Big Deals (part 4 of 13)

by Mik

The house was dark. Mulder pulled the car into the driveway and shut off the key. He looked back to the garage. It was closed and dark too. Skinner wasn't home? Well, it was Friday night, maybe he was taking Kim out again. Why did that rankle him? She had been his assistant for years. She was good at what she did. She deserved a little special treatment now and then. It was the timing that bothered him. He and Skinner were having problems, he went out of town, and suddenly, Skinner's waltzing Kim all over the D.C. nightlife? Mulder made a face, as if he wanted to spit. This was so trite.

He shouldered his garment bag and climbed the steps, fumbling to find the right key. Why in the world did they buy a house? Then he smiled. So we'll have a place for the kid to play. Yes, buying the house was a good thing. The hallway was dark, empty. He dropped his briefcase on the table in the living room, and looked at the answering machines. Skinner's was empty. He had fourteen messages. Jeesh, Kat, can't you take a message once in a while? Maybe you could have Kim do it. Ooh, Mulder, jealousy, and it's ugly.

He went to the stairs, and climbed. At the landing, he paused, and sniffed, and felt his heart come into his throat. His fear of fire was starting to swallow him whole. He smelled smoke. Carefully, he climbed the rest of the stairs, and tested doorways. It was the master bedroom. Nervously he pushed open the double doors. Stopped. Stared.

There was a fire in the fireplace. Skinner was sprawled across the bed, a glass of wine in his hands, reading a book, listening to Vivaldi. He looked up at Mulder. "Welcome home."

Mulder nodded. "This is nice." He went to his closet and hung the garment bag. He would put things away tomorrow. He turned, tugging at his tie. "How was your week?"

"Long," Skinner said with a nod. "Want a glass?" he asked, holding up the wine.

Mulder shrugged. "You don't drink wine," he said.

"I know, but you do." Skinner slid from the bed. "It's a welcome home." He came across the floor, caught Mulder by the nape of the neck and drew him in, sipping and kissing Mulder.

Mulder had pulled this stunt several times, but he had never been on the receiving end. The sweetness of the wine, warmed by Skinner's mouth trickled down his throat, making him thirst for more. He sucked Skinner's tongue, winding his arms around Skinner's chest, rising up on tiptoe to get as close as he could. When the room started to spin, he pulled back reluctantly. "Good year," he gasped.

Skinner laughed softly and went to the mantle, and poured him a glass. "Welcome home."

"Thanks." Mulder took the glass, shrugging out of his jacket.

Skinner was there to help him. Then he slid his hands around Mulder's shoulders, rubbing gently. "Tired?"

"Mm," Mulder agreed, sipping. He knew this vintage, it was as close as he came to having a favorite, but it sure tasted better on Skinner's lips than in the glass. "We got bumped from our original flight."

"So I heard," Skinner drawled. "Dana called me." There was slight reproach in his voice.

Mulder took his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. "I would have called, but it was dinner time here, and I thought you might be … involved." He put his glass down, and started working his cufflinks.

Skinner smacked him on the butt. "Asshole," he said distinctly.

Mulder looked up, surprised, a little bit wounded. Skinner had never called him that. He shrugged and brought his cufflinks to the bureau and put them in the top drawer. Then he slid his tie off and put it on that tie holder that Mrs. O'Hara gave him.

"Let me do that," Skinner said, suddenly behind him, reaching up to unbutton his shirt.

Mulder let his arms fall to his sides, and savored the warmth of Skinner's body behind him. Skinner's fingers slid beneath the shirt and onto his skin, setting him on fire. Oh, no, don't get aroused, he warned himself. You promised Scully...He tried to raise his arms to stop Skinner's probing fingers, but he couldn't. Well, maybe one time wouldn't hurt...

They were in bed in another minute, naked, Skinner's tongue running everywhere on his body. He was arching back, feeling as if he was going to explode. When he felt Skinner's tongue on his aching erection, he put out a hand. "Don't."

Skinner pulled back, his face black with anger. He looked down at Mulder, who was trying to make words come out of his mouth instead of whimpers, and then rolled away from him.

Mulder groaned. "Kat, I didn't mean..." He sagged down on the bed. "I didn't mean stop doing anything. It's just that it's been so long...I was afraid I might..." He stopped. It was clear Skinner wasn't listening to him. Swearing under his breath, he, too, rolled away, climbed out of bed, and went down the hall to the den. Not caring that he was naked and the room was cold, he sank down on the sofa, drew his crossed legs up to rest his chin on his knees. He reached for the television remote and started switching channels.

