Big Deals (part 13 of 13)

by Mik

Mulder was only vaguely aware of the applause. He walked away from the lectern feeling hollow. There was no satisfaction in that approval. There wasn't a great deal of satisfaction in anything lately. The money, the fame, the first class life he was living, even seeing Scully and the baby last time he was in New York had been a hollow pleasure. He was lonely again, only just in a higher tax bracket.

"That was wonderful, Fox," Miranda cooed, jumping up and down.

Mulder focused on the bosomy little redhead in the barely there black dress. Where in the hell had he picked her up? "Thanks." He tucked his notes against his chest. "What time is it?" he asked one of the stage hands.

"Nine fifteen."

Mulder looked at his own watch, a Movado, brand new. A little Christmas present to himself. It was still nine fifteen. Quarter past midnight in D.C. He wanted to call, so bad. "Thanks," he said again. He started for the exit, still hearing the applause. Easiest ten grand he ever made. Emptiest, too. He walked out into the surprisingly warm night, Miranda beside him, still bouncing up and down. Hard to believe it was February. He didn't even need his topcoat. He tossed it over his arm, and walked toward the limo.

"Fox."

He turned, gritting his teeth. In L.A., everyone was on a first name basis. "Hey, Martin, what's up?"

His attorney shot a look at the girl, brows raised.

"She's over eighteen," Mulder growled. He looked at Miranda. "Go wait in the car." He turned back to his attorney. "Yeah?"

"Great lecture, by the way. They want you up in San Francisco next week, I hear."

Mulder nodded. Two more dates, and then he was back home. Except that home was just a storage crate in Maryland. He didn't have an address anymore. "Did you find out?"

Martin Warren nodded. "It's basically the same rules as with any other divorce. Just follow procedure: You file, you subpoena, he responds. If he doesn't... well, you win."

"I'm not trying to win, Martin," Mulder said impatiently. "I just want it to be over." He sniffed. He felt like he was coming down with a cold, or a sinus infection. Probably allergies brought on by this unusually warm winter weather. "What about the baby?"

Martin shrugged. "As you say, he has no biological connection to the kid. Neither does she, for that matter." He cocked a curious eye at Mulder. "You could probably get full custody, if you tried."

Mulder recoiled at the idea of hurting Scully that way. "I don't want to do that, either. I just want to make sure that no one keeps me from my rights as her father."

"Do you think the mother would do that?"

"Let's just say she's pretty pissed that I left him," Mulder said darkly. Scully had actually threatened him, right before Christmas, when they got together in New York. He went back and begged Skinner's forgiveness, or he never saw Kate-Lynn again.

Martin rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Weird relationship you had going, Fox."

"Weird is right," Mulder agreed darkly and sighed. But wonderful...He sniffed again.

Martin noticed his reaction. "You want to go do a little...you know...blow?" he offered in a low voice.

Mulder looked down at him sternly. "Until next Wednesday, I'm still an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Don't even suggest such a thing to me." He shifted the coat to his other arm. "I'm going back to the hotel. Double check about the paternity rights, will you? I want to know before I go to San Francisco." He turned and walked toward the car.

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

He sank back against the headboard, completely oblivious to what Miranda was doing to him. How did he get here? He walked out on Skinner one night, and overnight, it seemed, he was riding in limos, dating girls barely old enough to babysit his daughter. He hated it. He hated himself. He had acted like shit, just because Skinner told him the truth about himself. The amazing thing about that whole conversation, something he didn't even catch until later, when it was too late, was that Skinner had told him the truth, and then proceeded to tell him it didn't matter. That damned unconditional love again.

He'd had to wait until Skinner went to work on Monday before he dared go back to the house. He picked up his absolute essentials; his laptop, some clothes, his badge, his gun. He left the cell, left his keys, didn't take the ring that he found, for some weird reason, submersed in half a glass of scotch. He had already been to the Hoover, submitted a request for family leave, typed a resignation, dated for Valentine's Day (ironic), and e-mailed it to Kim. There'd be no tearing this one up. He sent his keys to the office to Scully, and left town.

For the most part, Skinner knew where he was. He hadn't exactly been low-profile. He had finally done Larry King (hated it), Howard Stern (hated that more) and Letterman (actually laughed once, because Scully and Katy were in the audience). He'd done some lectures in Canada, a few in Texas, and one that was covered by C-Span. Lately he'd been living at the Beverly Wilshire, being wooed by some Hollywood types, who were very interested in the book he hadn't written yet. Something about buying the rights...that's why he hired Martin. He'd come highly recommended, but after that offer to do a couple of lines, Mulder wasn't so sure.

He'd missed their first anniversary together, spent the night remembering, with the aid of a bottle of scotch, wondering what Skinner would have done this year if things had gone right. Spent the next morning puking his guts up and swearing before any god that might be listening, that he would never, ever drink again.

He went to see a priest. Actually tried the confession route. Got stuck in the first sentence, excused himself, and left. Felt like a fool. Went looking for an Episcopalian church, couldn't find one, gave up.

