Little Things (part 14 of 15)

by Mik

Mulder was at his desk, absently fingering his tie when Scully came in on Monday morning. "How was your weekend?" she asked. She always asked, hoping for some little crumb of information about Oyakata. "That's a nice tie," she added, sounding surprised.

"It's my old school tie," Mulder said absently. "Kat gave it to me for my birthday."

Scully's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God, Mulder. It was your birthday last week. I have a card for you, I just --"

"Forget it, forget it." He stood up and kissed her cheek. "We spent my birthday together, in Charleston, one of the most romantic cities in the country. What more could I want?" He wandered the office for a moment, touching things. If he had been able to read Scully's mind, he would have been amused to know that Scully was describing the action to herself as 'almost as if he's saying goodbye.' "What are your plans for Christmas, Scully?" He pulled his coat down from the rack.

"Making sure I remember to give you a present, that's for sure," Scully returned.

"Actually, there is something I'd really like from you." He opened the office door. "Let's take a walk."

"Mulder, it's November first. It's freezing outside."

"I know," he agreed evenly. "Better take your coat."

They walked around the mall in silence a long time. Mulder wondered if Skinner was watching from his office window. They had disagreed about this part, but Mulder said he couldn't take such a momentous step in his life without involving his partner and best friend. He felt more than heard her impatient shiver at his side, and he gestured for them to take a park bench across from the Viet Nam Memorial. "How would you like to go to Hawaii, Scully?"

"Now? I'd love it."

"No, I meant the week before Christmas."

She gave him that 'okay, what are you going to try and talk me into now?' look. "Why?"

Mulder looked down at the tie. "Because I'm getting married there, and I want you to stand up with me."

"M -- married?" she stammered. "Oh, Mulder, that's wonderful." She sounded as if she truly meant it. "Oh, I'm so happy for you." She threw her arms around him, and hugged as tight as little Scully arms could.

He leaned into her embrace. He'd done the easy part. Now, for what he was going to say next, he might never be this close to her again. "So, are you going to come and give me away?"

"With both hands, Mulder. When did this happen?"

"Saturday night."

"Wow, what made you decide to propose?"

"Actually, Kat proposed to me."

"Really?" She eased away from him, arching her brow. "Is this what you really want to do?"

Mulder laughed that silent little snort of his. "What's the matter, Scully? When you were under the impression that I popped the question, you thought it was a great idea."

"It's just that she seems to have so much influence over you. She's picking out your ties. Deciding your future."

"There was no gun to my head when I said yes, Scully." He caught her flushed face and turned it toward him. "If Kat hadn't proposed, I might have done so. I'd have at least suggested living together," he amended. It was still incredible to him that there was a place in the world where two men could enter into a binding marriage.

"Okay. I am happy for you. I will go to Hawaii and be your … your … best man?"

He squeezed her cheek gently. "Best friend. But." He drew a deep breath. "Before you agree, there's something you need to know about Kat."

"She's older than you. Mulder, I figured that out months ago."

"It's more than that."

"How much more could there be? Is she pregnant?"

Mulder snorted again. "Now, that would be an X-File," he said. "No. Kat's not pregnant."

"Then what is it?"

Mulder looked into her eyes, daringly. "Open yourself to extreme possibilities, Scully."

"Oh, how extreme?" she said irritably. "Like she's a man?"

Mulder nodded slowly. "Kat's a man."

He felt her stiffen, and then a moment later go as limp as a dishrag. "I … don't … believe … it."

"It's true. It's worse. It's someone you know."

"Frohike?" she squeaked, repulsed.

"Eew!" It was his turn to shudder. "Give me credit for a little taste."

"Well, I don't know the others that well. The only other man I can think of is A.D. Skinner, and that's --"

Mulder was nodding.

For a moment, she thought she might believe it. Then she started to laugh, and she punched his shoulder. "Oh, you --" She choked on her laughter. "You really had me going there for a moment. 'Kat's a man'. Oh, you bastard." She punched his shoulder again.

