by Josan
It came from one of the big publishing companies in the States, wondering if
it would be possible for one of their writers
to come up for a month. He needed seclusion, no distractions to finish a
manuscript. They understood that he could get
that at their lodge.
They were also aware that the lodge didn't take guests in the off-season, so
that the writer was more than willing to pay
double the going summer rate for the inconvenience.
Would they be so kind as to contact Mary Jane MacIsaac as to the
particulars?
Walter tossed the letter onto the kitchen table. "What do you think?"
Alex reached over, picked up the letter. Looked at it.
"They're Mulder's publishers."
Walter tipped back the chair he was sitting on, rested the heels of his
boots on an edge of the table. If their cook, Marie,
had been around, he wouldn't have dared do such a thing: she would have smacked
him, hard.
"That went through my mind, too. Dana was bound to speak to him. Still,
maybe we're jumping the gun here. They do
represent other writers."
Alex just raised an eyebrow.
"Well, let's think on it. We don't need to answer right away."
But they did have a time limit. If they wanted to talk to Mary Jane MacIsaac
in person, they needed to co-ordinate with the
Anik satellite to get a phone line into the States. And then there was
transportation. Terry wouldn't chance his new
helicopter, the one that the Council had purchased for him. In the winter he
would only use the Otter, so the lake had to be
frozen and the weather clear for him to deliver the package.
Then Molly, the Postmistress, contacted them on the radio.
"You have a letter here from New York. Do you want me to open it?"
Alex looked at Walter who shrugged. "Sure. Go ahead, Molly."
Another request, this time with the ante upped to three times their usual
charge. Molly gave a low whistle. "With that, you
could put real bathrooms in all the cabins!"
As usual, everyone in Latchford, known locally as LA, knew as much about
their business as they did.
Alex thanked her, asked if there was any other business.
That night over their chess game, Walter brought it up.
"Well?"
Alex picked up his knight, played with it in his hand. Said nothing.
"Alex, if you don't want him up here, if you think we can't trust him, we
just say no. That's all there is to it."
Alex looked up, met Walter's eyes. "I always thought you'd end up with him."
Walter was stunned for a moment, then gave a hoot of laughter. "Jesus, Alex!
He drove me crazy when all I had to do was
supervise him. I can't for one minute think he would have driven me less crazy
if I had been attracted to him. And I doubt
very much that he's changed."
He reached out, laid his hand on Alex's.
"No, love. I've got what I want. And you're everything I'll ever want, or
need." His voice softened. "Don't ever doubt that,
Alex."
Alex gave a shy nod. Turned his hand so that their fingers laced. Took a
deep breath.
"Okay. Let's do it. The money's nice. And besides, we're not certain it is
Mulder."
Walter grinned. "There is a way to find out if they won't tell us."
Alex thought about it, grinned back.
They got a line through to New York the next day. And no, Mary Jane MacIsaac
wouldn't give them the name of the
writer involved.
"It's not that we don't trust you, Mr. Skinner, but this is not a secure
line. And our writer is very popular with the public
and doesn't want anyone following him up there. I'm sure you understand."
Yes, he did. Now did their writer understand that there was no electricity
up here? They did have a generator, but they only
ran it for the septic system when the holding tank needed emptying.
Ms. MacIsaac seemed to be rather taken aback. What exactly did that mean?
Well, it meant that the lighting was kerosene lanterns; the heat, wood; no
television. Just short wave radio, possibility of
telephone communication only one hour a day. And was the writer aware that the
only way in or out was by plane, and
that was weather dependent?
Oh, dear, said Ms. MacIsaac. And then there was another slight problem, from
her end. Her writer, when he was on a roll,
wouldn't consider such factors as heat and light: he forgot to eat unless
someone placed the food next to him.
No problem at this end, Mr. Skinner assured her. They could keep an eye on
all that. For what he was going to pay, they
had no objection to seeing to it that the room and writer were kept functional.
Would their coming in to attend to such
things bother him?
No, indeed, Ms. MacIsaac assured them. When he was like that, a bomb could
go off next to him and he wouldn't hear it.
Well, then, as long as he had ample batteries for his laptop... she had to
remember, there was no corner store around here.
Yes, of course. She would make sure that he had a case full of the things
just to make sure.
"And you'd better make sure he has a couple of cases of sunflower seeds. We
don't have any of those up here."