Not much more, he promised himself. I'm not going to put up with much more. So help me, if he doesn't get over this ultra-sensitive phase he's going through, I'm going to file for divorce, marry Scully, and raise a hundred kids.

Kids. He flicked a glance at the television - infomercials for a Rototiller. Skinner had been intrigued by this one, now that they had that big backyard. Scully wanted a baby. Mulder had always thought he was adamantly against being a father, but the minute she said the words, he was promising to do whatever it took to create little Scully-Mulders. She wanted the baby to have both their names, she told him. She wanted the baby to have his eyes. Little Scully-Mulders, he repeated silently. Sounds like a good name for a Rototiller.

He heard a floorboard creak in the hallway. He didn't turn. He stared at the Rototiller as if he longed for one. Then he felt an afghan fall over his bare shoulders. "You're going to freeze to death," Skinner predicted softly. "It's going to be eighteen degrees tonight."

"I'll be a Foxicle," Mulder muttered under his breath.

He felt Skinner laugh behind him. "Come on, Kit," he said finally. "Come to bed."

Mulder twisted around to look at him questioningly.

Skinner was in his robe, his hands thrust deep into the pockets. "It's been a long time, Kit," he said in a soft, reserved voice. "I felt like you were telling me no. I was angry."

Mulder nodded. "I just didn't want it to be over before it started," he explained. "It has been a long time."

"Come on back to bed." Skinner dragged his fingers through Mulder's hair. "We'll do something about that hair trigger of yours tonight, and have a real homecoming in the morning. Okay?"

Twice? Should he risk it? He thought of the luxury of sleeping in Skinner's arms on a night when the temperature was going to drop below freezing. He was going to risk it. "Okay."

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

Mulder sat nervously on the side of the exam table, swinging his bare legs. The doctor came in, smiling. "Everything looks great," he said, without preamble. "You and Miss Scully can start the first treatment on Friday afternoon."

Mulder looked up, surprised. "So soon?"

"Oh, yes. Actually, we're going ahead with the first step of the procedure today. We have the donor eggs, and you provided plenty of sperm, so we may get several embryos this week." Dr. Hanson, a surprisingly young man, smiled up at him. "Are you excited?"

No. He wasn't excited. He was happy, because he was giving something back to Scully, but he wasn't flush with that expected 'I am a man' excitement most men experienced at the idea of creating future generations. He nodded obediently. "This is just a little...weird to me."

"I know," Dr. Hanson said sympathetically. "It seems too clinical. But, believe me, once we get an embryo that takes, it will be just the same as it would be if you had done it the old fashioned way." The young man patted Mulder's shoulder. Then his eyes fell to Mulder's left hand. "I'm sorry. Is Miss Scully your … I thought she wasn't married."

"She isn't," Mulder said tightly, curling his fingers up under his palm.

"But, you are," Dr. Hanson concluded softly.

"Yes," Mulder said quietly.

"Have you discussed this step with your wife?"

"No."

"Mr. Mulder, in all fairness -"

"I'm married to another man," Mulder explained tightly. "You don't have to worry about any STDs, but I know you'll check for them, now." He swallowed, waiting for that look of revulsion to come into the doctor's eyes. Instead, it was he who experienced the revulsion. The look in the doctor's eyes was positively … passionate. Suddenly, Mulder was even more aware of how little he was wearing. "My partner is an ex-Marine," he added, warningly.

The look didn't fade.

There was a knock at the door. A nurse in pale pink scrubs stuck her head around the door. "Doctor, Miss Scully is asking for you." She looked at Mulder and smiled approvingly.

"Tell her I'll be right there," Dr. Hanson promised her. His eyes never left Mulder's.

When the door shut, he leaned in slightly, as if he was going to whisper something. Mulder jerked back. "I carry a gun," he promised. "Look, don't you get it? I...am...married."

The doctor made a denigrating gesture with one hand.

"Legally," Mulder insisted. "We went to Hawaii." He had the feeling the doctor still wasn't concerned. "I'm going to knock your block off, buddy," he promised, roughly. "Go take care of Miss Scully."

Dr. Hanson smiled at him and left the room.

Mulder shuddered and started getting dressed. Then he went to find Scully, who was just getting the good news. If it wasn't for the expression on her face, he would have backed out right there, refusing to have anything to do with her doctor. They made an appointment to come back on Friday for the implantation. Scully chattered happily all the way back to her apartment. She didn't even notice the bad mood Mulder had settled into.

