Work Text:
Reprise: Friday I'm in Love
by JiM
Falling. He has been in freefall for a solid week now and Walter Skinner is surprised to find that he is still enjoying the sensation. He had always thought that this would be Hell; the loss of his career, his reputation, his purpose in life. But, no.
He wakes well before dawn every morning as he always has, but his morning routine is substantially altered. Now, he does not shower, shave, and eat a silent breakfast while glowering at the headlines. This morning, just like the past six, Walter Skinner wakes with Fox Mulder's hair coiling beneath his chin, his sleeping breath whispering across Skinner's throat, one strong arm thrown protectively across his chest. It is a new sensation, being protected, and one that he occasionally thinks he ought to hate. But he doesn't.
He has not been back to his own home since last Thursday afternoon, when he simply walked out of the FBI, the tokens of his career in a box under his arm. Mulder took him in then, as a man takes in a stray dog. Skinner smiles as he strokes Mulder's forearm lightly. His touch is not intended to waken the sleeping man; more purposeful caresses will come later, as they have every morning this week.
Skinner stays here, drowsing away the mornings while Mulder works. Sometimes he cleans, or reads, or simply sits and watches the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams that fill the apartment. Several times, he has met Mulder and Scully for lunch and he enjoys the startled looks he gets from former colleagues as he sits drinking a beer at noon, wearing Mulder's clothes and smiling into his eyes.
The peaceful roar of freefall is lessening, though. He feels the pull of the world beyond, faint now, but growing stronger. Decisions will have to be made. It had taken the FBI three days to finally track him down here and piles of forms, demands for meetings, signatures, explanations are beginning to pile up in a box by the door. He does not answer the phone and Mulder merely smiles and leaves it unplugged.
There is a ghost of that smile on Mulder's face this morning as he shifts and nuzzles sleepily at Skinner's shoulder. That smile fascinates Skinner; it is so new. It is not a challenging smile, nor is it mocking, frightened or knowing. It demands nothing from him. For the first time since he has known this man, Mulder is content to not know.
When you know, you'll tell me.
Skinner presses a lingering kiss to Mulder's brow. If he ever figures it out, he suspects Mulder will know before him anyway. Soon it will be time to pick up his life again. But not this morning. Not while his lover lies beside him, that smile gently blooming as his hands curve over the elegant curves of Mulder's back.
Walter Skinner has fallen into Hell and it is more than he dreamed.
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