As the Smoke Clears
by Mort

As The Smoke Clears
By Mort

For Ursula, my inspiration and friend.

*****

As the night fell swiftly over the surrounding hills, a dark canopy streaked by the red-
burgundy of the dying sun, it was as though they were being enfolded within a blood-
splattered robe and perhaps that was why they shivered despite the crackling heat of the
burning cornfield.

"So what now?" Mulder asked tiredly, turning his back on the dying circle of flames and
regarding his companion with an expression that spoke of defeat and vulnerability rather
than the triumph Skinner had expected.

Under the circumstances, a triumphant smirk on Mulder's face would have been valid but
its absence softened Skinner's spine a little and allowed him to reply in a tone far softer
than he'd used of late to the younger man..

"We walk until we find signs of civilization?" Skinner suggested mildly.

"That's a given," Mulder replied and chuckled wearily to remove any suggestion of
sarcasm from his words. "I meant what next?"

Skinner shrugged, the movement accentuating the exhausted slump of his shoulders, but
his eyes softened with sympathy.

"I don't know. I made some plans for the future, for what I'd do if it was ever over, but the
truth is that I never expected to live long enough to enact them."

Mulder emitted a hoarse choking bark of laughter and, although the sound was too bitter
for mirth, a small flame seemed to spark back to life in his previously banked eyes.

"Me neither," he admitted, and laughed again as he watched Skinner's frown of
bemusement gradually transform into a wry grin.

"Now you tell me," he chuckled.

Although he couldn't even remember when he had last felt at ease with the older man,
Mulder couldn't prevent himself from meeting Skinner's unexpected grin with one of his
own. "Well, I figured the rest of you were cynical enough, Sir. One of us had to at least
*seem* to believe we had a chance of winning."

"And we did," Skinner agreed. "Not that anyone would think so from looking at us."  He
reached into his pocket, retrieved a slightly tattered handkerchief and reached over to
wipe a smear of soot and dried blood off Mulder's left cheek.  It was an oddly tender
gesture that suggested more intimacy in their relationship than had existed for four years.

"Yeah," Mulder agreed, shivering slightly under the older man's touch as it woke the
lingering ghosts of past dreams and current regrets.

"So why doesn't it feel good?" Skinner demanded.

"Shock, maybe," Mulder suggested. "It'll take time for everything to sink in. Right now,
all I feel is tired."

"I could sleep for a week," Skinner agreed, and yawned widely.

"I'm aiming for two," Mulder admitted, with a yawn of his own.

"Typical," Skinner teased. "You always have to go one better than anyone else, don't
you?"

He threw his right arm over Mulder's shoulder and Mulder had to abruptly remind
himself that the gesture as unconscious and natural as the embrace of any soldier for a
companion and that it didn't *mean* anything.  How could it under the circumstances? he
asked himself and was both surprised and ashamed of the resultant wave of bitterness
that filled him.

They both began to limp slowly down the road, until the burning stubble left in the wake
of the ship's departure was just a faint hazy glow behind them.

"I don't get it," Mulder confessed as they walked  "Why us, Sir? Why did the rebels
bother to rescue us before they left?"

Skinner's arm tightened slightly around the younger man's shoulders and his fingers
clasped a thin shoulder with both comfort and affection although his expression was so
distant that it was clear he was seeing with his memory rather than his eyes.

"Old promises made and kept, Mulder," he whispered.

Mulder twisted in his embrace and met saddened brown eyes with confusion.

"I don't understand," he admitted. "But then again I never *did* understand you," he
added under his breath.

Skinner stiffened a little, then relaxed and chose not to pursue the whispered comment.

"It's late, we're both tired and unless I'm much mistaken that's a motel sign just up the
road.  I suggest we get ourselves booked in, phone base to let them know we're still alive
and then get some sleep. We can talk in the morning."

*****

Their temporary truce didn't last past the securing of a motel room.

Knowing that Mulder was too tired to even think about eating, Skinner took the hint as
soon as Mulder made a performance of raiding the candy machine in the motel lobby.

So he walked to their room alone and was saddened but unsurprised that he had time to
make a lengthy phone call before Mulder joined him.