Mulder rubbed his shoulder. "Scully, why won't you believe me?"

"Because you're about as likely to marry A.D. Skinner as I am to marry Frohike."

"I don't know, Scully. He thinks you're hot."

Scully sat quietly, fuming at the joke at her expense for a few more minutes. Then she got up and walked away. She got a good fifteen or twenty paces off before she turned around, head down, and came back to him, searched his eyes. "I don't believe it."

"No?" He patted his coat pockets. "Have you got your cell with you?"

With a sigh and roll of her eyes, she handed it to him.

Mulder punched numbers and waited. "She doesn't believe me. By the wall. Okay." He snapped the phone shut and handed it to her.

"I'm not impressed, Mulder," she told him. "You could have called Dominos for all I know."

"Well, I do still owe you lunch." He sent his eyes around. "Is that the Starbucks cart over there?" He stood up. "I'll bring us some coffee. That should warm us up."

He bought three cups; two regular, one decaf, and balanced them delicately between his fingers as he carried them back to the park bench.

"Three cups?" she said, arching a brow. "Nice touch, Mulder." She reached for one of them.

"No, that one is decaf. It's Kat's." He set that one on the seat of the bench and offered her one of the others.

"Come on, Mulder, how much longer will you keep up this …" Her face went absolutely blank.

Mulder looked over his shoulder, feeling his knees weaken. Tall, broad, pulled together in his tan London Fog, hands thrust deep into his pockets, long, purposeful stride. A winter sun glinting off his glasses. Mulder sighed like a schoolgirl.

Skinner approached. "Agents."

"Coffee?" Mulder said, holding up the segregated cup. "It's decaf."

"Thanks, Kit," Skinner murmured. He looked at Scully. "Did he ask you?"

"My God," Scully said weakly. She looked at Mulder. "Mulder, it's true."

Mulder nodded. "I told you."

Skinner looked at Mulder. "I take it she refused you."

Scully shook her head. "N -- no, I'll go. I said I would."

"I'm glad, Dana," he said warmly. "I know this must be hard for you to assimilate, but --"

"Assimilate, sir? I have trouble assimilating Mulder's theories about little green men."

"Gray, actually," Mulder contributed.

She ignored him. "I have trouble assimilating a President who says one thing and does another. I have trouble assimilating the long-range effects of El Nino. But this I don't fucking believe."

Mulder's coffee, on the way to his mouth, went spraying everywhere. "S -- Scully," he stammered weakly.

"I don't believe Mulder's gay," she insisted, lowering her voice to an indignant whisper.

"He's not," Skinner answered with a shrug. "Neither am I. I think we're both bisexual." Skinner didn't seem concerned that passers-by might overhear, he was more concerned that Scully did.

Scully stood up, rising on tiptoe, barely coming to Skinner's shoulder, and pressed a fingernail against his chest. "If you hurt him, I'll kill you."

"Believe me, Dana, the one thing you and I have in common is a desire to never see him hurt."

"Excuse me," Mulder put in. "Before this becomes a scene from Jerry Springer, can I just say one thing? Scully." He pulled her hand away from Skinner's chest. "I love you. I adore you. I used to have these middle of the night fantasies about you, but they were all X-rated, and none of them included picket fences and dogs and mini vans and stuff. I didn't like the way I thought about you, I had too much respect for you, so I've never ever tried to make my fantasies a reality. Kat …" he paused, flicked a glance at Skinner and smiled. "Walter makes me feel safe. He makes me feel loved. He makes me feel worthy. I'm not going to pass on that just because I can follow him into a restroom at the ballpark. And I know what you're thinking. I'm not looking for another daddy. I wasn't looking for anything. I just found … I was found … I'm not lost anymore. Can you accept that?"

Scully answered by reaching up and kissing him, on the lips, the first time their mouths ever made contact. She broke the kiss before Mulder could fully appreciate it, and leaned up to do the same to Skinner. "Congratulations," she murmured. "Sir."

Skinner blinked. "Well, if that's resolved, I have things to do, as I'm sure you do." He nodded slightly at Mulder, and turned away from them.