"Oh, dear! How did you... ?" She sighed loudly. "Yes, well. You're right.
He'll go crazy if he runs out of those before the
work is finished. I'll see to it."
Walter turned to Alex and nodded.
"And, Ms. MacIsaac, it gets very cold even at this time of the year. Make
very sure he has the appropriate clothes. We
don't want him freezing to death, do we?"
Terry skied the plane to the dock, on a beautiful late November afternoon.
Walter was waiting at the landing with the sled and the dogs.
A man jumped out, dressed in an arctic parka, coveralls and heavy arctic
boots. Behind him, Terry shared a smirk with
Walter: these southerners and their "thin" blood.
"Hello, Mulder."
Mulder pushed the hood off his face. "I figured you knew it was me when Mary
Jane mentioned the sunflower seeds."
They checked each other out for changes as they shook hands.
Walter was wearing a thick sweater, jeans. After three years, his blood had
"thickened" enough that he didn't find a
windless, sunny day that cold, even if the lake had frozen over.
Mulder was pleased to find his ex-boss looking pretty much as he remembered
him. Minus the strained tension that had
permeated all their lives in those last days of hearings, revelations.
In fact, Skinner looked as if nothing much bothered him. He and Terry were
unloading the plane, catching up on local
gossip. The lead dog of the sled was calmly watching Skinner while the others
were all straining for attention from the
guest.
Terry refused an offer for coffee: he was leaving for Toronto, for a week's
worth of extra lessons on a helicopter. Yep, he
had their list of the things they wanted. He'd see them in a couple of weeks.
Both men waited until Terry had taken off to make their way up to the lodge.
Mulder was impressed with the way the
dogs all snapped to attention when Skinner ordered them to "Go!"
Mulder stopped in the yard to look over the site. He smiled at Skinner.
"Just like Scully described it. She said it was
beautiful, and it is."
Walter looked around his home and smiled, "It is that. Come on. I'll show
you where we set you up."
They'd given Mulder their room. It would be easier to keep warm, being right
above the kitchen, had its own bathroom.
They'd moved their things into the bedroom Alex had used when he'd first moved
into the lodge.
Mulder looked around the room, at the four poster bed, large matching
dresser, the glass-fronted wood stove emitting a
gentle heat, the colourful braided carpet on the honey gold wood floor. They
had brought up a large table, set it by the
window for light. There were three lanterns in the room, all ready to be lit.
"Bathroom's through here. Closet. Why don't you start unpacking while I
bring the rest of your things up."
Mulder tossed his parka unto the bed.
"Skinner."
Walter had his hand on the knob, ready to close the door behind him.
"Where's Krycek?"
Walter turned around to face his ex-subordinate.
"My partner," Walter wanted the ground rules firmly established, "is
working at his chores. Since I am the official
host, it is my pleasure to greet guests. If you care to join us downstairs
for supper this evening, we'll be happy to have
you. I understand that once you begin working, we will be bringing your meals
up here to you."
Mulder was not surprised that Skinner could still put on that AD tone of
his. He nodded. "Yes, thank you. I would like to
join you two for supper. If it's no bother."
"No bother at all, Mulder."
And with that Walter closed the door behind him.
Shit! thought Mulder. Well, Scully had warned him that Skinner was very
protective of Krycek. Still, he was willing to bet
that she had been more warmly received than he had been. That the lines between
them hadn't been so firmly drawn.
To be fair, the last time he'd seen Skinner he hadn't been very friendly.
Hell, he had found it hard to be polite, never mind diplomatic at that stage
of the proceedings. All that information -
answers to questions that had haunted him for years—all that to be covered
up, to be deep- sixed, all for the good of the
Nation. The average man on the street, he'd been told, wouldn't know how to
handle the information that had been
uncovered. Translation: the average honourable member of the Senate didn't know
what to do with it.
After the fact, he could understand—still not accept but he did understand
- why the in camera Senate investigations were
necessary. He knew that to Skinner they were the lesser of two evils: in camera
or none at all.
And his support for the conspiracy of silence still hadn't protected Skinner
when the clean-out began. He'd been the first
of them to "retire" from the scene. Then Scully, who went off to Baltimore. To
Johns Hopkins, who were bloody glad to
get her.