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

At home, Mulder dropped his briefcase with a thud and tossed his keys, hard. "They're coming out of the fucking woodwork," he complained.

Skinner was in the kitchen, but he came through the dining room to look at Mulder. "Who?"

Mulder started to say one thing, and changed his mind. "The Evelyns of the world."

Skinner made a face. "What happened?"

"Scully's doctor made a pass at me."

Skinner had started to go back to the kitchen, but he stopped. "Why did Scully go to the doctor?"

Mulder stopped, and scrambled for an explanation. "She had to have a check-up, and I said I'd drive her." He followed Skinner into the kitchen. "Then the pervert started making moves on me. I swear he was ten years younger than me, and salivating like the big bad wolf." He reached into the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of beer. One good thing about living with Skinner, his taste in beer had improved.

Skinner's demeanor was stiff. "Did he touch you?"

Mulder should have realized that Skinner would be concerned by this information. "No," he said quickly, snapping the cap off with his fingers - something Skinner was amazed he could do. "He just leered. I told him I was married to an ex-Marine."

"Did that stop him?"

"No, but I threatened to shoot him too," Mulder said, tilting the bottle back for a long swallow.

"You hate it, don't you?" Skinner said sadly.

"Parts of it," Mulder agreed. He put the bottle down on the kitchen table and wrapped his arms around Skinner's waist. "Not this part." He sniffed. "What's for dinner?"

"Pizza." Skinner pulled the oven door open.

"Homemade pizza?" Mulder said, releasing Skinner to crouch down and look. "Can you do that?"

"Pizza was not born in a cardboard box," Skinner said.

Mulder sniffed again. Lots of garlic. "Wow."

Skinner urged him to stand. "Go change, and then come down and make a salad."

"Do you have any more of that stuff you made last week?" Mulder asked, shrugging his jacket off. "You know, like on my birthday?"

Skinner shook his head. "You'll just have to deal with lettuce and tomatoes tonight."

"Oh, is that all I'll have to deal with?" Mulder asked, and leaned up to drop a kiss to Skinner's nose.

Skinner grinned. "You're feeling your oats tonight. What's the matter, did that doctor give you ideas?"

Mulder shuddered. "Not about him." He grabbed his bottle of beer and went out to the stairwell. Out of Skinner's earshot, he shuddered again. He loved Skinner, he just hated all the rest of it. Why couldn't they just stay in their own little world and have people leave them alone? Were they going to have to deal with the Kims, the Evelyns and the Dr. Hansons of the world for the rest of their lives? He climbed the stairs, still feeling the flesh crawling leer of the gynecologist. The remarks he overheard (was meant to overhear) in the men's room, or in the gym didn't bother him. But having Evelyn call him cupcake did.

Skinner came up a few minutes later, found him sitting on the side of the bed, barefoot, in a pair of jeans, halfway into a blue striped sweater. "Hey, what happened to the salad?" He saw Mulder's expression and came to the bedside. "What did he do, Kit?"

Mulder straightened and tugged the sweater over his head. "Nothing. Nothing in particular. He just gave me the creeps. If he was straight, he would never ogle women that way, he'd get sued. Why did he think it was okay to do that to me?"

"You're just more aware of it now. People have been staring at you like that for years," Skinner soothed, brushing his hair back from his eyes. "If this had happened a year ago, you would have thought he had vision problems, or he was possessed or was a pod person or something." He chuckled. "I happen to know that Cancerman used to stare at your ass."

Mulder choked. "I may be sick."

"Don't worry. He'll never get his hands on it," Skinner said, just slightly more fiercely than the joke warranted. "Oh, by the way, Ashcroft sent his regards. He told me he was really impressed by your song."

Mulder looked up, frowning. "Song? What song?"

"Burying things again?" Skinner said, with a wry frown. "At the restaurant, after we got married?"

"Oh, that," Mulder said with a shrug. "When did he tell you?"

"Last week, when I took Kim to the Iron Horse." Skinner was chuckling again. "He asked about you, and said all kinds of complimentary things, as if to remind me who I belonged to. You would have loved it, Kit. He was defending you."

"Ashcroft?" Mulder stood and routed under the bed for his loafers. "The pod people live."

"And another thing I meant to tell you," Skinner said, following him as he went downstairs. "Kim approves of us now."

