Little Things (part 4 of 15)

by Mik

Mulder pulled into the Hoover's underground parking with a heavy sigh. It had been a great weekend. The week was going to be hell. How was he going to deal with Skinner, the boss, after a weekend of Wes, the lover? Lover. Skinner had thrown it out so casually, but the idea amused and terrified him. He'd only been someone's lover a few times in his life. There was Phoebe -- and for her, he'd just been a pet, someone whose chain she could yank on a regular basis. There had been a couple of other women, one older and one younger -- a lot younger. And then there was Scully, who was sort of an intellectual lover. He felt his chest tighten just thinking about her.

But, with the boss (in his own mind, he wasn't quite ready to think of him with any endearing terms), he really felt like a lover. Not just a physical lover, but an emotional, spiritual one, as well. It was like loving Scully, and being loved by his parents, and having Phoebe's sex drive, all in one six foot two, balding (And why was that so fascinating for him?) package.

He didn't want to go out to West Virginia. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. What he wanted was for Skinner to come out there and explain everything to him. It seemed to him that he had waited his entire life for someone to care enough about him to go a little out of his way, and Skinner had taken time off to go way out of his way.

He had been so understanding about everything. He didn't push, he didn't make demands. He was content to be comfortable. Mulder smiled as he remembered that stupid John Wayne movie. He just wasn't into westerns, but he had told himself he'd sit through it for Skinner, for Wes. And, before long, he was enjoying it, enjoying sitting with his back against Skinner's chest, enjoying Skinner's lazy, unconscious caress on his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

He had been brutally honest with Skinner. He had told him he wasn't sure if this was really a major turn in his personal tide, or if he was just looking for a father who would really love him. Skinner accepted it, said he was in it for the full ride, whatever the reason. Even when Mulder turned squeamish about the sex, Skinner understood.

Sex. Talk about a mindfuck … that first time, at Skinner's condo, that didn't count. That was horrible and the less he thought about it the happier he would be. But Friday morning was something else. Skinner was gentle and eager to please, and boy! did he. Mulder had never had anyone enjoy his cock like that. It was almost as if Skinner was getting more out of it than he was -- as if that was possible. Mulder knew he screamed, Skinner practically stuffed a pillow down his throat. He'd never done anything like that before. Sex had always been about whispers and sometimes, apologies.

Of course, Mulder felt kind of obligated to return the favor. The amazing thing was that, once he got over his initial discomfort and a momentary flashback, he really enjoyed it. Maybe all those derisive things they used to say to him in VCU (Mulder, you're such a twisted little cocksucker) were true. And the response he got from Skinner … unbelievable. Phoebe never reacted like that. He thought Skinner was going to come right up off the bed.

But, the best part of the whole weekend had been reading in bed together until he fell asleep, and waking up in each other's arms. He could take that for the rest of his life. The idea of having it even for a few weeks was enough to make him immeasurably happy.

Reaching for his keys, he considered his face in the rearview mirror, wondering if there was something different about him, something tangible. Maybe not on the outside, but the inside was scrambled like eggs. He had this irrational fear that he would see Skinner and start grinning like an idiot. Well, I just can't see him, he told himself as he climbed out of the car. That's it, I'll just avoid him. It's a big building.

Scully was at her new desk, working on the computer but she looked up anxiously when he entered the office. Her eyes went to the clock over his head, and then to his face. "Well?" she demanded.

He felt himself flush guiltily. Did she know already? "Well, what?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

She looked exasperated, as only Scully could. "How was the weekend? Did you go to Katonah? I tried calling you all weekend."

"I had my cell turned off," he admitted. "I just wanted to think."

"That's what I was afraid of." She slid from her chair and came up to him as he shrugged out of his jacket. "Please don't tell me you decided to quit."

"Quit? No." He touched the tip of her nose with a playful fingertip. "You couldn't get rid of me that easily, Scully. I figure they're just going to fire my sorry ass."

Scully shook her head slightly. "No. IA has already cleared you. Skinner's got your gun in his office."

Mulder had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from making a very obscene remark as he swung into his chair. "Is that right?"

Scully came to his desk and caught his chin, forcing his eyes up to hers. "Well, whatever you thought about, it was happy thoughts, Mulder. You're practically giddy this morning."

"You," Mulder said with all the sincerity he could muster. "I spent the entire weekend thinking of you."

Scully actually blushed, as if the remark pleased her. She started to say something, but the door opened.

