Ignorance is Hell - Chapter 09

by Mik

I see Scully across the mezzanine as I come out of the elevators. She gives me one of those looks that only she can give. She is talking to another agent, but manages to disentangle herself and come toward me before I can get to the stairs. "Sir?"

"Good morning, Agent," I say pleasantly. I know what she's asking. What the hell am I doing here when I was supposed to leave for California an hour ago? Do the words 'cold feet' mean anything to her? I wonder.

"Sir," she repeats, struggling to keep up with me.

I glance around, look to see if anyone is overtly looking at us and, spotting no one, smile down at her. "Step into my office, Agent?"

"Sir," she says for the third time, meaning a third thing.

I greet my assistant with a nod, unlock my door and hold it for Agent Scully. The young woman steps in ahead of me, barely containing a need to whirl on me and begin an inquisition. I forestall her with an upraised hand. "I'm going, I promise you, Agent Scully," I say, putting my briefcase down so I can shrug out of my coat.

She takes a chair. "Are you, Sir?" she says flatly. She might as well say, 'Are you a coward, Sir?'

"Yes." I realize I am answering both questions with that one word. I open my cupboard and reach for a hanger. "But I have a few details to see to here before I leave." I reach for the switch to my stereo and let a talk radio station begin to murmur in the background, creating white noise, just in case being frank in my office is unwise. "I want to …" I wonder what would be a reasonable reason. "I want to be free to stay a couple of days and hopefully bring him back with me."

I don't know if she's buying this but she's too well trained to argue. She shifts in her chair, watching me as I hang my coat and move around my desk to sit and consider the little stack of pink messages Kim left for me. "Does he know you're coming, Sir?" she inquires in that same bland tone she always reserves for me.

Even after I turned on the stereo, inviting familiarity if not intimacy in our conversation, she still calls me 'Sir'. Just a few short weeks ago, I had given her leave to call me Walter, and yet, within the walls of my office, she still reverts to training. As do I. "No, Agent Scully." I look up at her and work up a smile. "I thought it would be a nice surprise." The smile evaporates as I meet her eyes. "Don't you?"

She's looking at me with that same 'don't give me that, Mulder' stare she perfected for him. "I think he'll be very surprised if you go out there."

"The implication being?" I prompt.

She surprises me by leaning forward, bracing her hands on the desk, and the bland tone is gone. "The implication being that you're afraid that he's going to tell you to go to hell." She pauses, then adds, "Sir."

Well, there is a bit of female intuition fired with deadly accuracy. I nod. "That's very true. But I'm still going out there."

She shakes her head.

"You don't think I will?"

She shakes her head again. "No, it's not that, it's..." She's clearly struggling with something.

I smile at her, slightly, giving her tacit permission to proceed. She does, albeit with caution. "I guess it's just that the more I think about this, the more difficulty I'm having taking it all in." She pulls her gifted little hands into her lap as if she's afraid she might actually display animation. "I can understand his feelings for you, Sir. I really can. But you, Sir…" she points to the chair next to her as if her former partner is sitting right there with us. "...Agent Mulder seems to be the antithesis of everything you might admire in a person. What's the attraction?" Her voice drops to an embarrassed whisper. "Sex?"

"I'm surprised at you, Agent." I, too, lower my voice. "You know him as well as I do, perhaps better, and you don't understand the attraction?"

She looks at me hard, as if searching for cues in my expression. "I guess not," she confesses.

I open my mouth to give her some pat answer, and realize that, as with everything else about Mulder, there is no pat answer for this. "Well, I'll tell you," I begin, and sigh, spreading my hands before her as if to show that I am opening myself up before her. "I don't understand it, either. However," I rush on as she opens her mouth to argue, protest, scold. "It is a very real thing." I begin, slowly, in measured words and hushed tones, to explain how it all began.

She listens quietly, hands folded before her, blue eyes never leaving mine, showing no curiosity or judgment until the very end, when her brow wrinkles up, thoughtfully. "So, you didn't know with any certainty that you had begun a physical relationship. I don't understand why you proceeded. There was no need -"

"There was every need, Agent," I break in, with conviction. "Not knowing was..." I nearly say 'hell'. "...unacceptable."

The thoughtful frown deepens. "And now that you know?"

I find myself forced to relax, even to smile smugly. "I still don't know what happened that night. But I do know that proceeding revealed to me that this was something I wanted. I believe it is something I had wanted for a very long time. I was physically overcome by feelings for him once I allowed myself to have those feelings." It was a huge confession and I wait for her response.

It is long in coming, and when it comes, it is not what I expected. "And Mulder? Was it something he wanted?"