"Oh, well, I can sleep nights now."

"She thought you had seduced me."

"Huh." Mulder went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Did you tell her it was the other way around?"

"I did."

Mulder looked over his shoulder, nonplussed. He never thought that Skinner would admit to something like that. Tight assed ex-Marines don't seduce skinny kids from Oxford. At least, not in his universe. He pulled a bag of Roma tomatoes out of the crisper and put them on the cutting board. "How did she take this revelation? Was she surprised?"

Skinner nodded, but Mulder didn't look back to see it. "She thought it was romantic."

"Beating me up on a basketball court was romantic?" Mulder complained, rinsing lettuce in the sink.

"I omitted that from my report."

Mulder looked over his shoulder again, one brow raised. "You?"

"As I said to Scully recently, I've been sitting at the feet of a master for six years."

"So, what didn't you omit? What did you tell her that she thought was romantic?" He started tearing lettuce into a bowl.

Skinner leaned against the island, arms folded over his chest. "Let's see. I told her that I loved you."

Mulder's shoulders went up and down in silent laughter. "I would have loved to have seen her expression when you said that." Skinner didn't answer, and Mulder risked him a glance as he reached for a knife to slice tomatoes. Uh oh, he thought, feeling his stomach tightening. He doesn't want me teasing about her. What happened while I was in Chicago? He forced his eyes to the cutting board, lest he slice bits of fingertip into the salad. "Well," he said, when he couldn't stand the silence anymore, "I'm glad you two cleared the air." He stood back. "Voila. Salad."

Skinner pulled the oven door open. "Do you want another beer?"

Mulder shook his head. "Actually, I could use coffee. I'll get it." He went to the cupboard and pulled down a cup. "What do you want?"

Skinner put the pizza down on the cutting board. "You."

Mulder spread his arms. "You've got me."

"Do I?" There was something odd about Skinner's expression.

"Don't you?"

"I don't know," Skinner sighed and picked up the pizza to carry it to the dining room table.

Mulder stared at his retreating back. Scully was right. He did need to hear it. Mulder wanted to say it, he knew it had to be said, but he just wasn't good with those declaration of feeling speeches. It was probably the undoing of more than one relationship. Why could he profess love so easily to Scully, and not say it to Skinner? Because he and Scully had established the rules a long time ago. She didn't take him seriously. He could be as open and honest and outrageous as he wanted to be, and she wouldn't believe him, but she wouldn't humiliate him. He was free to express himself with no fear of repercussions.

He took his coffee cup and went to the dining room. Skinner was scooping salad onto his plate. Mulder sat, watching Skinner's quick, economic movements, waited for him to sit. "I..." He stopped. He couldn't do this. He just couldn't. He looked up. Skinner was looking at the pizza slicer, as if he had never seen one before. "I'm not good at this stuff, Kat," he managed at length. "The speeches. I can talk about anything in the world except how I feel. Can't you just accept what I do, and know that's how I feel?"

Skinner sat, idly running the pizza slicer in a little circle around the edge of the pizza. "I guess it would be comforting, just once, to have those actions defined."

"Okay." Mulder nodded. A task, an assignment. This he could do. "I'm happy with you. I'm content. I'm … oh, God, I'm in a place I'd never thought I'd get in my life." He felt tears, and he choked them back, annoyed by their intrusion. "I was jealous that you took Kim out to dinner," he confessed softly.

A light went on in Skinner's eyes. "I didn't do it to make you jealous."

"I know," Mulder agreed. "You don't do things like that. If that was the way you were, I wouldn't be here. I don't need that crap. But it did bother me."

"Next time we'll both take her," Skinner promised.

Mulder shrugged. "That's not necessary. It's not that I don't trust you. If I couldn't trust you, I wouldn't be here, either. It's just that she can give you things I can't." He made a face. "I'm not talking about the obvious, you know. I'm talking about that sense of respect, the softness, the...oh, I don't know." He looked upward, searching Heavenward. "I'm too self centered to really appreciate you. She's not."

Skinner was quiet for a while. Finally he looked at Mulder, searching until he was able to meet his eyes. "It would be nice to hear it, just once," he said quietly.

Mulder lowered his eyes, and swallowed. "I love you, Walter," he said in a very small voice.

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

Skinner shut the dishwasher and pushed the button to start it. He was humming to himself. He felt years younger, pounds lighter. Mulder said it. It was like pulling teeth, but he said it. And he didn't minimize or trivialize it with a joke, or a nickname. He said 'I love you, Walter' sincerely, like he really meant it. He had not said those words since their wedding night, and had never said them prior to that.