Ron, from the mailroom, had a package under his arm, and he was looking at them, intrigued.

Scully dropped her hand, backed away from Mulder's desk and turned to look at the boy, inquiringly. "Yes, Ron?"

"Package for Agent Mulder."

"Is it ticking?" Mulder asked, routing through his drawer for the last bag of sunflower seeds.

Scully took the package and held it up. "Doesn't appear to be." She sniffed. "It smells … familiar."

Mulder crooked a finger. "Let's have it." He looked at Ron. "Thanks."

Ron backed up and closed the door, eager to get back upstairs and tell what he saw.

Mulder tore the box open gingerly. Under all the newspaper was a fifty count tub of red licorice twists.

Scully's brows arched. "Mulder?"

Mulder was starting to smile. He reached into the box and pulled out a little card. He opened it. It read: How 'bout Kitsune? He laughed.

Scully was surprised to see the laughter. It intrigued her. It might even have aroused her. She took the card and frowned at it. "What's that?" She pointed to the last word. "What does that mean?"

Mulder frowned, thoughtfully. "I think," he said, and smiled again. "I think it is Japanese for Fox."

Scully looked up at him, mystified. Was the video woman Japanese?

Mulder was peeling away the plastic seal on the tub. He slid one of the vines out and held it up, inspecting it. Feeling Scully's eyes on him, he reached out and tilted the tub toward her.

Tongue tip on her lip, she took one, smiling, and slid it between her lips provocatively.

For a moment, Mulder was rooted to the spot. Then he emulated her gesture, adding a little technique of his own, something that had worked on their boss. Then he laughed out loud. If Scully had any idea that they were down here trying to arouse each other with something he had already tried out on the A.D. …

Scully bit down and chewed, deliberately. "Giddy, Mulder."

The phone rang, breaking the spell. Mulder was actually grateful for the distraction. He was getting an incredible hard-on. "Mulder?"

Skinner's voice. The hard-on got harder. "Welcome back, Agent Mulder. I have your gun, and some papers for you to sign. Do you think you could get up here some time this morning?"

Mulder had trouble making his voice work. "Sure. We'll be right up." Why didn't he have Kim make the call? He called me personally.

"I don't need Agent Scully for this," Skinner said blandly.

"I do," Mulder answered shakily. "We'll be right up." He reached into the tub and tucked a couple of vines into his shirt pocket. He looked at Scully. "Let's go."

"Aren't you going to get your jacket?" she asked as he held the door open for her.

Mulder thought about it. "Nah."

He had calculated on a response from Skinner, and he got it. Skinner had been standing near the window, and he turned around as Scully and Mulder entered, ready to embark on a speech. His dark eyes went to Mulder's pocket and froze there, and just for a moment, he was

absolutely tongue-tied. "Agents," he said stiffly. "Sit down."

Mulder waited for Scully to take one chair, and he slid down into his seat, exulting in the response he had gotten, and in the same heartbeat wondering, anxiously, if Scully noticed it. She was too good a detective not to put two and two together and come up with something that didn't necessarily equal four. But her eyes were still on the Assistant Director.

Skinner nodded toward Scully and then sent his eyes toward Mulder. "How was your fishing trip, Agent Mulder?" The question was as deliberately provocative as Scully's licorice act.

Mulder shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable. "Surprisingly good, sir. Thanks."

"Did you catch anything?"

Mulder looked slightly horrified. "I don't fish, sir."

"Really? That's surprising." Skinner acted as if this distressed him. "I thought you grew up in New England."

Mulder pulled a rueful face. "They don't spend a lot of time fishing in Martha's Vineyard, sir."

Scully stirred restlessly.

"I have your gun." Skinner pulled it out of a drawer, still in the evidence bag. "And there are some papers you'll need to sign. I suggest you have an attorney look them over."

Mulder's hand froze halfway there. "Why?"

"Because they require your signature, Agent Mulder." He spoke sharply, as one would to a childish question. "You can't sign something just because someone shoves a pen in your hand."

Mulder was surprised by the outburst. Then he realized that Skinner was trying to protect him, teach him something without him having to learn a lesson. "Okay. I'll have my attorney go over them." He reached out for the papers and the bag.

"Agent Mulder."

Mulder was leaning forward, hand in the air. "Sir?"

"What is that in your pocket?"

Mulder bit down on his lip to keep from grinning. "Licorice, sir." He pulled one out of his pocket. "Want one?"