I do not hesitate. "I believe Mulder wanted...needed...needs to be loved." I draw a deep breath and meet her eyes. "And I do."

"Yet, you're still here," she answers skeptically.

"You disapprove, don't you, Agent Scully?"

"Yes," she answers honestly. "I think if you really loved him, you'd be out there already, instead of playing this stupid, macho pride game."

"No, I meant..." I pause. What I meant doesn't matter. She's right. "Yes," I concede. "I'm going."

Her blue eyes pin me to my chair. "When?"

I answer her with the only one I have. "Soon."

She rises and leans over the desk, surprisingly imposing. "Special Agent Fox Mulder is more than a coworker, a colleague to me. He is my best friend. I will not allow anyone to hurt him." She jabs a finger on the edge of my desk, dangerously near my belly. "And that includes you." She pauses. "Sir."

I nod. "Point taken." I reach for her hand as it hovers near mine. "Dana...do you love him?"

I can feel every muscle in her body strain not to pull her hand from mine. I feel every inch of her spine stiffen as she makes her gaze stay unflinchingly on mine. "Yes," she answers levelly, "I do."

Well, I always knew it. I don't know why it surprised and hurt me to hear her say it. I release her hand. "I'll take very good care of him, Agent," I say with unnecessary gruffness. "I promise you this."

Agent Scully straightens, brushes down the jacket of her suit, glances away. "Thank you...Sir."

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

The plane touches down on the bubbling tarmac at four o'clock Pacific Standard Time. Outside my window, I can see smog, buildings, the heat waves over the ground, and a hint of the ocean just beyond. I reach for my Palm Pilot and check, for the twentieth time, to see if I have the correct address for Tom's parents' home. I punch in the keyword for Mapquest, and enter the address, looking for directions. The plane rolls to a stop. I'm a few short hours from Mulder's arms. I'm smiling.

As is always the case when I'm in Los Angeles, it takes far too long to deplane, collect my bag, and get my rental car. The sun is actually sinking down into the ocean by the time I manage to maneuver the so called 'standard sized' car out of the maze that is the LAX facility. My legs are already cramping, even though I have the seat pushed all the way back. The a/c seems to be stuck on 'icicle' and the radio is stuck on rap. It's going to be a long drive.

I check Mapquest again, and realize I've already missed the exit from the airport onto the freeway, so I think about doubling back. Then I decide that since I know I need to go Northwest, all I have to do is keep traveling straight until I find a street that will take me back Northwest. It isn't that hard, really. You just have to know where you're going.

Of course, Los Angeles isn't like D.C. Roads that start out going North-South somehow end up going Southeast by Westhell and they change names and meander and double back on themselves. Streets suddenly become freeways and freeways suddenly become parking lots. And by seven forty five...I'm lost.

I consider telephoning Tom and Steve, but I hadn't told them I was coming, and I don't want to try and explain where I am or how I came to be here while trying to remain in Los Angeles County. I have a terrible suspicion that if I blink at the wrong time, I'm going to end up in Wyoming. I just have to keep reminding myself that I want to go Northeast. And then...just when I think I've got it right, and I'm on the proper freeway, stuck in the proper traffic, I realize that I've misread Mapquest. I really want to be going Southeast. I let out a string of words they wouldn't even use in a rap song.

I find a sign that mentions a town that sounds familiar, and I exit the freeway to follow the signs. Now I'm really stuck in traffic. That bumper to bumper, say good-bye to the wife and kids kind that I recall from my days as a cop in New York. I turn off the radio and begin rehearsing a little speech for Mulder.

"I know we parted on bad terms, Mulder, but I hope you've had a chance to reflect and see that this really was the safest course of action for you to take...well, that will bring out the warm feelings, won't it?" I fiddle with the radio station, find a talk show. Listen for about five minutes...Christian, ultra conservative...no. "Mulder, can't you see that I only wanted the best for you? I just wanted to keep you safe...that's it...make him feel like a child." I sigh and play with the radio again. A nice jazz station. Thirty seconds later, a string of loud, bouncy commercials. No. "Agent Mulder, I - definitely not." I turn off the radio, and try to turn off my mind.

The trouble is, we're both stubborn. Somehow I need to make him see my point of view without getting his back up. Seems almost impossible, especially since my back's already up. Honesty, that's got to be the key. Be honest and firm. I did this because it was the right thing. I stand behind my decision. I know it hurt you, and I'm sorry, but I don't regret it. Well, nothing like sounding like a hard-ass Marine to ruin a tender reunion.

Wait a minute. I am a hard-ass Marine. That's what he's expecting from me. That's the man he knows and respects. He couldn't accept me any other way. Fine. One hard-ass Marine coming up. Now...if I could just get to him.