He'd been talking to Scully a little. She was mad at him. She only talked to him because, as she said, she still had hope of talking some sense into him. What good would it do if she did? There was no way Skinner would take him back. Skinner told him months ago, if he walked out, it was over. So, it had to be over. He'd been gone almost three months. He wondered idly if Skinner was going to keep the house.

Miranda nipped at him. He lowered his eyes, focusing. She was trying to arouse him, but it just wasn't happening. Maybe he just needed to be the aggressor again. He caught her shoulders and flipped her down on her back, leaned over her, kissed her, nuzzled her neck, let his tongue trail the valley between her ample breasts. Then he pulled back. Stared down at her. She seemed so small, so fragile. He was afraid to give her his weight, his need. He sat up, let her go, sighed.

"What's the matter, baby?" she cooed, caressing his ear with her tongue. "Rough night?"

"No, bad night." He turned and looked at her. "Look, you can stay if you want, but I'm just not up to it tonight." He got up, moved toward the bathroom, locked the door. He considered himself in the mirror. He looked a hundred and forty tonight. His eyes were sunk deep, with dark circles. His hair - well, Miranda had been playing with it, it was standing straight up. His cheeks looked hollow. His mouth - that mouth Skinner was so crazy about - was downturned, on its way to a permanent frown. He looked down at his watch, just to look at something but that miserable face. Eleven twenty. It would be two twenty in D.C. He wanted to call. Even if he just hung up right away. He wanted to hear Skinner's voice. He flicked a glance at the mirror again. "Pathetic."

When he came out, Miranda was gone. He was glad. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and reached for his wallet. Two hundred dollars missing. He smirked. That's about right. He flipped through it, looking at his driver's license, a picture of Katy, a picture of he and Skinner taken at Katonah the last time they had gone.

Kyle must have taken it. He thought about Kyle. Kyle had called him at Christmas. He'd been in New York still. Kyle came up to see him, told him that Skinner was doing fine, but that everyone missed Mulder. He even brought Mulder a gift; a tie so truly ugly it even made Mulder wince. Mulder didn't have a gift for him - at that point he hadn't even shopped for the baby, so he took Kyle to dinner at the Tavern. It was a mistake, a high brow restaurant drowning in Christmas kitch, right down to the sappy carols. If he hadn't still been sitting on the coattails of a monumental hangover, he would have gotten drunk that night, right alongside Kyle.

By the end of the meal, Kyle was weepy. "Why'd you do it, Fox?" he moaned, over and over again. "You broke his heart."

At that point, Mulder wasn't ready to accept that. He shook his head and signaled for the check. "No I didn't. Sit up, Kyle. Didn't your father ever tell you only pansy asses get sloppy drunk?"

At the mention of Chris, Kyle jerked upright. "He wants to kill you, you know," he said in a fuzzy voice. "He says if he ever sees you again, he'll kill you with his bare hands."

Mulder nodded. He now knew all he had to do to commit suicide was visit his soon to be former in laws.

"No, no, no." Kyle was shaking his head. "He wouldn't kill you. He loves you too much. Like a son, he said." He reached for a glass blindly, and Mulder surreptitiously pushed a water glass toward him. "'I loved him like a son'. That's what he said." Kyle took a deep sip, spluttered, hiccuped and put the glass down. "That's awful."

"That's water," Mulder answered, a trifle amused. "And how's your stepmom?" he asked. He really liked Mrs. O'Hara. He hated to lose her affection and esteem.

Kyle shrugged. "She's okay. They came up to see the baby. She's so pretty, Fox. She looks just like you."

"Yeah?" Mulder's throat tightened. He had been begging Scully to bring the baby up for Christmas weekend, but so far, she had refused. The check came, and Mulder pulled out his Gold Card and dropped it on the plate, not even looking at the bill. He had taken forty thousand out of his credit union to get through his leave. He looked up at Kyle again. Kyle wasn't being sloppy anymore. He was staring at Mulder, hard. "What's the matter?"

"You, you hypocrite. You told me what I did was hurting him. What do you think you're doing to him?"

Mulder sighed wearily. "Kyle, you don't know what's going on. You weren't there."

"He's my brother," Kyle said fiercely. "He wouldn't lie to me. He said you walked out."

"I did. That's not a lie."

"Why?"

"That's none of your business," Mulder said patiently. The waiter came with his receipt.

"Talk to him," Kyle implored, reaching across the table as Mulder started to rise. "If you would just talk to him."

Mulder shook his head. "He doesn't want to talk to me, Kyle."

"He does. He does." Kyle started to blubber. "I know he does."

Mulder reached for him, pulled him from the chair. "Come on, Kyle, time to put you in a taxi."

Mulder looked at his watch again. Three o'clock in the morning. Scully would be up now. He reached for the phone. He dialed. He waited. He prayed. "Hello?"

He panicked. He hung up. He settled back against the headboard. He cried.

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

Frohike blinked up at him, those perverted owl eyes wide in disbelief. "It's the world famous Mulder-man. Where've you been?"