Even Krycek had disappeared. Being the source of so much crucial information
hadn't, in the end, given him the immunity
he thought he had bargained for. Until Scully's visit after her summer
vacation, Mulder had often consoled himself with
the image of Krycek lying dead in a ditch somewhere, an unmourned-for casualty
of their victory over the Consortium.
Only he had hung around, making himself very visible. Only he, or so he had
felt for some time, had cared enough about
the truth to fight their cover-up. Until he had been confronted by his own
mother and told to face facts: Samantha was
dead and never coming back.
No matter how much noise he made, how much attention he got, nothing was
going to change that. Or change the fact that
his father had given Sam to the Consortium. That he had deserved to die.
That, in her opinion, it was a pity that Alex Krycek had been so good at his
job that William Mulder had died quickly.
That he should have died as slowly as she, Teena, had been dying all these
years without her child.
After that, when OPR had demanded his badge, it had almost been a relief.
Mulder spent the rest of the afternoon in his room, unpacking, putting
things away, setting up his work area. Storing the
large box of batteries his laptop would need under the table; the two boxes of
sunflower seeds to the side. All close at
hand for when he would need them.
It had taken only a glance at Terry at the airport in North Bay to know that
he was overdressed for the season, but he'd
nearly frozen to death once and he wasn't going to chance it again. He'd
brought up a fair supply of silk and thermal
longjohns for any occasion, thick sweats, heavy socks, lined moccasins.
The room was pleasantly warm with its wood heat and he hoped he would
remember to keep it going even if he were on a
roll. Hell, he was the one who had arranged to come up here at this time of the
year. Mary Jane had assured him that the
lodge owner had promised to take care of these disturbances for him, but he
wondered if Skinner would remember just
how obsessed he was when he was working.
The sun was already low when he went exploring the top floor. He discovered
that the room next to his was being used.
He hesitated at the doorway, wanting to snoop, but realizing that it would be
an invasion of privacy. He carefully closed
the door. Didn't check out any of the others.
The lobby downstairs was closed up, as was the dining room. Mulder wondered
what they were like in the summer, filled,
according to Scully, with people, some children, dogs. He still had a hard time
imagining Skinner in the hotel business.
Couldn't even begin to see Krycek in it.
He found his way to the kitchen, attracted by the smells and the warmth.
"Nice set up you got here," he said on entering.
The man at the stove turned around. "We like it." Alex leaned a hip against
the counter. "Hello, Mulder. You're looking
good."
"Krycek."
For a long minute, the two of them just stared at each other.
Alex saw a man who had more silver in his hair than the last time he'd seen
him. A few more lines on his face. Still the
rangy runner's body. Looking less driven. He'd gotten some answers with the
downfall of the Consortium: he hadn't
necessarily liked them, but he'd gotten them.
Mulder was surprised. Krycek looked a little older, as they all did, but
apart from that, the man hadn't really changed that
much. He looked as though he had put on some weight, as if he were eating on a
regular basis.
Shit, you would think that considering the havoc the man had wrought in all
their lives, it would show on him somehow.
And maybe his mother could accept—hell rejoice—that Krycek had killed
her ex-husband, but Mulder wasn't sure that he
was that forgiving, even if the information that had come out had indicated
that William Mulder was a bigger bastard than
anyone had thought him to be.
Krycek didn't look any more pleased to see him than he was to see Krycek.
"Hear you arrived dressed for the arctic."
Mulder shrugged. "Well, I believe proper winter clothing was specified." By
now, he supposed everyone in the area knew
he was overdressed by their standards. "You're looking well for a dead man."
Alex gave a bit of a nod, turned back to the stove. "Supper won't be ready
for an hour or so." He moved something in the
oven. Reached for a pie on the counter, put it beside the roasting pan.
"Make yourself at home. You'll find books over on those shelves," he nodded
towards a back corner, "some magazines.
Newspapers, if you like week-old news." Alex left the kitchen, pulled on his
boots, a Gore-tex jacket over his sweater.
Went back outdoors.
From the back room window, Mulder could see the dogs jumping up around
Krycek, vying for attention as he made his
way down the shovelled path to the wood stacked just behind the lodge.
For a while, Mulder watched Krycek load a large box on runners with wood,
then whistle for the dogs. He attached leads
to three of the larger ones, and with Krycek pushing, the dogs pulling, the box
made its way to the bottom of the porch
steps. There, the dogs were released, and Krycek began unloading and adding the
wood to the stack already on the porch.
