
the fire..."
"Okay, okay," Skinner interrupted, " I get the idea, the field of play
is wide and varied."
Alex turned towards him and wrapped his arm around his neck. "And
you, Walter, are fair game."
Skinner laughed out loud, looking forward to being on the receiving
end of that particular threat.
They returned to bed and made love again, languidly this time,
dispelling the weeks of no physical contact as they became
reacquainted with each other's bodies.
Afterwards Alex decided he couldn't wait any longer to see outside and
they took a quick shower together. Coming back into the bedroom
Skinner watched Alex dress. He didn't put on his prosthesis. Instead
he asked Skinner to pin up the sleeve of the sweatshirt.
They made it outside in time for that brief moment in each day when
the earth is reborn and the air dances with energy. The glow of dawn
in the east was not yet bright enough to banish the indigo from the
western sky, but it had the birds up and about their business, their
song resounding across the fields.
Alex slid his arm around Skinner's waist and smiled when the gesture
was returned. They walked down the path, through the yard gate into
the woodland behind the house. A late frost laced everything in white
and their breath huffed out in clouds before them.
It was all as new to Skinner as it was to Alex but he enjoyed the
younger man's excitement in each discovery more than his own. Sharing
a moment like this with another person was always better, he'd learned
that long ago, but sharing it with someone who was learning that
lesson for the first time was something pretty special. He opened
himself to the sights and sounds and sensations, wanting to hold it
crystallised in his memory.
Then suddenly they topped a little mossy rise in the land and before
them lay the wide expanse of the promised lake, a mist floating over
its glassy surface in thick bands. Through it swifts darted and
swooped, their acrobatics breathtaking. Alex turned back to look at
Skinner, his eyes shining, and Skinner knew it was high time to say
what he needed to say.
"Alex, I want you to know something," he began. "Being here with
you... being anywhere with you is... well, it just feels so right. Before,
I was so damned miserable. You make me feel like a person again, you
make getting out of bed in the morning worthwhile. The past doesn't
hurt the way it did anymore and I want to make plans for the future.
Thank you for making that happen."
Alex looked at him like he was the Holy Grail and then held him tight.
"It's gonna happen for us, isn't it?" he asked.
"If I have any say in it," Skinner said, returning the embrace. "No
matter what happens or what other people say, Alex, we've got to hold
onto this."
He felt Alex's nodded agreement against his cheek and they stood like
that until it was fully light and the day proper had begun. Then they
walked down to the lake edge and followed its contour round to where
the ranch fencing signalled the end of their property. There they
turned back towards the house, walking hand in hand through the
dampening grass.
The thud of hooves and a whinny drew their attention back to the fence
and the prancing chestnut thoroughbred eyeing them with suspicion.
Alex immediately went to lean on the fence, making a soft clicking
sound with his tongue. Skinner watched as the skittish animal settled
and sidled up to Alex in a hopeful manner. The big nose nuzzled at
the pocket of Alex's jacket and the man laughed softly, carefully
making no sound or movement that might startle the horse.
"Don't have anything for you, Trigger," he said regretfully, "but I'll
bring you something later."
He rubbed at the soft muzzle and breathed on it forcefully, laughing
when the horse copied the gesture.
"Good boy," he said, stroking the powerful neck as he looked up into
the big, brown eyes.
Skinner looked at him questioningly when he turned away from the
animal and caught hold of his hand again.
"You know horses?" Skinner asked, intrigued.
"Not really," Alex answered. "When I was working for the Brit I would
stay at his place in Newport. He kept horses. I'd go down to the
stables early in the morning. The 'help' being with the horses wasn't
really encouraged."
"Oh," Skinner said, sorry to have dredged up an unpleasant memory.
"How about a drive round the neighbourhood, a little grocery shopping,
lunch, then back to bed?"
"Sounds about perfect," Alex said. "Better remember to pick up some
apples and carrots."
"Sure thing," Skinner agreed, turning their steps towards the house.
Cliché or not the rest of the weekend flew by and at eight o'clock on
Sunday evening Skinner reluctantly walked with Alex into the foyer at
White Oaks. He handed over the latest care packages from Florida and
California to the security officer and turned to Alex.
"I'll call you later," he said quietly, hating to say goodbye,
especially in front of an audience.
Alex looked at him, then at the guard who appeared completely
disinterested in both of them.
"Walter," Alex said just as quietly, his hand tugging on Skinner's
jacket, "next Friday, why don't you come straight from work. You can
change later." His expression was openly lascivious.
Skinner smirked at him, the request opening up a whole chapter of
'Alex fantasies' for his contemplation.
"Good idea, my schedule is pretty tight on Fridays," Skinner replied.
He squeezed Alex's shoulder and walked to the door.
"See you next week, Assistant Director," Alex called after him,
laughter in his voice.
Part Two
The closer Skinner got to Cedar Fork the longer each passing mile seemed to
become, but at long last he turned into the cottage drive and parked
the car. He
paused for several seconds, sighing deeply with the relief of being
home, before
he gathered his jacket and weekend bag from the passenger seat and climbed out
of the car. Alex stood waiting for him on the porch, wearing his oldest jeans
and chunky white sweater and looking edible. They clung to each other for a
little while.
Alex leaned back. "How did it go?" he asked looking concerned.
"It was fine. I'll tell you all about it inside," Skinner reassured him.
Sharing a snatched kiss before they parted, Alex lifted Skinner's bag and lead
the way into the house.
"Mom, Walter's home," Alex called out, causing a wave of contentment to roll
through Skinner at his words.
Vera Svetlov came out of the kitchen, a dishtowel draped over her shoulder, her
arms opening in greeting. "Walter, you're just in time for supper,"
she told him
as they hugged.
He looked over her shoulder at his lover. It was clear from Alex's expression
and Vera's greeting that mother and son had had 'the talk'.
As he pulled back his stomach growled and Vera chuckled. "And not a moment too
soon by the sound of things."
He smiled at her as he said, "I didn't stop anywhere in the hope of being in
time for supper, or at least leftovers."
"Come, I'm putting it on the table," she told him, heading back to the kitchen.
They didn't follow directly, though; instead, Alex caught hold of
Skinner again.
The older man spoke quietly into his ear. "I take it everything went well with
you?" he asked.
"She already knew, Walter. I guess we weren't all that subtle those couple of
weeks in Florida ..."
"No shit, Alex" Skinner told him. "I guess falling in love and subtle don't sit
well together."
Alex smiled, his face taking on the boyish look that made Skinner groan with
frustration that they weren't alone. Alex's smile broadened as he picked up on
the sentiment.
"Hey Walter, you've had a long day driving and tomorrow is a work day, so I
think an early night is called for," Alex said, sounding determined.
"You okay with that?" Skinner asked, nodding towards the kitchen.
"Mom is," he glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still
alone before
he continued, "so as soon as supper's over I want you to take me to
bed and fuck
me so hard I'll be able to feel it the rest of the week." The words were
delivered in a low growl and Skinner instinctively tightened his grip on the
warm, strong body in his arms.
That was the moment Skinner's stomach chose to rumble loudly a second time and
Alex laughed out loud.
"But first you get fed," he said, pulling Skinner by the hand into the kitchen.
They sat down and began serving themselves from the pan of lasagne and the bowl
of salad.
"So, did you have a good visit in Baltimore with... Elizabeth is it?"
Vera asked.
"Yes, Elizabeth my sister, and my brother Kenneth flew up from Iowa.
It's been a
while since we were last together. We had a lot of catching up to do," Skinner
replied as he reached over and took hold of Alex's hand.
It was the first openly affectionate gesture they had shared with someone who
mattered and they both colored faintly as they looked at each other before
glancing over to see Vera's reaction.
"Alex told me, Walter," she said, her tone warm. "You're a good man, Walter
Skinner. You make my son happy and that makes me happy."
She lifted her wine glass and inclined it towards them. They lifted their
glasses in response and all three clinked together.
"God bless you both," she toasted and took a sip before continuing. "Be kind to
each other. That's the secret."
They drank the toast and Alex leaned forward and kissed Walter's cheek. The
older man looked back at him as he said, "Thank you, Vera, for everything."
Alex dropped his gaze at the sincerity of Skinner's words. He moved the food
around on his plate, looking uncomfortable. Skinner glanced up at Vera,
realising it was time to change the subject.
"Did Alex tell you the good news from Dr. Massie?" he asked her.
"Yes, it's wonderful. When will you know for sure?"
"He told me he'd have an answer by tomorrow," Alex replied.
"It's only a three month trial, but if it goes well..." Walter looked
at Alex and
said with confidence, "...and it will, it will be extended indefinitely."
"I want your promise that you'll come visit with me as soon as possible," she
requested.
"We'd love to, Mom, but Walter has taken a lot of time off and we've got stuff
to sort out, we need to find somewhere to live, I need to find a job..." he
trailed off.
"One step at a time, Alexander," his mother counselled.
"Don't worry Mom, this guy," he punched Skinner's arm playfully, "and Doctor
Dread keep me on a pretty tight rein."
Skinner looked offended but Alex ignored him and continued, "I'm
looking forward
to getting back out there. It's time."
"I knew that the moment I saw you on Friday, Alexander," she told him as she
stood up. Retrieving her purse from the living room she took a small book from
it and resumed her seat.
"This will help with the new start," she said handing him the book.
He opened it and looked at her, confused.
"It's your college fund, Alexander, and I want no argument. Your father and I
set up an account for each of you when you were born. You know, all those years
we never lost hope, so every month the payment was made." She wiped away the
brightness from her eyes, but never lost her smile. "So just say,
'Thanks Mom'."
Alex stood up and pulled her gently from her chair to hug her.
"Thanks Mom," he told her.
"You're welcome, Sasha," she responded. "Now, dinner's getting cold."
When they sat down again Skinner helped himself to some more lasagne and said,
"There's something else we have to add to the list of things to do, Alex.
Elizabeth wants us to drive up to Baltimore so she and Kenneth can meet you.
She's going to email me with a list of dates that suit them. Probably late May
or early June."
He looked at Alex's anxious face and laughed softly. "Don't worry, the Skinners
are friendly and we stick close together. What I had to tell them was pretty
much out of the blue but they didn't disappoint me."
He edited out the part about the unspoken teasing he'd had to endure from his
siblings once the shock of the news had worn off. At last, the pair
of them had
something to hold over their usually conventional big brother and neither of
them could resist taking advantage. He was sure they both considered Alex to be
the manifestation of some kind of mid life crisis he was going
through, but he'd
let it go. It would be up to him and Alex to dispel that misconception over
time.
"Okay," Alex said, trying to sound as positive as possible. "I'm going to have
to tell Peter. Mom says Olga knows."
"Sweetheart," Vera said, "if Olga knows then Peter knows too, believe me. But
you should talk to him yourself."
Alex considered that for a moment. "I think I want to talk to them both face to
face," he said.
"They're all coming home for Easter. Why don't you fly down for the holiday,"
she suggested.
He looked at Skinner.
"Your call, Alex," Skinner told him. "I don't have any leave planned
around that
weekend. It will be business as usual for me."
"I think that may be best, Alexander," his mother said. "Olga really likes
Walter and your relationship won't be an issue for her, but you need to spend
some time with Peter. He won't be comfortable with this."
"Then I'll go," Alex decided. He looked at his lover. "I want to get this
right."
Skinner nodded agreement and they finished their meal making occasional small
talk and contemplating what had been said.
Alex was putting the final few dishes into the dishwasher and Skinner was
finishing his second cup of coffee when Vera returned to the kitchen, wearing a
robe.
"I'm going to have an early night, sweetheart," she told Alex, coming to give
him a hug and kiss. "What time do I need to be ready to leave in the morning,
Walter?" she asked.
"We need to be on the road by 7:15 to give you an hour's check in
time," he told
her.
"I'll set my alarm for six, then. Good night Walter, good night Alexander."
They wished her good night and went back to what they were doing, but
as soon as
the solid snick of closing guest room door was heard Skinner was on
his feet and
they were in each other's arms.
Alex tilted his head back, closed his eyes and let out a deep felt sigh as his
entire body made contact with that of his lover.
"It's been too fucking long, Walter," he complained.
Skinner disengaged the hand, still clutching the wet dish towel, from the small
of his back and reached up to cup the back of Alex's head.
"Well, you don't have to wait any longer," he answered huskily and guided his
lover's mouth to his own.
Wedging themselves into the right angle formed where the fridge met the counter
top, they spent long minutes feeding each other's oral addiction until their
level of arousal could no longer be ignored.
Skinner pulled away, drawing in a ragged, panting breath before
saying, "I don't
think the hard fucking you want would be a good idea tonight, but I
can give you
slow and thorough."
He glanced in the direction of the guest bedroom by way of explanation.
"A Skinner special?" Alex inquired like someone negotiating a deal.
"With all the extras," Skinner bargained.
"What about the early start tomorrow?"
"Fuck the early start," Skinner growled.
"Are you sure that's what you want to fuck?" Alex asked innocently as he guided
Skinner's hand to his ass.
"I'm sure this is what I want to fuck," Skinner replied, working his hand under
the waistband of his lover's jeans.
"Then why are we standing here?" Alex wondered.
Together they left the kitchen, Skinner to check the fire and set the locks,
Alex to switch off the lights. A few minutes later they were behind the locked
door of their bedroom. Alex began to strip but Skinner leaned back against the
door, his arms folded across his chest. Already deeply aroused, he watched with
relish as his graceful lover unfastened each article of clothing and dropped it
carelessly onto the rug, his only concern Skinner's pleasure.
Once naked, he took the lube and a condom from the nightstand drawer and set
them on top of the cabinet. Uncapping the tube he squeezed a generous amount on
the wrapping of the condom and placed it on the pillow. He pulled back the
comforter and climbed into the middle of the bed where he kneeled with his back
to Skinner, his legs apart. Reaching down to take a dollop of the lube onto his
index and middle fingers, finding his tight centre, he rimmed himself
teasingly,
then arched his back at the first firm penetration. A tight grunt issued from
him as the fingers went deeper and Skinner did not need to see his face to know
that his eyes were tightly shut and his lower lip was trapped between
his teeth.
Nor did he need a further prompt to begin undressing, which he did, his eyes
never leaving the increasingly erotic movements of his lover. Free of his
clothing, he climbed onto the bed behind Alex and positioned himself close
enough for the bodily contact and the manipulations of the other man's hand and
ass to bring him to full erection. He licked his way along the
reddened welts on
Alex's shoulder where the straps of the prosthesis marked the tender skin and
swept his hands in erratic and sensual patterns over the other man's chest and
belly as he waited for the preparations to be completed.
Feeling open and ready, Alex leaned his head back onto Skinner's shoulder and
allowed the older man to take some of his weight as he withdrew his fingers and
reached forward, searching for the solid strength of the oak headboard. Taking
hold of it he turned his face into Skinner's neck and mumbled huskily,
"M'ready."
Skinner braced his left arm high across Alex's chest and took his cock in the
firm grip of his right hand. He spread his knees a little further, forcing Alex
to copy the movement, then ran the head of his cock slowly up and down between
the parted cheeks with enough pressure to make them both moan softly. Each time
his sensitive glans contacted the other man's anus he dallied there to massage
it before moving on and returning a few heartbeats later, becoming aware that
Alex's breathing was falling into synch with the action.
His own responses were escalating in intensity and when he felt the wetness of
his pre-come spill onto his fingers he let go of his cock and picked up the
condom. He used his teeth to tear into the packet and sheathed himself with the
lubricated rubber in one smooth movement.
"I'm gonna give you what you need now, babe," he whispered, shocking himself at
the ease with which the endearment rolled off his tongue. It was a
first, but it
didn't have priority in the part of his brain that was in control and its
significance slipped away from him as he guided himself inside Alex. A few
powerful thrusts and he was there, deep in the tight, warm silkiness.
He held still then, wanting to savor the sensation that radiated outward from
his cock in a surge to every other cell in his body. Alex had stilled too, and
together they enjoyed the little hiatus of calm before the need to move became
irresistible. It ended all too soon when the younger man leaned forward, his
head flopping down between his shoulders. Inexorably the movement drew Skinner
forward as well, initiating a gentle rocking motion of his hips.
They continued that way, the length and power of the older man's strokes
becoming stronger until they almost reached the point where instinct would take
control. Skinner wasn't ready for that and he had a promise to keep to Alex so
with one arm wrapped tightly around Alex's chest and the other taking their
combined weight on the bed he murmured, "Lie down with me."
Alex raised his head and allowed himself to be guided backward until they lay
spooned together on their sides. Once they had settled into a comfortable
position Skinner resumed thrusting, though more gently and began
using his hands
to tease and arouse Alex unmercifully. He paid special attention to the younger
man's nipples, applying alternating pain and pleasure as he sucked on the soft
skin of his neck.
Pulling back to look at the impressive hickey that would thankfully be covered
by a shirt collar, he moved his hands downward to indulge his fascination with
Alex's cock. It was drawn up tight against the younger man's stomach and felt
like warm, tempered steel. As his fingers traced a path from base to tip Alex
held his breath, only to release it in a groan when Skinner's thumb circled the
exposed glans, moving slickly through the leaking pre-come. He reached lower to
cup the tight, full balls for a few minutes while he changed the angle of his
strokes to better contact Alex's prostate. Satisfied with the results, he
resumed his investigation, finding the tender little spot on the sac that drove
Alex insane when it was scraped lightly with the tip of a finger.
For the first time his usually noisy lover reacted verbally to his attentions
and a loud curse escaped his lips before Skinner could clamp a hand over his
mouth.
"Shhhh!" Skinner hissed, removing his hand only when Alex nodded to indicate he
was back in control.
Deciding his lover was in danger of crossing the fine line between ecstasy and
discomfort, Skinner began thrusting purposefully, able to ignore his protesting
back because the waves of bliss crashing through him. In response, Alex raised
his upper leg and braced his foot on the top ledge of the wooden headboard. The
change of position opened him to even deeper penetration and encouraged Skinner
to give his cock the few quick pumps needed to trigger his release.
Skinner followed him almost immediately, echoing in his head Alex's softly
chanted, "Fuck... fuck... fuck..." as they floated out into a sea of welcome
oblivion.
Sometime later, Skinner became aware of the cold, sticky condom being removed
and replaced by a warm washcloth as Alex cleaned his still sensitive genitals.
When he tried to sit up he was pushed back down and his lover's voice
instructed, "Just lie there. Let me take care of you."
Ignoring the fact that they were turned the wrong way in the bed, Alex placed a
pillow under Skinner's head and tucked the comforter around him before turning
of the lamp and crawling in behind him, his hand meshing with
Skinner's where it
lay on the older man's hip.
There was a moment of silence before Alex murmured in a low whisper,
"I think we
should take out a patent on it."
From the depths of his exhaustion Skinner managed a weary, "What?"
"The Skinner Special."
The older man chuckled. "Let's table that discussion, Alex," he said.
Another moment of silence, then: "Babe?"
No chuckle this time as the memory of its usage slammed into Skinner.
"Say 'Goodnight' Alex," he instructed.
It was the younger man's turn to chuckle.
"Up yours, Skinner," he retorted.
"At the earliest opportunity. Now go to sleep."
Alex was long gone when Skinner woke to the buzz of his alarm clock the next
morning. He took his shower and shaved. Dressed in a crisply laundered white
shirt and dark grey dress pants he went to the kitchen, knotting his sober tie
as he walked. Vera was already there, a mug of coffee on the table in front of
her.
"Good morning, Vera," he greeted her as he took out the mug with the title
'Executive Management' stencilled onto it that Alex had bought for him the
weekend before.
"Morning, Walter," she replied.
He sat down beside her and took a welcome swallow of the hot coffee.
"I take it you know where he is?" he asked.
"The Johnson's?"
"That's the place," he told her, a faintly long suffering expression on his
face.
"We visited it with the Johnsons on Saturday for a little while. I got the
feeling the visit was cut short because of my presence."
"That's more than likely," Walter agreed. "He loves those damned animals. I
can't see the attraction myself."
She grinned at him and said, "I think it may be my fault, and his
Dad's. He gets
it from both sides, I'm afraid. When I was growing up in the Ukraine
horses were
still being used on every farm. I've always loved them. My
father-in-law told me
that Peter, my husband, could ride before he could walk. The first
year the farm
made a profit he bought two colts at the county fair."
Still smiling she traced a finger around a geometric pattern on the table cloth
as she recounted the pleasant memories.
"Olga was pony crazy for a while. Won a few county competitions for jumping.
Sometimes I'd go out to the paddock and find the pony being led
around on a long
rein by Olga with Alexander bouncing up and down in the saddle like a jumping
bean. I would scold them both but it didn't stop them, they just got
cuter about
it."
She looked up at Skinner. "Strangely, he doesn't have any memories of that."
Skinner shrugged his shoulders and said, "The memories are sub-conscious maybe.
Ted Johnson says he's a natural in the way he deals with the horses and as a
rider."
"The Johnsons are real nice people," Vera remarked. "They seem to like
Alexander."
"Yeah," Skinner agreed, "he's comfortable around them. Ted encouraged him to
ride. Alex was very reluctant, but Ted explained that riding is a sport ideally
suited to people with disabilities. When he's on horseback you can hardly tell
there is anything wrong."
She nodded and took a drink of coffee. The comment brought an end to the
conversation and they sat together quietly sipping.
Skinner watched her in his peripheral vision. Her seeming fragility was an
illusion. The woman was incredibly strong; and the focus of her life was the
wellbeing of her son.
Over the months since he and Alex had returned from Florida he'd had numerous
lengthy telephone conversations with her in which she had asked him searching
questions about himself and the nature of his and Alex's relationship. He'd
found it difficult to explain to her something he didn't understand himself.
What there was between them had evolved from the worst of all possible
circumstances. Somehow they had avoided killing each other and instead found
themselves loving each other.
Last night he had called Alex Krycek 'babe'.
Confounding all logic, what they had continued to evolve and grow
stronger. They
had never discussed living together, yet here they were about to start house
hunting. When they signed their names on the mortgage, they would formalize
their relationship by giving power of attorney to each other. The thought of it
made him feel damned good. He wouldn't want it any other way.
Having Vera Svetlov as a friend was one of the fringe benefits of being with
Alex. She had told him in no uncertain terms that a gay relationship
was not her
first choice for her son, but he knew he had her respect and trust and, as of
last night, her acceptance. He very much wanted to be worthy of that.
"Vera, what you said last night... I want you to know I appreciate it. This must
be hard for you—"
"Walter," she interrupted him, "I'd need to be blind not to see that you belong
together."
Whatever reply Skinner intended to make was stillborn as the revving noise of
the SUV's engine approached, too fast, along the gravel drive. An unnecessary
screech of brakes and the slamming of the driver's door announced the return of
Alex from the Johnson's, his mood clearly an upbeat one. His light step around
the side of the house to the back door was accompanied by slightly off-key
whistling that turned into singing as he passed the kitchen window.
'Now I'm walking on sunshine—whoa oh
I'm walking on sunshine—whoa oh
I'm walking on sunshine—whoa oh
And don't it feel good, hey, all right now,
and don't it feel good, hey, yeah...'
Vera and Skinner looked at each other, grinning from ear to ear. Inside the mud
room Alex was removing his boots and had begun the verse.
'I used to think maybe you loved me, now I know that
it's true
And I don't wanna spend my whole life, just a waitin'
for you
Now I don't want you back for the weekend, not back
for a day, no-no-no
I said baby I just want you back, and I want you to stay
The door handle rattled and Vera turned away, still grinning, to begin
breakfast. Skinner picked up an expenses file he'd left on the dresser Friday
afternoon and pretended to be engrossed in it. As he entered the room
dressed in
old sweats and grimy white socks, his face unshaven, his hair tussled, Alex was
beginning a second chorus, but he faltered when he saw them.
"Morning Mom," he said, going over to stand behind Skinner's chair.
"Morning, sweetheart," she replied, cracking eggs into a bowl.
Alex wrapped his arm around Skinner's neck and bent down to whisper, "Morning,
babe."
Skinner ignored the teasing words as he got a lungful of the equine aroma that
clung to his lover. He planted a kiss on the sandpaper cheek and said, "
Shower."
"After breakfast," he promised, going over to his mother to see what she was
cooking. "I'm hungry." He leaned over her shoulder.
She looked up at him and sniffed loudly.
"Alexander, shower," she said firmly.
"Okay, okay..." he capitulated and trailed out of the room.
Skinner set out the dishes and cutlery on the table then left to hurry Alex
along. The younger man was already showered and was starting to shave when he
entered their room.
"I'm packing your bag," Skinner called out as he took the duffel out of the
closet, "Anything in particular you want in here?"
"The usual. And maybe a few lighter shirts," Alex answered.
Skinner opened the dresser drawer and began sorting through clothes.
'Last time,' he thought, fervently hoping he was right.
By the time he was zipping up the bag, Alex was out of the bathroom and had
pulled on his boxers and pants. He sat on the end of the bed to put on his
socks. "Did you pack the navy plaid?" he asked Skinner.
"No. Want it?"
"Yeah, and a t-shirt."
Skinner took the shirt from the closet and a white t-shirt from the dresser. He
draped them over the armchair and picked up the prosthesis and a can
of talc. As
he sat behind his lover he heard Alex's resigned sigh. Pouring a
small amount of
the ultra fine powder into his hand he gently massaged it over the skin that
strained under the heavy strapping of the false limb. As always Alex relaxed
into the ministrations while Skinner worked his way down the damaged arm until
he had coated it all with the talc. Without a word they fitted and secured the
arm and Alex stood and shrugged his way into his t-shirt.
As he was pulling it down, Skinner noticed an angry red mark just below Alex's
ribs on his right side.
"How'd you get that?" he asked, pointing.
Alex glanced down. "Uh, I wasn't fast enough getting Bayrun his feed," he
explained.
"Bugger," Skinner complained.
"Not the only one who left a mark on me this weekend," Alex remarked, grinning.
The comment made Skinner laugh and he found the grade A hickey and kissed it.
"That horse better behave itself or I'm thinking glue factory," he threatened.
"Better think again, Walter, that horse is worth a hell of a lot more than I
am," Alex retorted.
Skinner caught him under the chin and pulled his head up to look into his eyes.
"No it isn't, Alex," he said with incredible certainty.
Alex looked at him and nodded before leaning forward to take a simple
kiss. When
it ended Skinner said, "That's okay then," and he picked up the navy shirt and
held it for Alex to put his arms in. Once it was settled on the younger man's
shoulders, Skinner reached round him to button it up and tuck it into
his pants.
When his hand slid lower to make sure everything 'down there' was comfortable,
Alex began to squirm.
"I hope you realize, Mr. Assistant Director, that you are contravening at least
five of this county's statutes," he accused.
"Funny, you weren't so squeamish last night," Skinner reminded.
"Wouldn't be squeamish now if we had the time," he said, removing
Skinner's hand
so he could fasten his pants.
He turned and they exchanged a few more kisses before Skinner picked
up the grip
and led the way back to the kitchen.
In half an hour they were on the way to the airport to drop off Vera. The
circuitous route they took tripled Skinner's mileage but Alex had been adamant
that he didn't want his mother anywhere near White Oaks, so they travelled the
same way they had on Friday, only in reverse.
The early flight time meant there was only a short goodbye at the terminal with
Skinner remaining in the car in the drop off area. Alex got back into the car
looking anxious. It was the day they had been working towards but the outcome
was beyond their control. Neither spoke during the rest of the journey.
When Skinner pulled up in front of the steps of the main building in White Oaks
he reached out to squeeze Alex's hand.
"Call me," he requested.
"Yeah," Alex promised.
He climbed out of the car and took his bag from the back seat. A
brave smile and
he was jogging up the steps. Skinner watched until he disappeared behind the
double doors, then he drove out of the facility and went to work.
His cell phone rang fifteen minutes into the meeting with Fisher from Internal
Audit and he asked the Agent to wait outside while he took it.
"Well?" he almost barked with tension.
"What are you doing on Wednesday afternoon?" Alex asked.
"Shit... they said 'yes'," he said softly, relief and euphoria sweeping through
him.
"Damn right they did," Alex told him. "So Wednesday...?"
"Mmm... let me check my calendar..." Skinner paused, imagining the scowl on his
lover's face.
"Skinner..." the tone was threatening in an amused kind of way and Skinner
relented.
"What time do I have to be there?" he asked, feeling as if he was on some kind
of endorphin high.
"Two o'clock it says on the papers. Massie had a bottle of champagne waiting in
his office. Jesus, Walter, I think the guy is more excited than I am."
Skinner smiled, imagining the delight the doctor must be feeling at their
success.
"Walter, I gotta go, I told my Mom I'd call her."
"Okay Alex, I'll talk to you when I get home," Skinner promised, ending the
call.
He leaned back to savor the news for a few minutes then sat up straight to
compose himself before calling the Agent back in. In truth, he didn't hear much
of what the man said once he returned and he hoped his occasional comments were
appropriate. Since Fisher didn't seem to be having a problem with the
meeting he
let him drone on while he processed Alex's news. Eventually Fisher ran out of
steam and Skinner thanked him and ended the meeting.
When the door closed behind the man Skinner asked his assistant to arrange for
him to see the Director at the earliest opportunity on a personal matter. He
unlocked and opened the file drawer in his desk and took out a legal
sized white
envelope, placing it on the blotter in front of him.
While he waited, he dialed Dr. Massie's direct line at the facility. It rang
twice before it was picked up.
"Massie," the doctor said.
"It's Walter Skinner, doctor, I'm calling to thank you and to
congratulate you."
"I appreciate that, Walter."
"The terms are what we expected?" he inquired.
"Exactly. You are guarantor and the therapy sessions are to continue on the
schedule we suggested."
"That's fine. I'll see you Wednesday."
"Looking forward to it."
He put the receiver down just as Marie buzzed through to tell him the Director
had some time available if he would go straight up. Skinner instructed her to
say he was on his way and he stood up to put on his jacket. He straightened his
tie and tucked the envelope into his inside breast pocket.
He walked out of the elevator into the plush surroundings of the Director's
suite, feeling slightly disconnected from everything around him. It wasn't an
unpleasant feeling, just strange. He was ushered immediately into the
Director's
private office and he stood in front of the immense desk and waited until the
man looked up at him.
"Walter," he said, "please have a seat."
Skinner sat down on the edge of the chair and cleared his throat. "Thank you,
sir."
"What can I do for you?" the Director asked
Skinner looked the man in the eye as he said, "I've kept you informed, sir, of
my... uh... relationship with Alex Krycek..."
He glanced down at the grey file resting on the Director's desk.
"...I just heard that Al... that Krycek is being released on Wednesday.