It's nearly ten o'clock by the time I turn down the street where Tom's parents live. In the darkness it's hard to tell, but it seems like a very nice neighborhood, on a foothill that rolls right down to the beach. Mulder ought to be in a runner's paradise here. I may never coax him back to D.C. The address is for a very nice two story Mediterranean style structure, which sets far off the street, and has a well lit walkway. Somehow I manage to pry my legs out from under the steering column and take the walkway up to the double doors and, drawing a deep breath, I knock.

It's Tom who answers a few moments later, but I don't miss Steve hovering just behind him, weapon at the ready. It makes me feel good to know they're taking the job of bodyguard seriously. They are both looking at me expectantly. "Took you long enough," Tom murmurs, backing up to make room for me.

I nod, conceding it. "Where is he?"

Stephan answers with a jerk of his head. "Upstairs. He's pretty wrecked. He just got back from a run."

"A run?" I demand, furious. "How could you let -"

Tom's big hand comes down on my shoulder. "Don't you ever learn, Walt? He's thirty-eight years old. He's in overall excellent physical shape, and he had his gun with him. He was fine."

"But he just had -"

"B.I.L.," Tom says sternly.

I nod again, reluctantly. "He's okay?"

"Fine," Stephan says from the fireplace, where he has returned to a large, inviting recliner. "First door at the top of the stairs."

I send a glance up the stairs. Then I look back at Tom. "Does he … how does he feel about seeing me?"

Tom shrugs. "Do you mean, has he vowed to shoot you on sight? No. Has he been weeping in his beer for you? No, again. Go upstairs and see for yourself." He gives me a little push.

I take the steps with an unexpected dread mingling with the passion that dragged me across the continent to see him. I push the door open. It is clearly Jenna's bedroom. It has lace curtains, a black iron poster bed, lacy spread. There's a big blue teddy bear on the floor. There's a big champagne colored teddy bear sprawled across the bed. He's obviously just come from a shower and collapsed on the bed in black boxers, hair running amok on the pillow. He has his arms pinned beneath him, as if hugging himself, face down, one leg crooked up, the ankle hooked around the knee of the other. I've never understood how he can sleep in that position. The scar on his side is raw and red even in semi-darkness. It's bigger than I remembered. I want to kneel beside him and press healing kisses to every centimeter. What ever happened to that hard-assed Marine?

I sigh and ease the door shut. Oh, Mulder, I wonder anxiously. Here I am. Now, what do I do?

I sit at the edge of the bed tentatively, and let my fingers brush across that silky back. His skin is warm and soft and strong. I feel him jerk slightly, lift his head, and turn. He blinks at me. I am frozen in the brilliance of that look. "Hey," I say weakly. When did I lose command? How do I get it back? Do I want it back? "I was wrong."

He shifts, slowly, grimacing, until he is on his side looking at me. "I know," he answers.

For a moment, all I can do is stare at the scarring along his ribs. Along with the makeshift surgery Steve and Scully did, there are the places where they shoved that 'big, fucking needle' and later a big tube. His hand moves over both, almost modestly.

I glance pointedly at the pillow beside his own. "Am I unwelcome?"

He sits up, stretches until the pain hits and tucks his arms against his side. Balancing on the fingertips of one hand, he leans forward until he can let his lips slide along mine. "No," he whispers.

There goes the last of my self-control. I gather him to me, wanting to weep in my relief. "I missed you."

His long arms wind around my shoulders, and he rests against me, his face buried against my throat. "You always do, Walt."

"Are you okay?" I push him away, to touch his face. "You had surgery -"

"Walt." His voice has a slightly warning tone.

"Listen, buddy," I said, using the same tone. "Just because I can't mother you doesn't mean I'm going to give up caring about you. Damn it, you nearly got yourself killed. Don't you think I've got a right to be concerned about you?"

"Rights?" He pulls back, glaring at me. "You're not my boss anymore."

I stare down at my empty arms. "There are other rights, Mulder," I tell him softly. "What about the way you feel about Scully? Don't I at least have that much right? Damn it, I love you. I have a right to care, be concerned, worry my ass off over you." The expression on his face stifles the rest of my speech. "What is it?"

He's biting down on his lower lip. "I guess I can't get used to that," he says quietly.

I shake my head slightly. "I don't understand. Get used to what?"

His eyes come up to mine and then dance away. "You loving me."

"I told you -"

"I know." He makes that jerky shrug. "But it doesn't seem real. You're my … well, you were my boss. You've always acted like I was a pain in your butt. And now I have to shift gears and believe you love me just because …" He stops, and there is an unexpected twinkle in his eyes, a little tug to the corner of his mouth.