Mulder thought about it for a minute, pulled on a pair of boots he found by
the door, grabbed one of the coats hanging
there and went out to help.
"What are you doing, Mulder?" Krycek didn't sound pleased.
"Helping out. And before you tell me paying guests don't help out, tell me
you didn't let Scully help when she offered.
Because she told me all about the fun she had playing dining room hostess."
They stacked two more loads of wood before Krycek stored the box in an
overhang, unharnessed the dogs, called the
others, and settled them in for the night in their kennel. Mulder stood
watching as Krycek gave each dog its share of
attention, compliments for the work they'd done that day. The largest of the
dogs followed them inside, went and joined
another in the corner
Walter was waiting for them, supper ready. There was chicken and all that
went with it, apple pie for dessert. Very little
conversation with the meal.
Mulder doubted that this was the normal pattern of things between the two
men. It was as if Skinner and Krycek were
waiting for him to do something, say something. So he did.
"Okay. So this was a bad idea."
Walter and Alex shared a look. Neither of them, he noticed, disagreed with
him.
"But I do need a place to work without distractions and this really does
satisfy that need. I'll probably start working on the
final draft tomorrow morning, so you won't have to deal with me beyond what has
been arranged. And I promise to leave
as soon as I'm finished.
"And, in case you're worried, Scully made me promise not to tell anyone
about Krycek. I don't break promises I've made
to her. Thank you for supper. It was very good."
He stood up, ready to make a dramatic exit when Skinner growled, "Jesus,
Mulder, sit down." And waited until he did.
"Look, Alex and I aren't the chattiest of people at the best of times. We've
just finished a long season of being nice and
polite to people. At this time of year, we really need a lot of quiet to make
up for that.
"Now I don't know what you were expecting from us. The last time Alex saw
you, you tried to beat him to a pulp in the
Senate hallway after he admitted to killing your father. The last time you saw
me, you came close to spitting in my face for
agreeing that the Senate hearings should be held in camera.
"Your coming up here may be putting both our lives on the line. Fortunately,
this is our territory, and if anyone tries to get
to us, they've got a lot of territory to cover and very few ways of making it
in without garnering attention."
Mulder was taken aback. "You think I'm putting your lives at stake? Then why
the hell did you agree to my coming up
here?"
Walter stood up, started gathering the dishes. "Because we both know you,
Mulder. If we'd said no, you would have
found a way of coming up here anyway. And probably a lot less quietly.
"This way, you have a reason that anyone can confirm. And you've got enough
things to do to keep yourself busy.
Moreover," he added with a grin, "a good innkeeper never turns down a guest
willing to pay triple, for any reason.
"And before you take offense, let me also tell you, we start our days early
and we finish them early. Especially by city
standards. You're welcome to join us at any time, as would be any other guest
we'd have staying.
"But, Mulder, we do have things to do outside, and very limited daylight to
do them in. And we do try to get as much done
as possible in this warmer weather.
"If you come looking for us, you may not find us. There is always coffee on:
the fridge in the pantry always has food in
it. Serve yourself. We'll see to it that the fire in your room doesn't go out,
that the lanterns are always filled, that your
room is kept passably clean. We would both appreciate it if you used the
wastepaper basket by the table for your
sunflower shells, but we understand that in the course of things, this may not
always happen.
"We spend our evenings in the kitchen, after supper. If you need anything,
that may be the best time to come to us with
your request.
"And one more thing, don't leave the lodge or the yard without telling one
of us. You're not in the city here, and it's easy to
get lost in the forest around here. And that rule is not just for you, but one
of the house rules." Walter pulled out his most
severe AD tone. "Is that understood, Mulder?"
"Yes, sir, it is." He sat, waiting to be dismissed. Caught himself. Shit,
old habits died hard.
"Good. So, Mulder," Walter's voice was that of the innkeeper again, "what's
it like being a best selling author?"
Mulder looked at the two men watching him. He knew he was overreacting but
the situation was beginning to make him
wish he had been less determined to come up here. It flashed through his head
that he would like to just make some
snarky remark, to answer that oh-so-polite inquiry of Skinner's with a
go-to-hell kind of answer.
After all, he was a best-selling author. He had any number of important
people clamouring for an interview with him.
He had two books on the New York Times Bestseller list, in hard cover, no less.