Mulder shrugged, pushed his way inside, dropped his topcoat on the worn sofa and turned to look at his friend. "Around the world. What's new in the world of paranoia?"

"You should talk," Frohike sneered. "You know he actually came to us, looking for you?"

Mulder looked at him, startled. "He?" he echoed. "He, who?"

"Who the hell do you think?"

Mulder sank into a battered rocking chair. "When?"

"Oh, around Thanksgiving, right after." Frohike shuffled into the disaster he called a kitchen. "You want a beer?"

Mulder shook his head. He had just about decided he was giving up alcohol for Lent. "What did he want?"

"Are you going to win a prize for asking the most stupid questions in a row?" Frohike asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Maybe. Right after you win the prize for performing the most stupid avoidance maneuvers."

"You. He wanted you. He was worried about you. Said you took your gun and he was afraid of what you might do with it." Frohike sat down on top of Mulder's coat.

"Hey," Mulder complained, and then froze. "He was afraid I'd shoot myself?"

Frohike shrugged. "That's what he said."

And here I thought he wanted me back. "What did you do?"

"Denied everything."

A travesty of a grin. "That's my boy."

Frohike accepted this as high praise. "That little girl of yours is sure cute."

"He brought Katy here?" What was Skinner doing with her, anyway? Where was Scully?

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't even let him come here. We met in the mall one afternoon. He had the little girl with him." Frohike pushed his glasses up again. "Cute kid, Mulder."

"Yeah." Mulder sighed and shifted in his chair. He missed her. He missed him. "What did he say when you denied everything?"

"You want to hear the tape, Mulder?"

Mulder actually gawked. "You didn't!"

"He works for the F.B.I.!" Frohike protested.

For a moment, Mulder wanted to, desperately, just for the joy of hearing Skinner's voice. But he resisted. "Do you know if he's keeping the house? Have you hacked into any Realtor data banks lately?"

"No, but I could. Take fifteen minutes. Do you want me to?"

Mulder nodded lazily. It felt good to be back in D.C. It was cold enough, wet enough, and almost close enough to Skinner. Mulder had gone out to the mall the night he got back into town, and stared up at the fifth floor of the Hoover, looking for Skinner's light. But the office was dark. Skinner was probably at Scully's playing with their daughter. "Hey, Frohike, while you're in there, find me a place to live, will ya'?"

Frohike walked back to him. "You're not going home?"

"The Mulder-man is homeless."

"Well, shit, Mulder, you know you could stay here but -"

"It's okay, it's okay. I want my own place. I'm tired of hotels."

"I'll make a call."

Mulder nodded, lowering his chin to his chest, closing his eyes.

"Mulder?"

Mulder's eyes jerked open. Frohike was leaning over him, looking anxious. "You okay?"

Mulder nodded and stretched and yawned to the soles of his feet. "Jet lag. What did you find out?"

Frohike started grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Well, I know of an unoccupied condo in Crystal City, if you're interested."

Mulder lifted a brow. "He subleased that place out."

"They moved out three days ago."

Mulder smirked. Their old condo? There was a delicious irony in that. "Can we get in?"

"Easy," Frohike said. "Give me a name - any name. I'll have you in by Saturday."

Mulder thought about it. "Oh, pick something, something boring. He knows me so well, any name I picked would tip him off."

"John Smith?"

Mulder pulled a disapproving frown. "A little too boring."

"John Deacon."

Mulder sat up. "That name sounds familiar."

"The drummer for Queen."

Mulder grinned. "I like it. Let me know how much you need." He stood. "I'll be at the Watergate."

Frohike only laughed at him.

Mulder went out to the curb and climbed into the RAV. The thing needed a bath after spending three months in a parking garage at Dulles. It sure was more fun to drive than his old Ford, though. He turned the car toward the Watergate, thought better of it, and headed for Providence, Rhode Island, a white house, lots of windows where no one ever saw anything.

His mother looked stunned when she opened the door, saw him, recognized him. "Hi, Mom," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

She just looked at him. "I saw you on television," she said, her voice lacking any inflection.

"Larry King?" he suggested.

She nodded. She wasn't backing up. She wasn't inviting him in.

Mulder sighed, grieving. "I'm alone, Mom. Can I come in?"

She backed up reluctantly. "Where is he?"

"Working." He let his mom precede him down the hall to the summer room. "Mom, it's over. We...we're getting a divorce."

She sank into a chair, gave him a sidelong look. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

Her tone hurt. One more way he had failed her. "Come on, Mom. You got a divorce."

"Yes, but I divorced a man."

"So am I," Mulder shot back. "Look, I know it upset you. It upset me, but the fact remains, that I loved him. I … love him." He lowered his eyes to the faded floral carpet. It was undeniably true. He did still love Skinner. "He made me happier than at any other time in my life."

"Well," she said with an indignant sniff. "That says a lot about your family, doesn't it?"

Mulder met her eyes, dispassionately. "It does."

"Then why are you getting a divorce?" she asked, but without a drop of compassion.

"Because I'm a stupid dumb fuck," Mulder said honestly.

"Fox, your language."