"Everything okay?" Mulder asked, with studied casualness, as though it weren't evident
that his only concern was with the survival of *one* person at the end of that phone line.

"Fine," Skinner replied with equal coolness. "Okay if I take the first shower?"

"Sure," Mulder agreed, his eyes sliding towards the phone with a combination of hunger
and dread.

Skinner opened his mouth to reassure him that Scully was okay, that she was waiting by
the phone for his call, then abruptly snapped his jaw tight and stalked into the bathroom
without speaking.  There was no point, he told himself, as he angrily slammed the door
shut to give them both the privacy they needed. His failure to mention her had, in itself,
reassured Mulder that she was alive and the fact that Mulder had been willing to wait for
that reassurance simply to avoid witnessing Skinner's own call proved the depth of the
rift that Skinner's relationship had created between them.

Skinner's only defence was that he hadn't known the truth. He hadn't realised how Mulder
truly felt. He hadn't identified the depth of passion that lurked beneath Mulder's façade.
If he had, he might not have stepped onto the path that had caused four years of
animosity between them. It would have been a poor defence, except that Mulder
obviously hadn't known how he felt either until it was too late.

Now it was possibly too late for any of them. As the smoke cleared and they all struggled
to form new lives in the wake of the attempted invasion, it was impossible to predict
which relationships would be strengthened and which would be crushed by the fall out.
He had a few ideas, a few plans and dreams that might finally be realised. A lot of those
plans depended on Mulder.

All of them depended on Scully.

She was the conundrum still unsolved, the wild card whose effect couldn't be predicted.

*****

When Skinner emerged from the bathroom, the white towel slung around his hips a vivid
contrast to the multicoloured bruises that mottled him like a pinto pony, Mulder was
staring out of the darkened window into the parking lot. Despite the shrill buzz of the
disconnect tone he seemed to have forgotten the presence of the phone handset that was
still clutched between his whitened knuckles.

"Scully okay?" Skinner asked, as though he didn't already know the answer.

"Huh?" Mulder asked, swinging around to look at him and then glancing down in
momentary confusion at the phone in his hand before resetting it in its cradle. "Yeah.
She's fine. Now she knows we're both safe, she's on her way to collect William."

Skinner stared at him carefully, noting the faint trembling of his hands and the paleness
of the skin beneath its layer of soot, grime and dried blood. He didn't *look* like a man
who was planning to call a cab to the nearest airport to join the mother of his child.

The huge wave of relief that flooded him at that realization was so intense that he was
almost ashamed in the face of Mulder's obvious despondency.

"Are *you* okay?" he asked, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

Mulder shrugged and sighed. "Yeah. I guess it's all still sinking in. We lost a lot of people
this time."

Skinner frowned slightly, wanting to demand that Mulder explained why his call to
Scully had left him so evidently shaken. Instead he bit his tongue, accepting Mulder's
evasion as being its own admission that the wild card had fallen on barren soil, and all he
said was, "I know, but it's the last time. It's over."

"I know," Mulder agreed, though his eyes remained so lost and bewildered that Skinner
dared to step forward and wrap his arms around the younger man.

"It's over," he repeated.

For a heartbeat, Mulder remained tense and unyielding in his arms then, with a heavy
sigh, Mulder relaxed into the embrace and accepted the offer of comfort.

"So many deaths," he whispered. "Such a pointless loss of life."

"How can it be pointless if we won?" Skinner demanded, his tone a little affronted.

"I meant the whole damn thing, not just this last battle. All the good people sacrificed on
the alter of a few cowards' ambition. Scully said that over half the Senate are 'missing'.
How the hell could the corruption have run so deep?"

"There's an old adage about power corrupting," Skinner replied sadly. "Though I suspect
that whatever it is that drives a man to seek power in the first place is a character flaw in
itself."

As he pressed against the older man, with nothing separating their hips except a thin layer
of dirty denim and a towel, it occurred to Mulder that the brutal honesty of male bodies
was as much a curse as a benefit.  It was impossible for him to ignore the hard evidence
that Skinner was as aroused as he was. It was equally impossible to imagine that Skinner
would even acknowledge his desire, let alone act upon it.