His first was still hovering in the #9 spot:
his second was #2, alternating with Stephen King for first place.
What had they done, these two, since they'd left D.C.?
Oh, Mulder! (He could hear Scully now.) Don't be a bigger ass than you have
to be.
He sighed, took hold of what he hoped was an olive branch that Skinner was
offering.
He even got a smile out of Krycek with his stories of the groupies he had
attracted, some of whom had tried to seduce him
by showing up in his hotel room when he was doing his last book tour.
By the time they went up to bed, Mulder first while they tended to the night
fires, some of the tension had been defused.
And, by morning, Mulder wasn't aware of anything other than the computer
screen in front of him and the discs he was
working on.
Walter and Alex kept up their part of the deal. The fire in his room never
went out. They kept the lanterns not only filled,
but came round to light them when the light level fell. They saw to it that the
food was always there when he felt the need
to eat: something that wouldn't go bad if it didn't get eaten right away. They
left the room pretty much alone.
Most of the time, he never even noticed that they'd been there. He knew that
they took turns: some days, Walter, others,
Alex. They never interrupted, never tried to speak to him. Didn't nag him about
sleeping, eating, showering.
It was perfect. Just what he needed.
He finished what he hoped was the final draft two weeks, five days after
he'd started. He collapsed on the bed, slept for a
straight 30 hours. Woke to find the room clean, himself in a clean set of
sweats, tucked under the bedclothes.
He staggered into the bathroom, took a real shower, not just something cold
to keep him awake. Shaved the beard off his
face. Examined the face that appeared. The effect of his eating habits stared
back at him. And, as if on cue, his stomach
growled loudly.
He dressed in real clothes, not sweats. Noticed that the ones he'd stripped
off during his work frenzy had been washed,
put back in their drawer.
He'd never gotten this kind of attention when he'd worked on those other
books. Maybe, in spite of the initial discomfort
of being here, he had finally found the right place to do his serious writing.
He knew Mary Jane would be pleased with
the results. He certainly was.
It was hard to tell what time it was: a snow storm was raging out the
window. He stood and stared, wondering what else
he'd missed while working. Lazily wondered where he'd taken off his watch.
Still, it must be daytime: there was enough light for him to find his way
down the stairs and into the kitchen.
And into something he hadn't even considered for an instant.
Skinner and Krycek were in the kitchen. On the couch that was set up to take
advantage of the heat coming from the
stove.
Asleep.
Both of them.
Krycek lying on his back.
Skinner on his side.
Skinner in Krycek's arms.
Skinner's arms around Krycek.
Skinner's head tucked under Krycek's chin.
Krycek's eyes opened.
Looked over to Mulder.
Met Mulder's eyes.
And Mulder finally understood what Scully had been hinting at when she'd
commented about how protective Skinner was
of Krycek.
Alex nudged Walter's head with his chin. "Walt. We've got company."
Walter made a grumbling sound.
Alex rubbed his hand up and down Walter's back, eyes still holding Mulder's.
"Come on, Walter. I think we've managed
to take Mulder here by surprise."
Walter rubbed his cheek against Alex's shoulder. Sighed. Opened his eyes.
Looked over to the stairway and saw that
Mulder was looking a little stunned.
"Caught up on your sleep?" Walter yawned, moved a bit so that Alex could
drop his feet to the floor, shift to sit up.
Walter followed suit.
Mulder felt embarrassed, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't
have. Krycek noticed, hid his smile behind a
yawn. Walter stretched a little: afternoon naps were not the norm for them.
Well, not at this time of the year.
The loud gurgle coming from Mulder's stomach broke the silence and some of
the tension.
Walter smiled. "Sounds like your body is protesting your abuse of it,
Mulder. I can fix a sandwich or I can heat up some
stew. Which do you think it would prefer?"
"Whatever's quickest." Mulder came into the room, sat at the table. Walter
got up, went into the pantry to get the makings
for a roast beef sandwich. Alex rested his head on the back of the couch,
stretched his legs out.
"Has it been snowing long?" Mulder found himself trying to find a subject of
discussion that would keep him away from
what he really wanted to ask: how long have the two of you been fucking each
other?