Skinner leaned back against the counter, and looked around, satisfied. Having Mulder here made this place into a home. Having Mulder back in his arms made the time seem like a life. He had missed Mulder so much these past few weeks, and it was maddening to learn that it had been so easy to bring him back. All he had to do was the one thing Bill Mulder never did, treat him with dignity. Treat him normally.

He glanced at his watch. Mulder left for his run an hour ago. It was dark, it was cold, it was threatening to snow. He toyed with the idea of taking one of the cars and going out to look for him. No, that went against everything he had learned; he couldn't treat Mulder like a child. They had to be equals, or they would be nothing. It had been his observation over the years that when two men entered into a relationship such as theirs, inevitably one of the men became the dominant partner, and the other became...well, he couldn't help but think of Evelyn Stone. People might look at Mulder and himself and assume that the older, bigger, ex-Marine would be the dominant partner, but Mulder wasn't going to be dominated. He was anything but prissy or effeminate. He would not tolerate weakness in himself, or in anyone around him. Mulder came into this relationship an equal partner. And Skinner liked it that way, even if he did sometimes have trouble remembering it.

He heard the back door and he looked up, smiling. Mulder came down the hall, looking into the kitchen. He was bathed in sweat, his skin was glowing, his eyes were dancing. He was on an endorphin high. "Oh," he panted. "I was going to do the dishes when I got back."

"That's all right," Skinner assured him easily, drinking in the sight of Mulder. "It gave me something to do."

Mulder was brushing his hair back from his flushed face. "But, you brought home all those reports -"

"Finished them," Skinner lied. "I thought, if I had the dishes done, I could wash your back, or something."

Mulder smiled. "Deal." Then his face fell. "I'm not sure I'm up to anything tonight, Kat."

"That's okay, Kit," Skinner soothed. "It isn't mandatory." But, why not? he wondered. Usually, right after he ran was the best time to make love. Mulder was at his enthusiastic best, then. "What's the matter? You got a headache?" he teased.

Mulder nodded. "Actually, trite as it sounds, I do, kinda'." He came into the kitchen and got a glass of water from the refrigerator. "I couldn't finish running. I had to walk most of the way back, and I had gotten all the way to that park, on the other side of the elementary school."

Skinner grimaced. He should have gone out with the car. Mulder was going to catch pneumonia, staying out in those freezing temperatures after working up a sweat.

Mulder emptied his glass. "Don't look at me like that. Nothing's wrong. I think I just need to get the prescription on my glasses changed. I spent all morning in front of the computer, and I've had a headache all afternoon." He wound his arms around Skinner. "Of course, that wouldn't stop me from attempting to make you happy..." he purred.

"You're sweaty," Skinner complained, unwinding his arms and pushing him toward the stairs. "Come on, let's take a hot shower, start a fire, and watch television. I'd rather wait until it was a mutual experience. This taking turns stuff got old real fast."

That night, Skinner learned something about owning an older home. Hot showers are not available while the dishwasher is running. Twenty minutes later, he was downstairs making tea for them both, when he heard Mulder's phone ring. He heard the message machine kick on, Mulder's clipped, yet weary message. "Oh, Mulder, I thought you'd be home by now," Scully was saying. Skinner went out into the living room, thinking he might pick up the phone. "I just wanted to remind you that our appointment is at three on Friday. Don't forget, okay?" She paused, laughing slightly. "And don't find any X-Files until then, please? See you in the morning."

Bewildered, a little frightened, Skinner went back into the kitchen. Appointment? What appointment? Did it have anything to do with Scully? Mulder did say he took her for a check-up today. Or was it something about Mulder? Something more serious than a headache? He prepared tea in a fog of fear. What was going on, and why wasn't anyone telling him?

Upstairs Mulder was wrapped in an afghan Skinner's mom had made, sitting, cross-legged on the floor, staring into the fireplace. His lips were still a little blue, and his teeth were chattering. Skinner sat down beside him and held out a cup.

Mulder looked at him, bitterly amused. "It was very thoughtful of you to take a cold shower for my sake," he drawled.

Skinner made himself smile. "Scully called," he said casually. "She wanted to remind you about an appointment on Friday." He watched closely waiting for something guilty in Mulder's reaction.