A wisp of both relief and regret shivered down Mulder's spine and he trembled in
Skinner's arms, torn between the urge to flee and the need to stay.

"It's okay. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a typical survival reaction," Skinner rumbled
quietly, as though reading Mulder's mind.

Mulder accepted the truth of the comment with an honest sigh of regret and an even more
honest plea.

"Sleep with me tonight?" As Skinner stiffened against him, he quickly added, "Just sleep.
I didn't mean anything else.  I just…just don't want to be alone tonight."

"It's not a night for anyone to sleep alone," Skinner agreed easily, but his eyes were
troubled and distant as though he was mentally picturing another lonely man who needed
the comfort of his presence.

Mulder swallowed heavily and mentally slammed a wall over the surge of jealousy that
threatened to engulf him. He knew it was too late for regrets. He'd closed and locked that
door years before and trying to open it now would not only be foolish but, given the other
player in the game, possibly fatal.

But he had to at least ask the question.

"If…If I'd…um…I mean…um…could we have…"

"No," Skinner interrupted firmly, though his eyes were so painfully kind that Mulder
winced in his arms and dropped his now flaming face in embarrassment.

A large careful hand forced his chin upwards.

"No," Skinner repeated more gently, a sad smile hovering beneath wise dark eyes. "Not
even if we'd wanted to. The choice was never ours to make. We played the roles we had
to, Mulder. Mine was to kick your ass and yours was to fight me every step of the way.
Anything else and…well, I doubt we'd be here to discuss it."

"I hate this," Mulder snarled. "I hate the way they played us. The way *he* played us."

"It worked and we won," Skinner pointed out. "At the end of the day, nothing else
matters."

"You sound like *him*," Mulder accused.

"Yes, I suppose I do," Skinner replied unapologetically.

"Is that why?"

"You tell me, Mulder. Is he *your* reason for asking me to stay with you tonight?"

"NO. Of course not," Mulder denied vehemently, then flushed with self-doubt. "Maybe,"
he whispered, then tore at his lower lip anxiously.

"Stop that," Skinner admonished, pressing a finger against the plump mouth.

Mulder froze, eyes wide, heart pounding as Skinner's head bent towards him and captured
his lips with a firm but chaste kiss.

"It's late, we're both tired. We can talk in the morning," Skinner murmured, his eyes
shuttered and opaque.

Mulder shuddered, torn between relief and regret, and he nodded slow acceptance.  He
was too tired to deal with this, he decided. Too bone-weary to cope with his own contrary
emotions, too heart-shattered to understand his own motivations, too raw to defend
himself against the unexpected desire that raced through his blood or the bitter jealousy
that both repelled and embraced that desire. He felt lost and bewildered, as though he
were staggering through an unknown and treacherous landscape.

"I don't know who I am anymore," he whispered.

"None of us do," Skinner replied kindly. "A time of endings is also a time of new
beginnings. It's hard to give up a quest, to lay down your sword and take that first step out
into the unknown. You want to cling on to what's familiar."

"Is that what this is?"

Skinner kissed him again, a mere glide of lips. "Let the past go, Mulder."

Mulder stared at him in bemusement, wondering *which* past Skinner was referring to,
not knowing whether it was an admonishment to let *Skinner* go or a promise that
Skinner was planning to let his own past go. And if it were the latter, the question then
was what he himself wanted. Or who.

 And so he forced himself to ask the question.

"Is he okay?"

"Isn't he always?" Skinner replied mildly, and Mulder couldn't prevent himself from
acknowledging that truth with a wry smile.

"Is he coming?" he asked, although again he already knew the answer.

"Yes."

The simple admission hung between them for a moment as Mulder nestled inside
Skinner's embrace.

"Tonight?" he whispered.

"No. There's too much to sort out at base. He'll come tomorrow as soon as he can get
away."

"Well, I expect it's busy work being a hero," Mulder retorted, his tone bitter. "I bet he's
lapping up the attention."