"Wow," Scully said, watching him walk away. "He's so romantic."

"Actually, he is," Mulder said, watching him until he reached the end of the mall. He held out a wrist. "My new cuff-links."

"Cute."

"He gave me a palmtop computer for my birthday too."

"Wow," she said again.

"Yeah. Wow."

"So, how is he in bed?" she asked.

"Scully." He felt his cheeks get hot.

"Come on." She nudged him with her shoulder. "You owe me."

"Actually …" Mulder smiled, and had no idea how smug his smile was. "He's pretty terrific."

"Really?" She was amused, and a little surprised.

"Very romantic, very enthusiastic, very giving."

"Mulder, I hope you're taking precautions."

Mulder made a face. "We're both clean."

"A.D. Skinner …" She shook her head. "You're tougher than you look, Mulder. I wouldn't think you'd be able to sit down, when he got through with you."

Mulder arched a brow indignantly. "What makes you think it isn't the other way around?"

"You're not that tough, Mulder."

Mulder sighed. "Actually, we haven't gotten that far yet."

"Why not? How long has this been going on?"

"Since May."

"No, it's been longer than that," she argued. "You got your first roses in March."

"Yeah, that was for a fight," Mulder explained.

"Oh. Oh, no!" Scully covered her face with her hands. "When we were in Los Angeles, I went on and on about this older woman leading you down the path of ruin, and it turned out to be him. You two must have had a great laugh over that."

"He was jealous of you for a long time," Mulder said.

"I'm jealous of him, now." She looked up at him. "So, why not?"

"We're waiting until we get married," Mulder answered, and tossed his head, in an imitation of a righteously indignant woman. "He respects me."

She looked up at him, ready to laugh, and saw him scan the crowds at the end of the reflecting pool, as if he could still see the A.D., making his way back to the Hoover Building. "You're happy, aren't you, Mulder?"

"Yes, I am." He was surprised she had to ask. He thought he was literally leaking joy.

"First time?"

"First time in a long time."

"How does your mother feel about it?"

He stopped smiling. "She doesn't know. This would kill her."

She twisted around to look at him, almost accusingly. "You're going to get married without telling her?"

Mulder nodded emphatically.

"What about his family?"

"Oh, his family seems pretty accepting. His mother sent me a birthday card that says Happy Birthday, Son, and his stepdad invited us to the lodge for Thanksgiving. Sharon's coming to the wedding." He made a face. "She calls me sweetie."

"Sweetie?" Scully smiled around her coffee cup. "I'm going to have to remember that."

"Remember what I said about Kit? The same holds true for Sweetie."

"It's going to be hard for you when people find out," she said, after a while.

"I don't know why anyone should. No one's found out unless we told them, and we haven't even been trying to keep it a secret."

"Yes, but you weren't registered at Bergdorf's then," she retorted. "So, are you taking his name, or is he taking yours?"

"Actually," Mulder said with perfect seriousness. "We're going to take a new name. I thought Wonkerstein would be good, but he says it's too ethnic."

"Uh huh." She sipped coffee. "So, how did this happen?"

"You mean was I cruising and I bumped into him in a bar?" Mulder suggested dryly. "No. I'm not really sure … oh, yes. I think it actually started on a basketball court, only neither one of us realized it then. It … ah … escalated in May. Do you remember that kid I shot?"

"You mean the assassin?" Scully rejoined.

"I was really wrecked, and I went looking for comfort. Somehow, I knew he could be strong for me so that for five minutes I wouldn't have to be. He didn't ask questions, he didn't tell me where I broke the rules, how I messed up. He didn't make demands. He just opened his arms and let me cry."

"Wow." It came out on a long misty breath.

"I didn't go looking for sex, Scully. I have never, ever gone looking for sex from him, or any man. I went looking for that strength, and there it was. I was hooked. I was hooked on that hidden level of tenderness, that subcutaneous warmth and nurturing. I never woke up in anyone's arms before. I've never had anyone hold me through a nightmare, bronchitis, stomach flu, whatever. There is nothing about me that makes him look away. I can't say that about my parents. I can't even say that about you."