Mulder ignored her protest. "It's the truth. He was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I walked out on him. You know why? Because I can't get used to people loving me. How could I? You never did. Dad never -" She slapped him again. This time he caught her wrist, held it. Looked down at her firmly. "Don't hit me."

"Your father loved you," she said coldly.

"Yeah. As a punching bag." He felt his mom quiver under his fingers and he let her go. "All the time I was with him, all the time he was so good to me, I kept thinking, this will end soon. How could he love me? My own parents didn't love me."

"I loved you, Fox," she said, in a small, shaking voice.

"If you had loved me, you would have stopped Dad," Mulder answered levelly. When had he gotten to the point where he could say this to her? To himself?

"You've been abused, your mind is confused. That man, he -"

"That man loved me, Mom," Mulder said, wishing she could understand. "He loved me. And it wasn't because he was some fag, and I was just some pretty boy he picked up."

She made a face, a pained, knowing, disgusted face. "You can't know that. He told you lies to get you to...to..." She stopped, shaking her head again, primly. "I won't say it."

"Have sex? You're wrong again." Mulder leaned toward her, almost triumphantly. "We were together almost eight months before we had sex. You want to know the first time we made love?" He caught her hands before she could put them over her ears. "I'll tell you: The night we got married. Still think it was for sex? How many girls do you know who could say that? Could you?"

She jerked free, staring at him, color finally coming into her face.

Mulder shrugged, feeling surprisingly free suddenly. Almost forty years of pain and abuse was sliding to the floor. "I did the math a long time ago, Mom. I know you were pregnant with me when you and Dad got married. It's probably why you feel the way you do about me." He cocked his head at her. "I was inconvenient, wasn't I, Mom?"

His mother sank into a chair, shaking her head. "You don't know anything, Fox," she said, in a tiny, tremulous voice.

"No? I know more than you think, Mom." He turned away from her, his hands balled up into fists. "I spent my whole life wanting you and Dad to like me half as much as you loved Sam, I struggled for years to get you to forgive me for a mistake...I...didn't...make." There it was. He didn't do it. He didn't let his sister get taken. He didn't fail to protect her. They left her alone with him, because they knew he was only a little boy, and couldn't stop them. He turned back toward her. "Didn't it ever bother you, what you did to me?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," she insisted. "You've been driven insane by that man's -"

"Don't." Mulder's one, quiet word cut her off. "Don't say it. He was the only good thing that ever happened to me. It's over now, but that doesn't mean it wasn't good."

"If it was so good, if he loved you so much, why is it over?"

Mulder looked at her sadly. "Because I messed it up. It can't be fixed now. It's my fault. This is my fault." He pressed the fist to his chest. "This I am going to have to live with. But I've made him unhappy long enough. I'm letting him go. I'm giving him back his life." He turned and walked out. He needed to call Martin.

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

Skinner's hands were shaking. He couldn't believe what he held in his hands. He'd seen one of these before, vowed never again. But here it was, and he had been secretly expecting it for weeks. Mulder had filed for divorce. From California.

When Mulder didn't come home Thanksgiving, Skinner had decided he meant what he said; Mulder was gone, and couldn't come back. By Saturday, he had decided he'd give him the weekend to get over it, the way he had when they bought the house. Then he'd been gone a week. He'd come home, taken things, left again, as if he didn't intend to come back. Skinner and Scully went over every word that was exchanged that night, even though a great deal of it was embarrassing for him.

He went to those bizarre friends of his, asked for a line on him. They acted like they didn't even know who he was talking about. Around Christmas, a moving company showed up, packed the rest of his clothes and belongings, which sadly, weren't that much, and took them to an undisclosed place. Scully got the place disclosed; a U-lock-it storage place in Maryland. Mulder wasn't coming back.

He spent their wedding anniversary with Scully and the baby. That baby looked so much like Mulder it made him choke up. Then Scully took Kate-Lynn to see Mulder in New York. If Skinner had known she was going, he would have insisted on going too. It was only by accident that he caught the last couple of minutes on Letterman. He looked great. He was laughing.

And then … someone said they read he was in Los Angeles. That he had sold another book to the movies. (What did that mean, anyway?) Skinner downloaded the text of a lecture Mulder gave in San Francisco right before Valentine's Day. Brilliant, funny, razor sharp, slicing his heart out. And then, Mulder was out of the Bureau, his resignation accepted, activated. All those termination forms that Skinner had to sign off. Where the hell was his gun? It came back by courier, along with his badge. No note. And now …

He sighed, loud, in pain. Wanted to put his head back and howl. The house seemed so empty without him. Now that he knew Mulder wasn't coming back, he thought about putting the house on the market, moving back to the condo, but he rented the damn thing again only this past weekend - a single guy...what was his name? Deacon somebody. Was he lonely, too?

The phone rang. "Skinner," he growled. There was a click. Third time this week. He decided to get one of those Caller ID things. He made himself go into the kitchen. Scully and the baby were coming for dinner. He'd better get something out of the freezer.