"Then you lose," Skinner replied, more gently than Mulder knew he deserved.  "He'll only
stay long enough to make sure everyone who survived touches base. He'll arrange for
them to be safely picked up and then he'll slip away without any fanfares."

"Like a thief in the night?" Mulder suggested nastily.

"Why does it matter? However he does it, you'll find fault with him," Skinner retorted.

"I don't understand him," Mulder admitted.

Skinner shrugged again, sending a ripple of movement through his muscular back that
felt too much like a choked sob to the younger man who was pressed against him.

"You never did," Skinner said, his voice sorrowful yet kind.  "You're a good man,
Mulder. Too good, perhaps. You see everything in black and white, and life's never like
that."

"It should be," Mulder retorted.  "I don't want to live in a world of grey compromise."

"You don't," Skinner assured him, with a weary chuckle. "You shine above and beyond
the people around you, no matter how grey they are. Over the last few years the only light
I saw in the darkness was your sword of stubborn righteousness. It kept me fighting even
when victory seemed impossible. It kept *all* of us fighting. You might not live in the
real world, Mulder, but you remind us of the ideals we *want* to believe we were
fighting for."

"In other words, you're calling me an idealistic fool," Mulder retorted wryly, his cheeks
flaming with embarrassment.

"Maybe I am, in a way," Skinner retorted, and smiled as a pair of hazel eyes flared with
doubt and some offence. "Just wait until William asks you to perform a miracle for him,
Mulder, and you'll understand what I mean. It's hard to stand in the face of the
expectations of a child and not at least *try* to achieve the impossible. No one can bear
to see innocence crushed by reality."

"I'm not a child," Mulder growled.

"I'm not calling you a child or, god forbid, suggesting you're an innocent, but you *do*
have the same way of making other people at least *try* to be something better than they
really are. You may not have been the official leader of the Resistance, but everyone
agrees that you were its heart."

Mulder shook his head slightly, never having been comfortable with the almost religious
status he'd achieved with the Resistance over the proceeding few years.

"They didn't follow *me*. I was just a voice crying out in the wilderness while the rest of
them plotted among themselves. I might have inspired them, but I never had what it took
to lead them."

"No, you didn't," Skinner agreed solemnly. "War's like chess. You have to be prepared to
sacrifice your pawns in defence of your queen. The Resistance needed a leader who
accepted that some people were expendable but, by the same token, your inability to be
that man reminded the rest of us *why* the human race was worth saving. You *were*
the Resistance, Mulder. You more than fulfilled the expectations laid at your feet."

"I pissed the hell out of our allies though," Mulder pointed out mulishly. "*They* were
disappointed in me. That's why I don't understand why they bothered to rescue me. The
greys were already fleeing and the battle was over. It made no difference at that point that
you and I had been captured and were being taken away as a consolation prize.  All they
had to do was blow the Mothership out of the sky with us on board. Instead, they pulled
us out of there and brought us home. I mean, I can understand them saving *you*, but
why *me*? Or did I just get lucky because I was stood at your side when the transporter
beam hit you?"

"I suspect it was the other way around," Skinner replied wryly. "For all their differences,
the rebels had a strangely human sense of honor. They once struck a deal that they would
always do their best to ensure your safety and they kept their word even when they no
longer had anything to gain by doing so."

"Struck a deal with whom?" Mulder demanded.

"Believe me, you'd rather not know," Skinner muttered.

"Who made the deal?" Mulder demanded fiercely.

Skinner sighed heavily, "Alex."

"*Krycek*?"

Skinner just nodded, his eyes guarded.

"Krycek made a deal for *my* life? Why? What deal? Why the fuck would Krycek…"

"I told you you'd rather not know," Skinner snapped. "Drop it, Mulder. You never did
understand that Alex only ever did what he had to do. He protected you from the
beginning."

"And I'm supposed to be grateful?"

"I doubt you even know the meaning of the word," Skinner growled.

Mulder gave a bitter laugh. "I'm not a fool, Skinner. I *know* Krycek was working for
the Resistance before we even met him. I *know* he was always one of the 'good guys'. I
understand *everything* he did now and can see *why* he did it. But you know
something? It doesn't help. It doesn't stop the way I *feel* about him."