As of that
day he and I will be living together in a committed relationship, so I've come
to give you this."
He stood up and took the envelope from his pocket, placing it on the Director's
desk. He remained standing.
The Director regarded it coolly for a few moments then looked up at Skinner.
"Please sit down again, Walter," he requested.
Skinner complied.
"You know as well as I how this type of relationship is viewed within the
culture of the Bureau—"
"Sir, I haven't come here to..." Skinner interrupted.
"If you'll allow me to finish, Walter..." the Director requested.
Skinner nodded, then looked away.
"Rank still has certain privileges. You have been very discreet. Your nature
dictates you will continue to be. That being the case I see no reason why
things should change, except for one detail."
He took a sheet from the grey file and handed it to Skinner. It didn't take him
long to read the single page in its entirety. He put it back on the desk.
"Why?"
"Your ability to address the core issue is one of your strongest attributes,
Walter. It's just one of the reasons why we're offering you the Deputy
Directorship."
Skinner felt completely wrong footed but he persisted.
"That's not good enough, sir. I need to know why."
"You know why, Walter. You're damned good at what you do. You've been privy to
some of the most significant events in human history. You have expertise and
experience that cannot be duplicated. None of us knows what the
future holds. We
need you."
It sounded plausible and it flattered his vanity but Skinner was too
long in the
tooth and had worked too long on the X Files to take anything at face value. He
decided to play along to give himself to time to think it through, to
make a few
calls.
"I'll have to think it over," he said.
"Of course," the Director agreed. "Take whatever time you need." He
stood up and
reached out to shake Skinner's hand. "Call me when you're ready."
Skinner nodded and moved towards the door.
"Walter..." he called out.
Skinner turned.
"Don't forget this." He held up the letter of resignation.
Skinner walked back and took it from him. He placed it in his pocket and left
the office. Once in the elevator he hit the pause button and leaned
back against
the wall. He scrubbed his hands across his face before slumping forward to lean
heavily on his thighs. He didn't know what to think. The day was becoming more
surreal by the minute.
He felt a sudden, desperate need to talk to Alex, but first he was
going to call
Fox Mulder.
Part Three
Skinner gently edged his way out of their bed an hour before dawn; having slept only in fits and starts. Strangely, despite the hectic pace of the previous three days and the lovemaking that had lasted long into the night, he wasn't tired. If anything, he felt energised. So much had happened so quickly he was having difficulty processing it. He needed to think things through, gain some kind of perspective, and he couldn't do that with the intoxicating scent of Alex in his senses and the warm, hard length of him pressed close. But he didn't stray far. Finding his robe by touch in the darkness, he pulled it on and fumbled his way to the armchair next to the bed. He listened as Alex, tossed and turned for a little while before drifting back into deep sleep.
Even with the living proof less than two metres across the room, Skinner still couldn't quite believe that they'd made it, that Alex was free and with him, and that they were beginning a life together, a life that could offer him his career and Alex Krycek. Having both seemed irreconcilable and instinctively raised the hackles on the back of his neck. It was all too neat, more like a clichéd romantic novel than reality, if his life to date was anything to go by. It made him feel suspicious and wary, like someone waiting for the other shoe to drop. It made him want to pack up the Lexus with Alex and as much as it could carry and head for the hills.
Though talking over the Director's offer with Mulder had toned down his 'fight or flee' reaction somewhat. He had met with the younger man directly after work on Monday, in a quiet Georgetown bar, where he'd poured out a lengthy and depressing account of his suspicions and fears. Mulder had listened intently, and then said, "You know, there is always the possibility, Walter, that the Director is offering it to you because you're the right man for the job. When it comes to running a tight ship, they couldn't choose a better one."
Skinner snorted. "Sure, like I did with you."
"Hey, as if you didn't know it, you were always the boss. It may have taken me a while to see sense, but you earned my respect, and kept me from going off the rails more than once. You know when to put the brakes on and when to ease up. You're fair and honest and the people who work for you trust you."
Skinner turned away from him, embarrassed, knowing the words were from the heart.
"God knows we've good reason to be suspicious, all of us,² Mulder had added wryly, ³but this promotion could be just what the Director indicated: an able man with a unique insight being given his due." He waited until Skinner turned back. "It also means the Bureau has access to Kry... to Alex's—expertise—in a direct but informal way. When you think about it, it's a pretty shrewd move on the Director's part and one that offers Alex a kind of protection. I think you should accept it."
It was Mulder at his manipulative best, pushing his personal agenda, but the point he made was valid: knowledge is power, and power protects. Where better to access knowledge than in one of the most senior positions in the Federal Bureau of Investigation?
They had parted without him telling Mulder of the decision he'd come to. He wanted Alex to be the first to know.
But two days later Alex still didn't know. It hadn't seemed right to bring the subject up during their long and intimate call on Monday night, and Skinner had spent all of Tuesday in meeting after meeting, tidying up loose ends so he could take the rest of the week off.
Wednesday morning had been frantic, as he prepared for Alex's release. He was determined that everything would be perfect. So perfect in fact, that he was ten minutes late arriving at White Oaks, where he found Alex looking edgy and anxious. And that wasn't the only thing that had marred the occasion. He was still smarting from the exchange he'd had with Dr. Massie about his turning up at the facility to collect Alex with a social security card and a driver's licence in the name of 'Alexander Svetlov'.
To say Massie was pissed about his unilateral decision was an understatement, though he'd said nothing when Skinner placed them on the table, only pursing his lips and raising a hostile eyebrow. For a moment Alex had looked stunned, before he schooled his features into a neutral expression and ran his hand over them.
"It is my name, after all," he said, "and I don't have any other ID."
Making a decision, he smiled at Walter and slipped them into his wallet. The doctor had ended the uncomfortable silence that followed by popping the champagne cork and offering a toast for good luck and happiness. They clinked glasses and accepted the good wishes gratefully, but it was obvious from Alex's body language that his patience was exhausted and all he wanted was to be on his way.
"Okay, Alex," the doctor chuckled, "I'm reading you loud and clear. Go find Joe and sign for your personal affects. We'll meet you at the front desk shortly."
"I thought we talked about this, Walter," Massie had stated the moment he and Skinner were alone. "Alex is not a child, nor is he in your charge. He walks out of here a functioning, responsible adult. Otherwise he wouldn't be going. An issue as important as reverting to his family name should have been discussed with him first, not presented as a fait accompli. In fact, it would have been more appropriate if he had been the one to raise it. You're his partner and his guide, not his keeper. If you want this relationship to work, I suggest you remember that."
Even though Skinner was convinced he'd acted correctly, the comment still stung.
"I don't consider myself Alex's keeper, doctor." Appreciative of the supportive way the man had treated them both, he had tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. "And I certainly don't think of him as a child. But it is a new start and I don't see why we have to drag a lot of unnecessary baggage—"
"If it were possible to wipe out the past," the doctor interrupted, "as easily as that, my professional services would not be in such high demand." He had peered over the top of his glasses directly into Skinner's eyes for emphasis. "He's Alex Krycek, and he always will be. Period. That isn't unnecessary baggage. You're the one who has to adjust to that, not him."
Skinner had fumed silently, though he said nothing, as together they walked to the lobby where Alex was bouncing impatiently from one foot to the other, his necessary baggage littered around his feet.
"Well, let's get this show on the road," Skinner said, his anger melting away in the warmth of the smile on Alex's face.
Massie held out his hand. "I'll see you next week, Alex. Enjoy your freedom. You've earned it."
"Thanks, doctor." Alex shook the extended hand warmly.
He and Skinner left together without looking back, and when the car accelerated away from the closing security gates Alex had drawn a deep, tension releasing breath. Skinner glanced over to find him stretched out in the passenger seat, head back and eyes closed, in a pose that spoke volumes about trust and vulnerability. Watching, he felt vindicated in his decision to provide Alex with his new identity. He had said it himself: the name belonged to him, coming from a family he loved and who loved him. There would never be a better time to reclaim it than on the day he walked out of While Oaks, a free man, knowing who he really was and having the freedom to choose.
So what if it was within Skinner's gift to have the documents authorized quickly? Why send Alex off on a frustrating paper chase, only to arrive at the same outcome. He was determined to make this as easy for Alex as possible, to be there for him with whatever help was needed to get this right. It was what Walter Skinner had always done for the people he loved. It was what he did best, and Dr. Massie be damned.
He smiled grimly to himself when he imagined the doctor's reaction to the new jeep he'd bought for Alex, or to the clothes in the dresser and closet, bought to replace those provided by the facility. No, Dr. Massie would not have liked either of those unilateral decisions one little bit.
When he'd handed the keys over in the drive, Alex had been stunned for a second time in one day, and had protested about the expense, but Skinner had smoothed that over by agreeing to work out a payment plan, to begin as soon as Alex found a job. Then they'd gone for a drive in the jeep and any tension that remained in Alex had dissipated when they hit the open road, the radio pumping out his favourite radio station and the sheer joy of his release sparking like electricity between the two of them.
It may have gotten off to a poor start but the day had ended in the most satisfying way possible, with lovemaking as tender as it was intense. They denied themselves nothing, and when Alex asked, without words, to have his lover in him bare, Skinner had tossed the condom away and slid sensuously into him as the final barrier between them was breached.
He had never experienced such complete sexual fulfilment before, and the sweetest part was when he looked into the eyes of his lover, and found in them the mirror image of the love he felt for Alex.
The sleeper murmured something unintelligible into his pillow and turned over onto his back, pulling Skinner from his reverie. Focussing, he realised he could make out his lover's form in the first, grey tones of dawn. Inexorably, it drew him in and he found himself indulging in his favourite pastime: watching Alex.
Alex brought out the voyeur in him. And not just at the moments, unconscious or otherwise, when the man exuded his innate sensuality, but all the time. Alex doing anything was worth watching, though Alex open and vulnerable in sleep was especially good. So good, it ran a close second to watching him lost in the sexual act, with face scrunched up as he laboured towards completion, or transcendent at the moment of release.
Skinner's cock stirred as the image of Alex, triumphant above him, pumping come as deeply into his body as he could manage, replayed in his memory. And he'd managed to get pretty deep; the delicious ache Skinner felt was testament to that. But despite the provocative image, it seemed that stirring was all Walt Junior was capable of, given the few short hours respite. Unlike Alex, who was doing some stirring of his own as his erection made its presence known beneath the sheet.
Skinner stood up and stretched hard enough to pop all the vertebrae that had cramped uncomfortably during the hour spent in the armchair. The movement teased Alex the final measure from sleep, and his eyes flickered open in the dim light to focus on his lover.
What he saw drew a needy moan from him. The stretch had parted Skinner's robe to reveal the sculpted effect of long hours in the gym, and he stood with his weight on his right hip and both arms under tension behind his head in a posing position that hardened Alex so quickly it hurt. Almost. He kicked the sheet off impatiently, and opened his legs as he reached out his hand to Skinner.
"Walter, babe, now..."
Skinner smiled ruefully and caught hold of the hand, allowing himself to be pulled down on top of Alex. He manoeuvred between Alex's legs until their cocks lay side by side and began undulating slowly. Alex groaned and opened his mouth to Skinner's tongue as the older man took control.
"In me... " Alex pleaded when the kiss ended.
"Isn't going to happen, Alex," Skinner told him, unconcerned. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves.
He reached out to grab the bottle of lube from the nightstand and levered up on one hand to squeeze a liberal amount over Alex's blood darkened cock, then he got back into position and picked up the tempo of the undulations. The stimulation and the sight and sound of Alex writhing beneath him made him half hard, and he began to grind harder against Alex's rigid cock with a twisting motion of his hips.
"Come on Alex, give it to me..." he coaxed in a husky voice that sent Alex's hips bucking up to meet every thrust.
"Just a little more, Alex... you got it... that's it... you're there..."
Alex arched and stilled against him while his cock spurted. Skinner could feel the sticky heat splash on his own abdomen. He reached down and gently stroked Alex's shaft in just the right way until the younger man groaned loudly and went limp. Skinner rolled off him and lay in a tangle of sheet and robe and belt, enjoying Alex's after-glow by proxy.
Several minutes passed before Alex could summon the energy to turn his head towards Skinner.
"Fuck, Walter..." was all he could manage.
"And a good morning to you, too," Skinner said, pushing up on his elbow to grin down at him.
"Whatever..." Alex replied sleepily, turning over onto his stomach. "Call me when it's afternoon".
"I'll call you when breakfast's ready," Skinner leaned over to whisper in his ear. "So make the most of it."
"Breakfast sounds good," Alex agreed, realising he was hungry, "but we stay in bed."
"That might be arranged," Skinner told him. "With the right incentive."
"I've got your incentive..." Alex mock growled in a way that made Skinner want to forget breakfast, and the shower he needed badly, but he stood up and stoically belted his robe.
"Anything special you'd like?" he asked.
"Uh-uh," Alex told him, lazily punching his pillow into the desired shape.
Skinner prudishly pulled the sheet up to cover Alex's nakedness and headed for the kitchen. He peered into the refrigerator and began pulling out all the things he liked himself. It was easy cooking for Alex. He had yet to find something his lover either didn't like or wouldn't eat, and in very short time he was carrying a laden tray back into the bedroom where he found Alex snoring softly.
He set the tray down and returned to the kitchen for the coffee pot and two mugs. Sitting on Alex's side of the bed he carefully poured coffee into one of the mugs. The scent of freshly perked Guatemalan Antigua blend swirled around them both and Alex immediately woke up.
"Better than an alarm clock," Skinner muttered, smiling to himself.
Alex pulled himself up against the headboard and blindly reached for the mug. He took a long swallow and opened his eyes to find Skinner sitting up on his own side of the bed, forking heartily into a mound of scrambled eggs.
"Hey, where's mine?" he asked.
In response, Skinner, feeling a little foolish, loaded his fork and held it up to Alex's lips.
They curled into an indulgent smile, then opened to wrap themselves around the fork in manner that was probably illegal in several states.
Skinner swallowed his own eggs with a gulp that made Alex release the fork suddenly, grinning as he did so. All innocence, he settled back against the pillows to munch on a piece of bacon, and whenever he was ready for more eggs he nodded at Skinner's plate and made love to each forkful as it was offered to him. It was a breakfast that satisfied one sort of hunger in Skinner and ignited another, and barely had Alex swallowed his final mouthful of coffee than he found himself on his belly, on a pillow, being prepped for some fairly frantic sex.
"I don't think we're supposed to do this so soon after eating, Walter," he stated, laughter evident in his voice.
"That's swimming, Alex," Skinner panted, getting into position between the spread legs.
Sliding in, Skinner wrapped both arms around his lover's chest and began thrusting.
"Oh... oh... oh... yeah... right... uh..."
"Anyway," he promised, panting even harder, "I won't let you drown."
Alex moaned in pleasure, then managed to grunt out, "Uh... that's okay then."
Neither of them drowned, except in pleasure, and afterwards Alex reached back to run his hand down Skinner's sweaty side, enjoying the weight of the man on top of him.
"Think a shower would be a good idea now," he suggested.
Skinner grunted loudly as he rolled away.
Alex used the sheet to wipe himself clean and gathered the scattered dishes back onto the tray. Balancing it carefully he returned it to the kitchen and detoured to the bathroom to set the shower running at a temperature that suited them both. It took a bit of effort to get Walter moving, but soon he was standing under the powerful stream, hands on the tiles, arms stretched out supporting his weight while the water poured over his head and face. Reluctantly he straightened up and began briskly soaping himself. He was finished and rinsed by the time Alex stepped into the stall.
"Bed's changed, babe," he told the older man, planting a kiss on the nape of his neck. "I won't be long."
The fresh, white sheets looked inviting and he slid between them, enjoying the coolness on his heated skin. Faintly, he could smell the scent of the lovemaking that still lingered, and the sound of Alex repeatedly singing the same snatch of song circled comfortingly in his head. He felt incredibly good, as though the gain on all his senses had been increased and programmed for pleasure. The bed dipped and Alex wrapped himself around his eager body. They lay silently, content just to 'be' together, for a long time.
It was Alex who eventually broke the silence.
"I'm going to miss this place," he said.
"Yeah, it's been good here."
"I guess we'll need to start looking for somewhere soon?"
"Real soon, the lease is up next week," Skinner told him. "I've arranged five viewings tomorrow and another four on Saturday."
"Oh, okay," he agreed, pulling Skinner into and even tighter embrace. "Better make the best of today, then."
"Absolutely," Skinner said emphatically. "We're about to enter house hunting hell."
He felt the bubble of laughter rise up through Alex's body.
"What?" he asked.
"This will be a first for me," Alex told him, "but it can't be that bad."
Skinner shifted round to face his lover, ready to put him right on the subject of realtors and their evil ways, but he got hit full blast with a sexy smile. Mmmm, he thought, that could be useful.
"Okay then, Alex," he said, decisively, "I'm making you chief negotiator."
Alex shrugged, unfazed in his innocence. "Sure, let me at 'em."
"Great, now where were we?" Skinner asked, turning back into position.
"Just about here," Alex replied, spooning up tightly again.
"Oh yeah, perfect."
They both sighed contentedly, knowing that sleep and love were theirs for the taking when the time came.
Part Four
The phone conversation was short but Skinner could tell Alex was excited or pleased about something, or both. As requested he drove over to the Johnsons' where Alex waited for him outside the stable block. Alex got into the passenger seat and looked at him with an air of mystery.
"Well?" Skinner asked.
"Turn left on the main road. I have something to show you."
Skinner smiled indulgently and put the car in motion. They drove about four miles before Alex said, "Here on the right." He pointed to an opening and Skinner guided the car through what had once been a set of quite impressive stone gateposts. The road beyond was rutted and overgrown and he carefully steered the Lexus along it until they reached an open gravelled area lying in front of a very run-down stone dwelling.
Alex hopped out of the car immediately and walked backwards towards the house, a grin on his face as he watched Skinner through the windshield. The older man got out of the car slowly, a frown gathering on his face.
"We may not need to tangle with any realtors, Walter, Ted Johnson says this property's been on the market for a couple of years and the owners are keen to sell."
Skinner shoved his hands in his pockets and ran a critical eye over the building.
"I can see why," he said negatively.
"I know it looks bad, but wait till you get a good look at it and hear what's on offer."
Alex was brimming with enthusiasm and Skinner's stomach began to knot.
"Sure, I admit the house needs a lot of work, but it's got real potential. Come inside and see."
He bounded up the steps to the porch and disappeared through the open front door. Skinner followed reluctantly. It was already getting dark but there was enough light remaining to see the interior layout clearly, helped, not least, by the gaping holes in the roof. A few pigeons, disturbed by his entrance fluttered noisily and found their way out through one of them.
They were in the main room that was dominated by a big fireplace. To one side of it was a floor to ceiling window overlooking the same lake that bordered their rental property. The view was spectacular and Skinner admitted to himself that it was exactly the kind of place he'd had in mind for his retirement. The kind of place they'd talked about, after he'd spent a very long time convincing Alex that giving up the Bureau in exchange for him was no hardship.
Jesus, what a mess, he thought, and still he continued to follow Alex through the house, and to listen to the enthusiastic commentary on just how great the property could be. They reached the back porch and stood together looking at the expanse of tranquil water.
"...and it's not just the house, the deal includes eight acres and Ted says it's good land. So what do you think?"
"Alex..." The tone the single word was delivered in said it all.
Alex stood very still and looked into Skinner's eyes.
"I can see why you like this place, Alex, it's got a lot going for it, but it's pretty remote and..." he glanced up at the roof " ...Jesus, where would you start?"
Alex looked confused.
"Okay, so we'd have to rough it for a while... but a month should weatherproof it and... it's not like you'll be commuting to the city every day—"
Skinner held up his hand to interrupt him.
"Alex, I should have told you this straight off, but I wanted some time just to be together..." His voice trailed off.
"What?"
"I've been offered a Deputy Directorship."
Alex's eyes opened wide and he cocked his head as though he hadn't heard correctly.
"It happened the day we got the confirmation of your release. It's been so crazy..."
Alex walked away and sat down heavily on the back steps. Skinner joined him and they stared out silently at the water for a little while.
"I don't know what to say," Alex told him.
"I felt the same way for the first day or so."
"But you've made your decision?"
"Yes... provided you agree with it."
"You want it," the younger man stated, his voice sounding flat.
Skinner didn't need to reply.
"I take it they know about us living together?"
"I've made no secret of our relationship. When I handed the Director my resignation on Wednesday morning, I told him the reason, just as we discussed. That's when he made the offer."
There was a moment of quiet, then Alex turned to him.
"One thing's for sure, if anyone's earned it, it's you, Walter." His expression and tone of voice were warm, even if the enthusiasm was a little forced. "If you want it, then I want it. Come here."
He pulled Walter into a bear-like hug and held on tightly. "It just caught me off balance. I never for a minute expected this... not that I'm saying you aren't up to it... you'll be great... 's just that I've learned not to take things at face value... there's usually some other agenda... not that I think there is here ...it's just... aw hell, Walter, you know what I mean," he babbled to an end.
Walter laughed and returned the hug. "I know exactly what you mean. I'm as paranoid as you, but then I figured if someone out there still wants to get me... get us... where could we go to be safe? There's no hiding place from these people. So why bother? And I do want it, Alex. How much has surprised me. Before us, I just wanted to get out, now everything in my life is fresh again," his laughter shook them both, "including, it seems, my ambition."
"I'm glad, Walter," Alex murmured into the ear he was nuzzling.
"I'm going to take it one day at a time and if I get even a whiff of something not right, I'm outta there," he promised. "But you know, it could be completely above board. I am good at what I do, and Mulder thinks it's worth "
The body in his arms went completely rigid.
Fuck, he thought, way to go, Walter.
"Mulder...?" Alex began, pulling back to look at him.
"Yeah, I needed another perspective on it..." he tried for damage control and failed miserably.
"Sure, I understand."
It was plain he did not, and he began to ease himself out of the embrace.
Skinner held on.
"I didn't want this to get in the way of your coming home. I didn't want anything to spoil it." He searched the suddenly wary eyes. "That was wrong. It should have been you I talked to first. I'm sorry, Alex."
His lover moved back into the embrace, but the tension remained.
"Forget it, Walter," he said. "You were right to talk it over with Mulder—unlike me, he's still in the loop."
Skinner pulled him closer, as if trying to regain something that had slipped away from him.
"Alex," he said very quietly. "I'm not going to forget it. From now on it's you, first in everything, in every way."
"Okay, Walter." He stood, encouraging Skinner to stand up with him. "But let's go home now. We have something else to celebrate. Deputy Director, that's like way up there. Never thought I'd have the opportunity to fuck with the top brass."
He tried to make the tone light but it didn't work.
Skinner trailed his hand across Alex's cheek and rested it there, his thumb tracing the full lips that were compressed in a tight line.
"About the house " he began.
Alex took hold of the hand and led Skinner back through the house.
"Don't worry about it. It was just an idea. We can look at a place like this later."
Without a backward glance, he steered them towards the car. The light was going fast and they drove away leaving the empty house to the chill of the night and the wild creatures that roamed it.
The drive home and the evening that followed were quiet, but there was nothing subdued between them in bed that night. It felt to Skinner as if Alex was using the sex to mark him in some way. He had initiated the lovemaking and, from the first wanton and only kiss, left the older man in no doubt as to who was calling the shots. Skinner went with it, allowing it to happen. It was as arousing as always, but it was different, with a more aggressive edge than any previous encounter, and Alex's aggression grew the closer they got to completion. Though he found the dominance exciting and relished Alex being on top, Skinner had to resist the urge to respond with equal force, so that he could give his lover what he clearly needed: to be in control.
It left them both exhausted and Skinner feeling sore and knowing he'd have to wear a high-necked sweater the next day. When he pulled Alex close, the younger man wrapped himself limpet-like around his body, in which position he remained unmoving the rest of the night. Skinner held onto him tightly, trying to provide whatever else Alex needed though the simplicity of touch.
In the morning things were back on an even keel and they picked up exactly where they'd left off before Alex's phone call from the Johnsons' the previous day. They showered together, lingered over breakfast and the papers and set off in plenty of time to meet with the realtor in Charlottesville.
It wasn't until they finished looking at the third property that Skinner was able to put his finger on what constituted the Krycek approach to house viewing. Though Alex listened intently to everything the realtor had to say, asked insightful questions and maintained a poker-faced expression, his evaluation of the property happened in the first five seconds of coming through the door, and was completely instinctual.
He'd take a deep breath, go very still to allow the vibes of the place to manifest themselves, and by the time the air was released from his lungs he'd made up his mind.
Skinner could tell without asking that all three properties had been found wanting. Happily he was in agreement. The first was a newly-built colonial townhouse with no character and a ludicrous price tag. The second was small enough to make both of them feel claustrophobic. The third was a good solid house that unfortunately was too close to one of the busier Charlottesville intersections for comfort.
Taking advantage of the hour-long gap before the first appointment of the afternoon, they chose to have lunch in a Cuban restaurant close by the next address on the list and settled down to enjoy the spicy food and to look through the sheaf of new prospects the realtor had given them that morning. Passing the papers back and forth, they silently sorted them into two piles, the 'discards' and the 'possibles'.
Satisfied with his meal, Alex began pushing what remained of his ropa veija around his plate.
"If you're going to be working in DC, maybe we should be looking for something in the city," he suggested, not looking up.
Skinner put his fork down and took a sip of his wine. He'd thought this through carefully several months before and had decided that the city was not the place for them. The fact that he was now staying on at the Bureau only served to reinforce his other reasons: the opportunity for the fresh start they both needed, the better quality of life and the reduced chance of running into any old 'acquaintances'.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said neutrally, "but I like living outside of DC. Even factoring in the commute, I think Charlottesville is a good compromise. What do you think?"
Alex pushed his plate away.
"The city I can live without, no problem, but shouldn't you be inside the Beltway? A Deputy Director's job involves a lot of networking, socializing..."
His face grew apprehensive as the significance of his own words dawned on him.
"Christ, Walter, how are we going to do this? There is no way this can work."
Skinner pushed away the pang of guilt that shot through him when he looked deep into the worried eyes of his lover.
"We can make it work, Alex," he said in the most positive tone he could muster. "A Deputy Directorship is the full extent of my ambition. I'll leave the networking to Kersh and the rest of them.
While I'm there I'll to do the best job I can, but at the end of the working day I'm leaving it behind. I've learned the hard way that life comes first."
He watched Alex's face begin to lose its panicked look.
"Then a year...
year and a half from now, I walk away on a Deputy Director's pension. I think they owe us that, Alex."
"They sure as hell owe you that, Walter." A thin smile appeared from somewhere. "I already got a real good deal."
"I've done pretty good out of that deal myself," Skinner agreed, an answering smile on his face. "As for the rest of it, you only have to say the word, Alex."
He summoned up what it took to make the words genuine and watched with relief as Alex's smile broadened and became unmistakably indulgent.
"You're not ready to sit on a porch yet, Walter. Now let's go find a house."
Skinner stood up and leaned across the table to take a surprisingly intense kiss. Alex reciprocated until Skinner's tongue became involved then he drew back.
"Not smart, Deputy Director," he remarked, glancing around at the two or three other tables that were occupied.
Fortunately, the patrons seated at them were being more discreet than his lover.
Skinner grinned as he began helping to gather up the brochures.
"The Director himself told me that 'rank still hath its privileges'. Considering all the shit I've handled for the Bureau over the years, I intend making the most of those privileges."
A corresponding grin appeared on Alex's face.
"You know, I almost feel sorry for those poor folks over at the Hoover... almost..." he mused. "But hey, don't let that cramp your style, Walter."
Laughing, they made their way back to the car.
The first house they viewed after lunch was a washout. They didn't even bother looking at its upper floor. But with the last appointment of the day they struck gold. At least Alex did. Skinner could tell he really liked the house the minute he set foot in it. The living area was bright and warm, with a golden-coloured stripped-wood floor and fireplace. Beyond it, through a broad archway, was a well-proportioned dining room that led into a newly appointed kitchen, full of high tech units and appliances.
Upstairs there were two bedrooms and a large bathroom, fitted out in classic white porcelain. The master bedroom was nothing more than average in size, but it contained a spacious dressing room that more than compensated. What was unmistakable was that everything about the house was beautifully designed and finished. Its architect had designed a home that seemed traditional, but which was full of contemporary features. Skinner knew his furniture wouldn't be out of place in it.
From the kitchen, French doors opened out onto a raised deck area that overlooked a large back yard surrounded on all sides by dense shrubbery. The large front lawn, lying between the house and the quiet street, promised all the privacy they could want in that direction also. Standing on the quiet lot it was difficult to believe they were in the middle of a bustling, lively city.
Skinner followed Alex around the property a second time, watching the man growing more comfortable with it by the minute. If he had been buying just for himself he would have considered it adequate and charming, but for two of them it seemed small, especially considering they'd have family visiting on a fairly regular basis. Also, its proximity to the University of Virginia campus added a premium to the price being asked for such a small house, but all that he put aside easily as he watched Alex hide his enthusiasm from the realtor.
"Alex," Skinner called to him.
Alex and the realtor both looked over at him.
"Can you excuse us for a minute?" he requested.
"Certainly," the realtor said. "I'll wait downstairs."
Skinner nodded and waited until the woman left.
"You like it?" he asked.
"Yeah... it feels... right."
"It's small, not much private space," Skinner noted.
"I don't want to be private."
"Mmm..." Skinner murmured, looking down through the window at the big back yard. "Well, there's plenty of room to add on."
"It's a good price for Charlottesville, especially in the university quarter," Alex pointed out. "The mortgage would be manageable."
"Yes," Skinner agreed, knowing how important paying his way was to Alex.
He turned back from the window and they walked back along the upstairs landing to the second bedroom.
"It's well-designed," Alex said, opening the door to the walk-in closet.
"A good architect," Skinner agreed again, "and a good builder."
"Yeah, solid and..." Alex leaned back, relaxed, against the doorpost "...it feels like people have been happy here."
"Uh-huh, I feel that too." Skinner looked over at his lover. "So, why don't you go make a deal?"
Alex smiled broadly. "You got it," he said, pushing away from his resting place.
Skinner watched him leave the room, then listened as he arranged with the realtor to meet the following day to talk figures. There was a certain unreality about the whole experience, but it didn't take away in the slightest from the feeling Skinner had of coming home.
Six weeks later, they stood amid the chaos of combined belongings in the living room of their new home. It had been left up to Alex to handle the planning and organisation of the purchase while Skinner settled into his new job, and he'd handled it well. He'd managed to shave five thousand off the original asking price, talked their landlord into extending their rental lease until they were ready to move and kept Skinner on schedule with all the meetings needed to close the deal.