"Because I've become the pain in your butt?" I suggest, starting to grin.

He laughs, that silent sound I live to hear.

I pull him back to me. "C'mere, you." I kiss him. I never realized how satisfying a kiss could be until a certain intent young man in a Charleston hotel showed me. Now I can't get enough. Carefully, I ease us backwards until I am among the pillows and he is on top of me, my arms wrapped around him. "When are you going to feel up to more than kisses and cuddles?" I ask against his mouth.

He lifts his head, arches a brow. "Oh, is that why you came?"

I release him. Roll away. How can he think that? Doesn't he realize how many nights I've been awake, worrying, regretting?

He puts a hand out. "Walter?"

I shrug it away.

His fingers curl into an unbreakable grip around my forearm. "Walter," he repeats.

"Why do you assume that all I want is to dominate you and have sex?" I complain, the words bursting out of me before I can temper or polish them.

His fingers fall away. He doesn't have an answer for that.

I turn back. He has caught his lower lip between his teeth, lowered his eyes. "There's more to our relationship than sex, Fox," I say, using his name tentatively. "A lot more. Or doesn't it seem that way to you?"

He reacts to his name, wincing slightly. He shoots a glance to the door. "They call me that."

"I know." Don't change the subject, damn it.

"You're my lover, and you never do."

Lover. Well, at least love is in there, somewhere. "Out of respect for you," I explain.

"I told you -"

"I know. But that was before." I shrug. I can't explain how I feel I surrendered that right when I walked out on him in Charleston and, even though the relationship has been repaired, the right to use his name has not been re-offered. I won't take what isn't mine. He is mine. His name isn't.

He settles back, considering this. "Okay. Thanks." He still won't look at me.

I'm hurt again. I thought it would be held out to me, offered with both hands, perhaps on a silver platter, but Mulder never does what I think, what I want, what I expect. I shrug and fall back against the pillows, looking up at him. Even in this light, it's clear he's spent some time in the sun. He looks well-fed, overall a delicious, healthy specimen. I want him. But if he won't offer, I won't take. I stretch lazily. "It's been a long day. I think I'll change and get ready for bed." I roll up again.

He answers with a nod. "How's Malcomb?" he asks distractedly.

"Oh, we got him. How could we miss? You made it a slam dunk." I shrug out of my jacket. "There's going to be a commendation in all this for you."

He ignores the accolade. "I saw the news clips. I mean...how is he?"

"They say he's being very well behaved," I tell him.

There's something in his face. Hopeful? "So, I can go home now."

I freeze. Home is Boston, now. "Yes, I suppose." I drop the jacket over the back of Jenna's rocking chair and start working on my tie.

"Tom's family has been very nice to me," he continues, watching me undress with an almost clinical eye.

"Tom's good people," I say. The tie, the shirt, the belt, the contents of pockets, all discharged in silence. "I'm glad they were here for you."

"Me, too." He lets himself fall back on the pillows. "But I miss D.C."

I jerk a look toward him. "What about Boston?"

He shrugs. "Boston, too. Home will always be D.C." He stretches again, and I am reminded of how catlike he is, even as he favors that one side. "I wonder if they got some other poor sucker to rent my old place."

"Old place?"

"Yeah, good old number forty two." He rubs his hand over his chest delicately.

"In Virginia? What about the ASAC position in Boston?"

He lifts his head in time to see me strip down to briefs. "Do you want me to stay in Boston?"

"No." I drop the briefs, and come to the side of the bed. "But I want you to be happy. I want you to enjoy your job. I don't want you back in Robbery/Fraud if you're going to be miserable. Your happiness is the most important thing to me." I nudge him over and ease down on the narrow bed.

He rolls into my arms with what can only be described as a contented groan. "This is going to sound pretty sappy to a hard-assed Marine like you, but I'm not going to be happy unless you're somewhere in the equation, Walter."

I hold him tight. Sappiness be damned. "I love you, Mulder."

His fingers trace my sternum lightly. "Fox," he murmurs.

"Fox," I echo and kiss him. I feel a surge of hunger that is so powerful and so alien it actually alarms me. I start to shake, wanting to roll him over and reclaim him, roughly, remind him that no matter what happens, no matter what either of us says or does, he's mine. Instead, I kiss him again, hard.

I don't know if he feels the same way or just takes pity on an old man, but he answers my kiss with a little shudder, and moves his mouth near my ear to whisper, "I want you so much."

My hands start to slide down his body, deliberately trying to avoid the wounds, so naturally my fingers blunder over them, making him twitch against me. "Shit, sorry," I say against his lips and start to pull away.