Mulder hitched the afghan up around his shoulders, and held the cup with both hands, pressing it against his lips. "She's having some kind of biopsy done on Friday. I promised her I'd go hold her hand." He flicked a cool glance toward Skinner. "Do you mind?"

"No, of course not. It sounds serious." Skinner looked concerned. If Mulder lost Scully …

"It's not," Mulder was quick to assure him. "Actually, from the way she described it to me, biopsy might be a misnomer. Don't start pulling a Mulder. She's fine."

Skinner nodded, and leaned forward, lightly kissing Mulder's temple. "How's your headache?"

Mulder leaned into the kiss. "Mmm, better."

"I've been getting back really good reports about your talk in Chicago," Skinner said, pulling Mulder closer to him, rubbing his chin over Mulder's roughened jaw. "You've got a knack for public speaking. Ever thought of becoming a teacher?"

Mulder just shook his head. "Patterson said the same thing to me about VCU. That I should work at Quantico. I'm not ready to give up learning." He let his head fall back to rest on Skinner's shoulder. "Ashcroft was really defending me?"

"Like a mother bear," Skinner agreed with a chuckle. "He really made Kim uncomfortable."

"Sorry."

"Liar."

"Hey, I have no kick if you want to take her out. She's not ugly. And," He shifted around to meet Skinner's eyes. "Did you know she's got her Masters in Business Administration?"

"She told me." Skinner was annoyed. "Kit, are you giving me permission to date?"

"Sure," Mulder said, moving slightly. "If you want to."

"You asshole." Skinner smacked the back of Mulder's head. "We're married."

Mulder sat up and rubbed the back of his head. "Stop doing that," he complained, rising from the floor. "And, as for being married, it seems like you and I are the only ones taking it seriously. The rest of the world is just humoring us - or ignoring us."

"Kit." Skinner reached for one of his hands. "It doesn't matter what the rest of the world thinks. I am married. To you. I don't want anyone else. The dinner with Kim was strictly business."

"Of course it was," Mulder said equitably, pulling his hand free to cradle the cup between his fingers again. "It's like when Scully and I go out."

"No, it's not the same. You lust after her," Skinner corrected.

"Ah, but she doesn't care, so it's safe," Mulder returned, carrying his tea to the bed, and coiling up, cross-legged, there. "How would you feel if you knew she felt the same way about me?"

Skinner's eyes narrowed, pained. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "She does."

"Ha." Mulder's laugh was brittle. "Ha ha."

Skinner took his own cup to the bed, and knelt at the side. "Kit, hypothetically, if Scully came to you tomorrow and professed her undying love, what would you do?"

Mulder bit down on his lower lip. The question clearly pained him, and so did the answer. "I would ask her why she didn't tell me this a year ago," he said softly.

Skinner drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He believed Mulder. It might only be because he wanted to, but he did. "And if she said she only just found out?" he persisted.

Mulder stared down into his tea, almost mournfully. "Then I'd tell her how sorry I was."

Skinner lifted Mulder's chin, studied his eyes. "Are you saying that because it's what I want to hear?"

"No," Mulder said earnestly. "I'm saying it because that's what I'd want to hear."

Skinner leaned down and kissed him, gently, exploring the tea sweetness of those full, firm lips. He felt desire rush through him like a fire truck. "Ready for bed?" he whispered. He felt Mulder nod against his lips. Blindly, he reached for the cup between them, and groped around until he managed to put it on the bedside table. Then he used both hands to push Mulder back into the bedclothes. He felt Mulder's hands come up around his bare shoulders, and they were still warm from the teacup. He dragged one hand down across Mulder's chest, and felt Mulder's fingers clench in response.

Lifting his head for air, he opened his eyes and looked down into Mulder's face. Mulder's eyes were closed, his lips were parted, his breathing shallow. It was a beautiful face, and although it was too masculine to be androgynous, Skinner was once again struck that the beauty could have belonged to a man or a woman. Mulder's eyes fluttered open, a pale green in the faint light of the fireplace. "What's the matter?" Skinner whispered.

"I was going to ask you that," Mulder said.

Skinner smiled. "Sorry." He touched Mulder's cheek. "I was just looking at you."

"Why?"

Skinner shook his head. Mulder really didn't know. "You know, the maddening thing about you is that people are going to be looking at you when you're eighty, and you still won't understand why. There's something about you …"

"Yeah, my overall aura of spookiness," Mulder answered dryly, trying to shift under Skinner's weight. "My arm is falling asleep."