Scully looked down at her coffee cup. "I don't know, Mulder. I find it hard to imagine a homosexual relationship without the sex."

"Is it easier for you to imagine one with sex?" he teased. "And who says there isn't any sex? There is sex, there just isn't that kind of sex."

She winced. "What kind is there?"

"Terrific. He's energetic, inventive, generous, perverted. He makes me look conservative in bed." He paused, shrugging. "Of course, I think a lot of that came from eighteen years of marriage to Sharon. She's definitely twisted. You should see what she gave me for my birthday."

"What?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Never mind. You've had enough shocks for one day."

"So, why, after all this time, did you decide on marriage? That's pretty extreme, Mulder."

"Well, there you are," Mulder said, still smiling.

"Oh, I see. You woke up one morning and said, 'let's see how Mulderesque I can make this relationship? Oh, I know, same sex marriage'."

"He proposed to me, Scully."

"Well, you must have said or done something to suggest it to him," she persisted.

Mulder screwed his mouth up thoughtfully. "Maybe I did."

"You see?"

"When we were in New York, I met someone --"

"A ha! You made him jealous," Scully concluded.

"You'd make a terrible psychologist, Scully. We're not supposed to leap to conclusions. What happened was I met someone who challenged my beliefs about the relationship. I was pretty sure I loved him, but I wasn't ready to make certain … commitments. This guy told me if I wasn't ready to do that, then I didn't really love him, and it wasn't fair to keep stringing him along."

"What kind of commitments?" Scully asked, curious. "Did he want you to move in with him?"

"Stop being so literal, Scully. What he wanted was to move in me."

Scully blushed a little and looked away.

"Anyway, I came home from New York, and thought for a long time about what this guy said. He was absolutely right. If I was in love with a woman, I wouldn't wait to have sex with her."

"You claim to be in love with me," Scully observed.

"Yeah, I used that argument too," Mulder agreed thoughtfully. "But our relationship is unique. We have this level of affection and professional respect that rises above any petty lusts I might entertain. I can't claim that with Skinner, because we've caved to our petty lusts on a pretty regular basis."

"Too much information."

"The point is, Luke was right. So I knew I had to make a choice. Either I went ahead, and made those … commitments, or I cut him loose, now, today. It was only fair to him." Mulder sighed.

"You didn't cut him loose?"

"No, I went over there, a little drunk, and tried quite shamelessly to seduce him. You can imagine how I felt when he turned me down." Mulder made a face. "About the same way he felt every time I turned him down."

"Did he give you a reason?"

"Sure. It turns out our A.D. is every bit as old-fashioned and conservative as we thought. He wanted to wait until we were married. Of course, he didn't say that exactly. He said something like we had waited this long, we could wait for a more appropriate time." Mulder shrugged. "Something like that. And then, Saturday, he proposed."

Scully shook her head slightly, smiling. "Well, Mulder, in the six years I've known you, we've been on some pretty wild roller-coasters, but this is that last, gut wrenching free fall before the end of the ride."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Is it the end of the ride, Scully?"

He could see it in her eyes. It was what she wanted. But she put her little gloved hand on his sleeve. "Not the end. Not yet."

"Good." He stood up and stretched. "Then I need to ask one more favor of you, and I hate to admit I'm being a coward about it. I want you to go with me to pick out a ring."

"You're giving each other rings?" Scully said, arching a brow.

Mulder shook the wrinkles from his trench coat, with a short, irritated jerk. "Scully, we're doing the whole thing. He wants a traditional wedding, rings and flowers and tuxes and music. Friends and family. He and Sharon eloped, and since I've never married, he wants us to do it 'right'. Scully, it's even going to be a church wedding."

"In the Church?" For the first time he saw a hint of revulsion on her face. "That's … that's not possible."