He was stirring something brown, and he wasn't exactly sure what it was, when he heard the doorbell. He turned off the stove, wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and went to the door. "Dana." He bent and collected the baby. "Hello, Kate-Lynn. How's the prettiest little girl in the Nation's Capital today?" He pressed a kiss to her pink, sleep warmed cheek. She even smelled like Mulder. He smiled at her mother, and then looked again. Scully looked like the proverbial cat in the dairy. "What is it?"

"He's back, Walt," she announced breathlessly. She pushed inside, dropping the diaper bag and baby seat on the floor.

Skinner's fingers contracted slightly, making Katy squirm. "How do you know?"

"That RAV you bought him?" She was smiling slyly. "It got a parking ticket in Providence."

"That's where his mother lives," Skinner said, feeling his hands start to shake. He bent, collected the baby seat and carried Katy and the seat into the kitchen.

Scully followed. "You should call his mother, Walt."

Skinner would rather invite the Cancerman over for tea. It showed in his face. "His mother hates me."

"She might tell you where he is."

"She might tell you where he is," Skinner countered, putting Katy in her seat. He sent a hopeful glance toward the dining room.

Scully sighed, knowing he was right. "Do you know her number?"

"It's in his book." He nodded in that direction. "I don't know why he kept a phone book. He memorized phone numbers for the fun of it." He turned back to the stove, but his heart was constricted. "Dana, wait, don't bother. I forgot."

She was dialing. "What?"

He went to the table and picked up the subpoena. "He filed for divorce."

Scully swallowed tightly. "Oh, Walt..." She stopped, looked stricken. Someone had answered. "Mrs. Mulder? This...this is Dana Scully...yes, the baby's mother...oh, I'm fine, thank you...I was wondering if you had seen M - Fox recently? I needed to talk to him...about...about the baby." She looked at Skinner helplessly. Then her brows rose. "Yes, I know where he is...I mean, he's...yes...yes, I will...Thank you." She put the phone down and looked up, completely bewildered. "She wants to talk to you."

Skinner shook his head vigorously. "I don't want -"

"She asked for you." Scully put a hand on his arm, squeezed, a lot of strength for such a little woman. "Walt, she sounded as if there was something she really had to tell you."

"Did she say where he was?" Skinner asked.

"No. She just asked to have you call. She said it was important." She thrust the phone at him. "Call. I'll even press the redial button for you."

Skinner took the phone helplessly, new terror, new grief welling up in him. Was she about to turn the tables on him, tell him that Mulder was dead? He drew in a shaky breath. "Hello, Mrs. Mulder? This is Walter Skinner."

Her voice was as cold as a New England winter. "He loves you," she said, each word like a knife. "I don't know what you did to him, because he wasn't raised that way, but he loves you. He wants you back, but he doesn't think you want him. I wish to God he had never met you, but he wants you, and there you are. I've never done much for him. I'm doing this. I know it's wrong. I'll regret it. He might regret it, but there you are." She hung up.

Skinner stared at Scully, his eyes wide behind his glasses. Too confused to cry, too stunned to believe. Scully squeezed his arm again. "Walt? What is it?"

"She said he loves me." He put the instrument down, faintly, his mind lost in a fog of disbelief, of hope, of fear. Was this just a Cosmic joke? Or one of her own? She was a cruel woman.

"I told you," Scully said, and there was a hint of teary relief in her voice.

"Then why did he file for divorce?" Skinner demanded.

"What did she say?" Scully prompted. "Did she mention the divorce? I wish you had Mulder's memory."

"I have Mulder's memory, or the memory of him," Skinner said sadly. "That's my problem." He sighed and closed his eyes. "She said he loved me, even though he wasn't raised that way. He loved me but he knew I didn't want him back. She said I had done something to him - what is it?" Scully was squeezing his arm with both hands.

"He loves you but he thinks you don't want him. He's setting you free." She shook him. "Walt, he wants you back!"

It took Skinner a moment to understand what Scully was trying to say. Then he groaned, "Oh, Mulder, where the hell are you? I could wring your neck for being so stupid." He focused on Scully. "We've got to find him."

"He can't be far. We could put out an APB on the car," Scully suggested.

Skinner shook his head. "It still has those dealer placards on it. He left before the plates came."

"The Lone Gunmen," Scully said. "They'll know. If Mulder's anywhere on the East Coast, they'll know."

Skinner shook his head again. "I've already been to them. They disavow all knowledge."

Scully smiled a mean little smile. "They'll talk to me." She reached for the phone again and dialed. She waited, sighed, dialed some more numbers and waited again. "Frohike? Take me off the tape. Take it off, now." Her voice was as hard and cold as glass. "Where is he? I know he's in town, I just need to talk to him. No, the baby's fine, but you can tell him I told you it was about the baby, if it will get you off the hook. I need a number. Don't pull that on me, Frohike. I know he wouldn't set foot in D.C. without at least calling you. If you don't tell me where he is, or at least put me in contact, I will come into your house, and perform a ballectomy under local anesthesia."

Skinner stared. He knew Scully had a spine of steel, but he had never heard her sound so fucking...mean. He shivered.