His arms wind round my neck and tighten. "Just take it easy, Walter. That's all. Just take it easy. I promise not to break."

I loosen his hold and begin to kiss my way down his chin, over his throat, pausing to lick along the line of his collarbone. He tastes so good. Clean and warm and...here. I like the way his skin feels under my tongue, smooth yet firm. His pulse thrums in his throat as I make a snack of his throat and shoulder. I can feel his body growing warmer.

Still holding him still in my arms, I lick over one nipple. I hear him gasp, and he is now actively trying to remain pliant in my arms. I suck lightly, flicking my tongue over it to tease, until it is a flesh-flavored ball bearing between my teeth, and he is moaning something helplessly above me. As I move to the other side, he shifts to give me better access. His fingers pet down the back of my neck as if he is unaware of the effect they are having on me. So I bite him. Hard enough to make him yelp and arch his belly against my chest, his cock already stiff and pressing against my rib like a knifepoint.

I don't waste any more time. I get right to the point. That point. I dive down and take the head in my mouth. He hisses my name, his fingers clutching at my shoulders, his hips starting a little thrusting jerk as if he's about to go into seizure. Tongue forcing into that weeping slit, my hands fix on his hips, forcing him to be still.

"W - Walt," he's grunting. "I'm gonna'...I'm not gonna' last. You'd better slow down. Ohhhshit, that feels good."

I pull away only because I want to be inside him when he goes off. Because I've been remembering how good it feels the way his body grabs me, twists me, milks me, won't let me go and I want to feel it again. I roll over him, keeping my weight on my hands, trapping him between them. I look down into his eyes, a darker green in this nonexistent light. "I want to be..." I'm suddenly distracted by the pale blue ears of the teddy bear that had been flung to the side of the bed and I remember where we are. I shake my head, laughing. "I'm sorry, Fox. I can't do it, not in her bed."

"Why not?" He's actually whining in his need. "I'll bet she's doing it in someone else's bed."

"Come on." I back up until I can get off the bed, pausing long enough to swipe my tongue up his inner thigh. "There's a motel about two blocks from here. Let's go someplace where we don't have to worry about breaking the furniture or getting semen on teddy bears." I hold out my hand.

He's looking uncertain again. "Tell me the truth, Walter. How did you get out here? Led by your dick?"

I stare at him, stunned. "How do you do that?" I demand. "One minute you're two seconds from orgasm, and the next you're spouting accusations." I wave it all away. "I don't need this. You don't want to come with me? Fine. I'll go get a motel room and get some sleep."

He rolls over with an actual flounce, burying his face in the pillows. I can hear him muttering softly, "Asshole."

I dress, fuming. This time I didn't ruin things, I remind myself, righteous indignation welling up inside me. This time wasn't my fault. Clothes thrown on in messy irritation, buttons come out uneven, and things aren't tucked in, but I don't care. I grab my bag and leave him on the bed without even looking back.

Steve and Tom, performing some kind of physics defying act of cramming more mass into a space than there is space, are making out in that chair. But they both look up as I stomp downstairs. They murmur things to each other and Steve backs up off of Tom's body, dragging his hands through his hair. "That was quick," he says, smiling, but his voice is rough. "Have you two considered counseling?"

"Oh, it's not like..." I'm embarrassed in having caught them in intimacy, and embarrassed in having been caught in my own anger. I send a glance up the stairs so that they can have a moment to adjust clothing and exchange looks of frustration. "I just..." I risk a glance back. They're both dressed again, and out of the chair.

"It's just what?" Tom looks at me frankly. "It's just you still think you wear the pants and his feelings, thoughts, needs are irrelevant? Walter, either you accept this is a partnership, or go home."

His words slap me as insultingly as any gauntlet. I'm here, aren't I? Doesn't that count for anything? "You're the one busting my balls to get out here," I snarl. "All right, I'm here. And he thinks it's just -"

Suddenly Mulder's on the stairs, in hastily thrown on jeans and tee shirt, his shaving kit tucked under his arm. I stare at him.

He stares back.

A moment later, he resumes his stride, and comes down to stand beside me, reaching for my overnight bag, his face showing none of the feeling it had just seconds before. "Put this in here, will you, Walt? I'll need it in the morning." He flashes a disarming smile at our hosts. "Ignore him. He doesn't want to admit he's being delicate about screwing in your sister's bed." He links his arm in mine. "Come on, Grandma. Let's go someplace where the teddy bears won't give you performance anxiety." He urges me toward the door.

I'm silent all the way down to the car. I don't understand. It isn't like Mulder to play games...not about us. It isn't until I've unlocked doors and tossed my bag in the back that I stare at him over the roof of the vehicle and demand, "Why did you do that?"