"You're either lying or you're lucky," Skinner snapped. "Because it sure as hell has
changed the way *I* feel about him, and I'm the one who has to live daily with the
memory of murdering him and walking away without even looking back."

"Our illustrious Leader is remarkably healthy for a dead man," Mulder sniped.

"I told you to drop it," Skinner snarled back. "You don't even *want* to understand him.
It's perfectly obvious how you feel about him and I've given up trying to mediate between
the pair of you but, just for once, can you at least respect *my* feelings? If you can't say
anything good about him, either change the subject or shut the fuck up."

Mulder flushed slightly and chewed his lower lip uncertainly.

"Are you…um…are you and he…"

"I told you," Skinner replied tiredly. "I made plans for the future and, yes, he's a major
part of them."

"Oh," Mulder replied flatly.

It was the opening Skinner had been waiting for and he swooped in to take it.

"What about you? Are you and Scully."

"No," Mulder interrupted quickly. "She said if it ever was over, she'd go collect William
and then, well, she's got this idea of settling down in some sleepy town as a medical
doctor. She wants the whole picket fence and station wagon deal."

"That's not the Scully I know."

"It's the Scully she *wants* to be," Mulder replied sadly. "Hell, she's earned some peace
and quiet in her life. She's stuck with me through things no-one should ever have to go
through and she's finally had enough."

"But you're not going to join her?" Skinner asked carefully.

"I can't be what she wants me to be," Mulder admitted, "and she knows that, so she hasn't
even suggested I should move in with them. She deserves better, anyway."

"I hate it when you…"

"I didn't mean it like that," Mulder interrupted. "I'm *not* putting myself down. Well, not
in the way you think. I'm not saying I'm not good enough for her. Though I'm not. I mean
she deserves a different kind of man than me."

"One who'll share her bed?" Skinner suggested.

Mulder flinched visibly.

"How long have you known?" he asked quietly.

"Not long," Skinner admitted. "I've suspected for years but I didn't know for sure until
Alex told me."

"How the fuck did he know?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Skinner snapped back.

Mulder sniffed. "I guess his gaydar is pretty damned accurate. I mean who the hell else
would have pegged *you* as a bum bandit?"

Skinner flushed with anger, his face stilling into a dangerous mask.

"I don't expect you to understand our relationship, and I long ago gave up even hoping
you might treat him with respect but I'm sure as hell not going to stand here and let you
disrespect *me* for loving him."

"He killed you, Skinner. You killed *him*. Excuse me if I find that an unlikely form of
courtship."

"I don't know. At least we have something in common."

"How the hell can you joke about it?"

"It's what normal people do. You deal with things. You get past them and move on. You
grow up. Maybe you should give it a try yourself."

"I don't want to talk about this. You want to fuck Alex Krycek then fine, but don't ask me
to stand on the sidelines and cheer you along," Mulder snarled.

Skinner sighed heavily and shook his head sadly. "You really have a problem with our
relationship, don't you?"

"No shit."

"So tell me, just for the record, which one of us *do* you jerk off to?"

"WHAT?"

"Alex says it's me," Skinner continued conversationally, ignoring Mulder's spluttering,
red-faced denial. "He says it's the only explanation for your unrelenting hostility towards
him. Once the rebel aliens told you the truth and you discovered he was leading the
resistance, you should have put the past behind you. I had far more reason to hate him
than you did, so if the truth was good enough for me it should have been more than good
enough for you too. So Alex reckons the reason you still hiss and spit at him like an
affronted cat is the fact that he's sharing my bed.

"Personally, although I was never certain where Scully fitted into the picture,  I've always
been pretty damned sure it's Alex you want. I think you always did. It's the only
explanation for the depth of hatred he inspired in you.  I think you fell in love with him
when you were partners. *That's* why you took his seeming betrayal so badly.  Then,
when you finally discovered that he'd always been on your side you couldn't bear the fact
that he chose *me* instead of you."

"This is bullshit. I hate Krycek because he killed my father."