She listened, she nodded. She rattled off her cell number. "Five minutes, Frohike, or I'm coming over with my little black bag." She put the phone down. "Five minutes."

"You're mean enough to be an A.D.," Skinner told her bluntly.

Her grim little mouth screwed up in a smile. "Thanks." She checked her watch, and he could see she was nervous.

It took seven minutes. The phone rang. She scrambled for it. "Yes? Yes … yes, I know where that is … I'll be there." She hung up the phone. "He's so predictable. He'll meet us at the mall in an hour."

"Does he know I'm coming?" Skinner wondered.

"He's bound to guess. He must know you were served today."

"He won't show."

"If he thinks it's about the baby -"

Skinner shook his head again. "He knows it isn't about the baby. If he thought it was, he would have called you directly. He wouldn't have wasted time setting up a rendezvous."

Scully lowered her eyes, dismayed that she didn't know her partner well enough to think of that. "You're right. Then he mustn't know you're there." She started to bundle Kate-Lynn up again. "We'll go separately. You can watch from...the Hoover. I'll keep him talking until you get there. All right?"

Skinner nodded. "I'll see you, but you won't see me." He pressed a kiss to her brow. "Thanks, Dana." Dinner forgotten, he went upstairs to take a quick shower, and change.

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

It was cold. Skinner was on the second floor mezzanine of the Hoover, his fists shoved deep into the pockets of his overcoat. He saw Scully arrive, pushing the pram that Mulder had picked out, bundled up in a pink parka. He hoped the baby was warm enough. She went to what used to be 'their' bench, the bench where Mulder told her they were getting married. She paced a little, nervous, looking around as others milled past.

Mulder wasn't trying to sneak up on anyone. He pulled up along the curb, in full view of her - of Skinner. He climbed out, let the wind whip his hair around. He was in jeans, a sweatshirt, running shoes. He rubbed his hands together and came toward them. He reached out. Scully pulled away from him. But she did let him look down at the baby.

Skinner left the mezzanine, almost ran down the steps, let himself out the back door, came around the building, waited, watched.

Mulder had his back to him, holding the bundle of blankets that held Katy, rocking her, even though it was obvious that he and Scully were arguing. Skinner debated waiting at the car for him, giving them this moment in private, then decided against it. He couldn't run from Skinner with the baby in his arms. He had Mulder effectively trapped.

Mulder turned at the sound of his footsteps. His face tightened. "I should have known."

He looked thin. Mulder could never be considered robust, but he looked thin. And tired. And defensive. "I got your little love letter today," Skinner said tersely.

"I figured. So, what is this, a tag-team divorce? What do you want? Alimony? I can afford it," he taunted. "I just sold another book and have a deal for two more -"

"Shut up." Skinner felt like he was being turned inside out. He wanted to reach out, pull him close, breathe him in until he held Mulder's soul within his own body. But that expression was a cinderblock wall, with barbed wire on top. "Scully, take the baby, go."

Mulder didn't want to let go, but Scully was insistent. He kissed Kate-Lynn very tenderly and released her. Then he turned to face Skinner, up on the balls of his feet, ready to run.

Skinner decided he didn't want to do it, there, in the middle of the mall. "Let's go someplace and talk," he suggested.

Mulder shook his head. "I didn't like the last conversation we had."

Skinner felt a little wave - hell, a huge wave of remorse. "We can have this one in a public place," he offered.

"There's nothing to talk about, is there?" Was that just the tiniest note of hope in his voice.

Skinner decided it was, and the wave of remorse became a riptide of hope and fear. "Yes. I also got a phone call from your mother."

Mulder stiffened, his eyes went white. He looked guilty and horrified and mortally embarrassed. "What … did … she … say?"

"That you still love me," Skinner said. He reached out. "Come on. It's cold out. Let's talk."

Mulder sidestepped him, looked around, deciding things. "Where's your car?"

Skinner shrugged. "At home. I took a cab in case you were scoping out the parking lot at the Hoover. It was Scully's idea."

Mulder sighed. "Trained her too well."

Skinner smirked. "Yes, you did."

Mulder fished his keys out of his pocket. "Come on." He kept himself just out of Skinner's reach. He unlocked the door, let Skinner in. The car still smelled new. He went around, climbed in behind the wheel.

It was the first time Skinner had seen him in the car. He looked good. He looked … manly. He almost sighed like a schoolgirl. "God, I want to kiss you, so bad," he blurted.

Mulder gave him an odd, twisted look. "Hey, Catholic boy, is Lent over?"

Nonplussed, Skinner stared back. "Not until April, why?"

Mulder nodded. "Let's go get a cup of coffee." He started the car. "And I'll take you home."

Skinner's heart swelled up hopefully. "Mulder, I -"

"Shh. I just got back from California. I learned I can't talk and drive."

Skinner looked at him, alarmed. "Were you hurt?"

"What?" Mulder sent him a swift look. "Oh, no. I just learned I can't talk and drive."