"We did it," he observed, looking at Skinner with a surprised expression.
"We sure did," Skinner agreed. "But we're not done, so let's move like we have a purpose."
He handed Alex a box of CDs and pointed to the rack beside the sound system. "Alphabetical, by artist," he instructed.
Alex hid his grin and began the task, while Skinner began unpacking books. They worked steadily, exchanging the odd comment and asking the occasional question, until late evening, stopping only for a sandwich and a beer that they ate standing in the kitchen. Sometime after eleven Skinner stuffed the last of the bubble wrap into a garbage sack and carried it out to the yard.
Our yard, he thought with great satisfaction, Alex's and mine. He smiled to himself as he closed and locked the door of their own place for the first time. An urgent need to hold and be held by his lover overtook him and he followed the sound of activity through the quiet house to the living room where Alex was setting light to the fire.
Skinner watched as the younger man stood up and turned slowly round to take in the finished look of the entire room. When he faced back towards the fireplace Skinner moved to stand behind him and wrapped his arms around him.
"Now what?" Alex asked.
"Well, I don't know about you," Skinner said, running one hand over Alex's chest and reaching down to cup his groin with the other, "but I, for one, am ready to mess about."
"Always," Alex told him, placing his own hand over Skinner's, encouraging him to rub harder against his stirring cock. "But... after that... what happens?"
The question succeeded in distracting Skinner from his pleasure.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean... how does this work?"
"You mean living together?" Skinner sought clarification.
"Yeah."
Skinner could sense an intense emotion in his lover's body and voice. Not quite fear, but more than anxiety.
"We do what we've been doing for the past couple of months," Skinner explained, patiently.
"This feels different, Walter. This feels... real."
Skinner leaned forward to bury his face in his lover's overlong hair, giving himself time to figure out how best to deal with Alex's first time commitment nerves.
"Yeah, this is real. It's real and it's good and... yeah... it's fucking scary.
I feel it too. So why don't we just concentrate on the good part?"
"I don't want to get it wrong " Alex began.
"If you're looking for some kind of relationship blueprint, Alex," Skinner interrupted, "there isn't one. Humans don't come with foolproof specs like a precision machine. And I for one am damned glad we don't. We take it a day at a time, the good days and the shitty days. That's the way it works, Alex."
"That's it?"
"I'm hardly an expert," Skinner admitted, "but I tried living the kind of 'happy family' scenario we all carry about in our heads, and looking back on it, I should have realised that if you have to work at it as hard as I did there's something fundamentally wrong."
"So... we just let it happen?"
"It's got us this far."
"That seems... too easy."
"I didn't say it was going to be easy, Alex," Skinner stated firmly.
"Fuck! Now I'm totally confused," Alex groused.
"That's because you're over-thinking it." He took Alex's hand and moved it up and forward into the classic firing position, while his body took on the familiar stance that complimented it. Unconsciously, Alex's body mirrored the movements. "Remember the first instruction you took on the range at Quantico?"
"Uh-huh."
"What did you learn?"
"Make the weapon an extension of your body. Keep the grip light. Don't narrow the target too tightly. Stay relaxed."
"There you are," Skinner told him, bringing their hands back to pick up where he'd left off.
"What?" Alex demanded, turning in the embrace to give Skinner the full effect of his incredulous expression. "You're comparing our relationship to firing a gun?"
Skinner shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, I was going to use the golf swing metaphor," he explained, "but you don't pla—"
Alex's forward momentum brought Skinner down hard onto the couch and his weight knocked all the air out of him.
"You bastard," Alex accused, securing his dominant position as he straddled Skinner.
When Skinner succeeded in sucking enough air back into his lungs he started to laugh, and Alex found himself being drawn into the good humour despite his infuriation with his lover. Then as quickly as it started, the laughter ended. They remained unmoving for what seemed a long time, just watching each other's face, until Alex slowly leaned down and began a kiss that changed from tentative to demanding in the space of two heartbeats. Skinner pulled himself semi-upright and carded his hands through Alex's hair to take a firm grip on his skull, holding it at the perfect angle to access the sweet, willing mouth.
Relaxing into the contact, Alex enjoyed the strength inherent in the way the muscles of Skinner's abdomen and thighs bunched up to maintain his awkward position. The feeling of power in the man beneath him brought him to full erection instantly, but he ignored his own needs and reached for Skinner's fly, fighting with the unco-operative button and zip and god-damned boxers until he won and the hardness he wanted was in his grasp. He stroked it urgently. Skinner moaned in desperation, but held position, his hands moulding themselves to his lover's scalp as he attempted to crawl inside Alex's mouth.
Alex didn't fight against the crazy desire of his lover, instead he opened himself to it and, knowing no help would be forthcoming from Skinner in the practical sense, he reluctantly released his hold of his lover's cock and struggled to open his own fly.
Several desperate, oxygen-deprived minutes later he succeeded and, taking himself in hand, brought their cocks together. The contact immediately drove Skinner to release his mouth and they both sucked in a needy breath.
A long, intense look into each other's eyes and then Alex moved his hips to bring them into closer alignment. Skinner responded by taking a firm grip on Alex's shoulders and rocking his hips upward. They settled into a movement and counter-movement that provided the stimulation they needed for completion, sooner than either would have wanted, but it was irresistible and felt so right that they struggled towards it, urging each other on with moans and curses until they spilt together and collapsed down onto the couch in a tangle of sweaty limbs and clothes.
It was many minutes before Alex gathered the strength to lift his head from its comfortable position on the leather armrest beside Skinner's.
"Fuck... what was that?"
Skinner struggled with his croaky voice to answer, grateful that they'd bought a house on a lot whose size meant the neighbours were thankfully distant.
"Whatever it was... it was good," he murmured. "Just tell me one thing. You closed the drapes, didn't you?"
Alex looked up and smiled.
"Alex...?"
The smile broadened.
"ALEX."
"Relax, Walter."
He settled back down and stretched his legs out, getting comfortable.
"Thank God," Skinner commented, shuffling around to give his lover an equal share of the space on the big couch. "I'd like us to make it through the first twenty-four hours without being branded as the neighbourhood perverts."
"In that case, considering what just happened, you'd better order the drapes for the bedroom first thing tomorrow."
Skinner eyed him fixedly.
"Our bedroom, our drapes, Alex. That means 'we' order them."
Alex scowled at him.
Skinner smiled at the scowl.
"You wanted to know what happens after this? Well, tomorrow we wake up and go buy drapes. Then we grocery shop, cook, mow the lawn, take out the garbage, hang out together, do the laundry, watch a whole lot of stuff on the sports channel, I'll bitch about the Bureau, we'll argue, piss each other off, make up, drink beer—"
"Okay, okay," Alex interrupted, "I get the picture. You don't have to sell it so hard and, hey, I can do that stuff, even the drapes."
"Sure you can," Skinner agreed, "but that's just the easy part.
The scowl returned.
"The hard part," Skinner continued, "is all the stuff we talked about in Florida. Being honest with each other, being open, respecting each other for the people we are."
He looked away from Alex's face.
"I haven't been so good at that, Alex, I'm sorry "
Alex leaned forward to kiss him thoroughly.
"Whatever you've done," Alex said, drawing back, "it came from here."
He put his hand over the place where Skinner's heart was beginning to beat faster.
"I have a whole lot to learn, Walter, but I've already learned about the best part. You've shown it to me."
He caught hold of Skinner's hand and laced their fingers together.
"I know that whether I'm scared, or worried, or feeling good, or being a real pain in the ass, I don't even have to look up to know that you're right there sharing it with me."
Skinner didn't trust his voice, instead he brought their interlocked hands to his lips and kissed the back of Alex's hand.
"I've needed your strength to get me here," Alex continued. "I'm going to need it for a while longer. All this still feels like that 'through the looking glass' thing. You keep me on track, and if calling the shots is part of that, that's okay. When I'm ready for you to let go, I'll let you know."
Walter smiled at him sheepishly.
"Make sure I'm listening when the time comes. In a relationship I need to be hit over the head sometimes."
Alex rolled forward to insinuate his thigh between Skinner's.
"I can think of a few better ways of getting your attention, Walter."
He leaned down for another kiss that evolved into a lengthy and arousing necking session.
"Jesus..." Skinner groaned, in a break, "...now that's what I call a heads-up."
"If it's worth doing ...which reminds me, I noticed your list of 'things we do' didn't contain a reference to fucking."
"Fucking is a given, Alex," Skinner explained matter-of-factly.
"Just checking."
The phone rang, and they dragged themselves upright. Skinner answered it.
"Hi, Vera," he said, grinning at the guilty look that immediately took possession of Alex's face. "Everything went well. We've made ourselves at home already."
He watched Alex struggle back into his pants and chuckled silently.
'Fuck you,' Alex mouthed over at him.
"It's no problem, he's right here," Skinner spoke into the phone, "just putting the... um... last thing away."
"I'll talk to you soon, Vera. Goodnight."
He covered the mouthpiece and held the phone out to Alex who took it, replacing Skinner's hand with his own.
"Every time she calls, Walter. Is this some kind of weird Mom thing?"
"I think it has more to do with the amount of time we spend doing it than any psychic ability on your mother's part," Skinner explained, causing them both to smile in satisfaction.
He kissed Alex's mouth lightly.
"I'm going up for my shower."
In the hallway he dallied a little, listening to Alex describe the events of the day to his mother, his voice eager with pride and excitement. He closed his eyes and released a sigh of contentment. It had been a good start.
Baltimore, Maryland.
They turned into a broad tree-lined avenue, on either side of which were large two-storied houses, each set in a spacious garden.
"That's Elizabeth's, the blue house on the right," Skinner said as he pulled the Lexus into the driveway behind two other cars.
"Looks like Kenneth's here already," he added, getting out of the car.
Alex unbuckled his seatbelt and followed him to the rear of the car. From the trunk they lifted out their bags and carried them up the drive to the porch steps. Skinner glanced over at Alex to give him a reassuring nod just as the front door opened. Elizabeth Skinner, who had reverted to her family name after her divorce, stood waiting to welcome them.
She reminded Walter more of his mother every time he saw her, especially now that her thick, bobbed hair was sprinkled with grey. She had the soft brown eyes of all the Skinner siblings, but she was as short and compact as he and Kenneth were tall and broad. She walked forward to greet him with a hug.
"You've put on weight, Walter," she told him affectionately.
He smiled down at her, "That's what comes of cooking for two."
He glanced over his shoulder at Alex standing behind him.
"So this is Alex," Elizabeth said taking Alex's hand in both of hers. "You're very welcome."
"Thank you," Alex replied, responding to the warm smile.
"Well, let's go inside," she told them. "Ken's in the kitchen."
Leaving their bags in the hall they followed Elizabeth to the back of the house and into a large kitchen. Kenneth Skinner sat at the table, reading a paper. Looking up, he set it aside and stood to greet the new arrivals, returning his brother's firm handshake.
"Ken, this is Alex," Walter said, stepping back, unable to avoid noticing the significant look that passed between his two siblings.
Kenneth extended his hand to Alex who shook it, saying, "It's good to finally meet you." He looked over his shoulder abruptly at Elizabeth and added, "Eh... meet you both."
"Relax, Alex," she told him, gently. "This weekend is for us to get to know each other. No-one's on approval here."
"Let's sit down," Kenneth suggested.
Alex joined them at the table while Walter hovered behind him.
"Why don't you get us some drinks, Walter? There's iced tea in the fridge," Elizabeth requested before turning her attention fully back to Alex.
The three of them looked at each other in awkward silence.
"How was the drive up?" Elizabeth asked, filling the conversation void.
"It was fine. We only made one stop. Which reminds me..." he stood up and turned to Walter. "I need the keys."
Skinner fished them out of his pocket, realising what Alex was talking about. He watched Alex disappear out of the kitchen before carrying the pitcher and glasses over to the table.
"His pictures don't do him justice," Elizabeth remarked.
Skinner bristled visibly.
"Oh, lighten up, Walter, if he was a woman you wouldn't be offended by that comment," she told him in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "Anyway, you're not chopped liver yourself. The two of you make a handsome couple."
Skinner didn't know how to react to that. He looked at his brother who just raised his hands defensively and offered no opinion.
Alex's sudden return settled the matter and he walked to the table to place a large bouquet of flowers in front of Elizabeth.
"Thank you for inviting me to your home," he said stiffly.
The three of them hid their amusement at the obviously rehearsed words, while Elizabeth carefully picked up the flowers to smell their scent.
"These are beautiful, Alex. That was a very kind thought. I'll put them in water."
She moved away to the sink, but called back, "Perhaps you could help me?"
He followed her to the sink where she took out a pair of scissors from a drawer and handed them to him before reaching up to lift a glass vase from a display shelf.
"So, Alex," Kenneth said, "Walter tells me you worked in his section at the Bureau for a time."
Skinner, with the eyes of a lover, noticed the faint hitch in Alex's movements caused by the innocent question. His own heart sped faster in reaction and he held his breath, waiting to see how Alex would deal with it.
Alex looked up from his task and saw the glint of humour in Kenneth's eyes. Realising it was nothing more than an invitation to dish the dirt he glanced over at Skinner before answering.
"Yeah, I did. I guess a lot of the new agents lived in dread of being assigned to Bullshit Detector... er... I mean Assistant Director Skinner's department, but personally..." he straightened up to attention. "...I considered it an honour and a privilege," he deadpanned.
Hearing the pronouncement Skinner drew in a stuttering breath and managed to slosh the iced tea on the newspaper, but his brother was laughing too hard to notice, as was Elizabeth.
Skinner ignored them and eyed Alex menacingly.
"I know what I'm detecting now," he stated with conviction.
"Must be on the blink, Walter," Alex assured him, "every word is true."
That induced a first class A.D. Skinner scowl that wiped the deadpan expression from Alex's face, replacing it with a broad grin.
"But that was just the new agents, senior agents preferred 'Jaw of Death' or 'Principal Skinner' or 'ADHD..."
He was cut off when Walter's arm slid around him from behind in a mock chokehold.
"That information is privileged, Agent," Walter reprimanded him.
He was surprised when, at the tone and the use of the title, Alex's playful struggling ceased and he looked back at Skinner with a wistful expression.
They shared one of those intense connections that come when a relationship is new and, for a moment, Skinner was no longer in Elizabeth's kitchen and wherever he was Alex was there too. A pause in two heart rhythms and Alex was leaning over to take a quick kiss. Over in a second, they parted and turned towards the two watchers, both of whom wore blank expressions.
Skinner watched as the shock dissipated and Elizabeth and Kenneth's understanding of his relationship with Alex moved from the theoretical to the practical.
He didn't regret the unplanned display of affection. He might play a part for strangers but he'd be damned before he'd do it for his own family. He held on to Alex, feeling the tension in his lover's body, and looked them straight in the eye.
Kenneth looked away first, finding refuge in filling the rest of the glasses with iced tea and Elizabeth's face relaxed into a smile before she returned to her flower arranging.
"Hey, Walt," Kenneth asked as he rolled up the wet newspaper and placed it in the garbage. "What about barbecuing tonight? First of the season for me."
"Sure," Skinner agreed as he released Alex and joined his brother to investigate the contents of the refrigerator.
Elizabeth placed the vase of flowers in the centre of the kitchen table and helped Alex clean up the wrappings and bits of stalk left on the counter.
"Let's leave the hunter/gathers to it Alex," she suggested. "I'll show you where everything is and we can have a talk."
Skinner inwardly winced at the words and noted the tight expression on Alex's face as he followed Elizabeth from the room.
Thirty-five minutes later, without exchanging a word, the brothers had located and cleaned up the well-used barbecue in the back of the garage. They wheeled it out onto the patio and began getting it ready for use.
Tense because of the silence, Skinner dropped the sack of charcoal onto the tiles and dusted off his hands.
"So, what do you think?" he asked.
Kenneth looked up at him.
"About?" his brother asked, a quizzical look on his face.
Skinner's jaw tightened and he looked away.
"Are you asking me what I think about Alex?" Kenneth asked. "Jesus, Walter, I've only known him for five minutes."
"I just want... it's important to me... and to Alex..." his voice trailed off and he turned back to his brother, allowing him to see his vulnerability in the matter.
"I know it is, Walter, but this isn't something you can issue a directive about. You're just going to have to let it happen." He turned his attention back to the barbecue, saying, "Come on, let's get this show on the road."
Skinner nodded, but as he walked towards the kitchen door Kenneth caught hold of his arm.
"I want this to work out for you, Walter. Whoever you choose," for emphasis he held out his hands, palms up, "is okay by me."
Skinner bit down on the response that leapt into his mouth. He knew the effort Kenneth was making on his behalf. In the sleepy, little farming community the Skinners called home, gays were classified in the same category as aliens. Kenneth, unlike Elizabeth who had lived most of her adult life in the big city, was steeped in that mindset. It was a hell of a lot to expect him to come to terms with the fact that his big brother and former marine had suddenly outed himself, without expecting him to instantly bond with said brother's lover.
"Just give him a fair chance. That's all I ask," he requested.
"That goes without saying, Walter," Kenneth told him with a tinge of annoyance before quoting their father's mantra: "Family first and always."
The words made Skinner snort.
"Much as I miss the old man, I think Dad may have been pushed to the limit on this one," he said.
"I think you might be right there, Walter," Kenneth agreed. "But it sure would have been interesting from number two son's perspective."
A frown line appeared across Skinner's forehead.
"Dad didn't make differences, Ken," he said.
"No, I didn't mean that," his brother told him. "If anything, towards the end, with me running the farm, the two of us got real close. It was good, but you should have seen the way his face would light up when he talked about, 'my boy Walter, you heard how he served in the Marine Corps? Well, he's up there in Washington now as Assistant Director with the F.B.I.'"
Walter laughed at Kenneth's perfect mimicry of their father's voice and posture.
"Well, in that respect I would have had better news for him. I've been promoted to Deputy Director."
"Holy cow," Kenneth said, "that's great. Congratulations!"
He shook his brother's hand enthusiastically, a proud grin on his face.
"Congratulations on what?" Elizabeth asked stepping onto the patio, Alex following.
"Walt's made Deputy Director," Kenneth explained.
"Oh Walter," Elizabeth said, giving him a warm hug. "That's wonderful. When did it happen?"
"A while back," Walter told her, "but it's just been ratified."
"Ken," Elizabeth said, turning to her younger brother, "put that barbecue back in the garage, we're going out to celebrate."
"Bethy, I don't want to make a fuss about this..." Walter began.
"Well, if this doesn't deserve a fuss being made, I don't know what does." She looked over at Alex standing slightly apart. "What do you think Alex?" she asked, drawing him in.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," he said.
"Okay then, I'm going to make a reservation. Somewhere casual but classy, and I know just the place," she told them.
"Won't that be difficult on a Friday night?" Walter asked.
Elizabeth smiled at him. "For an F.B.I. Deputy Director? I don't think so, Walter."
They arrived home late from the restaurant after a pleasant enough evening, but one that left Skinner wiped out. Elizabeth had said no-one was on approval, but it felt just like that to Skinner. He knew that went tenfold for Alex, who had carefully measured every word and gesture and who was showing the strain. The need to dodge awkward questions about Alex's past and to remember exactly what information had been given and what had been withheld added to it exponentially.
There was a final moment of embarrassment as they left to go up to bed together, but at last they were alone. Alex wrapped himself around Skinner the second the door closed, happy just to hold on.
"God, but this feels good," Skinner whispered into his ear.
"Mmm..." Alex murmured.
"Come on," Skinner said, disengaging from the embrace, "let's get some sleep."
A few minutes later they were in bed and in each other's arms. It had been a long day, beginning before dawn when the alarm sounded to wake Alex in time for a hurried visit to the stables. An early start that Skinner had not been spared when his lover returned sooner than expected, sweaty and enthusiastic for a ride of a different kind in the comfort of their double bed.
"You doing okay?" Skinner asked quietly.
Alex spooned in tighter behind him.
"Yeah," Alex said, his tone lacking full conviction.
"You're hating this," Skinner said flatly.
"No... not altogether," Alex told him. "Elizabeth and Kenneth are trying real hard."
"But?" Skinner questioned.
"But nothing."
"Whatever it is Alex, spit it out."
"Don't go looking for trouble. I'm fine. I'm just saying I appreciate how tough this must be for them."
"Not just them, if the truth be told I'm finding it kind of tough myself," Walter confessed. "How about we leave tomorrow? I can say I was called back."
"Quitter," Alex accused.
There was a pointed silence for several minutes before Skinner spoke.
"You know, Alex, Bethy and Ken... the whole family... are important to me, but this," he pulled Alex's arm tighter around him, "this is what really matters."
"You make it sound like either or," Alex told him. "I don't want it to be like that."
"It won't be," Skinner said. "When you get to know them better you'll realise it would never come to that."
"Not even if they get to know me?" Alex asked in a flat tone.
Hiding the pain that Alex's unrelenting self-doubt caused him, he turned round into the embrace.
"I want them to get to know you." He placed his hand on Alex's chest. "But I want them to know the person here. The man I love, not some psych evaluation or court file."
"Not the truth?"
"If that's what you want, if that's what it takes. Why not?" he replied, his tone very sure. "I'm proud of what you've done this past year."
Alex leaned into him as he murmured. "God, I love you so fucking much."
Skinner sighed contentedly. "Then show it by letting me get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep."
"Believe me, Walter, there is no possibility of any 'interruptions' while we're here," Alex assured him.
"Good thing we're going home earlier than scheduled then," Walter remarked hopefully, as he reached up to switch off the lamp.
"Uh-uh, we're sticking with the original schedule," Alex said.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure. Now get some rest."
Letting go, they settled down into the unfamiliar bed. Skinner, used to Alex falling asleep like a light going out, watched the display on the clock count off eleven minutes of uncharacteristic fidgeting. After fifteen minutes he'd had enough.
"What?" he demanded.
"Umm?"
"What's wrong?"
Alex flopped over onto his back.
"You were right," he murmured.
"Hmm?"
"There's something I gotta say."
"Then spit it out like I told you."
Alex obliged him.
"I can't be what your sister wants."
"Huh?"
"She wants us to be friends... to talk about stuff... you know..." he explained, his voice heavy with innuendo.
Not enough for Skinner's comprehension though.
"What kind of... stuff?"
"Stuff like... how we styled the house ...how your taste in clothes has improved... stuff about our relationship," he mumbled, his voice tinged with irritation.
Skinner might have found it amusing were it not for the reference to himself. Alex had no conscious part in his change of image. It had been a reaction to catching sight of them both in a store window and realising that compared to Alex's casual chic he was dressed in a way that would have appealed to his father. So, though he hadn't changed his work clothes, knowing that the classically designed and elegantly cut suits flattered him, he had been gradually dropping off the rest of his wardrobe at a thrift shop and replacing it with more 'in tune' items.
He thought he had been subtle about it. Alex hadn't seemed to notice, but Elizabeth had, and now she'd brought it to Alex's attention.
Elizabeth had a big mouth.
He began to share Alex's irritation.
"Fuck it, Walter," Alex was continuing. "I'm a hunter/gatherer."
Ain't that the truth, Walter thought, relieved that Alex's attention had been held by, what was for him, the bigger issue.
"I suppose... she has certain... expectations," Skinner suggested.
"Huh," Alex murmured, his irritation not diminished.
"I'll talk to her in the morning," he promised.
"No, Walter. I'll deal with it."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I just needed to get it off my chest."
"Okay then."
They settled back down and for a few minutes there was quiet until, unable to resist, Skinner remarked, "You know, it's funny, but Olga never wanted to be my 'friend'."
Alex loomed over him in the dark.
"Developed a taste for living dangerously, Walter?" he asked huskily.
Skinner felt him lean across and heard the sound of a drawer being opened.
"Huh?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
A second later, Alex slid like quicksilver down his body and began stripping off his boxers with the determination of a man on a mission.
"Wait... we can't... no... no ..." Skinner protested until Alex licked up the length of his cock and swirled his tongue around its head.
"Yes... yesss...
YES..." Skinner babbled as Alex took him into his mouth and sucked teasingly.
At the same time he heard the sound of lube being squirted from a bottle, followed by the first touch of cool, slicked fingers where he wanted them most. He reached out for and found Alex's pillow and pulled it down the bed. Raising up his hips he slipped the pillow below them and was rewarded when Alex used the better angle to take his stiffening cock deeper into his mouth and throat.
He knew he was moaning. He knew it was loud. He didn't give a fuck. All he wanted was for that wonderful mouth and those wonderful fingers to keep doing what they were doing. Forever.
"Oh... Alex... yeah," he encouraged, reaching down with both hands to grasp hold of Alex's hair.
Alex withdrew his fingers and pushed Skinner's left hand away. Skinner took the hint and released his right hand also. Instead he rested it lightly on the back of Alex's bobbing head, giving up control, but maintaining contact. He heard the lube bottle being squeezed a second time. The rhythm in which Alex's mouth worked him changed and he knew his lover was getting himself ready. Anticipation rushed through him. He spread his legs wider and muttered demands, impatient for the penetration.
He hadn't long to wait. Alex sucked strongly on his cock twice more and released it to get into position. A few quick strokes on his cock with Alex's oily hand and the preparations were complete.
Open and willing as Skinner was, Alex's cock slid into him with an ease that only added to the pleasure and when Alex leaned forward to rest his weight on his right arm, Skinner reached up to brace his lover's left shoulder with his own strong arm. It had happened instinctively the first time and, in all the times since, when they had used this position, Skinner was aware of the non-sexual pleasure it gave Alex to be completely free of his disability for a little while and to be able to move with the balance he had known before that awful night in Tunguska.
It also meant that it would be a good, hard fuck and he reached back to brace his other arm against the headboard.
Solid bed... don't make them like this anymore... antique... sturdy... just as well, he thought, disjointedly, as Alex began to thrust. Then there he was, on the top of the first crest of the roller-coaster and there was nothing more needed but to feel it... live it... go with it... be part of it...
It was a hell of a ride, Alex saw to that. Somewhere in the middle of all the grunting and groaning Skinner flashed on where he was, but instead of dampening the experience as he might have expected, it added a little frisson of pleasure. Enough, with the encouragement of his own hand, to carry him over the final crest and into the annihilation of orgasm.
Distantly he was aware of Alex's last few powerful thrusts and the stillness when he came. He unlocked his elbow joint and allowed Alex to slump forward onto his chest, his hand tracing a soothing figure of eight up and down the sweat-streaked spine.
"Well, I think Elizabeth may have gotten more than she bargained for this time," Skinner murmured, thoughtfully.
He was less sanguine about Kenneth's reaction, but at least his brother was in the small guest room on the other side of the house and for the first time in his life he was ever so slightly glad about the childhood brush with measles that had robbed Kenneth of the Skinner acute hearing gene.
He looked down at Alex. His ability to sleep on a dime at a Grateful Dead concert had kicked in and he was already snoring softly. Skinner eased him onto the mattress and went for a washcloth and towel. He cleaned them both up and slid back under the comforter, the thought of sitting down to breakfast with his siblings a less than appetizing one.
Morning came a lot sooner than he'd have liked. He woke at about 7.30 to find Alex's sheepish gaze already on him.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Alex offered in mitigation.
"Humph."
"I'll get my shower."
He began to sit up, but Skinner pulled him back. He took a morning kiss.
"This is who we are," he told Alex. "I'm not ashamed. Embarrassed as hell, but not ashamed."
Alex grinned at him, returned the kiss and headed for the bathroom. Skinner flopped back on the bed for a minute, then pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and his robe. He efficiently stripped the bed and bundled up the sheets.
All his covert training came into play as he stole downstairs to the laundry room. The house was silent. He crossed the hallway into the kitchen. The smell of coffee and bacon filled his nose a second after he nudged the swing door open with his arm. Raising his eyes in exasperation, he admitted to himself that he should have known they'd be up and about. To Ken the farmer, half the day had already been wasted, and Elizabeth... well, she wouldn't want to miss the show.
"Morning, Walter," his sister greeted, her eyes immediately homing in on the bundle in his arms.
"Morning," he returned.
"Morning, Walt," Kenneth muttered, opening his copy of the Baltimore Sun to hide behind.
"Morning," Skinner replied with all the dignity he could muster.
He was half way across the room when Elizabeth commented with a frustrated sigh, "I'm glad somebody in this house is getting some."
With the words all the tension and embarrassment in the room diffused and Elizabeth found herself joining in with Walter's laughter. The Baltimore Sun stayed in place but the pages shook.
By the time Alex came down, the laundry was in the washer and Walter was on his second cup of coffee, trading the stories of their childhood with his siblings.
Alex joined them at the table and exchanged greetings. What had been uncomfortable the day before was suddenly easy. He wondered what had brought about the change. Eagerly he listened to the well-worn tales being retold, curious to know all about Walter as a child and a young man. A second round of breakfast was cooked and put on the table.
They were still talking and laughing over the breakfast dishes when lunchtime rolled round. Walter looked across at Alex who was listening to Kenneth's account of their first summer camp away from home. He looked happy.
Suddenly he became aware that he too was being watched. Elizabeth smiled at him and reached over to squeeze his forearm, a tiny nod of approval towards Alex accompanying the gesture. Walter placed his hand over hers for a few seconds before she stood up decisively.
"It's high time these dishes were washed," she stated. "It's a beautiful day, and I for one think we should do something special with it."
Later than they planned on Sunday afternoon Walter and Alex waved goodbye to Elizabeth and Kenneth and began the journey home.
"It went well," Skinner said.
"Yeah," Alex agreed with satisfaction.
Nothing more needed to be said.
Alex turned the car in the direction of
I-95 South.
Part Five
When Skinner turned the key in the door and stepped into the hallway he noticed, for the first time, that the house smelled like home. He took his key from the lock and closed the door behind him with a grateful sigh. He'd spent the weekend working and for convenience sake had stayed in Bureau accommodations close to the Hoover. So it was good to be home, even if having no Alex there to greet him, made him feel lonelier than he had in the anonymous apartment.
Several months before it had been agreed that Alex would fly down to join the Svetlov Easter celebrations in Florida, and though he was glad that Alex's relationship with his family continued to strengthen, the four days they had been apart had passed very slowly for Skinner.
At least he'd managed to get a great deal done in the quiet hours spent in the office after the bustling day shift was gone. So much so, that the backlog of work, generated by the transition from his old job to his new, was completely cleared and he could finally make good on his promise to Alex and ease back on the number of hours he was putting in daily
Hanging up his raincoat in the hall closet, he carried his weekend bag and a bundle of letters from the mailbox through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, adjusting the thermostat on his way. He wanted the house to be warm for Alex returning north from Florida, where spring was much further advanced. He dropped the mail onto the table and went to the utility room to put his laundry in the washer. Back in the kitchen, he took off his jacket and loosened his tie. A glance at the kitchen clock told him there was plenty of time before he needed to start dinner so he took a beer from the fridge and settled down at the table to go through the mail.