He nodded. "He's been researching it. There is a diocese on Kauai that will perform same sex marriages. High mass and holy water." He shuddered. "I'll probably burst into flames halfway through the service."

"That seems almost blasphemous," she said in a quiet voice.

He looked down at her. "Are you going to tell him that? He sure isn't listening to me."

"How … how is he going to take the sacrament?" she asked, perplexed. "How are you?"

"I'm not." His voice was flat, final.

"He should respect your feelings in this matter," she insisted.

"He says I should respect his."

Scully stood, and shook away her thoughts as sharply as he had banished wrinkles. "Well, let's go look at rings. I couldn't go back to the office right now, anyway. Do you have something in mind?"

"We thought simple, you know, gold bands."

"Traditional. Romantic." She shook her head. "Who would have thought … oh, one more thing." She turned to look up at him. "Oyakata?"

Mulder frowned down at her. "Why didn't you ever look it up? The minute I told you, I thought it was all over because you'd be running to the nearest Japanese/English dictionary to find out it meant boss."

"Boss. A.D. Skinner …" She finally smiled. "I'm glad he's looking out for you, Mulder."

"Tired of the job?"

"Not as qualified."

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

Mulder sat cross-legged, naked, in the middle of Skinner's bed, a black velvet box in his hands. Inside was a wide band of matte gold and had little tiny X's engraved in it. Inside, it read, 'K always K'. He was pleased with it. He was even more grateful at the way Scully took charge with the jeweler and pretended she was buying the ring. She even went back today to pick it up for him.

Skinner came out of the bathroom, tugging the sash of his bathrobe. "What's that?"

Mulder smiled mischievously. "My brand." He put it on the bedside table. "Do you want to see?" He stretched out, hands behind his head.

"No. I can wait for my surprise." He paused and met Mulder's eyes. "And since you can't, yours is hidden."

Mulder tilted his nose at him. "I'll find it before we leave."

"I'll lock you out," Skinner promised, going into the closet. "How's Dana doing?" he called. "Is she going to be okay with this?"

"Oh, yeah." Mulder rolled onto his stomach, cradling his head in his hands. "She thinks it's sweet and romantic and all that crap. She's not too keen on the church part, of course." He lifted his head. "Not that I blame her, there."

Skinner's answer was to smack his shirt against Mulder's bare ass.

"Hey." Mulder rolled over. "These latent violent tendencies are starting to annoy me." He pulled himself back into a sitting position. "She wonders how you're going to take the sacrament."

"The same way I always do," Skinner said, stepping into sweats. "I go to confession."

"You've been going to confession? How long has that been going on?"

"Oh, let's see …" Skinner pulled a tee shirt over his head. "August, I think."

"I hope you trust your priest," Mulder warned.

"That's the point. Now, come on." He held out a hand. "The movie starts in ten minutes, and I never did get to finish making those sandwiches. Are you going to watch television like that? Not that I mind, but it is November."

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Mulder retrieved his jeans from the floor where they had been abandoned earlier in a frenzy of lips and fingers and promises. He slid them over his bare skin and went into the closet to bring one of Skinner's sweatshirts. When he saw Skinner arch a brow, he said, "You tore my sweater, remember?" Skinner's shirts were always too big. He felt like a six year old playing dress-up in Daddy's shirts. They came almost to his knees, and he would spend the entire evening pushing the sleeves up his wrists. "Are you sure you don't want to see the ring?"

"Sure I do," Skinner agreed. "The day you put it on my hand in church."

Mulder's knees went a little wobbly. "Do we really have to --"

"Mulder, the discussion on that is closed. I want to do this right."

"But couldn't we at least find an Episcopalian church? At least I've been there, done that."

Skinner ruffled his hair. "I looked for one. Sorry. What about your tux?"

"I'll take it to the dry cleaner next week." He followed Skinner down the stairs. "Are you sure you don't want me in white?"

"Cross dressing is the last thing two members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation need to be talking about." Skinner turned toward the kitchen. "Besides, the idea of you in a dress is just plain scary."

"Thank you." Mulder scratched his knee. "Is there any of my birthday cake left?"