"What were you doing in California?" Skinner asked, longing to know how he had spent every minute they were apart. He knew he could describe the agony of each one. Why did it hurt so much to look at someone he loved so much?

"Learning I can't talk and drive," Mulder said a bit impatiently.

Skinner fell silent, looking down at his hands. He still wore his ring. Where was Mulder's? Oh, yeah, it was in his wallet, carried most days next to his heart. Tonight, it was beneath his hip, a thorn in his side, a pain in his ass - how typically Mulder. He looked up. Where were they going? He started to ask, saw the dark flash in Mulder's eyes, and let silence take over again. He sat there and savored the scent of Mulder, something he had carried in a little memory book for three months. He pretended he could feel Mulder's heat even across the seats. He pretended he could hear Mulder's heart beating. He knew he couldn't, but it was pleasant to contemplate in this angst fraught quiet.

Suddenly he sat up a little straighter. "We missed the turnoff to the house," he said. Had Mulder forgotten? Mulder didn't forget anything. Where were they going? Mulder only hissed in reply. A few minutes later, Mulder did turn off the tollway, and Skinner felt a frown furrow up his brow. He knew this road, he drove himself for years. He knew this street, he knew these gates. He knew that garage door opener. He looked at Mulder. "Who's John Deacon?"

Mulder didn't smile. He shrugged. "The drummer for Queen."

Skinner wanted to laugh. "I should have known."

Mulder swung into his old parking spot. "No wonder you can't keep a tenant. You're charging too much for rent." He pushed the door open and climbed out.

Skinner followed him, drowning in feelings. Mulder was back in their old condo. How perfectly Mulderesque - hiding in plain sight. "How long have you been here?"

"Just this week." He looked down to sort out the key on his ring. "I'm still living out of boxes and sleeping," he paused to stretch his shoulders. "On the sofa. Just like old times." He pushed the elevator button. "By the way, Evelyn and Steven broke up. Steven's getting married - to a woman, no less, and Evelyn's attempted suicide." He shook his head, stepping out into the hallway, disgusted, and slid his key in the door.

Skinner stalled, looking at the door. This is where it all began...walking through this door with a reluctant, rebellious Mulder.

Mulder turned, gave him half a sardonic smile. "Do you need a tour?"

That was all he could take. Skinner pushed him, and shut the door. He grabbed Mulder's sweatshirt and dragged him hard against his chest, fighting his way into that mouth. "I missed you so damn much," he swore, kissing and biting and pulling and squeezing.

Mulder was little more than water in his hands, his hands just barely on Skinner's shoulders, unresisting but hardly an active participant. Suddenly, he groaned and pressed himself up against Skinner, not obscenely, just to have as much of his body against Skinner as possible. He pulled his mouth away and pressed his forehead against Skinner's shoulder. Skinner felt a faint tremor sweep through Mulder's body and his arms tightened around him.

Just as suddenly, Mulder pushed away, moved down the hall, into the living room, pacing, rubbing his hands together, looking fretful. When he forced his eyes to Skinner's, which were full of tears and worry, he jerked his eyes away, looking out the window to the balcony. "I wasn't … while I was gone … I wasn't faithful," he confessed on a rushed whisper.

Skinner thought it might have been kinder to have thugs jump him from behind and beat him senseless. He kept his voice level - it came out flatline. "With another man?"

Mulder didn't turn around. He just shook his head. "Oh, God, no," he said, with feeling. "A woman, well, two women … two and a half." He looked over his shoulder. "It doesn't matter, does it? I cheated on you. I thought it was over. I thought I'd never see you. I was trying to get over it."

Skinner made himself seize the irony of it. "Half a woman, Mulder?"

Mulder's shoulder jerked in that elegant shrug that Skinner had fallen in love with so long ago. "Well, we started to...I couldn't get involved...I don't know. It didn't work that time. But, if it had, I would have." He shook his head. "I'm not making any sense."

It didn't matter. Whatever he did while he was gone, it didn't matter as long as he was back, to stay. Skinner reached for him. "I love you. I did, I do, I will."

Mulder stayed just out of his grasp. "I know." His voice was calm, serious. "I figured it out. It took me long enough, but I figured it out. You do love me. You shouldn't, but you do. I shouldn't love you, but I do. I know this is crisis and therefore doesn't count, but I do love you. I was a jerk to walk out and ruin the best thing I ever had. I just get so tired of having the truth about me handed to me by someone else."

"Then why the divorce?" Skinner asked. Why, Mulder? How could you hurt me like that?

"Because I do love you." He shrugged again. "I know it sounds lame, but you deserve better. I walked out on you. I hurt you. I hurt myself. I hurt Scully. I'm a fucking maniac. I couldn't do it to you anymore. I wanted you to be … free, I guess. Safe." He nodded. "That's it, safe. I was trying to make you safe, the way you always made me feel."