Skinner sighed with exasperation. "Will you cut the crap, Mulder?  I'm not buying it
anymore. Isn't it finally time for a little honesty between us? Bill Mulder wasn't your
father. Besides which, he earned that bullet a thousand times over. He was directly
involved  with the conspiracy. Every member of the consortium we've taken down has
been *someone's* father. If one of *their* sons came and confronted you now would you
feel they had the right to abuse you for simply doing your job?"

"I know," Mulder admitted reluctantly. "I've told myself the same thing a thousand times,
but it doesn't change the way I *feel* when I see him."

"You hate him," Skinner agreed. "But the question is *why* do you hate him?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Isn't it you who always demanded people sought the truth, no matter how painful?"

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"The truth."

"No you don't. Believe me, you don't."

"Try me."

"Why? What the hell's the point?  You want me to admit I've had a hard-on for *your*
boyfriend since the first day I saw him?"

"Have you?"

Mulder bit his lower lip, dropped his eyes and then shook himself visibly before raising
his head to glare defiantly as he nodded his agreement. He expected Skinner to hit him
for the admission. Instead the older man smiled.

"I can understand that," Skinner agreed amiably. "I felt the same way. Not that I'd ever
have acted on my attraction under the circumstances but I can't pretend it wasn't there
right from the first time I laid eyes on him. It tore me apart when I believed he was dirty
and it almost shattered me to discover that I *still* retained that attraction despite the
things he did to me. It made me react to him with inappropriate anger. The night you
brought him to my apartment and I punched him and handcuffed him outside is still one
of my most shameful memories, Mulder. Of course it pales next to the memory of
shooting him, but neither sits easily on my conscience.  I understand the concept of love
becoming the fuel for hatred."

"I didn't say I *loved* him," Mulder protested weakly.

"You don't have to. You're not a sexually-driven man, Mulder. If all you felt for Alex had
been lust you'd have gotten past it years ago."

"So, okay, I'm in love with your boyfriend. I admit it. You satisfied now or do you want
to rub my nose in it a bit more?"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"You've been doing it for four fucking years," Mulder accused. "How the fuck do you
think I felt? I thought he was *dead*. I was *glad* he was dead. And then I found out he
was alive and *why* the rebels brought him back to life. All those years of wanting him
and *hating* him and hating myself for wanting him, and suddenly it turned out he was
working for the Resistance all along. I…I…shit, I didn't even pack a fucking suitcase, I
just jumped in my car and broke the landspeed record to get to him. I…I thought…I
thought he'd…"

"Be waiting for you with open arms?" Skinner asked quietly.

"Well, I sure as hell didn't expect to find him in *your* bed," Mulder snarled.

"And that's why you went back to hating him?"

"I didn't hate him," Mulder corrected, "I hated *you*."

He laughed bitterly at Skinner's look of astonishment.

"It was…oh shit, it was like Samantha all over again. For three days, as I drove across
country to reach the base camp, I was so damned sure I was going to get him back that I
could *taste* him. The rebels dangled him in front of me like a carrot, and I jumped at
the bait like a fucking lab rat only for him to turn into a mirage in front of my eyes
because you'd gotten there first and stolen him from me."

"At the time I didn't even know you were…"

"Gay?" Mulder interrupted. "Well snap, Sir. You sure surprised the hell out of me too."

"Why didn't you say anything to me? Why did you punish Alex if it was me you hated?
Why didn't you tell him how you felt and give him the choice?"

Mulder gave a half-shrug.

"What was the point? The two of you were fucking like rabbits and it was clear he
thought the sun shone out of your butt. And you…hell, you were so *different* with him.
I didn't know you.  You'd always been a tight-ass in a suit just sitting on the fence and
suddenly you'd thrown everything away to follow him and you were achieving more
against the invasion every day than I'd managed in years. You were making a difference,
Skinner. The two of you, together, were fucking unstoppable. Even if I'd *thought* I
stood a chance of fighting you for him, I couldn't do it. I couldn't take the risk that he'd
choose me and you'd leave. The resistance needed you."

"That sounds very noble, Mulder, the idea of you sacrificing your own happiness for the
sake of the Resistance, except that it doesn't explain why the hell you've treated Alex like
shit for the last four years," Skinner challenged.