"Since this morning. According to the weather report, it should stop
sometime overnight." Walter placed the thick
sandwich in front of Mulder. Poured them each a cup of coffee. Joined Alex on
the couch, watching Mulder wolf down
the food like a starving man, which considering the amount of leftovers they'd
dumped into Boy's and Madonna's dishes,
he probably was.
He waited until Mulder finished before saying, very casually, "You didn't
know."
Mulder looked at him, face expressionless.
"That Alex and I are lovers."
"No."
"We thought maybe Dana would have mentioned it."
"No. She... ah... she didn't. Did she know? For certain, that is."
"She spent a lot of time with us at the cabin." Alex said. "We didn't make
love in front of her, but I have no doubt she
picked up enough clues."
"Cabin?" Shit, why the hell hadn't Scully said anything? It certainly
sounded as though she'd gotten rather closer to the
two of them than she had let on.
"We live in the cabin behind the lodge for the season," Walter explained.
"Paying guests get the lodge. We move back in
for the rest of the year. It's warmer and we have more space to move about in."
Walter grinned at Alex. "We'd probably go stir crazy and kill each other if
we spent the winters in the cabin."
Alex smiled back.
Mulder was taken aback by the intense anger that suddenly overwhelmed him.
He wanted to go over there and beat that
smile off Krycek's face! He had to grip the edge of the table.
Jesus! What was the matter with him?
He took a deep breath and got himself under control. Shit! He hadn't felt
like this since the day he'd handed in his
resignation to the FBI disciplinary board: in spite of being proved right, they
had wanted his badge for his "irrational"
behaviour during the Senate hearings.
By then he was all alone. Skinner and Scully were gone. He'd thrown it at
them. Stomped out. Written his first book, a
barely fictional description of the Consortium, its history and its downfall.
Wrote it in two months. Sold it right away. It
hit the bookstores four months later. Was number 1 three weeks later.
He was still riding high. Had sold the movie rights for the first, and then
his second book for an obscene amount of
money. The advance for writing his third was in the high six figures.
He could buy and sell these two men thousands of times over and not even
feel it in his bank account.
So why was he so angry?
He was back in his bedroom, supposedly reading over his revisions, actually
looking out at the snow falling in heavy large
flakes, making even the grey light of the outside world look peaceful.
The door to his room opened and someone came to stand behind him.
The hair on the nape of his neck rose so he knew it was Krycek.
Neither man said anything for a long time, just stood there looking out the
window.
"It's beautiful up here. No matter the season, there's always something that
makes you stop and just look for a while.
Makes you take stock. Maybe it's because the hills here are some of the oldest
on the planet. They've been here millions
of years, will be here millions more. They force us to put things into
perspective."
Mulder said nothing.
"Did you have any idea how much you wanted him?"
Oh, God! Mulder closed his eyes.
"I told him before we contacted MacIsaac that I always thought you two would
end up together. Not him and me. I
figured the reason you were so angry at him back in D.C. had more in it than
simple disagreement."
Mulder suddenly remembered that one of the people who had seen him screaming
at Skinner in the halls of the Dirksen
Senate Office Building was Alex Krycek.
"That it had its basis in some lover's spat. Imagine my surprise when I
learnt that Walter had packed up and moved and
that you were still in D.C.
"I came here to hide out. Walter didn't invite me. He let me stay because he
caught me about to blow my brains out. And
my staying got to be a habit."
Krycek was silent for a bit, then took a deep breath and continued.
"I know you think I should be punished for killing your father."
Mulder started to move, caught himself. Alex waited. Mulder's jaw clenched
tight. He would make some dentist happy if
this continued.
"Jesus, Mulder. I have paid. Paid with my nightmares. Paid with my arm. Paid
with being so expendable they couldn't
even be bothered to send a half-way decent killer to eliminate me.
"But the one thing I will not pay with is Walter. You had your chance in
D.C. The fact that you didn't act on it is not my
fault."
Mulder didn't hear Krycek move away, only heard the door close softly behind
the man.
Supper was a very quiet affair. Mulder excused himself as quickly as it was
polite to do so, returned to his unlit room to
stare out the window.
Skinner was the one who knocked softly at the door, to see if he needed
anything. Mulder watched him light a couple of
the lanterns, add wood to the fire, change the towels in the bathroom for clean
ones. Act like the innkeeper he had become.
"Do you miss it?"
Skinner cocked his head. "Miss what?"
"The Bureau. D.C." Mulder made a gesture that revealed a certain sense of
frustration. "Everything you had before you
came here."