The letters were quickly sorted into three piles, his own, Alex's and the junk. He tried to ignore the seven white business envelopes addressed to Alex and instead to concentrate on his own, but his eyes kept being drawn back to them, so when he had given his bills and statements a cursory glance, he set them aside and picked up the letters for Alex. He shuffled them, looking at the corporate logos. None of them looked promising. Tossing them back onto the table, he leaned back in the chair and took a long swallow of the beer.
They'd both known that it wasn't going to be easy for Alex to find a job, but neither had anticipated just how demoralizing and depressing it would turn out to be. It had taken an entire weekend to craft his resume, so that, with no more than a little creative bending of the truth, a few omissions and a flexible approach to dates, they had a document that read well and was credible.
Once it was ready Alex spent his days trawling the newspaper ads, employment agencies and the internet for vacancies in computing or security. He'd already filled in over a hundred applications and attended a dozen interviews, all of them for jobs in the security sector and none of them producing anything other than to leave him worn out and edgy.
Almost from the beginning both of them realised what the problem was, though neither one was willing to put it into words. It was too early and too hurtful to admit the possibility of failure. But, whichever way he looked at it, Skinner couldn't see a way around the plain truth that while Alex could make a computer sit up and beg, he had none of the qualifications in IT that could get him beyond the application stage, and that faced with the reality of his disability at interview no security company was going to hire him.
The galling thing for Skinner was that he had a solution to the problem. With the contacts he had built up over the years he could put in a good word for Alex with any number of blue chip companies. But he knew without asking that such a solution would not be acceptable to Alex, any more than Alex's solution had been acceptable to him, for when he'd found him circling ads for 'third shift security personnel' he'd taken the paper from him with a firm, "No."
The noisy ring of the phone interrupted his train of thought and he thankfully put the problem to the back of his mind. He hoped it was Alex. They had only spoken on the phone twice over the weekend. Skinner had not wanted to tie up too much of Alex's time with his family, so he'd restricted himself to a quick call on Thursday afternoon to check he had arrived safely and a longer, less personal one on Easter Sunday to wish the family a joyful celebration.
"Hello."
"Oh, hello Walter," Olga replied. "How are you?"
Skinner covered his disappointment and answered.
"I'm fine. Everything okay?"
"Great," she assured him, "I just need a quick word with Alex."
That awful empty feeling in the pit of the stomach hit Skinner and he leaned a hand against the wall.
"Alex isn't here right now, Olga," he said carefully.
"That's okay, I just wanted to let him know his watch is here. I found it in the bathroom when I came back from the airport. I've been expecting him to call. Hasn't he missed it yet?"
Skinner forced himself to concentrate on her words.
"He hasn't mentioned it to me," he told her truthfully. "I'll ask him to call you."
"Thanks, Walter. I'll talk to you soon."
"Olga," he said before she could hang up.
"Yes?"
Desperate to learn more without making alarm bells ring in Florida, he decided to take a chance. "Well... it was an early start this morning."
"You can say that again. We were at the airport before six, even though the flight didn't leave until 7.45." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I guess he couldn't wait to get home, Walter."
"I guess so," he answered, his mind racing, trying to assimilate the information, trying to come up with a reason why Alex would take an earlier flight without telling him, trying not to be hurt by the knowledge that Alex wasn't in such a rush to come home to him.
"Olga, the... um... family get-together, it went well I take it?" he asked, searching for a reason to explain Alex's behaviour.
She gave an amused chuckle.
"So it's not just me then?"
"Excuse me?" he questioned, confused.
"It's not just me who has trouble getting information out of Alex?" she explained. "Getting him to volunteer information is like... pulling teeth."
"Yeah," Skinner said, not distracted enough to miss the irony. "I don't think we've quite cracked the whole communication issue just yet."
"To put it mildly," she said. "But as regards the visit, it was good. I know he and Peter had a long talk out in the barn and I know it wasn't easy for either of them, but I think they are through the worst."
"That's good to know," Skinner said with a certain ambiguity. Loathe though he'd be to see Alex experience problems with his family it might be a more palatable explanation than some others that sprang to mind.
"Of course, Peter, though he doesn't see it, is having a bigger problem with the sibling rivalry thing than he is with you and Alex being... you know... 'in a relationship'. For him, that's just a convenient issue he can focus on."
"Really?" Skinner asked absently, his thoughts spinning off on other tangents.
"I know how it works with my own boys," she was saying. "If Alex hadn't been taken, he would have established himself at the top of the pecking order and Peter would know his place. You know the sooner they get it sorted out the better for everyone, especially Mom, who's kind of caught in the middle, trying to give them both what they need."
There was a lengthy pause in the conversation.
"Walter?" Olga said.
"Eh... yes... " With a conscious effort, Skinner closed down the images of flight and mayhem that were playing in his mind and forced himself to concentrate. "We should talk about this, but I need to check on dinner... "
"Sure, Walter," she said, taking the hint that the conversation was ended. "Let me know what Alex wants to do about the watch."
"I will," he told her. "Good night."
He hung up the phone and sat down heavily at the table, a feeling of numbness overtaking him as the initial panic ebbed away. He watched the hands on the clock make their way slowly round to 6.35, the time at which Alex's plane had been scheduled to land at Dulles. When the red second hand reached twelve he roused himself, ruthlessly clamped down on the doubts and fear that filled him and began to prepare the welcome home dinner he'd planned so carefully.
Methodically he washed and chopped the vegetables and made the marinade. Somehow the ordinariness of the tasks soothed him and made it seem more likely that there was a perfectly simple explanation for the earlier flight, that Alex was on his way home and that soon they'd be sitting down to dinner together laughing about the misunderstanding.
He clung onto that hope until the phone rang again, its shrill note causing him to drop the knife into the sink with a clatter as he reached for the receiver before it could ring a second time.
"Walter?"
"Yes, Alex."
"I'm going to be late getting home."
"What's the problem?" He had trouble recognising the calm voice that asked the question as his own.
"There's something I need to deal with. Something unresolved... from a long time ago... something I can't leave any longer. It's just that it's taking longer than I thought."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm okay. I can handle this... and I want you to know nothing's going to happen that you need to worry about."
"That's good to know, Alex. Is there anything I can do to—"
"Trust me?"
Skinner froze in position, his hand almost crushing the phone.
It was crunch time. All the talk and the sentiment and the promises came down to this moment.
He swallowed hard.
"I trust you, Alex."
"Thanks, Walter. I won't let you down."
There were a few seconds of tense silence and when Alex did speak again it was only to end the call quickly.
"I've got to go. I'll be home as soon as I can."
The line went dead.
Skinner hung up the phone and stared at it.
Fuck it, he thought, what the hell is going on?
But the anger he felt was more directed at himself than Alex. Why hadn't he asked the questions? Why had he stood there like a tongue-tied idiot? Why wasn't he lifting the phone to find the answers? God knows he had the means. All it would take was a single call and a priority authorisation.
But that was hardly the definition of trust.
Jaw clenched he turned away from the phone and went back to the counter top where he finished preparing the meal. With no indication of when Alex would be home, and with his own appetite long since gone he sealed the food into airtight containers and put it away in the refrigerator. Finally, he wiped the work surface clean and made himself a pot of coffee.
From here on in, he knew the drill well. A night watch filled with anxiety and caffeine was all too familiar to Walter Skinner.
Awareness of the presence beside the bed broke into his uneasy sleep. He opened his eyes. They stung and he had difficulty focussing in the flickering light of the muted television, but he knew it was Alex, standing there, watching him. He struggled up and turned on the lamp. The bedside clock read 3.27. His neck, after an hour of being held at an awkward angle by the bunched up pillows, protested the movement.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a sleep-filled, croaky voice.
The only response was a nod of affirmation and despite it Skinner knew that Alex was not okay. He looked like hell. Even in the warm glow of the lamp, his face looked white and drawn. His right arm was wrapped protectively around his body and he seemed to be cold. The last of the fog of sleep evaporated as Skinner threw the comforter back and got out of bed to stand beside him. He pulled Alex to him and held on tightly.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
A shake of the head.
It didn't convince him either and he stepped back and began to strip off Alex's leather jacket to check for himself. That brought a reaction from Alex. He reached up to run his hand along Skinner's cheek.
"I need you," he whispered urgently.
"What...? Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea how fucking worried—"
"Please?"
Sex was the furthest thing from Skinner's mind but the single, desolate word was enough to tell him how lost his lover was and how much he was needed. So setting aside his need to know he pulled Alex tightly against him, his mouth finding the younger man's to give him the physical comfort that words could not provide. Alex latched onto him, soaking in his closeness and his body warmth, his arm twining around Skinner's back, urging him even closer. Skinner responded by dropping his hands to Alex's ass, squeezing and working it, encouraging Alex to thrust his hips forward to meet the answering moves of his own body.
They both hardened quickly and Skinner began impatiently tugging at Alex's stubborn clothing. When he succeeded in untucking the plaid shirt from the jeans, his hands forced a way between their bodies to unbutton it, but it was much too complicated and instead he roughly jerked the sides of the shirt apart, feeling the satisfying give of the material as the buttons popped off. Alex released his hold on Skinner to allow the shirt to be stripped from his body and it hit the floor a second after the buttons bounced away noisily across the polished wood.
Taking advantage of the small breathing space that had opened up between their bodies, Skinner caught hold of the hem of Alex's undershirt and yanked it up.
Immediately Alex gave a gasp and his face contorted in pain. Skinner's hands froze, mid-movement.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"S'okay," Alex murmured before biting down on his lip.
Skinner let go of the undershirt and ran his hands over Alex's chest. He could find nothing wrong. Reaching round he did the same to his back where he felt a dampness spreading across the fabric. He stepped around Alex and despite knowing what to expect his stomach lurched uncomfortably at the sight of the old and fresh blood stains.
Gently this time, he lifted the undershirt again to find that his first rough tug had detached it from where it had been stuck to the skin of Alex's lower back, and had re-opened a myriad of little cuts. It was a mess, the skin badly grazed over an elongated darkening bruise.
"Who the fuck did this to you?" he demanded, anger replacing sexual heat.
"No one," Alex mumbled, "it's nothing—"
"It's not fucking nothing," he stated, his voice loud in his own ears. "Tell me how this happened. Who did this to you?"
"I told you no one. It was an accident. We were playing football out in the yard and I fell back against the porch steps. That's as sinister as it gets."
"This happened in Florida?" Skinner asked incredulously.
"Yeah," Alex told him, turning towards him and trying to see the injury over his shoulder at the same time. "I thought it was okay but it must have started to bleed again after my shower this morn... yesterday morning."
Though Alex's frankness about the injury dispelled Skinner's suspicions, it did not diminish his concern. He physically turned Alex back and carefully this time, stripped off the undershirt.
"It looks raw," he commented, examining the angry, red patches of skin around the wounds. "What did your Mom put on it?"
Alex didn't answer.
"Didn't you get someone to look at this?" he asked as calmly as he could.
"I didn't want to make a whole big thing out of it. A couple of days and it will be healed."
"Yeah, right" Skinner growled. "Getting cut up like this on a farm and doing nothing about it. Where are your brains, Alex? If I didn't know for a fact that your tetanus shots are up-to-date because of the physical before you left..." he stumbled a little "...the hospital, I'd be kicking your ass down to the emergency room."
Alex's opposition subsided and he allowed himself to be seated on the edge of the bed where Skinner removed the prosthesis.
"Stay put," he ordered and went to fetch the first aid kit.
Alex chafed at the care and attention Skinner put into cleaning the wound and taping on a dressing, but by the time it was finished he had to reluctantly admit his back was feeling more comfortable. Skinner went to the bathroom to get him a couple of painkillers, and when he returned it was to find Alex curled up on the bed, his back to the light and his arm covering his face.
He frowned at the defensive posture Alex had assumed and sat down on the bed. Leaning across the prone figure he held out the pills.
"Here," he said. "There's water on the nightstand."
Alex lifted his arm away and opened his eyes. He pulled himself upright to lean against the headboard and accepted the pills Skinner dropped into his hand. He tossed them into his mouth and drank deeply from the glass of water. Then he sat up straighter and looked at Skinner eye to eye.
"I suppose we have to talk about today," he began, his face now tinged with a greyness. "But, I really don't want to do that right—"
"Then don't," Skinner interrupted, quietly.
"But—"
"It's okay," Skinner interrupted again, taking the glass from his hand and putting it back on the nightstand. "There's time... when you're ready."
He leaned forward and took Alex's mouth in a deliberately gentle kiss, while his hands unbuttoned and unzipped the fly of Alex's jeans. He reached inside and moved his hand coaxingly over the soft cock. Instantly Alex angled his hips up to deepen the contact and the tension flowed out from his body.
"Let's get you out of these," Skinner said, ending the kiss.
He stood up and pulled off the jeans and boxers. Tossing them onto the chair he stripped out of his own underwear and reached into the drawer for the bottle of lube. Alex had kicked the comforter out of the way and was settling himself on his back in the middle of the bed when Skinner slid in beside him, encouraging him onto his side.
"Here," he said, gathering the pillows in front of Alex. "Lean into them. I don't want you putting any pressure on your back."
Alex grunted his agreement and wrapped his arm around the soft, supporting mound as Skinner spooned in behind him, his thigh insinuating itself between Alex's legs. Lying together, they took their time, Alex doing little more than responding to the gradual and gentle arousal as Skinner's hands stimulated and readied him.
When Skinner entered him, Alex was still only half hard. Neither cared, it just gave them the chance to savour the intimacy of the act itself. As he thrust steadily and rhythmically, Skinner used his mouth to nip and lick at Alex's neck and shoulder, in between murmuring snatches about being safe and desired, and making promises that everything would be fine.
Their coming, punctuated by little sighs and gasps, was satisfying for them both, and when they were done, Skinner held Alex even closer, maintaining their connection until they fell asleep.
The following morning, Skinner dragged himself from the bed, leaving his bone-weary lover dead to the world. In the harsh light of day he found he wasn't in the mood to think about what had happened, so he boxed up all his worries and fears, choosing to leave them behind for the day, knowing that soon enough there'd be no choice but to haul them out and deal with the consequences.
After taking his shower and dressing, he stopped to glance in at Alex; still snoring softly into his pillow then headed downstairs. Alex's suitcase was in the hallway and beside it was a woven hamper. He picked it up and carried it to the kitchen. When the coffee was under way, he opened the hamper and checked inside. He recognised the contents at once and their smell brought back vivid memories of his childhood, in the days before his maternal grandmother had died and the family tie to the old country was broken.
He opened up the 'pashka' first, a sweet cheese, flavoured with vanilla and formed into a triangle. He traced the letters—XB—inscribed on its surface, before wrapping it again and putting it in the fridge. Then he took out the 'kulich', the special Easter cake. He smiled, remembering how his chubby fingers had 'helped' his grandmother's wrinkled hands to mix the candied fruit and almonds into the yeasty dough. He cut himself a slice and poured out a mug of coffee. The cake tasted as good as he remembered. It was a better start to the day than he expected, but then, like every thing else to do with Alex, it was best to be ready for the unexpected.
With the distraction of the busy day behind him, it took Walter Skinner the entire commute home to finally figure out why he felt so conflicted about the events of the previous day. Sure he felt angry and hurt at not being told of Alex's change of plans, but those feelings were intertwined with other, unexpected emotions. Most surprising of which was the realisation that what he'd said about trusting Alex was true.
He did trust Alex, and it was stunning, wonderful, breath taking. Alex had told him he wouldn't let him down and he hadn't. Whatever had happened, and Skinner was no longer sure he wanted to know what that was, Alex had been the one hurt by it. That much was very clear.
Less uplifting was the second truth laid bare, namely, how shit-scared Skinner was of the way Alex had exercised his right to act independently for the first time since leaving White Oaks. It made him feel uneasy, threatened in a way he had no right to be and that made him feel ashamed.
Not that he had any intention of allowing that to distract him from letting Alex know just how pissed off he was about the whole thing, and sooner than he expected he was parking the car in their drive and letting himself into the house, all ready to lay down the law.
Alex pounced on him before he could close the door behind him. In between frantic kisses to his mouth and face and neck, he murmured, "...what took you so long... I've been waiting... thought you'd never get here..."
Skinner, in the light of his own failings, chose to let the comments go and to concentrate instead on his enthusiastic lover, whose mood was a complete turn around from the night before. Skinner was at a loss to understand it.
"Okay, okay," he grumbled, when Alex stopped kissing him and began manhandling him out of his coat and jacket. "What's going on?"
Alex looked at him, a wide grin on his face.
"I got a job."
"What? Where? Doing what?" Skinner demanded.
Alex went back to tugging on the coat sleeve. "Help me get you out of this thing and I'll tell you," he bargained.
"Let me," Skinner said, pushing him away firmly, "otherwise we'll be here all night."
Alex stood back and watched impatiently while Skinner took off his things and hung them in the hall closet.
"So," he prompted, as he closed the closet door.
Alex caught hold of his hand and guided him to the dining room. The table was set with their best china and two of the paraffin wax candles Skinner had bought in case of emergency burned in the crystal candlesticks Olga had sent them as a house-warming gift.
Alex handed Walter a bottle of champagne, nodding towards the cork as he said, "I'll get dinner."
He went into the kitchen and opened the oven. To Skinner's great relief he took out a baking sheet stacked with cartons of Chinese food, which he carried over and placed on the table, before going back for two heated plates.
"This morning, after I'd read another bunch of fucking rejection letters, I decided to go over to the university to pick up a prospectus for next semester." He stopped opening the cartons and looked over at Skinner. "I know we hadn't discussed it, Walter, but I was beginning to think I was going to have to go back to school for a while."
Skinner nodded approval as he stripped the foil cap off the champagne.
"Anyhow," Alex continued, "the campus is real nice so I went for a walk."
He spooned a large serving of rice onto Skinner's plate.
"Did you know there's a Centre for Russian and East European Studies on campus?"
Skinner shook his head and began pushing up on the champagne cork. Alex whooped when it popped and he quickly handed Skinner a glass to catch the foaming wine that was bubbling out onto the rug.
"I didn't know either, so I had a look around."
He took the glass of wine Skinner handed him.
"Big place. The notice boards were full of stuff on cultural events as well as classes and seminars."
Skinner filled his own glass then held it out towards Alex.
"Here's to full employment," he toasted.
Alex clinked his glass with Skinner's and they both drank deeply.
"Mmmm," Alex murmured appreciatively, before continuing. "There was a demonstration of Ukrainian pysanky going on and I went to—"
"That's egg painting, right?" Skinner interrupted as he filled his plate from the cartons and wondered about just how bored Alex must have been to be a willing observer of that demonstration.
"Yeah. So, I got talking to one of the grad students giving the demo. When he realised I could speak Russian he called the centre administrator. It seems they are short of language tutors. The admin guy had one of the professors check my fluency and when it measured up he asked me to start straight away." He nodded towards the food and wine. "My first pay check."
Skinner glanced up. "This is going to be a regular job, right?"
"It'll be casual until I go through the interview, but that's not going to be a problem. They're short on translators as well as tutors, so there's plenty of work and I'm exactly what they want. I could have worked tonight; there's a social function going on for visiting academics from Kiev," he looked over at Skinner from below down swept eyelashes, "but I have other plans for tonight."
Skinner grinned at him.
"I like a man who has his priorities right," he said, lifting his glass again. "Congratulations, Alex."
They drank another toast and settled down to enjoy the food. Diverted by the unexpected celebration, Skinner found it no hardship at all to let the whole mess of the previous day slip off the agenda. So, instead of laying down the law, he sat back and shared Alex's pleasure in the simple achievement of getting a job, maybe not the one they'd planned, but a job nonetheless. An achievement that would boost his confidence and self-respect and that would mean he could begin paying his way, a stressful issue for Alex.
When the meal degenerated into outright seduction they abandoned the dishes and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Once there, Skinner let go his hold on Alex and laughed aloud. The four remaining candles from the pack of six he'd bought for emergencies were set about on the nightstands and dresser, each one roughly glued to a saucer with a dollop of wax.
"You keep surprising me, Alex."
He caught hold of Alex and pulled him into an embrace.
Alex looked at him, unsure.
"That's good, right?"
"Sometimes. Mostly."
"Yesterday wasn't so good."
"No, it wasn't.
"I didn't say I was sorry."
"No, you didn't."
Looking a little shamefaced, Alex opened his mouth to say something then changed his mind. His expression morphed into a sly smirk.
"But, Walter, I thought to your generation being in love meant nev—"
"Asshole."
The answer was gruff but the warmth in Skinner's eyes and the worshipping way his hands began moving over Alex's body told a different story. He leaned forward and brought their mouths together. In the kiss and the response of the man beneath his hands, Skinner recognised the return of his sensual lover and his own blood began to sing.
He pulled back and ordered, "Naked. Now."
Alex obeyed and climbed onto the bed.
Watching him, Skinner shed his own clothes quickly and followed him, crawling on all fours into position over him, leaning down to lick and suckle at his nipples, making him moan and move his head restlessly from side to side. Loving Alex's response, he glanced up to watch the expressive face, noting the brows drawn together, the eyes tightly shut.
Satisfied and with a final firm nip on Alex's tit he straightened up to survey his lover. The sight of Alex's hard cock curving up over his abdomen was as irresistible as always and he moved back down the bed so he could take it in his mouth. He was rewarded with the familiar scent and taste of his lover and, as with every time he performed this intimate act, they blended together with Alex's frantic cries and gasps into the biggest turn on Skinner had ever known.
He took his time, meticulously and thoroughly servicing every inch of the cock in his mouth, stimulating the balls and crack beneath with teasing hands, enjoying the cycle of overload and withdrawal that was turning Alex into a quivering mass of need.
"Wal... ter..."
The desperate cry reminded him of his own, as yet, untouched need and he leaned over to retrieve the lube from its place on the nightstand. Settling himself on his haunches so that his balls jostled against Alex's with the slightest movement of his hips, he lubed up his fingers and reached back to find his own centre.
"Oh... yes, babe..." Alex mumbled, rubbing his hand up and down the corded muscles of Skinner's thigh.
"This gonna be okay on your back?" Skinner asked through clenched teeth.
"Uh... my back?"
Skinner snorted. "Yeah, you know, Alex, your back... one of your body parts that's not your dick."
Alex scowled at him and slid his hand up to grasp Skinner's cock, his thumb tracing patterns across its head in a way that brought the older man's hips surging forward into the stimulation.
"You were saying, Walter?"
"Fuck..."
Alex's laugh was cut off when Skinner swiped his oily hand once along his cock and raised himself over it, intent on a swift penetration. Pausing only for a second to align the cockhead, he relaxed his muscle and dropped down steadily until his balls rested against Alex's abdomen.
Their groans filled the room as they settled into each other and Walter began to ride.
"... so good... babe... gets better... every time... "
Walter growled, unhappy with the number of coherent words Alex could string together. He was obviously operating below optimum. He leaned forward and covered Alex's lips with his own, beginning a wet, sloppy strip search of his lover's mouth.
"Unnngrhh," was all Alex could manage in response to the tongue action and the rhythmic squeeze of internal muscles along his cock.
Vindicated and happy, Skinner smiled into the kiss before raising up enough to run the tip of his tongue once around Alex's lips in farewell. A broad swipe of his tongue across each nipple and he was back in the saddle, heading for home at a leisurely canter.
"Uh... uh... uh... " Alex began to chant at the peak of each thrust.
Covering Alex's lax hand, with his own, Skinner gave it a quick pump to remind it of its duty, not that much more was required with the way Alex's cock was hitting the spot on each and every downward move.
The pace picked up and Skinner joined in the chanting as it grew faster and louder.
One strong, twisting thrust that nudged his prostate just right, made Skinner spill first. Taking his weight on his hands on the bed, he stilled for only a few seconds before continuing to ride his lover to completion, the deep, bass roar that poured out of him along with his come making it inevitable. Two strong thrusts later he felt the cock deep inside him jerk and spurt and he waited until Alex went limp below him before he fell sideways onto the bed, not wanting to add his weight to the pressure on Alex's injured back.
Concern about what damage might have been done to Alex's wound had Skinner up and out of the bed on shaky legs long before his heart and breathing rate even began to approach normal. In the bathroom he gave himself a cursory clean, then soaked a washcloth and gathered it up with a towel and the first aid kit. Laying them on the bed, he washed the come off Alex's chest and stomach and patted him dry with the towel.
"Roll over," he instructed.
With a reluctant moan, Alex did as he was asked, complaining loudly and at length when Skinner began teasing the taped dressing off his skin.
"Owww!" he squawked, when Skinner suddenly changed tactics and ripped the final strip of tape off in one sudden jerk.
"Jesus, Alex, don't be such a baby."
"It hurts, Walter, and not in a good way."
A loud smack resounded through the room as Walter's hand landed square across Alex's unsuspecting behind.
"Owww!" he squawked again, levering himself up to scowl over his shoulder at Skinner, outrage carved into the wrinkle above his nose.
"Better?" Skinner asked, all innocence.
The scowl transformed into a grin.
"Much," he replied, flopping back down into the pillow. "It's been too long," he continued, his voice muffled and dreamy.
"Let's make a date for Saturday," Skinner suggested, dropping a kiss on the centre of the pink palm print, before returning to his task.
"Mmmm..."
The old dressing was disposed of and Skinner inspected the wound.
"This is looking a lot cleaner."
"Feels fine."
"It needs another dressing, though."
"Whatever."
Skinner sprinkled a dusting of anti-biotic powder over the cuts and taped a new dressing over them. He wiped his hands on the towel and closed up the first aid kit, before climbing back into the bed and pulling the comforter up over their cooling bodies. Alex draped himself halfway across Skinner's chest.
"I really am sorry, Walter... about yesterday."
The words spoken unexpectedly into the quietness jerked Skinner back from the edge of sleep. He mentally shrugged to bring them into focus. He didn't like the memory they conjured up. The more time passed, it seemed, the more reluctant he found himself to deal with the issue.
"Can you talk about it now?" he felt obliged to ask.
"Sure... no point putting it off."
Skinner ran his hand in soothing circles between Alex's shoulders and waited.
"Being at Mom's was good... but... I'm not really a part of it... not in the way Olga and Peter are. I realised that when I saw how you are with your brother and sister."
With difficulty, Skinner, held his tongue.
"And, God, I want that... I can't believe how much I want it... I used to sneer at Mulder and his pathetic Samantha quest... but now I understand... about Scully too... maybe it's just karma... some kind of fucking cosmic revenge..."
His breathing quickened and his tone took on a harsh edge.
"And I'm so fucking angry about it... I want to rip someone's head off... I want to hurt the bastards who did this to me... who took this away from me... I want them to know..."
As quickly as it came the anger faded.
"That's where I went... to see the only ones left... the Kryceks... "
"What?
Skinner sat up abruptly, manhandling Alex up with him.
"But they're dead," he protested.
"No. I faked the records. Arranged new identities for them, bank accounts, somewhere to live."
Skinner stared at him disbelievingly.
"Is it so hard to understand, Walter? They were all I knew... all I had... even if I'd known the truth... I think I'd still have protected them."
"Then why did you go to see them?"
"Because I wanted them to know how much they hurt me... and because... I had to know... how they could have me live with them as their son for twelve years... and then... throw me away like a piece of garbage..." His breath hitched noisily in his throat and he dropped his gaze. "Jesus, Walter, ...what's wrong with me... when she opened the door she didn't even recognise me... "
Skinner took Alex's face between his two hands and gently tilted it up. He spoke calmly and deliberately.
"It wasn't you, Alex. You were just a little child handed over to couple of selfish, perverted bastards who were too twisted to see the beauty and the innocence they had been given. There is something wrong with them, not you Alex. And I'm not going to allow them to hurt you any more. Before I'll let them do that—I'll rip off their heads," he finished dramatically.
A bubble of nervous laughter rose up in Alex at the mental image.
But Skinner wasn't done.
"I love you, Alex. You are beautiful to me and I don't mean just physically, and if your innocence is gone then so is mine. We've both been given this second chance, and as far as I'm concerned the past and everything to do with it can go fuck itself. Do I make myself clear?"
"I'd say that's pretty clear," Alex answered, his face taking on a warm glow at Skinner's unequivocal words and at his lover's urging he moved into a tight embrace. "I just hope I don't let you down."
"Stop selling yourself short, Alex, your life isn't defined by me. Much as I might want it to be, that would be wrong. You're strong, Alex, you always have been or you wouldn't have survived. And while we're on the subject stop selling your family short too. They love you very much. Of course it's not the same as it would have been if that obscenity hadn't happened, it would be crazy to say otherwise. But you're part of them, and they want you to be. And hey, when it comes to family I'll be your coach. I know how it works."
"That's good, 'cause I don't have a fucking clue."
"It'll work out, but you're going to have to give it time."
"Even Peter?"
"Did he give you a hard time?"
"You could say that."
"Did he cause this?" Skinner let his hand drift over the bandage.
Alex looked up at him bemused. "How do you know that?"
Skinner combed the hair back from Alex's forehead. "From things you've said, something Olga told me."
Alex rested his head back on Skinner's shoulder. "Just as well I was on his team, huh? He gave a dry laugh. "And that we had our talk before the game. Luckily for me being bisexual is only half as disgusting as being a faggot as far as Peter's concerned."
"Prick," Skinner said with venom.
"Hey, that's my brother," Alex said.
"Now, see, that's good," Skinner told him. "The old 'blood's thicker than water' thing kicking in."
"Yeah, Peter mentioned that too... because of it he's going to be able to... 'look beyond' our lifestyle... for the good of the family."
"How fucking condescending of him," Skinner observed, then he snorted. "Can I take it I won't be included in the invitation to the christening?"
"Are you kidding, Walter? No, you will be accompanying me as my 'life partner' and we are all going to be 'very grown up' about the whole thing, quote-unquote." He looked up at Skinner, and remarked, "Prick."
Skinner said nothing, his infuriation with Peter moderating a little as he realised the man was the first to put the words 'life' and 'partner' into a sentence concerning him and Alex.
"The real kicker is that he asked me to be a god-parent... can you believe it?"
Skinner had to work very hard at keeping the incredulous look off his face. He knew he hadn't altogether succeeded when Alex continued, "Yeah... I know... me a god-parent. I don't see how that could be... you know..." he searched for a word "...legal..."
Skinner found his voice. "Are you prepared to act on behalf of the child's best interests?"
Alex raised a questioning eyebrow.
"I'm a god-parent several times over," he explained.