"The day I arrived, and the two of you walked into the room still stinking of sex, I went
crazy."

"I remember," Skinner agreed drolly.

"And you and everyone else assumed my problem was that I still hated Alex."

"So you just let us carry on believing that?"

"It was either that or tell the truth because there was no way I was ever going to handle
seeing you both together without reacting badly," Mulder admitted quietly. "It was easier
that way."

"Not on you," Skinner pointed out. "And not on Alex."

"Alex is Teflon-coated," Mulder snarled. "He doesn't give a shit about anyone's opinion,
least of all mine."

"Alex loves you."

"What?"

"Don't pretend to be stupid. It doesn't suit you. Alex is in love with you. He has been from
the beginning. He never made a deal for his own life. He never even negotiated for *my*
safety but he sold his soul and more for *you*.

"Who do you think brought Scully back? Who do you think pulled Spender's fangs? Who
took you to Tunguska and ensured you were given the immunity to the oiliens? Every
time he jerked your chain to further the Resistance's plans he also ensured your survival.
Do you really believe you were brought back from the dead by a simple course of anti-
virals? You have no conception of the deals and compromises he made to keep you alive,
Mulder, and it wasn't just because of your value to the Resistance. It was personal."

"Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

"The war's finally over. Things are different now.  Alex couldn't take the risk before. The
truth is the rebels wouldn't even allow him to try. You were both too necessary to the
Resistance. It hasn't been easy for us to all work around the cold hostility you've shown
him over the last few years but it was preferable to the idea of you returning to a
passionate hatred if you attempted a relationship together and failed."

"I don't understand what you're saying here. Are you offering to walk away if I want
him?"

"No. I might have walked away four years ago if I'd known how you felt but I didn't. I
thought that it was Scully you wanted. If I'd had any idea about how you and Alex felt
about each other I never would have approached him myself. But it's too late now. I love
him and I won't give him up for you or anyone.

"As soon as he arrives tomorrow, Alex and I are going away together. We've done our
part and have no intention of hanging around like vultures picking over the bones of
what's left. There's a lot of empty seats in the Senate and there's going to be a lot of chaos
and power-grabbing as people try to wrestle for positions in the new Government.
Neither of us want to hang around for that. Between my investments and pension and the
money Alex has put away we've got enough to disappear for a long time. Maybe forever."

"You're going away," Mulder whispered, his face draining of its remaining color. "Yeah.
Of course you are. Everyone leaves me. It's the story of my life."

"We're not leaving *you*," Skinner corrected firmly. "We're just leaving."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is that if you're serious about not wanting to stay with Scully you're
welcome to come away with me and Alex."

Mulder snorted in disbelief.

"And what's Alex going to say about this?"

Skinner shrugged.

"I imagine he'll be as dubious as you at first but we can work out the details with him
tomorrow."

"It's a crazy idea."

"Then you'll feel right at home, won't you?" Skinner replied dryly.

He chuckled at the stunned look on Mulder's face. "Alex and I love one another. Alex and
you *could* love one another if you gave each other a chance. You could make him
happy and I love Alex enough to want him to have as much happiness as he can get.
Besides, I admit I'd rather like the opportunity to get to know you a lot better myself."

Mulder blinked furiously and gnawed his lower lip, glancing down in surprise as though
noticing for the first time that he'd been standing in the embrace of Skinner's arms since
their discussion began.

"Are you…um… coming on to me, Sir?"

Skinner laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his belly. "My name's Walter and the
answer is yes."

"I'm…um…flattered," Mulder replied honestly, "You're one hell of a sexy guy. I've
always thought so. Even though I *thought* you were straight before you hooked up with
Alex. Maybe that's even why I took your relationship so badly.  I would have been pissed
as hell to find Alex in *anyone's* bed, but the fact that it was yours knocked me
sideward."

"You never gave me any indication you were interested in me," Skinner pointed out
quietly.

"How could I? You were my boss, and you were straight and…" Mulder's voice trailed
off at the look of polite disbelief on Skinner's face.  "Shit," he mumbled to himself.

"What?"

"I don't know how to say it."

"That's a first for you," Skinner laughed.