"Sorry." Skinner caught Mulder's arms and rolled over, bringing Mulder on top of him. He liked the feel of that long, hard body all along his own, and he slid his hands down Mulder's sides. He lifted his head to kiss Mulder again, and was satisfied to feel some stirring of interest in Mulder's body. "What do you want tonight?" he whispered softly.

Mulder rubbed against him. "Something simple," he answered, letting his hands slip down between them. "I'm too tired for acrobatics tonight." He felt Skinner jerk as his fingers curled around him. "You like that?"

"You know I do. But, I know what I like better." He rolled Mulder over again, and began to kiss him down his body. He was surprised when Mulder stopped him.

"If you do that, I'm guaranteed to fall asleep before I return the favor." Mulder looked almost thoughtful. "We're both tall enough, why don't we try something a little more mutual?"

Skinner lifted his head questioningly. "What did you have in mind?"

Mulder grinned at him, wriggling around in the bed. "You're the number cruncher. You figure it out."

It was going to take some practice to get it right without endangering lives. This time Skinner narrowly escaped a broken collarbone and Mulder was going to wake up in the morning with a muscle twinge in the small of his back, but it worked well enough, that Skinner was pretty sure the neighbors heard about it. He fell away, chuckling, listening to Mulder's gasping breath. "Hey, don't fall asleep yet."

"I can't move," Mulder promised.

"Really?" Skinner slipped around, so that he hovered over Mulder's still throbbing body. "This has possibilities."

"All you get out of me is name, rank and serial number," Mulder vowed, both his hands pressed against his chest, in an effort to keep his heart from pounding its way out.

Skinner kissed him. It was such a relief to be free to kiss Mulder again. He felt as if he'd been on a hunger strike for a month, and now sat before a banquet. "Come on, Kit. Let's make it an early night."

"Oh, yeah." Mulder rolled onto his side. "I've got to be at Quantico at seven tomorrow."

"Why?" This was news to Skinner. And, as Mulder's director, he was expected to account for Mulder's schedule.

"Ashcroft is sending us to address the new recruits," Mulder said dryly, padding to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Nice of him to tell me." Skinner began rearranging the mangled bedclothes.

Mulder looked back at him. "Didn't he? I got the impression you approved it."

"Nope. It makes sense, though." Skinner slid under the blankets and stretched out. "He was the one who was talking about what a great teacher you would make."

"Huh." Mulder spit and rinsed again. "You know what he's doing, don't you?" He turned and came back to bed.

"What?" Skinner opened his arms, making room for Mulder to melt into them.

"He wants to take me out of the field." Mulder shifted slightly. His body was too rigid to fit into Skinner's embrace.

"Mulder, I think -"

"He's always wanted to shut me down," Mulder broke in, fidgeting with the edge of the afghan.

"He wouldn't hurt you now," Skinner insisted. "He wouldn't dare -"

"I don't think he means to hurt me," Mulder said, sitting up, looking down at Skinner. "I think he's trying to protect me. He thinks that I can't expect any protection, any backup in the field. He doesn't want me put in a position where I had to depend on some fag-hater to cover my back."

Skinner felt something in his heart twist. That was one thing he had never thought about, how vulnerable Mulder had become, out there in the field. He was safe, for the most part, up in his ivory office. If someone was homophobic, there wasn't a lot they could do about it. Skinner was too high up. But what was one field agent, more or less? And if he was taking it up the ass, did he even deserve to be out there? He reached for Mulder, impulsively, and drew him against his chest. "Oh, God, Kit, I never thought about that."

"Don't think about it now. I've got Scully. She'd fight the Twelfth Division for me." Mulder sat up and reached for his alarm clock. "I do like having that extra fifteen minutes."

"Is she really okay?" Skinner asked anxiously, reaching for his own alarm clock.

"Oh, yeah, she's fine." Mulder flicked his light off. "Believe me, if there was anything wrong with her, I couldn't keep it a secret." He waited for Skinner to turn off his own light and settle down in the bed. "When it comes to Scully, I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve." He rolled into Skinner's waiting arms.

"She's really a remarkable woman," Skinner agreed, rubbing Mulder's bare shoulder distractedly.

"I know. Oh, by the way, I invited her to move in with us," Mulder mumbled, snuggling deeper into Skinner's embrace. "She turned me down, for some reason."