"Oh... well then, this'll be something else you will have to coach me on."
"So you want to do it?"
"Sure... the kids are great. I could do this, right?"
"Of course you can do it," Skinner said, sensing the pride Alex felt at being asked. His infuriation with Peter dropped several notches in intensity.
"You know, Alex, in his own way Peter is trying, and God knows I saw myself how he reacted when he thought you were being attacked. It's not his fault he's—"
"A prick?" Alex interrupted.
They chuckled together.
"I was going to say a spoilt mamma's boy. Which is not surprising considering how Vera and your Dad must have treated him after you were taken."
"I guess not," Alex said with a sigh.
Skinner could have kicked himself for turning the conversation back onto the painful subject of Alex's abduction.
"You know, in the 'in-law' stakes," he said, quickly changing the subject, "we've gotten off pretty lightly. Your family, apart from this hiccough with Peter, has been great, and mine is downright positive. Not like Sharon's mother. In the most genteel way possible that woman existed to make my life a misery."
"Bad, huh Walter?"
"The temperature dropped five degrees every time she entered the room. She didn't have to say a word, the sweaters said it all."
Much to Skinner's delight, Alex laughed out loud.
After, he settled back down onto Skinner's chest and said, "That's the first time you've mentioned Sharon to me."
"Yeah... well, we broke a lot of new ground here tonight. I know it hasn't been easy, but I'm glad we talked. There's nothing we can't talk about." He hesitated before he continued, "And in that spirit I have to ask this—do you want me to have the Kryceks picked up?"
Alex's whole body stiffened.
"Fuck no, Walter. We can't draw that kind of attention to ourselves. And I won't put Mom through the stuff it would dredge up. I don't want to anyway. You are right about leaving the past in the past. They are no threat to me or anyone else. It was pathetic really. My dad... I mean Rudi... has Alzheimer's and Anna... she's turned into a scared old woman."
Skinner wasn't happy with the thought that the Kryceks would escape unpunished, but Alex was right, pursuing the matter would bring nothing but trouble to their door.
"It's okay, relax, I wasn't going to do anything without your say so. We'll just let it go."
"Okay then." The body in Skinner's arms relaxed again.
They moved around, getting comfortable, the effects of little sleep the previous night and plenty of tough talking catching up with them. When he reached over to check the alarm, something on the nightstand caught Skinner's attention.
"By the way, Alex," Skinner said with a sleepy chuckle, "for future reference, candles work better when you light them."
The reply was even sleepier. "Mmm... yeah... next time...."
Part Six
Six months later...
Skinner bit down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out as Alex thrust brutally into his body, interested only in his own satisfaction. A final punishing thrust and Alex stilled above him achieving orgasm. A muttered curse and he collapsed heavily onto Skinner's chest, his cock slipping free. Skinner moaned in relief and the sound drew Alex's attention. He wrapped his hand in a half-hearted grip around Skinner's soft cock and began pumping disjointedly.
"No," Skinner said, pushing it away. "Get some sleep."
Ignoring the resistance he manoeuvred Alex onto his chest and held him fast there for the few minutes it took him to fall asleep. When the body in his arms went limp he smoothed back the hair from the creased forehead and watched his lover sleep, heartsick at the way their relationship was falling apart.
Feeling lost, he began replaying the memories of the last few months, trying to figure out what had made things between them turn so sour.
The summer had been glorious, every morning beginning with contented awakening and, more often than not, lovemaking. Every evening they'd putter around in the kitchen, exchanging touches and looks as they prepared dinner then they'd sit together at the table, sometimes for hours, talking about the news or family things or whatever shit was going on at work.
Less than a month into his Deputy Directorship, Skinner had let it slip that he was starting to miss the more 'hands on' nature of his old job, up to and including dealing with troublesome agents and the weirder 302's, a foolish admission that earned him days of unmerciful teasing. Alex's job, on the other hand, had provided him with an unexpected perk.
As part of his duties Alex sometimes facilitated 'net conferences and gave Russian language tutorials from the pc in their living room. During these sessions Skinner found himself being drawn to Alex speaking Russian in the way a bear is drawn to a honeycomb. He just couldn't help himself; it mesmerized him and turned him on with an intensity that was overwhelming.
By the time the sixth tutorial was under way the only thing holding him back from stalking across the room and going down on his lover was knowing he might compromise the job Alex seemed to be enjoying. Unfortunately, that didn't make it any easier to tune out the liquid tones of Alex making love to his mother tongue.
"Где здесь остановка автобуса? Здесь новый дом отдыха. Вот
мой номер телефона," Alex enunciated lavishly.
Skinner tried to stop fidgeting and to concentrate on his book. But it wasn't working. He'd been reading the same page for nearly an hour. With a relieved sigh he heard Alex bring the lesson to an end and log off. There followed a silence that continued long enough to make him glance up. Alex was looking at him with a knowing, indulgent expression on his face.
"Why didn't you tell me, Walter?" he asked, unbuttoning his shirt as he stood up and crossed the distance to the couch.
"Uh?" Skinner asked, feigning ignorance.
"Why didn't you tell me you like it when I talk... Russian," Alex asked again. "I can talk Russian, any time you want, Walter."
He kicked off his shoes and took the book from Skinner's nerveless hands. Skinner's glasses came off too and joined the book on the end table.
"Want me to talk Russian now, babe?"
He climbed onto the couch and straddled his lover. It took only three lines of an obscure Azeri poem and a little rough and tumble for Alex to find himself stretched out on the couch with his cock deep in Skinner's throat.
But there had been much more than sex going on between them. They'd spent whole weekends working on the house, making it their home. Other weekends they'd spent at the beach or in the mountains, away from TV and newspapers, just being together, hiking for miles or standing in a river fly fishing, one of Skinner's passions.
And since he wasn't convinced how genuine the enthusiasm Alex showed for fishing was, Skinner encouraged him to indulge his own passion, working with the horses at the Johnson's stud farm.
Nor had it been just them. They'd had a steady stream of visitors to keep them busy, beginning with Alex's Mom, though they didn't see Peter again until after the birth of baby Christopher.
Peter's call telling of the new arrival had come during dinner and Alex had at first appeared nonchalant about the news, but within the hour a huge bouquet of flowers with attached teddy bear was being delivered to Frances in the hospital in San Diego and the emailed pictures of the baby had been printed out and attached to the memo board on the refrigerator. Then, the following day, there had been a visit to 'Mamma Bear's Baby Boutique', the first time Skinner had ever known Alex to willingly enter a store that wasn't a branch of Barns and Noble or a Dairy Queen.
The christening was celebrated in Florida at the end of August and the trip south was memorable for Skinner in several ways. One of them being the privilege of watching Alex, looking nervous and incredibly beautiful, stand up in the ornate, incense filled church of Saint Gregory of Sinai and make the promise to protect and guide his nephew.
Another was watching him, sweating and dust streaked, teach Peter the true nature of dirty tactics as applied to the game of football. It needing only two bruising tackles for Peter to realise he was completely outclassed and for him to leave the field with a new and wary respect for his brother.
But best of all was finding he had become part of the Svetlov family, as welcome as were Olga and Peter's chosen partners.
The summer had been a promise of everything their life together could be, and it was good. So good, that the fear it might be slipping away from him was becoming unbearable.
He could remember with painful clarity the moment when the first hint of trouble showed itself. He and Alex had finally gotten round to painting the guest bedroom and they had selected a rich forest green for the walls. They hauled the furniture into the centre of the room and covered the floor before opening the paint. Alex began painting the edges, meticulously creating a perfectly straight line, while Skinner used a roller on the rest of the wall.
"This is harder than I thought, Walter."
Alex's comment broke the silence, taking Skinner by surprise. He was used to Alex's long silences, was comfortable with them. He looked over at Alex's work.
"Looks like a good job to me," he said.
Alex glanced up at him. "I'm not talking about this, Walter." He waved the brush along the line of green paint. "I mean it all." The brush circled widely through the air.
Skinner's heart took up residence in the pit of his stomach. Unable to say anything he just stared at Alex, but the expression on his face must have told the whole story because Alex put down his brush and came to stand beside him, taking the roller from his frozen grip to put it back into the paint tray.
"Relax Walter," he said, gently pushing his lover down to sit on the bed, "we agreed we'd talk about stuff like this."
Skinner took a deep breath and said, "I thought you were happy."
Alex sat on the floor beside the bed and laid his head against Skinner's thigh.
"I am happy. I love you. I have my family... this house... it's just... I keep waiting for something to happen..."
"When nothing happens, Alex," Skinner tried to explain, "...that's good."
He looked up at Skinner, looking unconvinced, but seeing the hurt and anxiety his lover couldn't hide. "Walter I'm sorry, I don't want to worry you. I guess I just need to try a little harder..."
And Skinner had shamelessly taken him at his word and that night had taken them out to dinner at Alex's favourite restaurant, had gone out on his lunch break the next day and bought season tickets for the Washington Capitals and had surprised Alex with airline tickets to Cancun the following weekend.
He had done everything, but talk about it. Until it was too late, and by then he'd found someone else to blame.
The third weekend in September they spent working in the backyard and prepping the house for the change of season. It had taken Skinner all morning to dig out the summer planting and by lunchtime the last muggy gasp of summer had him sweating and stripped down to an old worn pair of cut off jeans. Alex, despite working as hard as Skinner, seemed oblivious to the heat and was still fully dressed in his jeans, a long sleeved shirt and baseball cap.
Deciding it was high time for a break, Skinner drove his spade into the dirt and quietly moved in behind Alex who was attacking an out of control honeysuckle with a hacksaw. Sliding his arms around Alex's waist he pulled him back into a hug that brought his ear into the perfect position for nibbling on.
"Okay, okay," Alex protested, "I get the message it's my turn to fix lunch."
He detached himself from Skinner's embrace and headed for the kitchen. Skinner rolled his head slowly from side to side trying to ease the tightness that had built up in his shoulders. He eyed the sun lounger on the deck longingly for a moment before picking up a garbage sack. Sawing the branches had been no problem for Alex but Skinner knew the prosthesis would make it very difficult for him to complete the task and the effort would leave him weary and sore, so pulling on a pair of thick gardening gloves he began breaking up the branches and fitting them into the sack.
He had most of it bagged by the time Alex emerged from the house with lunch. He jogged up the three steps to the deck and stretched out on the lounger. His roast beef sandwich and beer were waiting for him on the low table between the two loungers. Alex ignored the other lounger and instead sat on the edge of Skinner's. As they munched their way through the thickly cut sandwiches, Skinner ran his hand up under Alex shirt, and began massaging back and forth across the smooth lower back.
Alex reacted to the contact by arching his spine and grunting softly every time Skinner hit the right spot. Swallowing the last of his beer, Skinner sat up and put the bottle on the table.
"Hey, let's do this properly," he suggested.
Sitting sideways on the lounger, he manoeuvred Alex to sit between his legs and reached round to unbutton his shirt. But they never got to the massage because, glancing up, Skinner caught sight of them both in the dark glass of the French windows, and in the reflection he saw Alex likewise watching. The mood changed instantly and Skinner's hands began moving across Alex's chest and down to his groin to a very different purpose.
Alex turned back for the kiss his lover was eager to return. Completely attuned to each other, they were both quickly aroused. Skinner began rubbing himself against Alex's ass, enjoying the warm, heavy scent of the man in his arms and the way the brilliant blueness above them and the hot sun on their skin intensified the experience.
Fleetingly he offered thanks to the long ago gardener whose thick planting of trees and shrubs gave them the privacy needed to make love in the open air. Something Alex loved and something Skinner had quickly re-acquired a taste for once he'd been seduced by a lover who wouldn't take no for an answer. The only thing that could give them away to their neighbours was whatever sounds they might make, so they were very quiet...
...and that was why the sound of the latch on the garden gate being suddenly lifted sounded so loud.
They looked up in time to see Mulder blunder in. It took him a few seconds to make sense of what he was seeing, then he blushed deeply and lowered his gaze to stare at the decking.
"Um... I rang the... um... thought I heard..." He coughed like a ham actor. "...I'll... um... wait out front..."
The gate swung closed behind him. It took three attempts before he managed to make the latch hold.
"Fuck..." Skinner said, with quiet vehemence, pushing Alex to stand up. "That man is a fucking menace."
Alex, who was re-buttoning his shirt with blank concentration, said nothing.
Standing up, Skinner again caught sight of his reflection in the glass. The worn cut-offs he wore left nothing to the imagination.
"You better go let him in, Alex. I need to change."
"Sure."
Just as Alex's hand took hold of the door handle, Skinner's hand came to rest on top of it, holding it tight.
"Don't make him too welcome, Alex," Skinner said, hating the jealousy and insecurity he heard in his own words.
Alex just nodded and Skinner followed him through the house, leaving him to open the front door while he took the stairs two at a time. In the bathroom he stripped out of his shorts and boxers and left them on the floor. A splash of water on his face and a quick swipe with a towel and he was in the bedroom, awkwardly pulling on clean sweats over his sweat damp skin and cursing Mulder under his breath.
Still in top gear he returned downstairs and followed the quiet murmur of voices to the dining room. At the entrance he halted abruptly and took in the sight of Alex and Mulder, their faces almost close enough to touch, studying a set of photos spread out on the polished surface of the table.
"...maybe not, but these two entered the country over five years ago," Mulder was saying.
"No, I've never seen either of them before." Alex's tone was very definite. "But then you know the scale of the project and how compartmentalized it was. I made it my business to know all the operatives and the handlers in the cell I was assigned to, and yeah, it was close to the top of the anthill, but it was only one of a thousand others just like it. That's why I gave you access to the Consortium mainframe. If these men aren't in the records I can't help you."
The final sentence was delivered with regret, and when Alex looked at Mulder the expression he wore was of someone resigned to never quite measuring up.
Skinner had heard and seen enough. He walked into the dining room with a determination that instantly drew the attention of both men.
"What's this about, Mulder?" he asked, his tone letting it be known that whatever it was, it wasn't welcome.
Mulder gave him the faint little' almost smile' he always did when he was about to ask for something outrageous.
"It's about the same thing you've been avoiding me on for the past two weeks, Walter."
"Which is?"
And that was the foot in the door Mulder needed.
With growing impatience Skinner listened to a painfully detailed description of the whole paranoid edifice Mulder had constructed out of a couple of coincidences and some third hand reports of 'chatter' starting up in the old Consortium communication channels. But it was when he admitted that his major cause for concern was the 'bad vibes' he was picking up that Skinner finally lost it.
"And precisely what do you think I can do about this?"
"I know you're keeping tabs on anything the Bureau turns up, Walter, but I wanted you to ask... um... Alex if he had any insights... or had heard anything..."
Mulder favoured Alex with a magnanimous look that sent the words 'jump' and 'how high?' thundering through Skinner's brain.
And with dismay he saw that Alex was eagerly poised to oblige.
"If I had anything, Mulder, you'd have had "
"As you well know, Mulder," Skinner interrupted in the contemptuous tone he reserved for moronic underlings, " Alex was thoroughly debriefed when he came in from the Consortium. You were present at most of the interrogations. You got whatever there was to get then, and since he has been held incommunicado for almost two years he has nothing new to give. We're starting over, and no fucking way am I going to allow him to get sucked back into some pointless crusade against whatever threat, real or imagined, is currently busting your balls."
He began gathering the photographs up from the table, scattering a few of them in his irritated haste to be rid of them and Mulder. One of the pictures fluttered to the floor and both he and Alex bent down to retrieve it. When their hands grasped opposite sides at the same moment they looked up at each other. Alex's face was white with anger and with sudden clarity Skinner realised he had overstepped the mark so far as to be in danger of crossing the state line.
He released his grip on the photograph and put the others back down on the table. He could tell from Mulder's fascinated expression that the natural profiler was picking up on every nuance of non-verbal communication between him and his lover.
"... Um... that's my take on it, anyway... Alex... ah... can speak for himself..."
Alex's glacial expression thawed fractionally at the words and Skinner watched with relief as he placed the photo he held on top of the others and, lifting them off the table, handed them back to Mulder.
"Walter's right, I don't want to get involved, Mulder. Even if I did, I wouldn't be worth shit to you. In whatever's left of the project I'm a marked man... anyhow, I've changed... I know you don't believe that, but it's true... and... I've got something to lose now... something I don't want to lose..."
He went to stand beside Skinner.
Mulder shoved the photographs back into an envelope and doubled it over before looking up at them. He pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
"I shouldn't have come here," he admitted. "It's just that, apart from Scully and the Gunmen, the only other people who understand what I'm up against... the only people I trust... are in this room."
"You trust me?" Alex asked with an incredulous laugh.
"Maybe not trust in the conventional sense, Alex, but some version of it. Think about it. How many times have we followed each other off on some crazy tangent?" His gaze swept down Alex's left arm. "Usually to our cost, but we kept coming back for more. Call it what you like but something kept us from killing each other. And there were times..." He shook his head as if to clear it. "I guess the anger blinded me to the fact that you were working our side of the fence more than theirs. Handing us the Consortium on a platter should have made me realise that, but I was just too pissed with you and the world in general to see it."
He rolled the envelope so tightly his knuckles went white.
"You gave us all a breathing space... a chance..."
It was an admission that needed to be voiced and it opened the way for another.
Alex, his eyes fixed on the roll of paper in Mulder's hands, mumbled, "I'm sorry, Mulder..."
Mulder relaxed his grip on the mangled photographs and mumbled back, "Okay... and I'm sorry about what happened to you... you know... as a kid..."
"Okay."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence until Skinner spoke.
"Want a beer, Mulder?"
The everyday question diffused the tension and brought them all back to the reality of a suburban kitchen on a Saturday afternoon.
"Uh... thanks, but no... I've taken up enough of your weekend. Anyhow, Dana has plans for this afternoon... and I'm late already."
They both nodded their understanding and Skinner started to lead him back towards the front door but in the doorway he halted and looked back at Alex.
"I'm glad you and Walter have each other. You're right to want to hold onto that."
Alex didn't reply and with a sick apprehension Skinner saw Mulder out to his car. When he returned to the kitchen he found Alex shouldering his way into his jacket. He lifted the keys of his jeep out of the bowl on the countertop and glanced up at Skinner.
"Remember you told me to let you know when it was time to back off?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It's time, Walter."
A second later he was gone, and it was the wee small hours of the morning before he returned, whatever emotional hang ups remaining for the Mulder debacle pleasantly masked by a tequila buzz and the need to sleep. Something not granted to his lover, who followed an evening of anxious waiting with a night of anxious wakefulness.
They did not talk about it the next day, or any day that followed and though on the surface things seemed unchanged, through the rest of September their once comfortable silences became strained. Then, in October, Alex was offered and accepted a hefty promotion, making him personal assistant to the chief political analyst at the university's Russian Studies Centre and suddenly their schedules seemed to become irreconcilable.
Between work and therapy sessions and keeping in touch with family the only time they had together was at the weekends, and then Alex was irritable and slept a lot. Gradually their lovemaking lost its sensuality and playfulness and became snatched and need-driven, before ceasing altogether except for the occasional rough encounter that resulted from Skinner's attempts to initiate intimacy.
At the beginning of November Skinner noticed Alex's loss of appetite and resulting weight loss. When he brought it up Alex had snapped at him and said he needed to lose a few pounds. Skinner had let it go, but began to watch his lover all the more closely. He didn't need to watch very closely to be aware of Alex's insomnia and depression. His lover's face took on a gaunt, stressed look, not helped by the sniffling cold he'd had for over a month.
The only time he seemed to be happy was when he visited the Johnson's stables. Two hours there and he'd come back a shadow of the happy Alex of the spring and summer. The mood, however, never lasted long.
And then there had been Thanksgiving.
The memory of it still made his stomach churn. It had started out well, with an agreed decision to stay home on the holiday and make it special between just the two of them. They had shopped together and shared the task of preparing the meal, and the lazy morning start had been quiet and comfortable. It wasn't until Skinner returned from an emergency run to the gas station for a jar of overlooked cranberry sauce that the day took a detour into hell.
No jeep in the driveway, no Alex in the house, no message on the memo board or on the answering machine. Skinner had paced the floor for ten hours, too worried to do anything about the dinner that slowly turned to mush in the saucepans and crisped to a cider in the oven, until a call came from a downtown bar.
"You know some guy called Svetlov?"
"Yes."
"Better come get him before he ends up in the E.R. with alcohol poisoning."
He'd had to carry Alex to the car and half way home he'd pulled over just in time for his lover to throw up in the gutter while he kept him on his feet. The long, God-awful day ended with Alex unconscious in their bed and him trying to return the kitchen appliances and cookware to a usable state.
If the monumental hangover Alex suffered the following day was not enough punishment for what he'd done, the guilt he felt about it made up for any shortfall. It also widened the breach that had opened up between them to an extent that left Skinner wondering if it could ever be bridged.
But that was simply not an option and as he settled Alex more securely in his arms he made a promise to himself that he would do whatever it took to make them one again.
To that end the following weekend, two Sundays before their first Christmas together, he brought Alex breakfast in bed, determined to talk it out. He set the tray down on the dresser and opened the curtains to the dull December sunshine. He stood watching Alex sleep for a few minutes. It had been after four in the morning before he'd settled into sleep, so Skinner had waited until after eleven to wake him.
Alex muttered grumpily when Skinner shook his shoulder lightly.
"Alex, it's late. I've brought you some breakfast."
Alex groggily roused himself and allowed Skinner to prop the pillows up behind him against the headboard. He accepted the tray and began to pick at the food Skinner had carefully prepared to pique his appetite.
"Have you anything planned for today?" Skinner asked.
"No," Alex answered. "Why?"
"I thought we might take a drive out to the beach. There's plenty of daylight left. We could go for a walk. Have dinner somewhere..."
"And?" Alex asked suspiciously.
Skinner looked away before he answered. "I think it's time we talked."
"About?" Alex asked, unhelpfully.
"About us," he answered patiently.
"What's to talk about?"
"How miserable we are might be a good place to start," Skinner offered.
Alex smirked at him and indicated the room. "This isn't misery, Walter, trust me."
"I'm miserable, Alex, and..."
Alex slammed the tray so hard it bounced off the dresser, splashing the eggs and coffee over the walls and rug.
"And it's my fucking fault, of course..." he shouted, throwing the sheet off and getting out of bed.
"No!" Skinner shouted back, "I know how hard you've tried, Alex—"
"But it's not enough." Alex yelled, "It'll never be enough."
He went into the dressing room, pulling a drawer out roughly in search of clean sweats. Skinner followed him, to stand in the doorway.
"Alex please, let's sit down and talk this through..."
Alex ignored him and continued to get dressed.
"Will you do that...for me?"
Alex paused in pulling down his sweatshirt for a moment, but then stepped into a pair of loafers. He walked up to Skinner and looked him in the eye. Skinner didn't move.
"Walter don't," Alex said with determination.
Skinner's jaw flexed involuntarily and he could hear his own teeth grinding, but he flicked his gaze away from Alex's face and stepped aside, out of the doorway.
Alex was gone within a heartbeat, his footsteps escaping down the hardwood staircase and across the hallway. There was the sound of car keys being snatched from the hall table, then the slam of the front door echoed through the empty house.
Skinner sat down heavily on the side of the bed and stared at the debris of the breakfast tray. Unconsciously he waited for the roar of the jeep engine as it pulled out of the drive. It never came and after a few minutes he walked to the window to look down into the driveway.
Alex was sitting on the front steps. Without hesitation Skinner walked out of the bedroom and downstairs. He took two jackets from the hall closet, put his on and carried the other outside. He sat on the cold top step and leaned forward to drape Alex's jacket around his shoulders. He could see the slight trembling in the other man's body. For almost thirty minutes they sat in silence, until Skinner said, "It's cold Alex. If you're staying, come inside."
Alex turned to look back up at him, a lost expression on his face.
"Okay," he said, then stood up and went back into the house. Skinner followed him. Inside they hung up their jackets and stood uncomfortably in the hallway.
Then by some mutual, unspoken agreement they moved into each other's arms, holding on fiercely.
"Jesus Walter," Alex said, "don't let me fuck this up."
Skinner pushed him away so he could make sure Alex was looking at him.
"You do not have the monopoly on fucking up in this relationship Alex. Months ago you tried to tell me something was wrong and I wouldn't listen. I'm going to listen now, and you're going to talk."
Alex nodded as an involuntary shiver ran through him.
"Why don't you take a hot shower?" Skinner suggested. "It'll warm you up."
"Yeah," Alex said, his voice weary, "but I'll clean the mess up first."
"You go take your shower. I'll do it."
"It's my mess, Walter. I'll clean it up."
Skinner shrugged and went into the kitchen to make fresh coffee. Alex followed him to get a garbage bag and some cleaning supplies, then disappeared upstairs.
When he returned to the kitchen, showered and dressed, they sat together and drank the coffee.
"Still want to take that walk?" Alex asked.
"Sure."
Not exactly the open and frank discussion he had anticipated, but better than the alternative. It felt a little like some unseen official had called a time-out between them, and in it they spent the day together, driving out to Virginia Beach to brave the chill December wind before finding an inn to have dinner. Skinner noticed unhappily that not even the brisk five-mile walk had been enough to make Alex do justice to the delicious meal. He also refused dessert, but drank three cups of coffee and fidgeted uneasily all through the drive home.
Once inside the house, Alex excused himself saying he felt like taking a soak in the tub and disappeared into the guest bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. Skinner stared at the closed door for a few moments, then went into the study. He had an important meeting the following morning that required preparation and with great reluctance he took a thick file from his briefcase and settled at the desk to read.
It took him longer than he anticipated and it was several hours later before he finished up and went to the kitchen to make some supper. Alex, looking more at ease, had beaten him to it. A sandwich and mug of cocoa awaited him. He wasn't surprised to see that Alex had cocoa but no sandwich. Still he got a lazy smile from his lover and that satisfied him. He reached over the kitchen island and pulled Alex into a gentle nuzzling kiss. The mouth opened to him, after a little prompting, but it didn't go anywhere and Alex withdrew.
"I'm going on up, Walter," Alex told him, "I'm tired."
Message received and understood.
"See you in the morning then," Skinner said. "Sleep well."
Alex looked at him sheepishly and walked out of the kitchen. Skinner took his time eating the sandwich, even more time wiping up the kitchen and putting away the dishes. As he climbed the stairs he saw that the light was off in their bedroom, so he used the main bathroom to wash up and undress. Sliding in beside Alex's warm body, he settled into his side of the bed, going along with the pretence that the other man was asleep. Having Alex lying close beside him in their bed was all that mattered, the rest they'd have to work at.
Alex was like a whirlwind the next morning. He had breakfast made and on the table by the time Skinner came down. He even ate some of it, and drank the huge glass of orange juice the other man forced on him in the hope that it would help him shake off the ever-present cold he'd had since the onset of the winter.
"I'm going now, Walter," Alex said, awkwardly picking up his briefcase, a stack of loose papers and his car keys.
"Don't forget your five o'clock with Dr. Massie today," Skinner reminded him.
"No, I remembered, so I'll be late home."
"Okay," Skinner said as Alex disappeared out the door.
"And Alex," he called out, waiting for a reply.
Alex, looking irritated, came back into the room.
"Speaking of doctors, will you make an appointment today to get something for that cold. It's getting very old—"
He stopped mid sentence at Alex's panicked look.
"I'll take care of it today, Walter," Alex promised before hightailing it out to his jeep.
The house settled into silence. Skinner sat unmoving, his mind replaying the last exchange between them. It tripped some kind of alarm in the part of his mind that was all cop. The rest of mind screamed denial, but even that part could not ignore the warning signals, the agitation, the changing sleep pattern, the loss of appetite and sex drive, the mood swings, the persistent cold.
No, he thought, I'm a federal agent for Christ's sake, I'd have noticed something before this.
He finished his breakfast and went upstairs to dress. Slipping on his jacket he paused in front of the dresser Alex used, his hand resting on the handle of the top drawer. Sliding it open, he moved the top layer of clothing slightly. A stab of guilt went through him and he closed the drawer decisively. He was out the front door and standing beside his car before he admitted to himself he couldn't let it go. He went back into the house and began searching it systematically, room by room, his training and instinct kicking into life.
Three quarters of an hour later he found the five neatly folded packets of white powder in a plastic pouch attached to the underneath of a drawer in the guest bathroom. They tumbled out onto the vanity unit counter looking innocuous and the sight of them made him want to lose his breakfast. He leaned heavily on the wall behind the toilet until the wave of nausea passed and then he closed the lid and sat down on it.
Like the sickness, the shock didn't last long and soon he was struggling with a whole slew of emotions, anger, hurt and betrayal. But over-riding them all was a feeling of desolation, as though he'd suddenly realised the task he'd taken on was simply too great. Hauling himself to his feet he went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face then stood for a while with his face buried in one of the soft white guest towels trying to psyche himself up to face the day of meetings he couldn't put off. Throwing the towel down on the counter he slipped the plastic pouch into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out his cell phone.
"Yes, Marie," he confirmed to his assistant, "I am coming in. I've been held up with a problem at home but I'll be there in plenty of time for the nine-thirty meeting."
He then dialled the number for Dr. Massie and requested an emergency consultation at four o'clock. Considering the growing anger he felt, the psychiatrist's office was the only safe venue he could think of to confront Alex with his discovery.
Part Seven
Skinner had already been waiting in Consulting Room 1 for twenty frustrating minutes when Dr. Massie arrived promptly at 4 pm. It was just the right length of time for the anger he felt to tip over into fury.
"Hello Walter," the doctor greeted him with a wary look. "I've a good idea why you're here."
In response Skinner extracted the transparent plastic pouch from his jacket pocket and dropped it contemptuously onto the coffee table in front of him.
"Ah, indeed," he said. "This is unfortunate."
Skinner reacted to the comment with disbelief and Massie rushed to explain.
"Last session, Alex agreed that he needed to tell you, but clearly he chose not to follow through on it."
"How long has it been going on?"
"He's been using for a little over six weeks."
"And he told you about it," Skinner said coldly.
"Almost straight away."
"Whereas, I was left to figure it out all by myself."
"Considering the last conversation I had with him I can only assume that Alex wanted you to find out by yourself."
"Why?" Skinner asked, completely lost.
"It's clear to me that he intended to provoke you."
"He's succeeded."
"I can see that, Walter. And you need to get on top of the anger you feel. Right now. I don't mean that you should suppress it. It is justified. But you need to use the power of it to get both of you through this. Otherwise it will destroy what you have."
"Why should it be down to me? I'm not the one using fucking cocaine? I have done everything to make this work... put up with his moods... taken all his shit... made excuses for him..." He paused to gesture at the room. "I've gone into counselling for Christ's sake... and..." he looked directly at Massie "... I've forgiven him."