He glares back at me. "Because I'm tired of you walking out on me," he snaps. He slides into the confines of the car and adds, "because I want more than jerking off to your memory tonight."

"I see..." I cram myself under the steering wheel. "Following your dick?" I sneer even though I know it is the absolute last thing I should say to him.

"Fuck you," he says, fastening his seatbelt.

"All right," I start the car, "I will."

We drive the few blocks in silence. I haven't decided if I'm angry, or hurt, or angry that I could be hurt, or hurt that he would try to make me angry...or just too damned horny to care. I admit that while my heart is deeply conflicted right now, there is no conflict south of there. Mulder, even at his most petulant, is still capable of rendering me rigid with one glance. I don't think that pout is deliberate, it's just an innate part of his being that makes me want to pull off into the nearest alley and toss him over the front of the car for some of that mystical hot monkey sex they refer to in pornography.

There's a nice, fairly new looking Day's Inn not too far from the beach and I leave him in the car while I go inside to request a room, preferably on the first floor, in the back. I decide to pay extra for what they called a Junior Suite, which boasts microwave, in-room movies and, more importantly to me, jacuzzi tub.

I swing the car around the back, and as I pull the brake I notice that Mulder's staring at nothing in particular, teeth worrying at his lower lip. "Want to go back?" I challenge, daring him to walk out on me.

He looks at me, mystified. "I never want to go back."

Now I'm mystified. "Why not?"

"Going backward is futile." He reaches for his door handle.

I stop him. "I mean back to Tom's."

He flicks a glance at the key in my hand. "Oh. No." He works up a smile. "Hell, no."

"Then what's wrong?"

The smile droops a little. "Nothing."

My hand tightens on his arm. "What is it?"

He glances away. "Why did you really come out here?"

"Because I wanted to see you. Because..." Now I have to look away. "I missed you."

He glances back over his shoulder. "You didn't come while I was in the hospital."

Guilt. A twelve-inch blade driven right into the second intercostal space of the anterior chest on the affected side. I slump in the seat, staring into the air bag. "I didn't know I'd be welcome," I admit quietly.

He stares at me, spluttering. "You didn't know..." He swallows and jerks the door open.

"Damn it, Mulder." I scramble out on my side, fumbling to get my bag from the back, then I relax, remembering I have the key.

I find him, in front of our room, pacing restlessly. "You know, we didn't part on the best of terms," I remind him.

He fixes that grey-green gaze on me. "We never do."

"So, I didn't think you wanted to see me," I conclude, jabbing the key into the lock. To both my relief and my consternation, there are two queen beds. I drop the bag on one, as if to say 'You're not using this one to sleep in'.

He nudges the bag onto the floor and flops backward on the bed. "You were wrong."

"Yes, I know." I drop the key on the dresser. "Agent Scully told me."

"Ah...so that's why she came out? To do a little reconnoiter for you?" He rolls onto his side to watch me move around the room. "And I foolishly thought she missed me."

"It was her idea." I pause at the bathroom and flip on the light. A standard size tub, with jets. I can't see me fitting in there, let alone both of us. I catch his expression from the corner of my eye and I think maybe the whole damned Pacific Ocean wouldn't be enough room for us tonight.

"That doesn't sound like Scully," he says darkly. "Why would she decide to get involved like that?"

"Because I told her about us and she wanted to see if you were really happy with the arrangement."

He rolls off the bed and is bouncing to his feet as I come back into the bedroom. "Wait a minute...you told her? About us?" He puts a hand on my chest, stopping me. "You told her? What did she say?"

"She was shocked, as expected." I glance away uncomfortably. "She felt I coerced you. She can't see what I see in you. She -"

"Well, in point of fact, neither can I," he admits, his eyes fixed on my face.

I stare at him, dumbfounded. "You're joking."

His eyes are boring into mine, but his head shakes slowly and decidedly.

Roughly, I catch his shoulders and spin him around 'til he's looking into his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. "That's what I see."

He wrinkles all that nose. "A loser?" he jeers, his eyes skittering away from his reflection.

I want to slap him. My fingers actually jerk toward him and he actually flinches. "A brilliant criminologist. A fine agent. A dedicated man." I stop because my voice is actually catching in unaccustomed emotion. "A good man. A good heart." My voice softens. "A good lover. A faithful, loyal lover. Someone..." I wait 'til his eyes lift to mine in the mirror. "Someone who means everything to me." I turn him to face me. "That's what I see in you."

His eyes narrow as they meet mine. He is silent for a moment. "Why are you standing here spouting bullshit when you could be in bed spouting something else?"