Skinner leaned back against the foot of the bed. Gave a sort of half smile.
"Civilization?"
"Yeah, that too." Mulder pulled the chair away from the table, sat on it.
"First couple of months after I was pushed out, I resented what they had
taken away from me. I won't deny that. But then
I came up here. After that, I didn't have the time to think much about it.
There was so much to do before the winter and so
little time to do it in."
"Did you ever think about... us? About Scully and me, I mean."
Skinner crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I knew that Scully had
resigned. She did that just as I left. We found out
what happened to you when we went to Toronto after our second season. Your book
and your picture were in every
bookstore we went to."
"Did you buy it?" Mulder asked more out of curiosity than anything else.
"No. Not because we didn't think it would make a good read, but because we
didn't want to relive it. Alex still has
nightmares. Nowhere near as bad as they were when he first arrived here, but
still too often for us to go there.
"I did buy your second one for Terry. Gave it to him for his birthday." He
went back to the original subject. "But to
answer your question; no, I don't miss it. I have everything here that I need.
We both do. And we find that a week or ten
days in Toronto is all the 'civilization' that we need or can put up with these
days."
"You keep on saying 'we'." Mulder's tone turned challenging. "Are you sure
that it's how you, Walter Sergei Skinner,
feel or how Krycek feels?"
Skinner smiled kindly. "Mulder. I am not being kept here against my will. I
am not in a relationship with Alex because
he's coerced me. I love it here. And I love Alex."
He moved away from the bed, went to check the fire one last time. "If you
stay up to work, you might want to put another
log on before going to bed."
He stopped at the door. "You know, Alex once told me that he thought you and
I might end up together."
Mulder looked up at him, carefully paying attention.
"I told him the two of us would have driven each other crazy. I would have
tried to control you: you would have bucked
me all the way. We would have repeated the same pattern that we'd established
at the Bureau. Ended up hating each other.
Really hating each other.
"Good night, Mulder."
It was a long time before Mulder went to bed. He remembered to put another
log in. Lay staring at the reflections of the
firelight on the ceiling.
The sun was reflecting brilliantly against all that new snow. Mulder put on
several layers of clothes, went downstairs to
the kitchen. He finished a cup of coffee, pulled on the rest of his outdoor
clothes, his sunglasses and went to find his
hosts.
The porch had already been cleared indicating that the two had been working
out here for some time. He found Skinner
shovelling out the path to the wood behind the lodge; Krycek had made his way
to the dogs, had fed them and was now
letting them out to roll in the yard.
Mulder picked up a shovel and went to help. The pups pretty much stayed
underfoot all the time he was clearing the path
to their kennel.
They got him a telephone link to Mary Jane and he downloaded his manuscript
to her. She called back the next day. The
downloading hadn't been a total success, but she'd gotten enough to know that
it was the best thing he'd written so far.
When was he coming back down? They had to get a good copy so that she could
really go over it with him.
Terry checked the Canadian Meterological Report, told them that the next
four, five days looked good. Did the package
want immediate pick-up or did it want to wait and enjoy the nice weather for a
couple of days?
Mulder shook his head: -20C was not his idea of nice weather even if the sun
were shining. He thought that the next
morning would be good. With luck he'd be in New York that evening, in time for
the Sci-Fi channel's marathon running
of Kolchak.
Krycek stayed behind in the lodge. Skinner and Mulder watched Terry ski the
Otter to where they stood waiting on the
dock. It didn't take long to pack his stuff onto the plane. Terry got in,
leaving the two men to say their goodbyes in private.
Skinner removed his glove, offered his bare hand to Mulder.
Mulder looked at him, took off his mitts. Shook his hand. Held it. Krycek
had been right: he had had all that time in D.C.
and hadn't even been aware of it. And now the two of them had gone off in
widely different directions.
"Take care," said Skinner.
Mulder nodded. Released Skinner's hand. Turned to get into the plane.
Hesitated. Over his shoulder, "Could I come up
here to do the next book?"
Skinner smiled. "Sure. Just remember to bring up your own bird seed."
The dedication to Mulder's third book read: To the Temiskaming.
NIF
The Visitor
hey'd said goodbye to the last guest, to the staff, closed up the
cabins, drained pipes and were getting ready for the winter
when the letter arrived.