Skinner reached again, got him this time, dragged him into his arms, held his face, forced his eyes up, bore into them. "I wasn't safe, Mulder. I'm not safe when Scully has to babysit me every weekend to keep me from drinking myself into a stupor. I'm not safe when Scully actually hides the key to the gun cabinet. I'm not safe when I wake up crying your name in the middle of the night." He gave Mulder an impatient little shake. "Don't you get it, Mulder? You're a part of me, a vital organ. I've been walking around without a lung, without my heart for the past three months. I know I complained that you didn't tell me enough, but after this famine, I'll take any little crumb of your affection. Yes," he admitted with a weak laugh. "I'm that needy, when it comes to you."

"Do you forgive me?" Mulder asked softly.

"Anything," Skinner said, pulling him close enough to kiss. Anything, Mulder, just don't ever leave me again.

Mulder pulled back, searched Skinner's eyes...seeking absolution? "Do you forgive me?"

Skinner looked at him and smiled. "I forgive you for walking out on me. I forgive you for cheating on me, I forgive you for - oh, please tell me you used a condom?"

Mulder's smile was sheepish. "That maniacal I'm not."

Skinner kissed him, hard. "Do you have anything resembling a bed in this place?"

"No," Mulder said. "But as I recall from one or two occasions, the floor is not that uncomfortable." He pulled back again, frowning. "My mom actually called you?"

"Well, Scully called her first, and then she asked to talk to me," Skinner confessed.

"Hmm." Mulder absorbed this. "She said you had abused me, twisted my brain."

"What did you tell her?"

Mulder looked up. His expression was absolutely angelic. "That I loved you."

Skinner kissed him again. "Get upstairs."

Mulder was wincing as Skinner leaned over him, rubbing their erections together. "I know this is supposed to be sentimental and romantic, but I'm going to end up with rug burn, here," he said. "It's not something I want to contemplate."

Skinner pulled himself up and looked down at Mulder. Even thin, he looked delicious naked. If Mulder so much as brushed a fingertip across Skinner's cock, he'd come all over the place. "What do you want to do?" Skinner said, in a rough, raspy whisper.

Mulder unhooked his legs from around Skinner's hips and scooted to sit up. "Go home. I want to go home."

Skinner pulled him against his chest, smothering his face, his hair, his throat with kisses. "I love you," he repeated for the hundredth time, and meant it a hundred times more.

Mulder reached up to touch his cheek. "Walter, let's go home. It's been a hell of a day, it's been a hundred hellish days, and I need to be home."

Skinner lifted a brow. "'Walter'?"

Mulder raised his eyes. "I'm thirty nine years old. I don't work for the Bureau anymore. I'm no longer your subordinate. Don't you think I could call you Walter, now?"

"I don't think you even called me Walter when we got married," Skinner said thoughtfully.

"I was pretty damn surprised you didn't call me Mulder," he confessed on a laugh.

"I did say Fox, didn't I?" Skinner wasn't sure.

Mulder shook his head, helplessly. "I can't honestly remember."

Skinner reached for his jeans, dragged them over and tugged his wallet free. "Stay there," he commanded as Mulder started to slide off his lap. He caught Mulder's left hand. "Fox William Mulder, will you stay married to me?" He slid the ring back into place.

Mulder's lower lip quivered slightly. He curled his hand into a fist, as if afraid someone might try to pull the ring off and looked down at it. "Sure," he said in a very quiet voice.

Skinner leaned forward, kissed him. "Me, too."

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

Scully lifted her eyes from the computer. Kate-Lynn was sitting on her father's long, strong thigh, picking out a piece from Brandenburg's Concerto Number Two, that her father had played just moments before on the grand piano he had purchased for Kate-Lynn's fourth birthday. Every day it was a little more clear that she was her father's daughter; wide gray-green eyes, long, thick dark hair, full, sweet mouth. She laughed more than Mulder did, but Mulder laughed more than he used to. She was frighteningly bright, but Mulder wasn't frightened of her. He just encouraged her, played with her, loved her. She was her Daddy's girl, a four year love affair that was still burning hot.

Mulder spoiled her, of course, and Mommy and Papa Walt had to be the bad guys, set the boundaries. But no one could blame Mulder. He was absolutely blinded by her unconditional love.

Papa Walt was watching, too, stretched out on the sofa. He looked awfully good for a man of fifty eight. He could pass for a man ten years younger. And Mulder certainly didn't look forty three. Papa Walt's eyes were fixed on the man with the little girl. Five years of marriage, and there was no question that the honeymoon wouldn't be over any time soon. The air positively sizzled when they were together.

Scully sighed, contentedly. It had been a good four years. Some bad times, but mostly wonderful times. She had flirted with marriage - one of the bad times. They had buried Mulder's mom, Skinner's stepdad. Now they all lived together in the big white house in the middle of the street. Someone in Hollywood bought one of Mulder's books, turned it into a series, about the X-Files. They were paying him eighty thousand dollars an episode to write for them. Mulder couldn't stand the guy they hired to portray him - said he looked like a wimp. He thought the woman that portrayed Scully wasn't sexy enough.

She smiled at something, rose and went to the sofa, to kneel next to Walt. "Hey." She caught his hand and pressed it to her stomach. He smiled at her and sat up. "Katy. Come here and feel your brother."

- THE END -
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