Mulder glared at him, his cheeks flushing with combined anger and embarrassment.
"You don't understand."

"How could I? You've just given me two perfectly plausible lies and I'm still waiting for
you to tell me the truth," Skinner pointed out reasonably.

"You're an attractive man, but you're not my type," Mulder whispered.

He felt a sudden chill as Skinner dropped his arms to his sides, releasing Mulder from his
embrace, and it was that action that evidenced Skinner's sudden self-doubt more than the
expressionless mask that slipped down over the previously animated face.

"I'm sorry," Skinner muttered. "I thought…" He shook his head angrily. "It doesn't matter
*what* I thought. I've made a mistake. I'm sorry. I had no right to assume you felt the
same way about me as I do about you."

"Stop it," Mulder interrupted quickly. "Did I *say* I didn't want you?" He gestured down
at the still prominent bulge in his jeans. "Does *this* look like I don't want you?"

"But you said I wasn't your type," Skinner reminded him, his eyes dark with confused
hurt.

"I just…oh fuck this is hard… I just meant that I'm… well, I'm not really
the…um…passive sort in bed," Mulder explained, blushing furiously.

To his surprise, Skinner greeted his admission with a bray of laughter.

"What's funny?" Mulder demanded furiously.

"I'm surprised you even remember *what* you prefer in bed, Mulder," Walter chuckled.
Then, before Mulder could make an angry retort, he continued in a gentler voice.  "What
makes you think that Alex is 'passive' either?"

"Oh," Mulder mumbled then, as understanding dawned, his eyes widened with disbelief.
"OH."

Skinner smiled.

"The truth of the matter is that you and Alex aren't really compatible, Mulder. For all the
excuses you've both made over the years to justify your constant aggression with each
other, the simple truth I suspect is that you both subconsciously sense the alpha male in
each other. You're both so busy trying to dominate each other *outside* of bed that
you've got next to no chance of ever getting into one together."

"You're telling me you bottom to Alex?" Mulder squeaked.

"Not all the time," Skinner replied easily, "but certainly *most* of the time."

"But…but…you're so…so…." Mulder stammered.

"I'll tell you what I am, Mulder. I'm big enough and ugly enough to be able to admit what
I prefer in bed without worrying what other people think about my preferences."

"Oh," Mulder sighed happily.

"So, I'll repeat my earlier offer. Would you like to come away with me and Alex?"

"I…I don't…I mean I…I…yeah."

"Yeah?" Walter repeated questioningly.

"Yeah," Mulder nodded.

"Good. I'm glad that's settled," Walter sighed. "I was beginning to wonder whether we'd
ever get any sleep tonight." He held his hand out, "Shall we go to bed?"

"I need a shower."

"It'll wait 'til morning. Come to bed."

"We're just going to *sleep* together, right?"

Skinner chuckled. "Believe me, Mulder. The minute my head touches that pillow I'll be
out like a light."

"It's not that I don't *want* to," Mulder explained hurriedly. "It's just that…"

"We have to talk to Alex first?"

"Yeah."

"Of course we do," Skinner agreed.

"Are you sure he'll agree?"

"Agree?" Skinner laughed. "Hell, he's going to think he's received a lifetime worth of
birthdays wrapped in Mulder giftwrap."

"Fox," Mulder mumbled.

"What?

"My name's Fox."

"I know," Skinner replied dryly, "But I thought you hated the name."

Mulder smiled shyly and blushed.

"Nah. Actually I always thought it was kind of cool. I just…well, I hated the familiarity
of it.  After Samantha it always *hurt* when other people called me Fox. It was like they
were trying to take her place. Telling people to call me 'Mulder' was like hanging a 'no
vacancy' sign up over my heart. It was a way of saying no one else was welcome inside. I
think maybe it's time to take that sign down."

"It's way past time, Fox," Skinner corrected gently, his eyes glistening suspiciously.
"Come to bed."

And Mulder stripped off his smoke-stained jeans and slipped under the cool, clean sheets
wearing nothing except the unfamiliar clothing of a hopeful smile.

Happy Birthday, Ursula.

The End
 
 

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