To all of their surprise, Skinner took it. He looked at it. A muscle in his jaw twisted slightly. "I always thought sunflower seeds were your addiction, Agent Mulder."

"A passing mania, sir," Mulder answered angelically.

"Take your gun and get out of here before I use it on you."

"He must have missed you this week," Scully murmured as they left the office, giggling like two teenagers who had gotten away with something. "He's mellowing."

"Oh, no," Mulder said. He took the other red vine, tore it in two and gave half to Scully. "He's choosing his battles."

Once they were back in the office, Scully backed him up against the door. "Now, you've got to tell me who she is?"

"Who?" Mulder asked, bewildered.

"Kitsune. The roses. The licorice." Scully tapped his chest with two fingertips. "There is someone, Mulder. I can smell satisfaction on you, and it didn't come from a nine hundred number."

"Scully, you're being awfully personal," Mulder said, easing her fingertips away.

"Mulder, come on. We've known each other forever. You've seen my birthmark and my tattoo. Let me have a peek, hmm?"

Mulder thought about it. Perhaps a little diversion could be a good thing. "I can't tell you about her, Scully. It would be … indelicate."

"She's married," Scully gasped.

"Oh, oh, no," he protested. "Divorced."

"So …?"

Mulder shook his head. "Let's just say, she's in a position where she cannot afford to be indiscreet."

Scully's brows went up impatiently. "Who is she, Mulder, the First Lady?"

"No, she's the VEEP's wife," Mulder retorted.

"And divorced?"

Mulder shrugged.

"This is so unfair." Scully actually pulled a pout on him.

Mulder's voice was a little helpless. "Scully, I wish you'd believe me. There isn't anyone."

"Roses, Mulder." Her tone said she would brook no arguments. "I saw roses. Who sent them to you? Skinner?"

Mulder's eyes actually bulged a little. "Yeah, you guessed it," he drawled, recovering. "How else could you account for my meteoric rise in this agency?" He twirled his fingers to indicate the water-stained ceiling of their office. "I'm screwing the A.D."

"Oh, come on, Mulder. Who calls you Kitsune?"

"No one."

"Mulder, I saw the card."

"Scully, let's just call it an X-File, and file it. Okay?" He sat down. It wasn't fun anymore. Thank God she wasn't prepared to accept a truth convincingly delivered as a lie. "And, if you ever call me Kitsune, I will take my gun out and shoot you and then me."

"Okay. Fine." She returned to her computer and started banging away at the keyboard.

"Hey, don't be mad."

"Why should I be mad?" she asked, staring at the screen. "You finally have something going right in your weird little universe and you won't share it with me." She turned toward him slightly. "Me, the only person who doesn't call you Spooky to your face or behind your back."

"And I appreciate that," he agreed. "But, Scully, you're making a huge assumption here. Things aren't going right."

Scully whipped around to look at him, her eyes bright and anxious. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Okay." He shrugged. "Can we put it away now?"

"Can I help?"

"Yes, you can stop talking about it."

"Okay." She typed for a while. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

Mulder reached for the gun at his hip. "Scully, you first, then me."

"Sorry."

They worked in silence until lunchtime.

Scully was reaching for her purse when Mulder lifted his eyes from the report he was not writing. "Scully."

"Yes?"

"Didn't Skinner start out as an attorney?"

Scully nodded.

"Don't you think it's weird he wants me to have an attorney look at these papers before I sign them?"

"It's interesting," Scully agreed, not really interested. "What do you want for lunch?"

Mulder shook his head. "I think I'm going to run down to my dad's attorney. See you later." He reached for the paperwork, and then for his jacket. He caught Scully's arm as she passed. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For being concerned."

She nodded and went out ahead of him.

The papers were mundane enough; just routine Internal Affairs crap, but Mulder did feel better signing them after having an attorney look them over. It was one less thing that could come back and bite his butt. He could almost hear his father's voice complaining, 'Don't you have the sense God gave a snail, Fox? How could you just sign something without knowing what it was?' At least Skinner had been a little gentler in delivering the admonition. There was a certain level of satisfaction to be had in laying those pages on Skinner's desk and saying "Signed, sealed, etcetera."

Skinner was in his shirtsleeves, the white cuffs rolled back on his muscular forearms, temple resting lightly against fingertips while he considered Mulder, bemused. Mulder had seen him like that a hundred times, and for the first time recognized the power in those forearms, power that, when unleashed, could take on the world. He wondered if, subconsciously, he had been attracted to that strength all along. When he caught himself staring, he backed up a step from the desk. "Will that be all?"