Massie stared at him intently over the top of his glasses. "Walter, put away the martyr complex, you've polished your halo long enough."
"WHAT?" Skinner demanded.
Massie was not intimidated in the slightest by the raw aggression pouring off Skinner.
"You know exactly what I mean," he asserted. "Unless you're telling me I've read your motivations wrongly. Have I got it wrong, Walter? Are you trying to tell me that you're using this relationship in lieu of a hairshirt? Because, quite frankly, that dog don't hunt. You're in this relationship because you want to be... because, despite knowing what kind of man Alex is, you want him... always have done... always will."
Skinner subsided back into the armchair in the face of the indisputable, and Massie poured him a glass of water.
He took a sip of the water and leaned forward to put the glass down on the table. He stared into its clear contents while Massie continued.
"Of course there's more to it than wanting, Walter. I tend to be a sceptic about these things, but even I have to admit to seeing more than just a physical and emotional connection between the two of you. It's something deeper, a sense that you belong to each other. It's almost tangible and it runs very deep. It has to—otherwise there'd be no getting past the kind of history you share."
"I don't want to lose him," Skinner said dully.
"I know you don't. Your actions have shown that. You've given him the support and affirmation he needs. You've been patient and forgiving." He looked at Skinner sympathetically. "He told me about Thanksgiving."
"Not one of our better days."
Massie smiled ruefully at him. "Definitely not, but there have been good days too. Up until you hit this bad patch, I could see real growth in the relationship. Alex also told me about the way you handled his unscheduled visit to his for want of a better word 'adoptive' parents. Something he also handled pretty well himself, in my opinion."
Skinner nodded in agreement.
"You know, I don't think we should lose sight of just how much effort Alex has put in too. After all, this is a lifestyle that is totally foreign to him. Can you imagine having to do the reverse? Adjusting to the kind of lifestyle he lived?"
Skinner shook his head, then asked bluntly, "Can it ever work for him?"
Massie shrugged. "Only time will tell, but, considering how you feel about each other, I think it's worth the gamble."
"Why the drugs, doctor?"
"Lots of reasons, I'd imagine. The honeymoon period of your new life together has ended and a sense of permanence has taken its place. That's quite an adjustment for someone like Alex. A part of him may even be questioning if he wants this kind of life at all. Or maybe something triggered an anxiety that he couldn't cope with it, or the fear that he was going to fail. Provoking rejection is an effective way of dealing with the possibility of it. Can you think of a better way for him to provoke rejection in you Walter than to start using coke?"
Skinner shook his head.
"We can really only guess at the motivations. I'd say there's a good chance he doesn't consciously know why himself," Massie offered, checking his watch.
"Can I take it you want to remain for the session with Alex?"
"Yes."
"And I'm assuming you want to try to sort this out."
"What do you think doctor?"
Massie smiled at him. "Then what we need to do is decide how to proceed. What are your thoughts Walter?"
"Honestly Doctor?" Skinner asked. "Half an hour ago I wanted to beat the shit out of him, and it still has a certain appeal. But I guess that's not an option."
"Not a productive one, Walter, no. Though I do understand the sentiment. If I may step outside the boundary of professionalism for a moment, my own first reaction was also one of anger and disappointment. After all, I've stuck my neck out about as far as it will go for Alex. I've given him more latitude any previous patient."
At Massie's words, Skinner realised just how much of a risk the doctor had taken.
"Of course," the doctor continued, "now that it's out in the open I'll have to take action today. I can't permit him to remain out on licence while he continues to use."
"I understand," Skinner said. "I have no intention of living with a user. That's the one thing that's not negotiable."
"Then that's what we need to deal with today."
"Agreed."
"I'm going to order some coffee. Why don't you think over our discussion and get your thoughts in order." Massie suggested. "You might also want to run through one of those anger management techniques we worked at with Alex. I think there's a good possibility the provocation has not run its full course."
Skinner didn't miss the subtle message the doctor was giving him, so taking it in the spirit it was intended, he settled back and tried to clear his mind.
At five minutes after the hour, the door to the consulting room opened and Alex walked in. On seeing Skinner he stopped dead in his tracks, his hand still grasping the handle.
"Walter?" he questioned, his voice edgy and surprised.
Skinner didn't look at him. Instead he fixed his eyes on the transparent plastic pouch lying on the coffee table.
Alex's gaze followed his. He swallowed audibly, but said nothing.
Skinner looked up at him. He hated to admit it but the expression of relief on Alex's face lent credence to Massie's assertion that Alex wanted him to find the drugs.
"You better come in and sit down, Alex," Massie told him.
He did as he was asked, removing his topcoat and hanging it up before he did so.
"Walter has something to say to you."
Skinner took a deep breath.
"First I want to ask you something. Are you high?"
Outrage etched itself briefly on Alex's face before he realised he had no right to be outraged.
"No," he replied, sullenly.
"Good, because I have no intention of having this discussion with a drug."
Skinner again paused, glancing over at Massie, letting him know that although the anger was only millimetres below the surface it was controlled and being put to good use as he had advised.
"Alex, you know by now that I'm a very simple man. What you see is what you get. You also know that if I have something to say, I say it bluntly and I mean it. I want you to listen to what I have to say now."
He moved forward in his chair and looked directly at Alex, making eye-to-eye contact.
"I love you. I want to be with you. I want our life together back."
He let the words hang in the air between them for a little while before he continued.
"Now, I have two questions and I need you to be as honest with me. How do you feel about me and what do you want from this relationship?"
It was crystal clear from the expression on Alex's face that this was not at all the way he had expected Skinner to react. He looked bewildered, maybe even a little disappointed.
"Um... I know you love me..." he began uncertainly, then the old familiar blank shutter came down across his face "... but I don't know why... or how... how can you love me Walter?"
Skinner recognised it for what it was, not a question at all but a challenge explain how you love the unlovable.
He had no intention of accepting it.
"Most of the time I find it remarkably easy, Alex. Only very occasionally, like now when you are being a total shit, do I find it difficult."
He caught Massie's wince in his peripheral vision. He ignored it. He'd promised Alex honesty.
His lover seemed to be totally nonplussed by the answer. Apparently, even for him, there was blunt and then there was blunt. Skinner decided to take advantage of his confusion.
"So? Do I get my answers?"
"Uh?"
He took another deep breath and spoke the words that were probably the hardest to utter in his life to date.
"Does this end now, Alex, or do we stay together and make it work?"
He watched the shutter lift away—to reveal the vulnerable soul of his lover.
"Oh, Jesus, Walter... I want it to work... I love you..."
Skinner stood and pulled him into an embrace. They held on tightly for a long time. When he opened his eyes, Skinner found himself looking at a very happy psychiatrist, who dramatically mimed mopping his bow.
Skinner mouthed the words 'thank you' to the doctor, but he wasn't finished with Alex. He pulled back and took his lover's face between his hands.
"I have one more thing to say, Alex. You get clean now and this is the end of your career as a substance abuser."
Alex nodded solemnly.
"And I'm including alcohol in that. One slip up and it's over. That's not a threat or an ultimatum, that's a promise. Do you understand?"
"Yes," came the croaky answer.
"Okay."
He kissed Alex's lips gently and they separated, moving to sit together on the couch.
Massie took his place opposite them.
"We'd better deal with the practicalities," he said.
They both nodded.
"I suppose, since this breaks the terms of the licence, I should readmit Alex to the facility while he goes through detox."
Alex looked a little desperately at the doctor and then at Skinner.
"Could we handle it at home doctor?" Skinner asked.
"I don't think so, Walter. We have the expertise here needed to take Alex through detox."
"But it could be done at home, if Alex agreed to co-operate fully and we had the proper medical supervision?" Skinner persisted.
"It would be against proper procedure..." the doctor began.
"Since when have you followed proper procedures with us Dr. Massie?" Skinner asked.
The doctor considered for a moment, then he took out a notebook from his pocket and opened it. He began to write on a slip of paper as he said, "I'm giving you the names and phone numbers of several addition workers. If you're determined to do this you'll need someone like this. The one you hire will be able to provide you with everything you'll need."
He handed the paper to Alex.
"Are you willing to do this?" he asked the silent man.
"Yes," Alex said without reservation.
"Okay then, you have my number if you need it. Good luck."
They all stood and the doctor bent down to pick up the pouch of drugs. "Do you want me to dispose of this?" he asked.
"If you would, doctor," Skinner said, noticing the way Alex's eyes seemed fixed on the little white packets.
He put his hand on Alex's arm and asked, "You're sure?"
"Yes, Walter, please can we go home?"
"Let's go," Skinner agreed.
"Alex," the doctor said, "give me your car keys."
"I can drive..." Alex began, but gave up at the fixed look on Massie's face and meekly handed over the keys.
"This isn't about you driving, Alex, I just think you should travel home with Walter," Massie said, putting the keys in his pocket.
"I'll find someone to drive it home for you over the next few days," he promised.
Alex nodded his acceptance and moved to the door.
Skinner turned back to the doctor to shake his hand before following his lover from the room.
Alex was already displaying the first symptoms of withdrawal by the time they reached home. He went straight to their bedroom to change while Skinner began contacting the counsellors. There was no answer at the first number and the second counsellor was unavailable, but the third phone call to a Martin Dempsey, bore fruit and Skinner gave the man directions to the house.
Going upstairs he found Alex already dressed in sweats, his feet bare, sitting on the side of the bed. He wore no prosthesis and his arm was wrapped comfortingly around his chest. Skinner took off his jacket and shoes and slipped in behind Alex, pulling him back to lie with him flat out on the bed, his arms locked around the younger man.
"I'm sorry..."
"Shhhh..." Skinner whispered into his ear insistently. "No whys and wherefores until this is over."
Alex nodded and sighed deeply, trying to relieve the tension in his muscles. Skinner stroked along his arm soothingly.
"Someone's coming over. His name's Martin," Skinner told him, "and I've called Susan and told her you have a bad flu and won't be in the rest of the week. She wasn't surprised, said you'd been off colour for the past few weeks."
Alex said nothing and they lay together until the bell rang. Skinner kissed Alex's cheek before climbing off the bed to answer it.
Martin Dempsey was a big brawny man in his early forties, who looked like he could handle just about any eventuality his work might throw at him. His knowing eyes told the story that he had seen all there was to see, but Skinner nonetheless brought him into the living room and explained his relationship to Alex before introducing the two. The counsellor simply shrugged his shoulders as if to say the information was so noted and Skinner left him to fetch Alex down.
When they walked back into the room, Dempsey stood to shake Alex's hand and then sat down again taking out a checklist, which he went through with Alex. It didn't take long and he set it aside to regard the two men on the couch opposite him.
"Walter, do you have any experience of this?"
"Yes—"
Alex's shark intake of breath made Skinner look at him.
"I didn't lie to you. I never did smack. Back in 'Nam I smoked weed... a lot... and when I came home I snorted coke a few times... but that's as far as it went."
"Well, it can be helpful if the partner giving support has some personal experience," Dempsey said, with a ghost of a smile on his face. "The good news, and Alex knows this already, is that coming off coke isn't like alcohol or heroin. It won't be a picnic, but the worst should be over in four or five days."
Skinner glanced at Alex who nodded agreement.
Dempsey continued. "The key aim over these next few days is to provide a safe environment with support and no access to a supply. I've brought you some documentation that explains everything and gives good advice."
He handed Skinner a sheaf of leaflets.
"Now, I'd like to run a few medical checks on Alex and take some samples," he said picking up his black leather bag.
At Skinner's uneasy look he said, "I'm a qualified nurse and I spoke to Dr. Massie before I came over here. I'm following his instructions."
Skinner nodded.
"Where can we go?" Dempsey asked.
"Upstairs," Alex spoke for the first time and showed the counsellor the way.
Skinner went into the kitchen and filled the coffee maker. While he waited he read through the advice sheets. It seemed that stimulants such as coffee or alcohol were not advised so he turned off the coffee maker and took out a quart of milk from the fridge, poured some into a saucepan and took the can of drinking chocolate from the cupboard. In the freezer he found a couple of blocks of the bland potato soup that Alex liked and left it on the counter to defrost. He hunted through the kitchen cupboards and filled a tray with other items recommended in the literature.
The sound of other two men's footsteps in the hall brought him back into the living room.
"Alex is in good shape. Blood pressure and blood sugar are normal. I'd like to keep a check on the blood sugar levels over the next twenty-four hours. I've left a testing kit and shown Alex how to use it."
He picked up his jacket and put it on, then snapped the leather bag closed and fished in his pocket for his car keys.
"I'll be here at seven-thirty tomorrow morning," he confirmed.
Skinner caught Alex's confused look.
"I can't take any time off right now Alex, so Martin will stay with you while I'm at work."
Alex seemed okay with the arrangement and Skinner saw the counsellor to the door. When he returned he found Alex pacing in the kitchen.
"Will you try to eat something?" Skinner asked.
"Yeah," Alex replied, " that soup would be good."
"I'll nuke it," Skinner said, putting the blocks of soup into the microwave.
In ten minutes they were sitting down at the kitchen table to a bowl of steaming soup and dry crackers. They both struggled their way through the snack. When he put the bowls in the dishwasher Alex resumed his pacing.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" Skinner asked.
"Are you serious?" Alex managed a faint smile.
"If I did, you realise I'd have to arrest myself," Skinner found himself smiling at the weirdness of the situation.
"I find that all too believable," Alex said, "so let's watch some TV instead."
They climbed onto the couch together and Alex flicked on the sports channel. He managed to hold it together for nearly an hour before he began the pacing again. Skinner watched the weary body drive itself into further fatigue for as long as he could stand it.
"Tell me what you're feeling Alex," he asked.
"Can't describe it," Alex told him, "I want to sleep but I can't."
Needing to do something positive Skinner went into the kitchen and made some hot chocolate. When it was ready he poured it into two mugs and carried them up to the main bathroom with its big tub, knowing Alex was following. As the bath filled he stripped himself and Alex. Getting in first, he helped Alex to climb in and eased them both down into the enveloping warmth. He felt Alex relax immediately and encouraged the relaxation with a soothing massage until the water began to cool and they went to bed.
It went downhill from then on. About three in the morning they gave up trying to sleep.
"Walter, you have to work tomorrow. I'm going downstairs," Alex told him, getting out of bed.
Skinner followed him, putting on a bathrobe and catching hold off the other man just as he finished pulling on his sweats.
"We're in this together, Alex," Skinner told him when Alex turned in his arms and rested his head on Skinner's shoulder.
"That's good to know," Alex said, his voice muffled. "But go back to bed..."
Skinner lifted Alex's head and looked into his eyes. "No chance."
Taking the testing kit Skinner followed the younger man downstairs into the living room.
"It might be a good idea to check your blood sugar," he said, putting the box on the coffee table in front of Alex.
He made himself a pot of coffee and brought a mug into the living room.
"Well?"
"It's low," Alex told him and Skinner went into the kitchen. He returned with a box of miniature 'Butterfinger' bars.
He dropped them into Alex's lap. "The stash I knew about."
"I have no secrets left," Alex volunteered, putting two of the candy bars in his mouth at once.
"I hope not," Skinner said sincerely, taking a deep swallow of coffee.
He'd just managed to put the cup down before he was knocked back against the cushions by Alex's eager body stretching out full-length on top of him. An insistent mouth attached itself to his and a tongue slipped inside, bringing with it the honey sweetness of the candy and the even sweeter beginnings of long denied arousal. Skinner twisted them round until Alex lay beneath him, pinned against the supple leather of the couch. He insinuated his hand under the loose sweatshirt and traced the defined musculature of the chest to a hardening nipple.
In his mind's eye he could see the small dusky rosette darken, its skin puckering. He twisted the nub gently between his thumb and forefinger and pulled a needy moan from the man below him. Taking advantage of his position his tongue darted down into Alex's mouth and he rubbed his groin sinuously against the younger man, bringing himself to erection.
Urgency overtook him and he slid his other hand under the waistband of Alex's sweatpants, running it along a smooth flank to cup a gloriously rounded asscheek. He began to knead it, his mouth tracking across Alex's jaw and down his neck to the hotspot he'd discovered early in the relationship. He moved in on it, alternating teasing licks with slow suction.
"Walter..."
He growled in response.
"Walter... I think I'm going to be sick..."
Skinner leapt from the couch as if he'd been shocked and quickly hauled Alex to his feet. Within seconds he had the unresisting man in the downstairs bathroom, on his knees leaning over the toilet. There wasn't much in Alex's stomach and it wasn't long before he lost it all. Skinner propped him up against the tiled wall and fetched him a glass of cold water. He sipped cautiously while Skinner wiped his sweaty face with a damp washcloth.
"Okay now?" Skinner asked.
"Yeah, great," Alex replied, completely listless.
"Let's get you back to bed," Skinner suggested.
"Don't want to go upstairs... too far..."
"Come on, just as far as the couch."
Skinner manhandled Alex back onto the couch and went up to get a pillow and blanket. He settled Alex's head on the pillow and tucked the blanket around his chilled body.
"Try to get some sleep," he suggested hopefully, but watched as the hours ticked away and Alex paid, in full, the price of a fling with cocaine.
When Alex fell into a fitful doze at six thirty Skinner went up to take a lengthy shower, during which he relieved his frustration and attempted to get himself in gear for a long day at the Hoover. He cooked a good breakfast and was surprised when a bleary eyed Alex wandered into the kitchen and ate more than half of it directly of his plate.
When the doorbell sounded, Skinner interrupted Alex's consumption of a bowl of oatmeal to take his morning kiss before admitting the counsellor. He gathered his things together and put on his overcoat.
"I'll call you when I get to the office," he promised Alex at the front door. "If you need anything... or me... just call."
Skinner struggled through a hellish day, battling worry and exhaustion. He called home four times and was assured three times by Dempsey and once by Alex that everything was fine. Nothing contented him, however, until he arrived home just after six. Martin Dempsey was waiting for him in the living room and the man looked at him critically.
"He's asleep," he said, answering the unasked question, "which is where you should be."
"How did it go?" Skinner asked.
"Usual first day," Dempsey replied, "set up a schedule of exercise and relaxation therapies. He was very co-operative."
Skinner wearily nodded approval as he loosened his tie and rolled his shoulders.
"I think he's in rebound hypersomnia, and don't worry it just means he's going to be out for a long time. It's a good sign, it means his sleep pattern will return to normal soon, though the cravings will kick in like a bitch. Anyway, he'll probably not surface until tomorrow morning, so I suggest you take this opportunity to catch up on your own sleep."
"Thanks, I'll take your advice," Skinner agreed and saw Dempsey to the front door. "Same time tomorrow?"
Dempsey wished him goodnight and left. Skinner locked the front door and dragged himself upstairs. Alex was buried under a cocoon of blankets in the middle of their bed and Skinner shrugged out of his clothes, leaving them where they fell and crawled in under the comforter to soak up his lover's warmth. He had no memory of falling asleep.
The counsellor was right and Alex slept straight through until the following morning. Even then Skinner had to wake him to say goodbye. He looked like someone waking up with a Grade 'A' hangover and Skinner could sympathize since he had woken up with a Grade 'A' headache.
"Guess I don't need to ask how you're feeling," he told Alex, taking in the sleep-swollen, heavily bearded face.
"Coffee..." Alex croaked.
Skinner ran his hand through the porcupine hair and kissed Alex's forehead.
"I'll ask Martin to bring you up a cup. Be good."
He got a grunt in reply as Alex rolled over onto his stomach. A gentle swat in the vicinity of a contoured behind drew another muffled grunt from Alex and Skinner left him to begin his day.
Marie's careful enquiry as to whether something was wrong made Skinner realise that he wasn't doing as good a job of covering his worry as he thought. Reassuring her that everything was fine he took a moment to adjust his positive corporate persona before going to the monthly policy review with the Director and the other deputies. At the meeting he was careful to keep a low profile, contributing only when issues of direct concern to his department.
Kersh gave his usual grandstanding performance through which Skinner silently ground his teeth. In his mind he ran through several scenarios of how the bastard could one day be hoist by his own fast-talking petard. But since that was an unlikely eventuality, he contented himself with thinking about how galling it must be for the other man to have to sit with him in a meeting of equals.
Back in his office he called home. Dempsey answered the phone.
"We're doing fine," the man assured him, "just about to have lunch, then we'll try some yoga."
Skinner could make out Alex's Anglo-Saxon suggestion as to what yoga could do with itself and it made him smile.
He didn't go straight home and instead went to the local Christmas tree market. Browsing around for the right tree he tried to ignore the disappointment he felt that Alex wasn't there with him. They had worked through almost a year of holidays and special occasions, finding their way and making their own traditions. Alex had adopted a neutral approach to most of it and Skinner hadn't pushed him about any of it, but he had been really looking forward to Christmas. Christmas was big with all the Skinners. Just as the Svetlovs came together to celebrate Easter, the Skinners united to celebrate Christmas.
Several months ago they had agreed they'd spend Christmas day together and would travel to Iowa on St. Stephen's Day. He'd been looking forward to both, but even if they didn't make it to the Skinner homestead this year he was determined to have a proper Christmas in their own home. He chose a blue spruce for its symmetry and strength and arranged to have it delivered the following day.
Making one more stop on the way home he picked up some Thai food. Stepping across the threshold he sensed immediately that something was wrong. Martin Dempsey met him in the hallway.
"Relax Walter, this is normal," Dempsey told him.
"What's wrong?"
"He's in a depressive phase and the craving is bad," the counsellor explained, "but this is how it runs its course."
"What can I do?"
"Not a lot. Be there and make sure he drinks plenty of fluids. That's about it."
"Where is he?"
"In the bedroom," Dempsey told him, taking the bag of Thai food, "I'll put this in the kitchen for you."
Skinner handed it over and took the stairs two at a time. The door was closed and he knocked softly.
"Alex?"
At the muffled response he went in. Alex was folded up inside the comforter, wedged into the corner. His head rested against the wall and his face was pale and drawn. Skinner took off his topcoat and threw it on the armchair. He sat on the bed close enough for their legs to touch. Looking down at the man he loved he was torn between anger at Alex's stupidity and pain at the hurt he was going through.
"I love you Alex."
The words came out of his mouth unplanned and Alex's reaction was just as unexpected. He began to cry, very quietly. Skinner didn't hesitate, he slipped onto the floor and took the unresisting body into his arms, rocking the both of them gently. They sat on the floor like that for a long time until the younger man was cried out.
"It hurts," Alex said suddenly.
"What hurts?" Skinner asked.
"Everything," was the reply.
"Let's do something about that," Skinner told him, wishing he could fix 'everything' and willing to try.
Standing up, he encouraged Alex to his feet and helped him onto the bed. He poured out a glass of orange juice and handed it to Alex.
"Try to drink it all," he requested.
In the bathroom he took out a bottle of massage oil and picked up several bath towels. Stripping down to his boxers and t-shirt he spread the towels over the bed and helped Alex take off his sweats, settling him on the towels. He warmed the oil in his hands and began the massage on Alex's back. As his hands completed the first firm stroke along the spine Alex grunted in pain. Realising that the younger man's sensitised skin was uncomfortable with the pressure, he gentled his touch and began soothing rather than massaging.
"Easy Alex, it's going to be okay," Skinner said quietly.
He worked his way along Alex's back and shoulders and down his right arm. Then worked a little on his stump and legs. When he returned to the back he was able to increase the pressure enough to tackle the muscle tension and he felt the body relax beneath his touch. But the breathing pattern remained tight, punctuated with sighs and hitches.
Skinner slid his hand under Alex to rest against his diaphragm and said, "Just breathe normally."
He could feel what was wrong straight away and he rolled Alex onto his back and stretched out beside him. Taking Alex's hand he placed it flat over his diaphragm.
"Feel the way the muscle moves as you breathe," he instructed.
Alex took several snatched breaths and Skinner placed a hand over his.
"Feel how the muscle snaps like a rubber band at the end of each breath in."
A few breaths and Alex nodded.
"Now," Skinner coached, "draw the breath in slowly and at the top hold the muscle tight. Feel it in your hand. You control it."
Alex tried to do as Skinner instructed but groaned in frustration after six or seven uncomfortable breaths.
"You can do it," Skinner promised, "take charge."
And then it was easy and Alex felt the air rush into parts of his lungs that hadn't been used in a long time. In his lover's face Skinner could clearly see how it hurt and was wonderful at the same time. Gradually the breathing pattern levelled and eased and Alex seemed to melt into the bed. Skinner spread the comforter over him.
"I'm going to get us some food," Skinner said. "I brought Thai home. How does that sound?"
"Uh-uh," Alex whispered, "oatmeal."
"Why oatmeal?"
"Everything tastes like oatmeal, so I want to eat oatmeal."
"Oatmeal it is," he capitulated and went downstairs to make it.
They ate together sitting up in bed, exchanging the odd word until Alex's eyes began to droop and Skinner took away the tray and turned out the beside light.
"Goodnight Alex," he said, ruffling the sable hair along the neck, noticing how long it had grown, "I'll be up in a little while."
"Wake me if I'm asleep," Alex mumbled.
"Sure," Skinner lied.
He took the dishes down and put them in the dishwasher. Putting the rest of the take away food in the fridge he wiped the kitchen counter and went into his study. The phone calls took a very long time and he had to lie a second time but by the end of them he'd explained to Alex's family why he was suddenly unavailable and to his own the possibility that they wouldn't be going to Iowa for the holidays. The 'flu excuse served both purposes, not serious but incapacitating.
Duty done, he called Dr. Massie and had a long talk, during which they set up an appointment, the doctor agreeing to come to the house. Finally he called the Johnson's and made another arrangement, for Alex this time —if he wanted it.
A long, hot shower used up the last of his energy and he thankfully climbed in beside the warm body in their big, comfortable bed.
The next morning there was a definite improvement in Alex and he was up and had the coffee made before Skinner emerged from the shower. He helped Skinner on with his bathrobe and put the mug of coffee into his hand, then sat on the toilet to watch the other man shave.
"You might want to try this yourself," Skinner suggested.
"Oh, I don't know," Alex said, standing up to look into the mirror over Skinner's shoulder. He rubbed his hand along his bristled jaw. "I've never had a beard be—"
He couldn't finish the sentence that brought the ugly memories back to both of them. Skinner watched Alex close his eyes tightly as if that might keep them at bay.
"Don't, Alex," he said, putting down the razor and turning to his lover. He cupped Alex's jaw with both hands and kissed him lightly, then he trailed a line of kisses along the rough jaw line. He straightened up and waited until Alex opened his eyes.
"If that's what you want..." he said, "... that's okay by me."
Alex swallowed hard. "No, I don't think so, much as I hate shaving..."
Skinner kissed him again and went back to his task.
"Want to get out of the house today?" Skinner asked, as casually as he could manage.
"Can I?"
"It's up to you," Skinner told him. "Ted Johnson is taking delivery of two new colts today. He'd like you to help settle them in. But only if you want."
The last was rushed and unsure.
"Yeah, I want to," Alex told him.
"Good, Martin will drive you over, just in case..."
"Walter... I can't expect you to trust me... but..."
"No, I didn't mean that, Alex, your jeep is still at the hospital. Dr. Massie called to say he was sorry but he couldn't get it delivered before tonight."
"Oh... right... that's fine."
"Good." Skinner glanced at his watch on the bathroom shelf. "Jeez, I better get a move on."
"I'll set out your clothes," Alex offered.
Alex was lying on the bed when Skinner hurried out of the bathroom and took off his robe. He couldn't miss the sly and interested look he got from under Alex's lowered eyelashes and his reaction to it travelled like an express train to his groin. He muttered in frustration as he dressed, ignoring the unco-operative part of his anatomy.
"Any chance you could finish early today?" Alex asked.
"Pretty good chance, and getting better by the minute," Skinner told him.
They kissed goodbye, there in the bedroom, and went downstairs to make breakfast.
Driving home Skinner realised he'd gone the better part of the day without worrying about Alex. The mid-morning call from the Johnson's farm and the calmness of Alex's voice telling him how well they were getting on had satisfied him. It was Marie who drew his attention to the time when she came into his office to ask if they was anything else he wanted done before she left. He'd finished up quickly and headed home, feeling less apprehensive than he had in a long time.
"Alex?" he called, closing the front door. The smell of cooking filled the house and he knew immediately it wasn't Alex's. He felt relieved.
"In the kitchen," Alex answered.
Hanging up his coat he went straight in. Alex was putting out some dishes and he looked up to see Skinner glancing around the room.
"Martin left about ten minutes ago, Walter," he told him, smiling when Skinner came to him for a hug.
"So, how was it today?" he asked looking into the alert, green eyes.
"Much better," Alex replied. "Real good, in fact."
"Me too."
Alex hugged back and then stepped away to check the oven. The wonderful aroma of beef and herbs wafted out of it and Skinner looked quizzically at Alex.
"Ruth took this casserole out of her freezer for us," Alex explained, "and an apple cobbler so that I wouldn't have to cook."
Seeing Skinner's blissful expression, Alex commented, "Jeez Walter, don't take it so hard."
"What can I say, Alex, my tastebuds and stomach are indebted to that woman. And I shall call Ruth and tell her so."
"Hey, I thought you said you were getting to like my cooking?"
"I think the phrase used was 'acquiring a taste for it'," Skinner corrected, enjoying the return of easy banter between them.
With mock annoyance Alex served the food and they sat down to eat. Skinner's euphoria evaporated a little as he watched the other man struggle to eat half of what was on his plate. It must have shown on his face because Alex tried to explain.
"Right now this tastes like I cooked it."
"Oh that's sad," Skinner responded, half sincerely, half jokingly and it earned him a thwap across the forehead with a balled up napkin.
"A Christmas tree was delivered while we were out. I put it in the back yard," Alex said, suddenly remembering.
"Great," Skinner said.
A few minutes passed.
"So, when do we decorate it?" Alex asked.
Skinner smiled broadly. "No time like the present."
"Okay, I'll take care of the dishes, you set up the tree," Alex suggested.
"Fine."
They spent two hours carefully dressing the tree out of the boxes of decorations Skinner brought down from the loft. Apart from the occasional question Alex asked or the occasional piece of expert advice Skinner offered to the novice, the task was carried out in a comfortable silence.
When it was done, Skinner put an old CD of Christmas music that he'd found in one of the boxes on to play and switched off the table lamps. The twinkling tree lights worked their magic and the living room was bathed in a festive glow. They stood together admiring the effect until the mellow tones of Frank Sinatra filled the room ...
...Have yourself a merry little Christmas... Make the Yuletide gay...
They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Alex recovered first and pulled Skinner into an embrace.