"I'm making dinner as fast as I can," Skinner said patiently. "What is it with you and food lately? For six months I've been trying to get you to eat something you can't buy in a gas station convenience store, and suddenly you've turned into a human food processor."

"Hormones," Mulder answered, opening the refrigerator.

"Go find the movie, I'll be there in a minute," Skinner said, closing the refrigerator.

"Tell me again why we're watching this?"

"Because I like Tommy Lee Jones, and --"

"Kat, you are Tommy Lee Jones."

"--and, you like Harrison Ford."

"I liked him in Indiana Jones," Mulder corrected. "Because he was intelligent and vulnerable. Like me."

"Go."

Mulder went into the living room chuckling.

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

"Will you stop fidgeting?" Skinner snapped as they turned down the drive to the lodge. The snowplow had just been through, and the blacktop was slick and shiny, and snow was pushed up almost as high as the car, on both sides of the roads. "I hope it doesn't snow again. I don't want to spend four days without you, and Mom won't let us sleep in the same room until we're married."

Mulder was only dimly aware of Skinner's remarks, and subsequent chuckle. He was uncomfortable meeting Skinner's stepdad again -- especially since the family knew about their upcoming nuptials. Chris O'Hara reminded him too much of his own dad, loud and blustering and full of disapproval. He chewed on a fingernail nervously.

"Stop that," Skinner said, slapping at his hands.

Mulder turned, shooting him a mutinous look.

"Will you relax? I talked to Chris the other day. He said he heard about your book. He's really excited to discuss some of it with you. He's more into … extreme possibilities than I am."

"I doubt that," Mulder drawled. "You seemed pretty into them this morning."

Skinner blushed. Mulder loved making him do that. He did it one day in a conference, in front of three other department heads, just by smiling a certain way. Skinner had to pretend he was overcome by a coughing fit, and leave the office for a moment. "You know, you'd better stop having these acrobatic inspirations until after we're married and I've made you the beneficiary for my insurance. Otherwise …"

Mulder was startled out of his pleasant little reverie. "You're not really going to do that, are you?"

"Sure."

"Wait a minute. What about your folks? What about Sharon? What about your trust fund?"

"My folks are very well provided for, and I'll leave a little something for Sharon. Why shouldn't everything else go to you?"

Mulder bit down on a fingertip. "I'm not changing my will," he said. "Everything's for my mom."

"That's fine," Skinner agreed easily. He reached over and tugged the fingertip away. There were teeth marks in it. He kissed it gently. "You've got to relax, or your mother will collect sooner than you intended." They swung up in front of the house and Skinner pulled the brake.

As Mulder opened his car door, the front doors of the house opened, spilling people out into the snow. "Walter, Walter, honey." Mulder watched his mother rush toward the car, not caring how deep the snow was, not caring how small and frail her body was. He watched as Skinner came around the car and swept her into his powerful arms. Mulder could see where Skinner had gotten his beautiful, wise eyes. She had a twinkle in hers that belied her seventy years. She looked younger than his own mother, and she wasn't even sixty.

He sent his eyes to the rest of the group coming toward the car. Chris, still a fiery redhead, built just like his stepson, offering a massive paw to Mulder, a tentative smile. Mulder accepted it and suddenly, he was being jerked into a bear hug. "Welcome to the family, Fox," he rasped. "They're good people, these Skinner folk." He released Mulder, left him swaying slightly. Chris' son, Skinner's stepbrother, Kyle, also offered him a smile. Kyle was built like Mulder, tall and thin, and probably only a year or two older, but he had his father's bright red hair. Mulder smiled back faintly, still reeling from his welcome.

Skinner released his mother and came around to accept a hug from his stepfather, while his mom came to hug Mulder. Over his stepfather's shoulder, Skinner winked at Mulder. "Let's take this party inside, Chris, Mom," Skinner said. "Hi, Kyle." He slapped his stepbrother on the back. Then he dropped an arm across Mulder's shoulders. "I told you," he whispered.