It almost works. I nearly toss him onto the bed and climb on after him. Then I realize it. Mulder is as much terrified by what we're doing as I am. He is as terrified by the emotional intimacy demanded by the depth of our commitment as I am. And whether we went into this in view of a commitment, the commitment is now there. It isn't a commitment made by the spilling of blood or tears or semen. It's a commitment made by the spilling of hearts, the fulfillment of need in both of us. My fingers tighten almost cruelly. "I realized many months ago that you fill up an empty place in me. That's what I see in you."

For a moment his expression softens. There is a flash of something...not gratitude, not wonder, not relief, but satisfaction. And then he glares at me. "Don't you pull that Jerry Maguire shit with me. Do you want to fuck me, or not?"

I release him with a gruff, "Get naked. Get in bed. It's time to fill your empty place."

He turns away from me, but not before I catch a small smile...triumph and desire and something that I haven't seen since that night in the bath in Charleston. That look that drove the hook into my side, and made me forever connected to him. He sheds his clothing efficiently and drops onto the bed to watch me. "Parity, Mr. Skinner, Sir," he says, reminding me of another night, another look, another hotel room.

I don't waste time with the niceties of folding or hanging or even trying to get clothes up off the floor. I leave everything in a pool at my feet and climb up over him, straddling his body, devouring his mouth. His smell, the peculiar heat that rises from his body, the feeling of his flesh, muscle and bone beneath me, these are what complete me at the moment. No other human, male or female could give me what I need at this moment. It's beyond the biological drive to get tab A into slot B. This is me getting into him.

I roll us onto our sides, my mouth still fixed on his, and hitch one of his thighs over my hip, so that I can get at his ass. I expect him to be tight and he is, enough to hiss a little against my mouth as my finger pushes at him. I rub, I tickle, I test him, all the while sucking his tongue as if he's been bitten by a snake, and it's up to me to save him from the poison. He squirms and writhes and wriggles. He rubs his erection against my belly. His eyes open and the heat in them warms me, scorches me.

When I break the kiss, he groans, a hand to his chest. "Please, Walter. Mercy."

I push him away impatiently and stumble for my bag, which he'd dumped on the floor earlier. I find lubricant and condoms and I kneel behind him, tearing the packets with my teeth while I massage his cheeks. I lube him roughly with one slick finger, actually enjoying the startled little yelp he emits as my finger invades him. Good. I want him to feel me. I want him to remember me first thing when he wakes tomorrow.

For all that, he doesn't seem to mind. He's making sounds halfway between a kitten's purr and a tiger's growl, all the while thrusting his hips back against my hand. Reluctantly pulling my hand free, I somehow manage to slide on a condom (after three attempts, one of which ends up on the lamp between the beds), and climb up behind him.

I'm a moment away from rolling him onto his belly, yanking his hips up and driving into him when I notice once again that scar on his side, and I ease back. Not that my ardor is in any way cooled, but my urgency is redirected.

"Walter?" he asks quietly, staring at the wall, waiting.

I consider options. I can't see how to mount him without putting pressure on the area of the wound, and those delicately knitting bones. Finally, I climb over him, beyond him, and up toward the pillows at the head of the bed. I stretch out on my back and give my thigh a little pat. "Come on, cowboy, let's see how long you can stay on this bull."

I think the words, the offer, the tone all astonish him. He gapes at me as he rolls to his knees, a small smile of amusement and amazement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Moving unsteadily, he crawls across the bed on his knees. "Yeeehaw," he murmurs softly.

I help him arrange himself over me, knees and thighs tight against my sides. I urge him up, reaching around him to spread his ass carefully.

Eyes fixed on mine, he reaches between his legs to lift my cock straight and wriggles around 'til he can feel that blunt head nudging his opening.

I release his ass, moving my hands to his waist, trying to hold him up, support him, as he wills himself to relax enough to let his weight do what his nerve cannot, sink down over my thick cock head. He moans a little as I breach him...his eyes closing, his head tipping back, teeth settling firmly on his lower lip. I can feel the muscles in his thighs quiver as he strains to stay up for a moment.

He feels so good, like dipping the tender tip of my cock into hot coffee. I tease him with a little thrust and he yelps and opens his eyes. "Easy, Bull Durham. I may need that again some day." Slowly, he relaxes, lets his body open to me and slides down. The sound that comes from somewhere around his balls is half groan, half aria. His eyes open wider than I have ever seen them and as the warmth of his ass settles against my groin he sits very still for a moment, his eyes moving over my chest and up into my eyes.

"Feel good?" I ask him, letting my hands draw down his thighs lazily.