"Who are we to flout tradition?" he asked, covering his lover's mouth with his own.
As they kissed deeply their feet began to move to the rhythm of the slow ballad. Skinner twined his arms around Alex's neck and allowed himself to be pulled tight against his lover's body by the arm encircling his waist. He knew they'd take it slow, that Alex would set the pace, and that whatever happened, it would be wonderful.
... From now on our troubles will be miles away...
Well, if Christmas isn't a time for hopeful dreams, he thought, when is?
Part Eight
New Year's Day,
Walter Skinner pulled on an extra sweater and gathered up his warmest jacket, gloves and scarf. Tossing them into the back seat of the Lexus, he headed out of the city towards Cedar Fork and the Johnson's stud farm, where Alex was spending the first day of the New Year. Since lunch wasn't until 12.30, and he had plenty of time to enjoy the journey, he decided to stay off the highway and chose instead an old back road with virtually no traffic. It was a perfect winter's day and as the suburbs gave way to real countryside he found his spirits lifting higher than they had for a very long time.
Unexpectedly, the road ahead followed a sweeping curve to the east and the car flooded with bright sunshine. He reached into the glove box to retrieve his sunglasses. Slipping them on, he reached out again and flicked on the radio. As always, it was tuned to Alex's favourite station, pumping out a mix of country rock and seventies classics. He bumped up the volume a few notches, enjoying the way the extra decibels enhanced the lingering sensations of the previous night's lovemaking.
It had been incredible. With the last traces of the drug cleansed from his system Alex's libido had re-awakened with a vengeance. Hand in hand, they'd turned their backs on the rest of the world and its noisy welcoming in of the New Year and had gone to bed. In the warmth of candlelight and with the sexy, velvet voice of Ella Fitzgerald swirling around them they lay together, reclaiming each other with deepening kisses and teasing touches. High on anticipation, they took their time getting undressed, stopping to savour the stripping off of each piece of clothing in between bouts of serious necking and petting.
It was only when the last of the underwear was kicked away and they were down to skin on skin that the tempo suddenly changed. Alex rolled Skinner onto his back and climbed on top, striving for maximum contact. In that position, and with nothing more than Alex's enthusiastic rocking and murmured obscenities, they came together quickly and powerfully.
In contrast, the second round was languid and long drawn out, as Skinner, buried to the hilt in eager Alex flesh, brought them both to orgasm with a deliberation that had his lover whimpering and screaming in the same breath.
Surprisingly, sleep didn't come to either of them for long time afterwards, though they didn't talk much. They just held on to each other while the old year, with its bad memories, slipped further away and the promise of something better took its place.
It was the loss of the warm presence next to him and the dip of the bed that woke Skinner next morning. He squinted at the digital display on the nightstand and groaned. As far as he was concerned for Alex to be willingly leaving their bed at 5 am on one of their few days off was nothing short of criminal.
The bed dipped again. "Sorry, babe." Alex leaned back across it and placed an apologetic kiss behind his ear. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Skinner bit back the grouchy reply and mumbled something about having a good day instead.
"Yeah," Alex agreed, with the same enthusiasm that had kept him bouncing around since Ted Johnson had called with the invitation two days earlier.
The decision to ride out with first lot at the crack of dawn, however, had been Alex's own. He'd tried to explain the appeal of it to Skinner, but the more he talked about the 'weird kind of early light' and the 'special sound' that the horses' shoes made on the asphalt in the silence, the less his lover understood.
When Alex disappeared into the bathroom, Skinner took out his irritation on a pillow, which he punched into submission, before settling back down in the hope of regaining sleep. And he was just on the edge of tumbling back into it when something new distracted him. This time though, he had no complaints and there was no grumbling, because it was the sound of something that had been too long missing from his life.
Alex was singing.
Smiling, he pulled the comforter high up over his shoulders and turned over onto his stomach, basking in the sound. Right back at the beginning, he had learned that when Alex was happy he sang, or hummed, or played air guitar, or beat out irritating rhythms on the kitchen table... or orange juice carton... or car steering wheel. Music was the unconscious measure of how good Alex felt, and the return of singing was a better start to the day, and the New Year, than he could have hoped for.
As he drove along he did a little singing of his own, in celebration, joining in every time a familiar chorus came pouring out of the speakers, until the gates of the Johnson's farm came into view and he signalled and turned off the main road. Up ahead he could see the final lot of thoroughbreds wending their way back from exercise on the flats a mile and a half behind the farm. He brought the car to a halt and waited until all the horses had crossed the roadway before he drove up to the house and parked. Ruth Johnson opened the door and greeted him.
"Hi, Walter. Beautiful day, isn't it? Ted and Alex are over in the foaling unit. It looks like Sea Breeze is going to drop tonight."
Skinner nodded. He didn't share Alex's equine fascination and the news belonged in the 'too much information' category as far as he was concerned.
"Come in for a cup of coffee," she suggested. "They won't be long."
Skinner followed her into the house and sat in the big kitchen surrounded on three sides by a cascade of multi-coloured rosettes and ribbons. They chatted over the coffee, both carefully skirting the issue of Alex's 'flu' but agreeing on the excellent recovery he had made. Within minutes, the sound of booted feet and voices approached and Alex followed Ted Johnson into the house, deep in conversation.
"Hi, Walter," Alex greeted his lover before returning to the discussion. "So there's no way of knowing the exact time?"
"Uh-uh that foal will only come out when Sea Breeze is good and ready. One thing you can be sure of, though, it will be at some God forsaken hour of the night, and the chances are she'll wait till I doze off or have gone to make a pot of coffee before she starts. That's her way of letting me know I'm not needed and she'd like a little privacy, thank you very much. Like all mares, that's pretty much par for the course with Breeze."
"But someone needs to keep watch, right?"
"Yeah. We don't have to intervene often, but you can never be sure."
They sat down at the table and Ruth carried a casserole dish over to the table, setting it down and placing the serving spoons beside it.
"Maybe Alex would like to sit up with Sea Breeze tonight," she suggested.
Alex looked up at her, a worried expression clouding his face.
"I don't know anything about... you know..."
She laughed. "No, but Sea Breeze is a veteran. They just pop right out of her." She tapped lightly on the wood of the table. "We have a training video somewhere that you could take a look at and Lord knows there are enough veterinary books over there describing the process."
"I'd like to be there but I wouldn't want to get it wrong."
"I think it's a fine idea," Ted assured him. "It would be good experience for you and believe me, Alex, if I thought there was any risk to Breeze I wouldn't even consider it. You know how I feel about that old girl..." Ruth raised her eyes to heaven and muttered darkly; drawing a smile from her husband as he pretended to ignore her. "... but if you're willing, I'd be happy to see my bed tonight. Remember, I'd just be across the yard and the vet is a telephone call away."
Alex looked over at Skinner, who shrugged, making it clear it was his decision.
"I'll do it."
"Okay then, better eat hearty," Ted Johnson said, pushing the casserole dish towards Alex.
The rest of the day was taken up with the mundane tasks of stable life; mucking out, filling hay bags, picking out hooves. Resistant though he was to the whole experience because of his own farming background, Skinner had to admit there was something very satisfying about being part of such a well-ordered operation. Ted Johnson ran it to a standard that would have made the Marine Corps proud. Even the manure piles out back were examples of precision engineering.
And then there was the chance to watch how Alex was with the horses. His coaxing voice, his confident body language, the openness of his expression, the way he moved his hand across a glossy coat to reassure and soothe was almost hypnotic to Skinner. It was a glimpse of the Alex that could have been. The one that only these beautiful, trusting animals and he was privileged to know.
Chores completed, they decided to have dinner at home and, once there, Skinner gratefully retreated to the kitchen to do the cooking while Alex watched the training video. He cleaned up after the meal too, leaving Alex to try catching a nap. With the last dish stowed away, he returned to the living room. Unable to resist the sight of his lover curled up on the couch, he slid into the seat on the end, lifting Alex's socked feet into his lap as he did so. He flicked on the TV and selected a sports channel. Setting the sound to mute he followed the progress of the silent game and listened to the soft, regular inhalations and exhalations of his lover.
The nap lasted a little over an hour and he sensed the moment Alex returned to consciousness.
"Mmm... Walter..."
"Right here, Alex."
Alex stretched hugely and raked his fingers through his unruly hair.
"What time is it?"
"Don't worry," Walter told him, "it's just a little after seven."
Alex sat up. "Better head on back to the farm. I've reading to do."
"Yeah," Skinner agreed. "Then there's all that water to boil, not to mention the sheets that have to be torn up."
Alex thumped him gently on the arm and stood up. "I'm going to take a shower to wake up properly."
"Want me to put together some snacks?" Skinner asked.
"No. Ruth has given me free run of the kitchen and there's a coffee maker in the unit."
Skinner nodded and turned off the mute on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Alex standing uncertainly by the door.
Pretending to be engrossed in the game, he waited.
"Walter?"
"Yep?"
"You've been there when animals have given birth, haven't you... I mean, when you were a kid... back in Iowa?"
"Oh yeah."
"It's no big deal, right?"
Skinner looked over at him; carefully hiding the pleasure that being important to Alex gave him beneath his sternest expression.
"Well," he began grimly, "there was the time we needed the rope and the gallon of forty weight motor oil "
The impact of the cushion knocked the air and the rest of the sentence out of him and when he regained his breath he found his lap full of Alex. They tussled playfully for a minute or two, but inevitably it ended in a series of kisses that brought them to the threshold of arousal. Alex pulled back before they crossed it.
"I better hit the shower," he said, looking deep into Skinner's eyes.
"You want some company tonight?" Skinner asked, not missing the way the green eyes brightened at the question.
"That would be great, but you have to work tomorrow..."
"I think I could survive this kind of 'all-nighter'. It would be a refreshing change."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Okay then." He stood up and jogged upstairs, Skinner following a few steps behind. On the landing he turned round. "Where are you going, Walter?"
"Same place as you, the shower." He backed Alex into the bathroom.
"But it's just for a shower. Right?"
Skinner gave him a look that spoke of offended innocence. "Yeah, unless you're planning on seducing me."
Alex swallowed hard and tried to control the spike of arousal the words provoked.
"Deal then," he offered, "no seducing, or groping, or blowing... and definitely no fucking."
The door closed on Skinner's guffaw and it was only a matter of minutes after the rush of cascading water started that other, earthier sounds could be heard above it.
They settled into the little room above the foaling box and switched off the light. Raising the shutter on the observation window, they peered into the red-lighted space below where Sea Breeze, looking sweaty and blimp-like, paced back and forth, whinnying and breathing heavily. She reacted to the sight of them by turning her rump towards them and pawing the ground.
"That's normal," Alex commented, his eyes never leaving the scene below.
Skinner quickly lost interest and began investigating the box of food they'd brought from the house. "Ah, Ruth's homemade cinnamon cookies," he mumbled, taking out the package and a thermos of hot chocolate.
Four hours later, absolutely nothing had happened in the foaling box, though in the tiny observation room, Alex had read the chapter on foaling in every one of the equine veterinary medicine books that lined the shelf above the observation window some of them twice. He glanced in at Sea Breeze—still on her feet and staring balefully up at him—then straightened in his seat and tried to stretch his cramped muscles. There wasn't much room in which to do so because Skinner, snoring steadily, was sprawled out into his space.
He watched his lover for a while until the sight of his exposed neck became irresistible then he leaned down and nuzzled into the place where it met the strong shoulder. Skinner shifted and came awake at once.
"... mmm... something happen?" he asked groggily.
"No, but something's about to happen," Alex responded, his eyes darkening with arousal as he reached over to ram home the bolt on the door.
It wasn't easy having no holds barred sex in such a tiny space, but they managed it. And if Skinner had any doubts about his ability to perform again so soon after the encounter in the shower, they were quickly dispelled in the frenzied, sweaty clinch that rekindled vivid memories of teenage fumblings in the back seat of a late sixties model Chevrolet.
Afterwards, he lay panting, wondering how long Alex's sex drive was going to be in overdrive and whether or not he'd stay the course. He looked down at the man in question, plastered contentedly across his chest.
An unfamiliar sound interrupted the afterglow—
"Jesus," Alex muttered, pushing himself upright. "Sea Breeze!"
The sight that greeted them made Skinner's heart trip even faster than the peak it had reached a few minutes earlier. The mare was down and the foal's front feet and nose were already clearly visible. They cleaned up quickly and got back into their clothes, then Alex took out the foaling checklist and scanned it.
"Okay, let's see if we can get near her," he said.
With extreme caution they let themselves into the foaling box and sat in the corner furthest from the one the mare had chosen. After a few minutes it became clear that she wasn't in difficulty and that she had no objection to their presence. Skinner sat back and watched Alex make careful contact with her.
As the birth proceeded, slowly and beautifully, he watched Alex grow in confidence. At first he did nothing but stroke soothingly along Breeze's quivering neck. Her response telling him that she welcomed the touch. Then he seemed to know instinctively when it was time to clear away the filmy membrane covering the foal's nose. After the shoulders appeared things seemed to slow down and Breeze became slightly agitated.
"I think we need to help her," Alex said softly.
Skinner knew he was right; he'd had more experience of this than he'd been willing to admit, though none of it was with horses. Kneeling down together they each took a careful grip on a spindly leg and began to gently pull in rhythm with the contractions. It was exactly what the mare needed and pretty soon she had regained control and was doing the work herself. Less than an hour later Alex was towelling dry the beautiful buckskin colt while its mother snuffled over it fussily, creating the mother/son bond that would keep him close by her side for the next year.
"He's really something, isn't he?" Alex said proudly.
"A stunner," Skinner agreed, taking the towel from his lover's hand and pulling him up into an embrace. "You love this, don't you Alex?"
"Yes."
"Then why don't you do something about it? The University has a School of Equitation, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, out at Warm Springs. You think I should find out about classes?"
"You already have the documentation, don't you?" Skinner asked shrewdly.
Alex laughed, sending a ripple of happiness through the man who held him. "Since last summer," he admitted.
"Then what are you waiting for? Financially we can handle you giving up work and you have the tuition fund your Mom gave you."
"It's too late to begin this year, anyway I'm contracted to the University until June. Next year would be good. Maybe I could negotiate a part-time contract with the Department, that would mean I'd still be bringing in a salary—"
His warning glance told Skinner to tread carefully.
"That's how I want to do it, Walter."
Skinner knew it was time to give in gracefully. "Whatever you decide, Alex."
The squeak of the outer door opening gave them enough warning and time to move apart before Ted and Ruth appeared, carrying steaming mugs. Skinner stayed long enough to drink his coffee and participate in the first round of doting admiration over the new arrival. Then, with the first rosy streaks of dawn visible in the east, he found his jacket and headed back to Charlottesville, more ready to face a demanding day at the Hoover than any man who'd been up all night had a right to be.
Part Eight
Office of the Deputy Director
Walter Skinner looked up from the papers spread across his desk.
"You've been on the teaching staff at Quantico for nearly four years, Section Chief," he said thoughtfully. "That's a long time to be out of the loop, so I'm going to suggest you spend some time re-connecting at the Hoover before I put you back in the field.
Skinner's tone was firm, decided.
The man sitting across the desk from him nodded slowly, but there was a flicker of rebellion in his eyes.
"I've been doing consults on a regular basis, Deputy Director. I've kept my hand in—"
"And very successfully," Skinner interrupted. "But heading up a field office is very different from the occasional consult. Take the opportunity to—"
Skinner's cell phone chirped and he glanced down at the LCD display.
'ALEX'
His pulse tripped slightly and a little knot of tension formed in his gut. Alex never called him at work. He flipped open the phone and stood up, saying, "Excuse me, Section Chief."
Walking away from his desk, he spoke quietly into the phone.
"Yes?"
"Walter—" Alex's tone stopped him dead in his tracks. "I'm in trouble."
There was a babble of voices and the sound of a scuffle before the call ended abruptly. Skinner stood completely still, holding onto the back of the conference chair, his knuckles bone white. Behind him he heard his office door open and turned in time to see the Section Chief scramble to his feet.
"Mr. Director..." the man burbled.
"If you'll excuse us, Mr. Samzone? I need to speak privately with the Deputy Director," the Director requested.
"Of course, sir," Samzone said and disappeared.
"Walter."
The Director's voice pierced through the gut wrenching apprehension that had seized hold of Skinner.
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of this news, but I've just been informed that a warrant has been issued to the Arlington Police for the arrest of your domestic partner."
"What's the charge?"
"It's in connection with a homicide in Arlington. I don't have any details, but whatever the circumstances I would advise him to surrender himself to the authorities."
"It may be too late for that," Skinner said, "I got a call. I think he's already been arrested."
He released his hold on the chair and moved back to his desk. He closed the open file and began to gather his things.
"I have to go... I need to call a lawyer..." he said.
"Of course," the Director agreed, then offered. "I can call someone for you if you like?"
"Yes, sir," Skinner told him. "I'd appreciate that."
For the second time in the short history of their relationship, Walter Skinner entered a police station seeking his lover. He spoke to the sergeant at the desk, requesting information on Alex's disposition. Brusquely, he was directed to the waiting area. He surprised himself by not pulling rank; instead, he found a seat and sat unmoving, feeling numbed, like someone who finds himself in the unexpected and momentary reprieve at the eye of the storm. To his right, a bail bondsman talked continuously into a cell phone, haranguing a series of callers. To his left, a woman cried softly on her husband's shoulder as he nervously assured her that it was all some terrible mistake and there was no way their son could be involved with drugs.
To Skinner, what was going on around him seemed remote and fragmented, as though it was part of some other reality. What kept him inside his skin was his bedrock belief that Alex hadn't killed anyone. What frightened him was the knowledge that few others would share his faith.
It seemed a very long time later that a tall, distinguished looking man entered the room. Skinner recognised him immediately. The sergeant straightened in his chair at the sight of him. The two of them had a short discussion that ended when the officer pointed to Skinner. The tall man turned and walked towards him, the sergeant following on his heels.
Skinner stood up.
"Mr. Skinner," the man addressed him, holding out his hand. "I'm Charles McCormick. The Director has asked me to review the case and possibly represent Mr. Krycek."
Skinner returned the handshake feeling as though a little light had switched on in the gloom. The man before him was the most respected and successful defence attorney on the East Coast.
"The sergeant is going to show you to somewhere more private, while I find out what this is about."
Skinner nodded and mumbled his thanks.
"This way, sir."
The sergeant led the way to a small room containing only a table and two chairs. He was left alone. Walking to the grimy window, he stared out at the real world continuing as normal less than a block away.
It was nearly an hour before McCormick returned. His expression was grim as he sat down at the desk and opened a file.
"It's not looking good, Mr. Skinner," he said. "They have a solid case."
Skinner clamped down on his panic.
"Sometime between 10am and noon today Rudi and Anna Renovo, aka Rudi and Anna Krycek, were beaten to death in their Arlington home."
"The Kryceks are dead?" Skinner asked.
"Very," McCormick confirmed. He pulled the post mortem photographs from the file and laid them on the table.
Skinner glanced at the horrific pictures and rubbed a hand roughly across his face.
"So the victims are Mr. Krycek's kidnappers," McCormick said. "Also his neglectful parents. I've seen the file from Child Protective Services in Fort Lauderdale. It contains a number of unsubstantiated concerns and accusations, enough to ring warning bells at his school, though not enough to warrant intervention, but when you put the two together you have one hell of a motive, don't you think? Furthermore, Mr. Krycek's prints are all over the entrance hall and kitchen, and two eyewitnesses have placed him at the scene. It's all circumstantial but when you factor in his history..." the man's voice trailed off, but he looked Skinner in the eye as he quietly said, "However, it all seems too well structured for my peace of mind."
"I know it's a frame," Skinner said just as quietly and with complete conviction.
"It certainly doesn't 'feel' right." He picked up the thick file and regarded it doubtfully. "Never before have I seen a case put together so quickly and in such detail."
"Something isn't right, as far as I can tell the issuing of the warrant and the arrest occurred simultaneously. I think Alex must have been under surveillance."
McCormick raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"I should warn you, Mr. McCormick," Skinner continued, "Alex has made many powerful enemies. So have I." He placed his hand on the open file. "Compared with some of the schemes I've watched these people hatch, this is child's play."
"I'll take that under advisement. I'll also need you to fill me in on the nature and motivation of these 'enemies'."
Skinner ignored the pang of guilt he felt about drawing the man into the circle of evil that had bounded his world for too long and assented to the request. He and Alex needed the lawyer's skill and reputation.
"Now, I'm assuming you would you like some time alone with Mr. Krycek after he and I finish our discussion?"
"Actually, I want to be present for that discussion."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Skinner. You may be called as a witness and that would mean Mr. Krycek's attorney/client privilege could be compromised."
"Not if I'm acting as his lawyer. I'm a qualified attorney. I made the career choice to enter the Bureau rather than to practise law."
"I would advise against that course of action for various— "
"He's going to need me there," Skinner interrupted. "The handling of the case is yours, McCormick, but let me look after Alex."
The lawyer considered for a moment, then said, "Very well."
"Thank you," Skinner told him. "I think I should talk to him first."
It was a standard, glass-walled interview room with a metal table and several uncomfortable chairs. Alex was already seated, his expression a defensive, shuttered mask. At McCormick's request the guard unlocked the door and left the room to take up position outside. McCormick ushered Skinner through and closed the door behind him. Alex stood and immediately moved into the embrace Skinner offered.
"Walter, I didn't do this."
"I know."
Holding close the tense body of his lover released Skinner from the shock that had taken hold of him and energy and determination took its place.
"We're going to handle this," he promised. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm... okay," Alex said as he pulled out of Skinner's arms and began to pace the small room. Skinner could sense the anger and fear pouring off him.
"What the fuck is going on?" He didn't wait for a response. "Worst case scenario, and Mulder's right about the Consortium re-building itself, this isn't the way they clean house—especially when they're dealing with a traitor. What I did doesn't bring a quick, easy death but they sure as hell don't take their revenge in the media glare of a high profile murder case."
"Could it be personal? Someone you knew in the organization with a score to settle? Someone who escaped the net?"
"Maybe. I wasn't big on team building," Alex said sarcastically. "But most of the operatives I worked with either self-destructed or were picked up."
"Give me names to check out, either inside or outside the Consortium. Doesn't matter how unlikely."
"Okay."
Skinner looked away from him.
"What is it, Walter?"
Skinner reached out to take his hand. "Whoever is it... they've done a good job." He looked at his lover's tight expression. "But, we're going to make this come out right. Whatever it takes..."
Alex managed a smile and Skinner somehow resisted the need to take him in his arms again. Instead he held on tighter to the hand in his. Suddenly Alex became serious again. "Walter, my Mom, I don't want her hearing about this from a reporter on her doorstep."
"I'll call her as soon as we finish."
"Tell her I'm sorry." Alex's grip tightened convulsively on Skinner's hand. "Walter, I am so sor—"
"You've nothing to be sorry for, Alex, but I can promise you that the person responsible is going to be very sorry. Now, that's Charles McCormick out there. He's going to be representing you."
"'The' Charles McCormick?" Alex quizzed.
Skinner nodded.
"I told you whatever it takes. And by the way, you also get me as a part of your defence team. That way our discussions are protected by client/attorney privilege. I take it that's acceptable to you?"
"What do you think, Walter?"
"Okay, then, ready to talk to him?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Good, let's get started."
Letting go of Alex's hand, he turned to open the door for the lawyer and caught the smirk on the face of the guard watching them through the glass. He ignored it with difficulty and took his seat as McCormick introduced himself to Alex. They shook hands and took their places at the table.
"Can I confirm that you have made no statement?" the lawyer asked.
"I gave them nothing other than a denial."
"Good. Let's keep it that way. You talk only when I'm present."
"Okay," Alex agreed.
"Now," McCormick prompted, "I want to hear your account of the events of this morning."
Alex drew in a breath and let it out slowly.
"I got a call about fifteen minutes after I got into work—" he began.
"Where is that?" McCormick interrupted.
"University of Virginia. I'm assistant to the Chair of Russian Studies."
"Go on."
"It was Anna. She sounded very distressed. She asked me to come to the house straight away." He looked over at Skinner anxiously as he explained. "I thought it was some kind of medical emergency, so I said yes."
Skinner's expression showed that he understood.
"Anyhow, I drove over there and she let me into the house. She was still as stressed, but it was like she had it buttoned down. She told me that Rudi's condition had deteriorated." He looked at McCormick. "He has Alzheimer's."
The man made another note.
"She told me he no longer knew where he was and that he'd begun to wander—that he'd been missing all night and she needed help to find him."
Skinner shifted uneasily in his chair.
"I know, Walter, I should have called the police and gotten out of there, but she was... I couldn't leave her like that... so we went into the kitchen... she gave me a cup of coffee... then she asked me to search the neighbourhood while she waited at home, you know, in case he was picked up or found his own way back... I agreed and within ten minutes I was out of there."
He turned again to Skinner. "She was alive when I drove away from the house. I didn't find Rudi and I didn't get the chance to go back. The next thing I knew I was being pulled over by the cops. They told me I was being arrested and read me my rights, then they brought me here."
"Did you make any stops while you were searching?" the lawyer questioned.
"No."
"Did you talk to anyone else?"
"No."
"Did you tell anyone at the University where you were going?"
"No. I was the only one in the department when the call came through. There are no classes on Thursday mornings, so the teaching and admin staff don't come in until later. I'm taking some classes this semester so I use the time to keep on top of my reading."
"Mmmm," McCormick murmured as he made a series of notes.
"Okay, Alex, I want you to tell me in detail about your relationship with the Kryceks."
Alex swallowed hard and began to talk. They'd been through this before with Dr. Massie, but Skinner paid careful attention to the account Alex gave the lawyer, listening for anything he'd missed the first time. It took a lot longer second time round because he had to put it all in context for the lawyer, but, as on the day in Massie's consulting room, Alex told the story in a brutally frank manner. It differed only in its conclusion. Gone was the cover story that the two scientists had died in an explosion in one of the Consortium's laboratories. Instead, he told of how he arranged their disappearance so they could re-surface as 'The Renovo's', free to spend the rest of their days in the anonymity of an Arlington suburb.
"And you did this because?"
"They were my parents."
"And when you discovered they weren't, that they were, in fact, your kidnappers, how did your feelings towards them change?"
"I wasn't feeling much of anything at that point. I'd just been through a year and a half of therapy, not the 'sit on this comfortable couch and tell me your troubles at 200 bucks an hour' kind of therapy, more the mental dissection kind of therapy. I wasn't ready to deal with them then. I was getting to know my real family, trying to find my way with them, and," he turned to look at Walter, "making decisions about the kind of life I wanted."
Skinner smiled slightly and, screened by the table, rested his hand possessively on Alex's thigh.
"It was a long time later, when I finally realised just how much they'd stolen from me, that I began feel anything towards them again, and yeah, sure I was angry. They hurt me in more ways than taking me from my own family..." he paused, glad to feel the grip on his thigh become re-assuring and supportive "... and part of me wanted to hurt them... yell at them... tell them I fucking hated them... but when I went to see them—"
"You visited them after you found out about the kidnapping?"
"Yeah, I tried to let it go of it, but it wouldn't let go of me."
"Tell me about the visit."
"I arrived angry, wanting answers. I left feeling sorry for them and with the realisation that I never had been and never would be of any significance to them."
His voice quavered a little in delivering the final sentence and McCormick had the sensitivity to give him a minute's respite while he made notes on his yellow pad.
When he looked up he said, "You were in no way physically or verbally abusive with them during the visit?"
Alex shook his head. "I didn't even raise my voice."
"Good. I'm going to need a date for this visit and whatever corroboration you can offer."
"It was the first Wednesday after Easter last year." Skinner confirmed to the lawyer. "Alex stopped off on his way home from visiting with his family in Florida. He gave me a full account when he arrived home."
"Who else did you tell?" McCormick questioned.
"No one," Alex told him.
"I didn't discuss it with anyone either," Skinner said. "It was very personal."
The lawyer 'hmmed' in a negative way.
"Surely it speaks to motive," Skinner continued. "Despite the opportunity, Alex continued to cover for them, choosing not to exact revenge."
"It does indeed, but we have only Mr. Krycek's word on that. And the hearsay testimony of his lover."
The comment was delivered in a non-judgemental tone, but it caused Skinner sit back in his seat with the sudden realisation of their exposed and vulnerable position.
"Well, we can check with the witnesses who identified Mr. Krycek so readily this morning. Maybe one of them will have noticed him visiting last year. Or the Renovo's may have spoken to someone about it. Now, Mr. Krycek," McCormick continued matter-of-factly, "I want you to go through everything that happened today again, and this time I want you to include every detail, no matter how insignificant it may seem."
Alex nodded. Detailed debriefings were nothing new to him. "Okay, but before I begin I just want to say that if I had killed them, I sure as hell wouldn't have left a trail of evidence a mile wide," he announced defiantly.
McCormick looked at him sternly. "That is the last time I hear a helpful observation like that from you, Mr. Krycek," he warned. "Let's begin with the phone call. Did you take it on your cell phone or on a university line?"
"If you'll excuse me," Skinner interrupted. "I'm going to call Alex's Mom while you do this. I don't want to leave it any longer."
Alex eagerly agreed and Skinner left them to find a phone. He explained the situation to Alex's mother with all the gentleness he could muster. By keeping his tone as positive as possible, and using a lot of persuasion he managed to get a promise from her not to get on a plane until he called her the next day. Instead, she said she'd talk to the rest of the family to prepare them for any publicity, then she ended the conversation, the grief and fear audible in her voice.
Next he called his sister Elizabeth. Despite her cool response, he knew she was trying her best to be supportive. Cutting the conversation short, he promised to call her as soon as he could with any news and hung up the phone with relief. His next call was to Dr. Massie who was clearly shocked by the news, but who was as steadfast in his faith in Alex's innocence as Skinner himself. He finished with a promise to assist in any way he could.
Lastly he called Mulder and bluntly told him what had happened.
There was a moment's silence, then Mulder said, "How can I help?"
The simple words moved him and he had to clear his throat several times before he could reply.
"We need to talk."
"Call me when you're ready."
He hung up the phone and took a few minutes to compose himself before returning to the interview room. McCormick was finishing up and, as the man packed his briefcase, Skinner told Alex about the phone calls to both families.
Standing up, McCormick said, "That's all we can do for the present. You'll be in court sometime tomorrow for arraignment. I'll make a bail application, but I wouldn't be too hopeful. Even factoring in your domestic situation, I don't think it will be granted."
Alex looked at Skinner uncomfortably, the comment again reminding him of the awkward position in which the Deputy Director had been placed.
"Walter—" he began.
"Don't worry about it Alex," Skinner told him. "I can handle it."