Chris had his rough edges, Mulder found. He was loud. He could knock beer back faster than anyone Mulder had ever known. And the more beer, the more volume. But he seemed to remain good-humored. As they sat around the dinner table, overwhelmed by the amount of food they had consumed (even Mulder had taken seconds on the stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy and a second piece of pie), Chris launched into a diatribe about the football games they had been watching that morning. He directed a question about a play to Mulder, who blinked at him, from a tryptophan induced fog.

"You're asking the wrong person, Chris," Skinner put in from the other side of the table. "Kit doesn't get into football. He's a basketball player. But don't ever get on the court with him. He plays dirty."

"Said the pot to the kettle," Mulder muttered.

Chris frowned. "Why do you keep calling him Kit, Walt? Isn't his name Fox? Why do you call him a pansy assed name like Kit?"

"He doesn't like the name Fox, Chris," Skinner explained.

"And Kit is better?"

"It's short for Kitsune," Skinner tried to explain.

"Okay, it's a Japanese pansy assed name. That doesn't make it any better."

"Come on, Chris," Skinner began.

"It's okay." Mulder put up a hand. "It's okay. I don't mind if he calls me Fox." He was trying to stand up. "It's better than pansy ass."

Chris threw his head back and roared. Mulder flinched. Chris even laughed like his father. Mulder started collecting dishes, years of training kicking in. He carried a stack into the kitchen. "Great dinner, Mrs. O'Hara," he said, starting to scrape scraps into a can.

She touched his hand. "You'll call me Mom, won't you?" she said in her sweet little voice. "Sharon always called me Mom."

Mulder looked down into those Skinnerish brown eyes. "You're really okay with this?"

There was a flicker of emotion in her eyes, but her smile never wavered. "I'd rather he was with you, than alone."

Mulder nodded. "He's an amazing man. You should be proud of him."

"I am. I've always been. I'm proud of you, too. Walter tells me you are very smart, and have solved some very difficult cases."

Mulder flushed. No one ever said they were proud of him. "Thanks," he said in a very small voice.

"Fox, honey, what did you do to your hand?" She was touching the hand he was using to scrape the plates.

He stiffened. "Nothing."

"Well, you must have done something to it. You used to be left-handed, didn't you?"

He looked at her, intending to lie, but those wise eyes weren't having it. "How did you know? No one knows."

"Oh, honey, anyone who looks at you, knows. It's the way you reach for things, the way you cut your food. Look at what you're doing now. What happened?"

"I …" He drew a deep breath. "I broke it. Fell out of a tree when I was a kid."

She saw through that, too, but she didn't say anything.

Skinner came in. "Can I help, Mom?"

"No, honey, Fox is helping me." She put a hand on Skinner's cheek. "He's a nice boy, Walter. Do you think you two might adopt? I'm still hoping to be a grandmother."

Skinner looked at Mulder, who turned on his heel and went back to the dining room to bring more dishes. Chris and Kyle had gone back to the football games in the living room, so he had the room to himself. He gulped down several deep breaths to get his shaking under control. He was in the middle of the twilight zone! He had a seventy year old woman in the kitchen, cheerfully discussing adoption options with her only son, while his male lover cleared the table. He had a red haired bear in the living room roaring at the television, and maintaining that Fox was less of a pansy assed name than Kitsune. And he had a stepbrother in law who was ogling him as if he was a Hershey bar and Kyle was a closet chocoholic.

Skinner pushed the door open, frowning. "Let's go for a walk."

"I'm not through --"

"Let's go." Skinner muscled him out the back door.

"Jeesh, Kat, what is it?" he complained, hugging himself. "It's freezing out here."

"We'll walk fast," Skinner promised, directing him toward the copse of trees.

"What is it? Did I do something?" Mulder's heart was pounding.

"I want some honesty from you. Total honesty."

"Okay." Mulder swallowed, letting his eidetic memory search for something he could have done or said that had upset Skinner's mom.

Skinner walked for a few moments, evidently trying to put things together in his mind. "I read in your jacket that you were abused as a child."