Skinner nodded, but even as he did so, he was pushing a tiny scrap of paper torn from a memo pad toward Mulder with his fingertips. Mulder picked it up from the corner of Skinner's desk. It read: Iron Horse. Nine. Mulder nodded slightly and backed out of the room.

So that's how it is, Mulder thought, taking the stairs to the basement two at a time. Skinner thought his office might be bugged. Must be hell to be so paranoid, he thought, smiling inwardly. The smile stopped before it began. If that was true, why arrange a meeting in such a public place? The Iron Horse couldn't be more public if it was on ESPN. If the field agents had the Pentagon, then guys with initials in front of their names had the Iron Horse.

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

Mulder was very nervous when the doorman performed his duties. He stood in the anteroom, looking around slowly, his hands making little fists of anxiety in the pockets of his topcoat. He was nervous and excited. Hell, he had even dressed for it, as if it was a date. He had changed from the light gray suit and dark gray shirt he had worn all day, into his darkest blue Armani and a very white shirt. It was Skinnerish, he would approve. Even the tie was sedate. The only thing missing was a corsage!

Across the room, he saw Skinner rise from a booth, and beckon to him. As he approached the booth, he had another attack of panic and betrayal. There was another, older, vaguely familiar man with him. Did Skinner honestly think he'd agree to a three-way thing?

But Skinner was smiling that political smile that Mulder hated, and urging Mulder to sit on his side of the booth. "Well, Senator, you wanted to meet him, here he is. Agent Mulder, this is Senator Carnahan." He was looking down at Mulder as he put him down into the booth with a hand on his shoulder. "He's from your home state."

Mulder took the pudgy hand held out to him. He should have recognized the man from CNN. "How do you do, sir?"

Carnahan pumped vigorously. "You don't need to call me 'Sir'," he chuckled. "There was a time, when you were very small, you called me Uncle Frank."

A flicker of a memory played in Mulder's mind. He had been very small, indeed. It was before Samantha was born. He looked toward Skinner briefly, uncomfortably. Where did he come from?

"I've known your dad since our days in the State Department," the Senator supplied.

"Yes, sir," Mulder replied dutifully.

Carnahan rubbed his hands together, almost gleefully. "So, how long have you been with the Bureau, son?"

Oh, yes, Mulder remembered him. He was an incurable hair ruffler, and had once pinched Mulder's mom on the ass, in front of him. "Fifteen years altogether, sir."

"Fifteen years." Carnahan shook his head. "That doesn't seem possible. Why, I remember the day you were born." He looked at Skinner and then at Mulder. "It was raining like a sonofabitch. Your dad didn't think he was going to get to the hospital in time. But he did. Bill wouldn't have missed out on being there when his son was born. Not Bill."

"Yes, sir." Mulder fixed a stare on the dull tabletop. 'Bill' would just miss every other important moment in his son's life. Then he felt pressure against his thigh. Skinner was pressing his knee against him. A sort of a physical 'hang on, Mulder'.

"Boy, he was proud of you." Carnahan's voice grew wistful. "I never had a son, but if I did, I always knew I wouldn't be satisfied unless I had one exactly like you."

Mulder squirmed. "I don't know about that, sir --"

"I do," the Senator cut him off. "Bill never stopped talking about you. Everything was 'My boy, Fox, this, my boy, Fox, that.' I remember you went to Oxford, he --"

Mulder must have let out a tiny bit of his pain, for the Senator stopped. "Oh, I am being insensitive. You must miss him a great deal. Well …" He emptied his glass. "It was good running into you again, Walt. Listen, you take good care of this boy. He's one in a million."

Skinner nodded. "We know that, Frank."

The Senator reached out and touched Mulder's shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Fox. I'm always hearing such good things about you. You take care of yourself, now."

Mulder watched the Senator go, stunned. Was it even remotely possible that his father had been proud of him? He turned to Skinner, ashamed of the tears that pricked at his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured.

Skinner was moving to the side of the booth vacated by the Senator, as much as they both wanted him to stay at Mulder's side. "What are you thanking me for?" he said brusquely. "He wanted to meet you."

Mulder nodded, his heart swelling in gratitude. Skinner would never admit trying to be kind. "Well, shall I go now?"