"Mmm," he agrees. He shifts gingerly, eliciting a groan from me, and smiles wickedly. Without warning, he clamps down on me with muscles that make a grip vice seem weak, causing me to growl and buck upward into him.

Falling forward, he lands, palms down against my chest, and I grab his shoulders and hold him against me, using my hips to drive into him. He moans, he swears, he begs, he pushes back, bearing down, inviting me deeper into his body. "Shit, Walter, please..." becomes a refrain against my heart as I hold him down and push up with purpose. For a moment I think I might be hurting him, and after a moment I don't care. I don't think he cares.

Wrapping one arm across his back, pinning him against me as sweat begins to pool between us, making a slick warm place for his cock, I force his face up and begin to ravage his mouth. Opening my eyes again I find there are also pools in his eyes, mistiness in the grey-green that express pain, need, and something else, perhaps that one thing he has been so deftly avoiding since we got inside tonight.

His eyes never leave mine, but I feel something change in him. His hands work up my sides, grasping, kneading, pinching until he reaches my face, and then, still surrendering his mouth to mine, his fingers worm into what there is of my hair and lock hard. He starts to rock back to meet my thrusts and his eyes darken with a new kind of need. This has become a battle, and neither of us is going to accept defeat.

Still holding him hard against me, I roll to the side of the bed and into a sitting position, his body impaled on my lap. One arm snaking around his hips, I lift him and let him drop, my tongue forced so deep in his mouth, I won't even let him cry out a protest. Then, hands on his waist, I lift him and lower him easily, making him bounce against me, as the bedsprings let me bounce against him.

He breaks the kiss at last and his head falls against my shoulder with a gasp. "Please, Walter," he whispers.

I bounce him harder. "I love you, damn it."

"Please," he moans.

"Do you love me?" I shove as hard as I can.

His head tips back. "Oh, God, please, Walter."

"Do you?"

"I...oh..." he's almost sobbing. "Oh, shit, you know I do."

His hand gropes for his cock, rubbing raw against my belly, but I grab his hand and hold it away from him. "Say it."

He opens his eyes again, looking wild. "Walter..." he's panting now. "Fuck, what are you doing to me?"

"Exactly," I agree, holding his hand behind his back as I pull him down sharply. "Now, tell me. Be honest, but tell me."

He clenches down on me. Hard.

I nearly let go of him. My balls are drawn up so tight now, I'm only a moment from flooding his body and maybe his soul. I respond by fixing my teeth against his shoulder. "Damn it, Mulder...you made me promise once. Now you promise."

He's using his thighs to ride me now, and his words come in little bursts. "You pick...a fine time...to make...ulti...matums..."

"Yes." I hold him still, lift up so that his head and shoulders are braced against the wall, and with my hands cupped under his ass, start to drive into him. "Answer me."

His head bangs against the wall, and one hand clings to my neck and the other reaches once again for his cock, now freed from the friction between our bodies. "Yes, damn it," he groans. "I love you."

Yes. Victory. Everything in me relaxes, refocuses. I pull out and ease back into him, slower now, watching his face, bathed in sweat. He is so beautiful this way, writhing against me, his legs locked around my waist, fisting his cock almost desperately. His eyes open and are bright and urgent, his lips are dark and swollen, lower lip caught under his teeth, his breath is high and harsh. And he is making soft, needy sounds with every thrust. "Come on, Fox," I urge roughly. "Come on. Let me see it."

A moment later he lets out a cry that would make a banshee shudder, and white ropes of cum splatter over his belly, his chest, and the tacky wallpaper behind him. But even more spectacular is what is happening inside him. His entire body has become a velvet gloved hand squeezing and milking me until I explode, with a loud, inarticulate roar that Tom and Steve probably hear, slamming him hard against the wall, staggering, groaning and letting us both slide down the wall in a shaking, shivering lump.

He is sobbing against my shoulder. I am clinging to him for fear my heart will leap out of my chest and escape if I move away. "Oh, God, Mulder," I tell him breathlessly.

He laughs weakly against my neck. "Walter, promise me something."

I kiss his ear. "Anything," I tell him in a ragged breath.

He is trembling all over. "For Valentine's Day...please..." he turns and kisses my jaw. "...just send me a card."

I laugh helplessly. "Yes." I turn to find his mouth. There is a new flavor to him now, a taste I can never give up. "Come home with me," I urge him.

"Home?" he murmurs almost dreamily, letting his cheek rest against my throat, as his body begins to relax.

"Home. D.C. " I lift his chin, tenderly, and kiss him again. "My house. Home."

He lifts his head slightly, gives me a warm, soft look, tempered with uncertainty. "Walter, are you sure?"

"Never more sure of anything in my life."

- END chapter 09 -
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