Alex nodded wearily and got to his feet. McCormick tapped on the window and the guard came into the room, uncoiling the shackles as he did so. Skinner watched in dismay as, already stripped of his prosthesis, Alex's wrist was attached to a thick, leather belt that fastened around his waist. A flash of embarrassment covered Alex's face and he ducked his head. Skinner responded by placing his hand on Alex's shoulder to offer support.
"I'll bring a bag over later. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"
"Just something to read."
"Sure," Skinner promised.
The guard moved forward, his hand gripping firmly around Alex's upper arm.
"Let's go lover boy."
Skinner froze at the guard's mumbled comment, then found himself with his forearm pressed tight against the man's throat, pinning him to the glass wall.
"Walter—"
"Skinner—"
The guard struggled ineffectually under the chokehold.
"Let him go, Skinner," McCormick ordered. "You're not doing your client any favour."
"Walter," Alex cajoled, "I can handle this. You know that."
Slowly Skinner withdrew and the guard eased down the wall, his hand going to his throat as he sucked in a needy breath. A scowl spread over the man's face and he straightened up, stepping into Skinner's space threateningly, but before the protagonists could square up for a second round, Alex threw a warning glare at Skinner and walked out of the door. The sullen guard was left with no option but to follow in his wake.
Skinner sat down heavily in a chair.
"Sorry," he murmured to McCormick, "but this is so damned hard."
"What just happened is a perfect example of why I advised you against acting as Mr. Krycek's attorney. Emotional involvement is a liability in this trade."
Skinner looked up at him a little shamefaced.
"There won't be a repeat performance," he promised.
The lawyer gave him a sympathetic look and picked up his briefcase from where he'd dropped it on the floor.
"Good. I'll have my secretary messenger you a full copy of all discovery documents, as they're available to me. Now, let's get out of here," he said, and together they made their way out to the crisp, fresh air of the coming evening.
The Skinner/Krycek residence
"Have you eaten anything today?" Mulder asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.
Skinner looked over at him, worry etched on his face. He ignored the question and finished pouring the coffee.
"So Alex never discussed the Kryceks with you," he said, handing Mulder his cup and taking a seat opposite him.
"Once, a long time ago, in passing. Of course I've read the Consortium files on them, including the report on the lab accident. His cover-up was watertight. There was no reason to doubt it." He took a swallow of his coffee. "I went ahead and put my best team on this as soon as I got your call. They spent the day checking into the 'Renovo's'. I hope that's okay?"
Skinner nodded emphatically and said, "The more light we can shine on this the better."
"I agree," Mulder said, opening one of the files he'd left on the table. "Well, so far they are proving to be exactly how they appeared. Two retired scientists, she a chemist, he a biologist, living on a comfortable income doing the kinds of things senior citizens do, that is, up until Rudi's Alzheimer's became a problem. Regarding that, all the medical records check out. He was diagnosed with the disease about eleven months ago. It was progressing with unusual rapidity and, except for several close friends, they had dropped all outside social contacts. The people who knew them all say the same thing, they were pleasant to be with and enjoyed a simple, quiet life, and as far as they were concerned the couple was childless." Mulder took another swallow of coffee. "Which is, in fact, true."
"That's it?" Skinner asked dismissively when nothing more was forthcoming.
"It's only been eight hours, Walter. Tomorrow they're going to start on the deep background; phone and financial records, taxes, business contacts, family—anything else they can turn up. I've instructed them to give this 100% effort. They have authorization to use whatever resources they need. But that's not all. The Gunmen have offered their help. It's your call."
"They want to help Alex?"
"They want to help you, and this is the kind of project that appeals to them."
"Tell them yes, I'd be grateful for anything they can do."
"They'll want a copy of the paperwork. So will I."
"I'll have the papers delivered to you first thing tomorrow." He paused, putting his next words together carefully. "I appreciate this, Mulder, but I'd like one thing made clear before we go any further, the objective is to clear Alex," Skinner spelt it out. "I'm not interested in pursuing any other agenda."
"On that you have my word," Mulder said with sincerity. "I owe you that, Walter..." His voice tailed off.
"But?"
"But I don't think it's going to be quite that simple."
Skinner shook his head slightly and looked quizzically at Mulder.
"The purpose of this scenario is to take revenge on Alex and tie up the loose end of the Kryceks all in one convenient transaction. In whose interest is that? And who is capable of manipulating the U.S. Justice System to suit their own ends? Only a powerful organization, Walter, and I'm not talking about the Boy Scouts of America." He shrugged his shoulders. "Call it a hunch."
The words caused a chill to shiver through Skinner's body. Even allowing for Mulder's obsession with the conspiracy, his hunches were usually more on the nose than hindsight.
"The Consortium," Skinner offered in a resigned and weary voice.
"I was never convinced it was as dead as we were led to believe."
"But we took it apart. I watched it happen, so did you."
"If there's one lesson we should have learned well, it's that this organization is a Hydra. It's true that Alex gave us more information than we could process, as well as hundreds of locations to check out and decommission, but I'm willing to bet that by the time we started in on that, it and they were already obsolete. And what about the operatives we netted? A flock of sacrificial lambs if ever I saw one. It may even have suited the Consortium's purposes by stripping away the dead wood and allowing them to slip back into the shadows where they can operate most effectively."
"Alex says this isn't their m.o.." Skinner countered, still unwilling to accept a larger dimension to the threat they faced.
"He's right, and I think that's where it gets personal. Whoever's running this has an axe to grind and a quirky approach to retribution, but I think he is acting with the backing of the Consortium."
"Can you prove any of this?"
"No."
Skinner knotted his hands together and rested his forehead against them.
Mulder brought over the coffeepot and refilled their mugs. When he retuned it to the stove he walked back to stand behind Walter. He reached out and laid his hand on Walter's stooped shoulder.
"That doesn't mean we won't be able to prove it. We know more now about the Consortium's structures and purposes than we ever did before and this time we have the resources and the authorization to pursue them." Mulder hesitated before he spoke again. "I know it's hard for you to accept, Walter, but Alex being in custody is a much better option than his being found with his throat cut in a back alleyway, or, worse still, being 'disappeared' into one of the Consortium's labs. Now we have a great deal to get through. Why don't we get started?"
The final observation was cold comfort to Skinner but he recognised the truth in it and so he lifted his head and reached for the file sent over from Charles McCormick's office. Together they went through the prosecution papers listing and prioritising the areas they wanted to investigate and allotting the tasks. It took several hours to go through everything thoroughly.
"Regarding Anna's call to Alex," Mulder said, dealing with the last detail. "I think we should give that to the Gunmen to check out."
"Agreed."
"That's everything," Mulder said getting up from the table. "It's late, Walter. You need to get some sleep."
Skinner cleared the mugs away, knowing that sleep and he would not be on friendly terms in the near future. He dreaded the journey up to the empty bed. It was the clinching proof that the nightmare was real. He doubted that he'd make it that far.
"I've taken a leave of absence, Mulder."
"What?"
"No way can I sit at my desk while this is going on. The Director has sanctioned it and authorized my continued use of Bureau's resources."
"Oh right," Mulder muttered fiddling with his keys.
"You'll call me with anything of interest?"
"Of course," Mulder assured him readily enough, but he continued to shift uneasily from foot to foot, showing no inclination to actually leave.
Skinner put his hands in his pockets and looked at his shoes.
A minute of awkwardness unravelled itself slowly between them before Mulder spoke again.
"If there's anything else I can do... if you want to talk... or anything."
"Thanks," Skinner told him.
"I'm sorry this has happened... but I guess it was never going to be easy."
Skinner looked up at him, unsure of the point he was making and shrugged his shoulders quizzically.
"Having Alex in your life," Mulder explained.
"Alex is my life, Mulder," Skinner told him without equivocation.
Skinner couldn't decide if the answering expression on Mulder's face was one of envy or pity, or maybe both, and since he had enough emotional backwash of his own to deal with, he decided to cut the exchange short.
"Look, Mulder, I'm glad to have your help on this, but you're right, it's late. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
He watched Mulder's car drive away and locked up the house. The click of the final lock falling into place brought an unfamiliar silence. No sports channel or bootleg rock and roll or singing from the shower. He pushed away from the front door and went into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. Once it was started, he moved from room to room through the house, methodically checking and putting back in its proper place each item disturbed by the Arlington Police when they'd conducted their search.
Arlington Circuit Court
Skinner had been sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench outside the courtroom for almost an hour when he saw Charles McCormick step out of the elevator at the end of the long, marbled corridor. As he came closer, Skinner could see the tightly composed, neutral expression on his face. He stood up to meet him.
"We need to talk," the lawyer told him without preamble. "This way."
He led Skinner to a small interview room and they sat down at the table.
"I just received the preliminary forensic report." He took a file from his briefcase and handed it to Skinner.
Skinner opened it and began to read. It didn't take long and, by the time he was finished, he was regretting his decision to stop off on the way to the courthouse to eat breakfast. He looked up at the lawyer as he handed back the file.
"Do those items of clothing look familiar, Mr. Skinner?"
Skinner nodded slowly. "They're not the only things that look familiar," he replied. "The baseball bat—it belongs to Alex. His brother gave it to him as a birthday gift last June. That green, rubberised grip is to make it easier for him to swing single-handed. The last time I saw it was when he stored it in the garage at the end of the summer."
"This is not good," McCormick told him, unnecessarily.
He disappeared from the room through a different door and when he returned some minutes later Alex and a guard accompanied him. Alex was summarily handcuffed to the table and the guard took up position outside the door."
"What's wrong?" he asked looking directly at Skinner.
"Were you wearing an overcoat and gloves when you went to the Renovo's home yesterday?" McCormick questioned.
"Yes," Alex replied turning to him. "My grey wool topcoat. I think my gloves were in the pocket."
"You didn't have them when you were arrested. What did you do with them?"
Alex's face creased as he thought back through the events of the previous day, then he spoke.
"I took off my coat when I went into the kitchen for coffee... I didn't put it back on when I went out to look for Rudi... I didn't need it in the car and I knew I'd be going back... why?"
"A coat and pair of gloves were found in a dumpster two streets over from the Renovo's house along with a baseball bat. All three items were heavily bloodstained. Tissue typing positively identifies the samples as being from Anna and Rudi Renovo."
He took out the evidence photos from the file and placed them on the table in front of Alex.
Alex stared at them in silence and Skinner watched as a look of desolation crept across his face.
"Alex—" he began.
"Don't Walter. Don't even say it. I know how this works from the other side. Every move's been anticipated, every contingency accounted for. There's not a fucking snowball in hell's chance of proving I didn't do this!"
"I am not giving up," Skinner told him angrily. "And neither are you. These bastards are not getting away with this. We know they make mistakes. Christ, Alex, you're own track record hardly speaks to perfection."
Alex glared at him, his cuffed fist straining at its bonds.
"Enough!" McCormick interrupted. "Let's not do their work for them."
The two of them registered the other man's forgotten presence.
"Now," the lawyer continued, "there are things we can do to counter this evidence. I'm going to have another forensic expert check the rest of your clothing for evidence. I think it unlikely that an attack of this ferocity would have splattered blood only on the coat of the perpetrator. And I'm going to ask you to take a polygraph."
"Yeah," Alex agreed dully.
"We also need to get working on those witnesses," McCormick continued. "See if we can get confirmation from them of what you were wearing when you left the house. And I've spoken with your psychiatrist. He's going to be an excellent witness when it comes to handling your mental state and history. Fortunately for us, a great deal of that history is going to be excluded in the interests of national security. Many of those records are sealed. We, on the other hand, are going to lay a great deal of emphasis on the Renovo's' history. The true facts about the 'Kryceks' will create a much less palatable image in the minds of the jury than the one the prosecution will paint of a defenceless Alzheimer's victim and his devoted wife being bludgeoned to death in their own kitchen. And we need to play on the kidnapping angle as much as possible, without, of course, bolstering the prosecution's case as to motive. For us, the Renovo's criminal past lifts them out of the security of middle-class suburbia and drops them into a very different place where it is probable they made a great many enemies. Mr. Krycek, I'm going to need to meet with your mother and family on the kidnapping aspect. Their testimony on your behalf is going to be important. I'll need you to set that up sometime in the near future, Mr. Skinner. They're going to need coaching. I'll assign one of my juniors..."
As the lawyer's voice droned on, Skinner watched Alex's eyes close tightly at the grim realisation that the people he'd come to love were going to have to be exposed to public humiliation in the bear pit of an open court. He felt the hurt too, almost a physical pain, but he steeled himself against it. The only thing that mattered was achieving a verdict of innocence; the costs incurred to that end, whatever they might be, were irrelevant.
He was unconscionably grateful when the interview ended and he had a few minutes alone with Alex before the guard came to escort him to the courtroom for the proceedings. Skinner did all the talking; filling Alex in on the help they were getting from Mulder and the Gunmen, and relaying the messages of love and support from his own family and Skinner's. His final hurried words, as the guard's footsteps approached, were of love, and he understood that the brief answering smile was as much as Alex could do to let him know that it was returned.
The arraignment was over in the blink of an eye and application for bail was dismissed. Alex didn't look back as he was taken from the court.
For Skinner, the days that followed began to merge together, differentiated only, one from another, by a few hours of snatched, uneasy sleep. Much of each day he spent in the University of Virginia Law Library learning just how out of touch he was with his erstwhile profession. Every few days he met with Charles McCormick and the rest of the defence team to review developments in the case and to decide strategy. They taxed him sorely, but he managed to keep his cool during the impersonal meetings at which he was little more than an observer. He had the strong impression that the 'real' meetings were being held after he left the law firm's impressive offices, and he thought it likely that the thrust of those meetings had more to do with mitigation and plea bargaining than with establishing innocence.
Not that he and Mulder were making much progress in their own attempts to prove Alex innocent. They quickly discovered that the Kryceks, despite their interesting past, had made a virtue of being unexceptional in their new lives. Their comfortable income was completely traceable and honestly derived. Something for which Skinner cursed Alex's talent in creating deep cover. Their tax returns over the previous two years were correct to the penny. They didn't belong to any organisations, other than the local senior citizens social club. They didn't have contact with anyone outside of the local community and none of their phone bills listed a single long distance call.
There was nothing to connect them with anything as controversial as a parking ticket, let alone an international conspiracy, and anyway, thanks to Alex and the concerted witch-hunt that had followed his defection from the Consortium, it was no longer possible to prove that such an organization continued to exist. But just when Skinner was ready to admit to Mulder that the Consortium had to be pulling the strings—because there was simply no other plausible explanation—the man had asked the unanswerable question.
"When you can't prove that an organization exists, Walter, how do you prove that it is responsible for two murders?"
The Gunmen were having no better luck with the more mundane aspects of the investigation. Despite all their efforts, they had failed to prove that Anna Renovo had made a call to Alex on the morning of the murders. All traces of such a call had been removed from the university's phone logs, and they were at a frustrated loss to explain how it had been done. Refusing to be beaten, though, they'd decided to work on the problem from the other end and had begun hacking into the mainframes of hundreds of phone companies, searching for any calls made to the University of Virginia on the given date. A task that went far beyond the parameters of looking for a needle in a haystack.
As for the prosecution's primary witnesses, they remained adamant that no one but Alex had entered the Renovo's home on the day of the killings. The only thing they could not be pinned down on, was whether or not he'd been wearing a coat when he'd left. The defence failure to cast doubt on the absolute certainty of their testimony was bad enough, but worse was to follow.
Several weeks into the investigation the prosecution turned up a witness who remembered having a conversation with Anna in the spring of the previous year regarding a visit from someone she'd hoped never to see again. The woman, a care assistant working to support Anna with Rudi's Alzheimer's, told the investigating officers that, though the man had frightened Anna very badly, she had flatly refused to report the incident to the police. While it didn't prove conclusively that Alex was the man who had so upset Anna, it fell neatly into place with his own admission that he had visited the Renovo's shortly after Easter.
With the accumulation of such small circumstantial details, the prosecution's case strengthened day after day, until they reached the point where they felt confident they could prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Alex was the only person with the motive and the opportunity to have carried out the crime.
And what alternative explanation could the defence offer? Only that a pan-global conspiracy of powerful men, intent on selling out humanity to a race of alien colonists, was using its vast resources and influence to eliminate two senior citizens and to use their deaths to frame an ex-assassin with a history of mental instability.
Put like that, not even Skinner found it believable.
The only good moments in Skinner's days were his short visits with Alex in the county jail. During them, they went through the motions of being upbeat and positive for each other, at least in the beginning. Though by the end of first week, Skinner had already learned not to refer to the injuries Alex showed up with occasionally; the first and most serious of which was a blackened eye, so badly swollen it could barely open. When he'd seen it, Skinner had gone ballistic and demanded to speak with the officer in charge. In response, Alex had simply walked back out of the room, leaving Skinner high and dry and with the clear understanding that he had once again overstepped the mark.
As the days turned into weeks, however, Alex began to show the strain more and more and there were times when their precious minutes together were spent in silence.
Things improved again for a while when Alex's mother, who would no longer be put off, arrived in Virginia to see her son and talk to his lawyer face to face. Olga accompanied her for the first week of her stay and McCormick managed to arrange compassionate leave for them to visit Alex every day. Vera made sure each visit was a good experience for Alex. The strong woman brought him her unshakable belief in his innocence and the re-assurance that he was loved unconditionally. Olga let Alex know that she spoke for Peter and the rest of the family, when she told him they would all stand beside him.
Skinner found himself unable to express how good he felt about what they were giving Alex, so he insisted that they stay with him. It took less than a day for him to realize, with gratitude, that their presence in the house meant his life had to resume a more normal routine than the ghost-like existence he'd been living.
He was just as grateful when, despite her reservations about Alex and her concern for him, Elizabeth, his sister, arrived from Baltimore to meet Alex's mother and sister and to offer whatever support she could by taking care of the practical side of things.
It was a relief to see Elizabeth and Vera establish a good relationship from the outset, and when the time came for Olga to return to her family, Skinner was glad to know Vera had company in the long hours when he was away from the house.
But all the love and positive thinking in the world could not disguise the truth. A truth that Alex had pointed out to Skinner on the day he had been arrested; namely, that he had been expertly and effectively ensnared in a system of justice that dealt with the probable and the tangible, and one that had been provided with evidence far in excess of the standard required by law, not only to bring him to trial, but also to find him guilty.
On the eve of the opening day of the trial, when he and Charles McCormick sat down at the table opposite Alex, Skinner knew the time had come to face that truth. It took the lawyer some ten minutes to systematically lay out the strengths and weaknesses of the prosecution case; it took a similar amount of time to describe the defence he would offer, but the two accounts could not have been more unevenly matched.
The phrase that Alex had used kept running through Skinner's head as he listened...
'... there's not a fucking snowball in hell's chance of proving I didn't do this...'
...and he could tell from watching Alex, that his thoughts were running along in the same vein.
"So, what are you saying, Mr. McCormick?" Alex questioned, dully, when the lawyer finished.
"I'm setting out the case as clearly as I can for you, Alex," the man replied, using Alex's given name for the first time. "I want you to think carefully about what I've said, and in the light of it I want you to consider all the options open to you before you come to a final decision on the plea you wish me to enter on your behalf tomorrow. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Now, we have been preparing for the trial on the assumption that you would enter a plea of not guilty—" he paused for a moment "—I believe it's time to make a realistic assessment of how little we have to support such a plea and to weigh it against the strength of the prosecution's case."
"You think I'm going to be found guilty."
"I think, barring the admission of some new and compelling evidence to the contrary, that is a likely outcome, and that if the prosecution is successful in winning such a verdict they will press hard for the death penalty."
"So, you're you telling me I should try to make some kind of deal?"
"If I didn't draw your attention to that possibility I'd be failing in my professional duty. My primary responsibility is to make sure you have a full understanding of the process and position you are in, and to provide you with the best advice I can on the options open to you. Only you can decide the plea to enter."
"I'm innocent, Mr. McCormick."
"Then the decision is made."
Skinner released the breath he was holding. He had no illusions about their chances of winning, but what was the alternative? Have Alex admit to the killings on the grounds of some psychological aberration and watch him being committed to an institution like White Oaks for the rest of his life? At least going through with the lengthy trial and appeals process would give them a shot, and the time they needed to continue the investigation. There had to be a flaw somewhere in the plan to frame Alex, and with the quality of minds on their side, Mulder and the Gunmen among them, it would surely only be a matter of time before they got the break they needed...
McCormick was continuing, "... the strongest card we hold is the conviction with which you tell your side of the story... and of course the Renovo's unsavoury past will play well in our favour... though any mitigation we can offer because of their involvement in your kidnapping and their treatment of you will be devalued should we try to make a deal after a guilty verdict. You appreciate that?"
"Yes."
"Good." He stood up and lifted his briefcase. "Now, I'm sure you'd like to spend some time with Mr. Skinner, so, if you'll excuse me." He signalled to the guard that he wished to leave.
When he was gone, Alex reached out and took Skinner's hand. His thumb stroked across the broad knuckles and he seemed lost in the action for a moment, but he suddenly looked up into his lover's eyes and said intently, "I don't want to talk about the trial anymore, Walter. I want to talk about the stuff that really matters, the stuff that we stupidly didn't talk about when we had all the time in the world—"
"Alex—"
"Just listen, Walter, please?"
Skinner nodded and placed his other hand on top of Alex's.
At the gesture, Alex drew in a ragged breath and blinked away the brightness in his eyes before it could turn to tears.
"What I want to say is that everything I value in my life I owe to you... I want you to know that..." he looked down at their joined hands again before he continued, "... you've made me feel worthwhile... for the first time in my life... I love you, Walter..."
And this time the tears did fall.
Skinner let go the hold of his top hand on Alex's and took a handkerchief from his pocket. Reaching out he dried Alex's eyes and face.
"I know you love me," he said gently, taking hold of Alex's hand again in both of his, making it into the kind of embrace they were denied in such a hostile, public place. "I've gotten good at deciphering the code, but it's good to hear it out loud. And you know something? You're right about us avoiding the really important stuff... so if you don't want to talk about... you know... tomorrow... well, that's okay with me... let's talk about the things that really matter..."
He waited until Alex looked up at him again—"So hey, what about those Capitals, huh?"
Alex's sudden, spontaneous laugh rekindled the warm closeness that had been taken from them on the day the nightmare had begun. Skinner could feel the breach being closed. All that was required to make the healing complete were his own words.
"I'm nearly as much into code as you are Alex, so, just in case, I'm going to spell it out. I love you. You make me worthwhile."
After that they just held onto each other in silence for a while. When conversation did resume, it was as though they were sitting in their own kitchen at home. Only when the guard approached with the shackles did the tension return, and then, despite the man's proximity, Alex continued to hold onto Skinner's hand with a grip so tight that it threatened injury.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Skinner promised as Alex was led away.
He didn't get an answer.
The next morning brought the first day of the trial and Skinner was up at dawn to check that everything he'd so carefully prepared the night before was still in order. Not long after, he sat in the kitchen and watched Vera and Elizabeth make a breakfast that none of them had any intention of eating. By mutual agreement, and at far too early an hour, the three of them set off for the court with Alex's best suit and perfectly laundered shirt hanging in the back seat of the Lexus.
Mulder was already there, sitting outside the courtroom, surrounded by a flurry of notes. Even though Skinner had explained to Vera that Alex and Mulder had resolved their differences and that Mulder was working hard to prove Alex innocent, there was an uncomfortable moment as the two exchanged greetings.
"I'm sorry about what's happened to Alex, Mrs. Svetlov, and about the way I behaved when I—"
"That's forgotten, Mr. Mulder," Vera interrupted. "All that matters to me is that my son is freed."
Skinner quickly introduced his sister.
"Elizabeth, this is Fox Mulder. He and I used to work together at the Bureau."
"Mr. Mulder," she greeted him, before sitting down beside Vera.
"How are you doing, Walter?" Mulder asked.
"I'm... holding it together... like Alex. Look, I need to get these things to him," he replied, indicating the suit bag. "Will you stay with them?"
"Sure."
Skinner left them and found his way to the holding cells to hand over the clothes for Alex's appearance in court.
The officer at the desk checked the list of names on his clipboard, then glanced up at Skinner.
"Nope," he said, refusing to accept them, "looks like they're not going to be needed—not today anyway."
"What?" Skinner demanded, gruffly.
"Hey, buddy, relax, I only tick the boxes around here. If you want to know the whys and the wherefores you'll have to take it up with one of the overpaid lawyer types."
Skinner fumed all the way back to court. He handed the clothes to Vera for safe keeping while he and Mulder went in search of an explanation.
It took some time for them to track down Charles McCormick, but they eventually found him in an annex at the back of the courthouse. He was sitting in one of a number of cage-like cells that stretched down both sides of a dimly lit corridor. Alex, dressed in a bright yellow jumpsuit, was the other occupant of the cell.
"Alex!" Skinner called out the moment his eyes focussed enough in the dim light to make out the familiar figure in the unfamiliar outfit.
He looked up in response to Skinner's shout, then immediately turned his back to him.
"Alex!" Skinner called again, angrily this time.
"Just a minute, Mr. Skinner," McCormick answered. "Guard, can you let me out?"
The guard took his time walking from the end of the corridor, sorting through a bunch of keys as he did so. The moment the cell door was opened, McCormick rested his hand on Alex's shoulder and bent down to say something to him. Then he retrieved his briefcase and made his way down the corridor towards Skinner and Mulder as the guard relocked the cell door.
Another guard on Skinner's side of the main door to the cell complex unlocked it and allowed McCormick through. It clanged shut behind him and was again locked.
"What the hell is going on, McCormick?"
"I want you to try to stay as calm as possible, Mr. Skinner," the lawyer requested in a measured voice. "A great deal has happened this morning and we're in a completely different ball game—"
"What has happened? Why wasn't I called?"
"Alex has dismissed you as his lawyer. He doesn't want you to have any further involvement in this matter."
Skinner looked at him confused.
"You're not going to like what I have to tell you, Mr. Skinner."
"Just fucking tell me!"
"Very well. Alex called me in early this morning wanting to make a deal with the prosecution—"
"What?" Skinner thundered.
"Do you want to hear this or not?" McCormick asked coldly.
Skinner bit back the obscenity that leapt into his mouth and nodded curtly.
"As I was saying, Alex asked me to negotiate a deal with the prosecution. He has agreed to plead guilty ..."
After the word 'guilty' Skinner heard only snatches of what the lawyer was saying. The man's voice faded in and out like a badly tuned radio broadcast.
"... previous mental history... agreed to life in an appropriate institution... no chance of parole..."
Though the message was plain enough.
"... the judge wasn't happy, neither was the prosecution... want their day in court... pressure from above to end it quickly... already signed and sealed... no publicity..."
All through the lawyer's explanation he kept his gaze firmly fixed on Alex's yellow covered back.
What an appropriate colour, he thought disjointedly.
Then suddenly he realised that the guard was opening the door of the cell Alex occupied.
At first, his mind refused to accept what his eyes were telling him. It was all moving too fast—he needed time to think about it—he needed to talk to Alex—
—Alex, who had begun to shuffle his way towards the far end of the corridor—
—and then it all clicked into place—
—it was over—
—they were taking Alex away—
—Alex was leaving him—
"ALEX!" Skinner roared, throwing himself against the mesh of the locked gate so hard it threatened to give way. "DON'T YOU FUCKING DO THIS TO ME! YOU FUCKING COWARD!"
As if from a distance, he could sense the presence of Mulder and McCormick on either side of him, trying to restrain him. They made no impression on him. It was only Alex's disappearance through a distant door into a brief flash of daylight that ended his struggles and shouted curses. Almost immediately he sagged against the mesh and had to hook his fingers through it to keep himself upright.
"Get a chair," he heard someone order.
A few seconds later he was being encouraged to release his hold on the wire gate. Gratefully he sank down onto a metal seat and allowed someone to guide his head forward to help overcome the nausea that was sweeping through him. Though it passed quickly, he straightened up slowly, afraid of provoking its return. A glass of cold water was pressed into his hand. He looked up to find Mulder hovering over him. McCormick stood further back, his face ashen.
"Walter, do we need to get a doctor?" Mulder asked.
Skinner shook his head and took a sip of the water. He handed the glass back to Mulder as he stood up. Somehow between them, they managed to completely misread each other's actions and the glass shattered on the ground at their feet.
"Never mind," Mulder said, as Skinner stared at the broken pieces littering the floor. "Let's get out of here."
The three of them made their way back to the main part of the courthouse and McCormick ushered them into the same small room where Skinner and he had met with Alex on the day of the arraignment. Skinner sat down heavily at the table and rested his head in his hands.
"Mulder," he said, surprised to find his voice hoarse and sore, "Alex's mother, and my sister... they're up there waiting..."
"I'll go up," Mulder offered. "Should I take them home for you?"
"Yes, I'll be a while... I can't deal with Vera just yet..."
"No problem. I'll stay with them until you're ready... maybe explain what I can?"
Skinner looked up and nodded his agreement.
As soon as he left McCormick took the seat opposite Skinner.
"I know you don't want to hear this right now, Mr. Skinner, but I think you'll come to realise that he acted in everyone's best interest. I've watched families go through this process to the... inevitable conclusion, and I've seen it destroy them. He wants to spare you that."
When Skinner didn't reply, he took out two legal sized envelopes from his inside breast pocket and laid them on the table.
"When you're ready to talk this through, let me know."
He left the room quietly.
Skinner stared at the envelopes for a long time, then he picked up the one with his name written on the front in Alex's dramatic cursive scrawl.
The sheet of paper inside contained just a few sentences. It read:—
Walter,
Everything that needed to be said, was said yesterday. I'm doing what I think is best for everyone, but especially for you. I hope that sometime soon you will understand why and forgive me for taking so much more from you than I had any right to ask. Despite that, I'm going to ask one thing more of you— remember what was good between us and let me go.
Only yours,
Alex.
Walter Skinner crumpled the page in his hand and did something he hadn't done since his return from Vietnam, he laid his head down and cried bitter tears.
TBC
Part One
Somewhere out on the prairie
Lives the greatest cowboy there's ever been
And when he lays his hands upon the ponies
They shudder with an understanding skin
And he says...
'Ponies, now ponies don't you worry
Have not come to steal your fire away
I've come to fly with you
Across the sunrise
Discover what begins each shining day'
alter Skinner struggled through the front door of the White Oaks
Facility, loaded down with a number of large bags and balancing a pile
of foil food containers. Joe, the duty security guard, came out from
behind the desk to assist him.
Some weeks later.
Virginia.
Hoover Building
29 th January
1:04pm
Charlottesville
11.37 p.m.
1425 N. Courthouse Road
10:15 am