Skinner seemed surprised by the suggestion. "No. Have you eaten?"

Mulder nodded. It was a lie, but he was too keyed up to eat. Had been all day.

"Have a drink then." Skinner signaled for a waitress.

A young woman in a short skirt and carrying a tray came to their table. Her eyes went over Mulder and her smile grew warm. "What can I get for you?" she said in an inviting voice, as if she was offering to perform sexual acts on the tabletop for him.

"What beer do you have in bottles?" Mulder asked, strangely disinterested in her overt offer. He could still feel the pressure of Skinner's knee against his thigh.

She named several microbreweries and he selected one. Skinner ordered another Scotch.

"We'll be going to Los Angeles next weekend," Skinner said conversationally when she left. "The Finance Department is getting on our back about travel expenses so we'll probably end up being doubled up at the hotel."

Mulder made himself respond with a leer. "Do I get to choose who I double up with?"

Skinner was frowning at him. When wasn't Skinner frowning at him? "Since it will be you and me, and Agent Scully and that new Liaison Officer, Carrie Ridge, you and I are probably a done deal."

Mulder recognized the innocent chit-chat was just what it was supposed to be; something to confuse anyone who might be eavesdropping. "I just hope you don't snore, sir."

Skinner smiled, sort of, and said that he'd never had any complaints.

The subject changed when the drinks were brought. Trying to overcome an almost paralyzing shyness, Mulder started to talk. It was his battering ram manner of speaking, the one that drove Scully crazy on long drives and airplane layovers. It came out of his mouth vending machine style; insert coin, get words.

He started, inexplicably, with Mt. Everest. And then he went on to the symptoms of high altitude sickness, and then extreme exposure to cold. He told a story about million year old alien worms and how Scully almost dropped one in his ear. He talked about Native American lore and Mexican goatsuckers, shapeshifters and counting cards in Las Vegas.

Skinner listened. Occasionally, he would chuckle and sometimes he would refresh their drinks, but mostly, he just listened.

Just as Mulder was taking yet another hairpin turn in his tangent, he saw Skinner glance at his watch and it made him do the same. "Oh, Jeesh, sir," he said, mortified. "It's after midnight. I'm sorry. Scully's always telling me I blather."

"Well." Skinner stretched, causing Mulder's eyes to go across the amazing expanse of his chest almost hungrily. "It's interesting blather, Mulder. I'm not sure I believe a word of it, but it is interesting."

"It's all true," Mulder said hotly. "Well, okay, maybe not the part about Mt. Everest." He started to slide out of the booth and he had to catch himself. He had four beers on an empty stomach and he was a little woozy.

Skinner signed a chit for the expense and shot him a dark look. "You all right, Mulder?"

"Fine," Mulder lied, gritting his teeth.

"I think you need a ride home." Skinner put a very firm hand on his wrist. "I'll have them put your car in the back lot until morning."

"What about you?" Mulder protested under his breath. "You had more than I did."

"I weigh more, I had dinner, and I'm used to it," Skinner explained in his usual lockjaw delivery. "Come on. The Bureau takes a dim view of DUIs and hitting lightpoles. I'll give you a lift home."

Mulder stalled and shot him an angry, accusing look.

"It won't be like that," Skinner promised on a hiss. "You wrap yourself around a lightpole, and Scully will have my ass in a sling. God knows why, but she takes a very strong interest in you."

"It's her strong maternal instincts," Mulder explained, in a pained voice. Pained, because he realized at that moment, how true it was.

"Come on."

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

They ended up back at Skinner's place. Skinner was being very circumspect, Mulder had to give him credit for that. He kept their contact to a minimum, barely touching him as he took his coat. "Do you want something to eat now?" he offered.

Mulder eased down on the sofa. "No, I think I'll wait until the room stops spinning."

Skinner pursed his lips in a frown. "Should I get you a pillow and blanket, or do you want to sleep upstairs?"

Mulder didn't even think about it. "Upstairs." He held out a hand, because he knew he wouldn't get to his feet on his own. "Wes?"

Skinner squeezed his fingers. "Yes?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"You know for what," Mulder said, feeling his tongue getting thick. "For digging up 'Uncle Frank'."

Skinner gave his fingers a little tug. "Come to bed, Kit."

Mulder opened his eyes, wide. "Do you know," he said, launching into more blather, "what a kit is?"

Skinner shook his head.

"It's a young fox."

- END part 4 of 15 -
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