"Kat, we've been through this --"

"No." Skinner caught his hand. "Not this. I always assumed your dad belted you around a little when he was drunk."

Mulder nodded jerkily.

"But there was more to it than that."

Mulder answered with a defiant shake of his head.

"How did you break your hand?"

"I … fell out of a tree."

"How did you break your hand?"

"I fell out of a tree."

"How did you break your hand?" This time there was an edge to Skinner's voice.

"I … fell … out … of … a … tree."

Skinner caught his shoulders and whipped him around, shaking him roughly. "How did you break your hand?"

Mulder flinched, he couldn't help it. Twenty years couldn't dull the training.

Skinner saw it and dropped his hands. "How did you break your hand?"

"It got caught," he said flatly.

"In what?"

"Under an iron," Mulder got out painfully.

This time Skinner flinched. "Your father broke your hand with an iron?"

Mulder answered with a jerky nod. I will not cry, he told himself fiercely. I will not.

Skinner's eyes went black. "The son of a bitch, I should have shot him myself."

"It wasn't like that," Mulder said quickly.

"No? How was it? An accident?" Skinner's voice said he wouldn't believe it. "My mother says you were abused as a child, and my mom should know. She was a social worker for forty years."

"She couldn't know that," Mulder insisted.

"She does know. She saw the way you reacted to Chris. I should have recognized it, too, but I was just so damn grateful you two were getting along. She told me about your hand. I've known you six years, I had no idea you were left-handed. She also thinks …" He stopped, gauging words. "Mulder, you've put up so many roadblocks in our bedroom, I can't help but wonder if, maybe, there's something else you need to tell me."

Mulder lifted his eyes, saw the tenderness in Skinner's eyes and looked away, not deserving the compassion there. "No."

"Mulder. Fox." Skinner put his hands on Mulder's shoulders again, very gently. "I love you and I really want to go through with this marriage. But I think you only agreed so that we could get to the honeymoon part. And I think the only reason you're so damn determined to get there, is because you want to make me happy. I won't be happy if I do something that hurts you, or rips open old wounds. Do you understand that?"

"My dad didn't molest me, if that's what you're asking," Mulder said flatly, thoroughly humiliated.

"I didn't suggest that he did," Skinner countered gently. "But he was willing to allow others to do other things to his children, do you think it's possible that he allowed …"

"No." Mulder straightened. "No, I don't think so." He pulled away from Skinner and started to walk, rubbing his arms. "Okay, maybe you didn't realize how difficult things were when I was a kid. But it was stuff I could handle. You know, I got smacked around a little -- okay, a lot." He shrugged, his voice became monotone, the words a recitation. "My dad hit me with whatever was in his reach. Toward the end, he didn't even care if he left marks, broke skin, bones, left scars. He was angry, and I was an easy target." His voice quavered slightly and he coughed a little trying to make it stronger. "I wanted so much for him to love me -- the kid who stayed behind -- that I was always there for him to strike out at. I was his punching bag, and I would do that willingly, because at least I knew that he knew I was there."

Skinner's arms came around him, and pulled him against his chest. "I know you're here, Fox."

Mulder stood there, feeling the tears well up, spill over, fall down. He let the grief wash away.

Skinner felt the tears, and brushed his hair back gently, pressing his cheek against Mulder's neck. "I'm here."

Mulder was quiet for a moment, savoring the warmth, the nearness. "My problem in bed," he said softly, "has nothing to do with my dad. My problem is that, all my training and education aside, I'm as homophobic as the next guy. And it's taken me six months to reconcile myself to the fact that the only person who is strong enough and brave enough and faithful enough to give me the kind of love and support I need happens to be another man." He reached up and put his hands on Skinner's arms. "I love you, too. And you keep pulling stunts like you did this morning, and I won't be able to wait until the wedding night." He turned in Skinner's arms and kissed him gently. "Thanks for caring."

"If you only knew …" Skinner said softly.

- END part 14 of 15 -
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