Skinner chuckled. Trust Mulder to make a suggestion like that. Actually, it wasn't that far from a good idea. It would make Mulder infinitely more comfortable, having her around, and the rest of the world would think...oh, who gives a shit what the rest of the world thinks, as long as they don't hurt Mulder, Skinner thought. Laying there, a half dozen horrifying scenarios played out in his mind's eye, all of them, ending with Mulder's death or injury. Maybe Ashcroft had the right idea.

"I'm not leaving the field," Mulder warned quietly, from somewhere deep in the bedclothes.

Skinner jerked. "You are spooky," he blurted. He felt more than heard Mulder chuckle against him.

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

Mulder stumbled downstairs, while Skinner was fixing coffee. He look blurry eyed, as if he hadn't slept, but Skinner knew he hadn't had a nightmare. He hadn't moved from Skinner's arms all night. "Morning, sunshine," Skinner teased.

Mulder mumbled something. It sounded like 'leave your truck in the tree', but Skinner might have heard wrong. Mulder dropped into a chair, and rubbed his eyes again, using his fists, like a child. Skinner brought him a glass of orange juice. "Here you go. Coffee in five minutes."

Mulder nodded and emptied the glass in a gulp. "You know, most homicides committed in the morning are by night people married to morning people," he observed conversationally.

"I could have sworn you slept last night," Skinner answered, getting a cup down for him.

"How would you know?" Mulder countered. "You departed for dreamland about thirty seconds after the lights went out." He got up, put the glass in the sink, and pulled a piece of whole wheat bread from the breadbox. "I've never seen anyone who can dive into dreamland as fast as you do." He pulled the crust away in one long, perfect strip and began to chew on it.

"I could make you toast, you know," Skinner said amiably. "I was just fixing myself a bagel."

"What is the purpose of cooking bread that's already baked?" Mulder asked. "It isn't raw."

"Toast tastes better that plain bread," Skinner explained, taking the two halves of his water bagel out of the oven, and putting them on a waiting plate.

"No, toast just makes the butter melt," Mulder answered. He had finished that piece, and got up to get another one.

"Kit, you are the only person I've ever known who considers plain bread a meal." Skinner poured him a cup of coffee.

"When you're eight, bread is easy to fix." Mulder was pulling the ring of crust off the bread.

Skinner didn't have an answer to that.

"When you're nine, you know how to work the toaster, but by then, you've gotten lazy," Mulder continued, and brought his cup and de-crusted bread back to the table. "You know, you yell at me about cholesterol, but look how much cream cheese you're putting on that."

"Low fat," Skinner said, licking a bit of cream cheese from his fingertips. He was thinking of an eight year old boy who would settle for plain bread rather than ask his mother to fix him breakfast. Even at eight, Mulder didn't think he had the right to ask for anything. "Why don't we go to breakfast tomorrow? There's a coffee shop right before the interstate that looks pretty good."

"You mean, you want to car-pool tomorrow?" Mulder asked, amused.

"Sure." Why did they take separate cars to work, anyway?

"That would be great, except you're in meetings until eight tomorrow night, and I've got to meet with the publishers at seven."

Skinner looked up, intrigued. "So soon? I thought you hadn't started the second book yet."

"It's not about that. They want me to do a promotional tour." Mulder made a face. "I want to see if I can get out of it. I'm not into the publicity thing."

"Was it in the contract?"

Mulder arched a brow at him. "You read it before I signed it, you tell me."

"I'll get it out and look at it," Skinner promised. He remembered how proud he had been when Mulder brought him the contract and asked his advice before assigning his name. "Where do they want you to go?"

"Oh, just an East Coast trip; New York, D.C., Larry King, you know."

"Larry King?" Skinner was really proud. "Wow," he added, borrowing Mulder's word.

Mulder shook his head. "I'm not doing Larry King. I'd rather do Howard Stern."

"He'd love you," Skinner drawled.

"Hey, the man loves lesbians," Mulder reminded him with a grin.

"Mulder, I'd like to point out -"

"I know, I know. I've passed Scully's Biology 101." Mulder finished his coffee with a gulp. "We'll do the coffee shop thing Thursday." He dropped a kiss to the top of Skinner's head. "If you get fifteen free minutes, look the contract over and let me know if I have a leg to stand on, please?" He tossed a wave over his shoulder and was gone.

Skinner sat back, staring into the space where the whirlwind had touched down. Doctor Spooky Mulder, the teacher, the prophet, the star of Larry King Live. His partner was an amazing man.

- END part 4 of 13 -
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