DEEP PLAY, Part I:  OUT OF BOUNDS
by Jeylan

Part 2
See part 0 for header information.


Summer.  

Yeah, he remembered Skyler.

Candles, crystals, serious midnight talks of ghosts and hypnosis 
and reincarnation, nose to nose, staring into one single big 
brown eye, too drunk to care...  

He remembered Skyler.

He remembered going back to Oxford when the summer was over, 
laughing with his friends, and telling them what they wanted to 
hear. "Yeah, yeah, thank god I'm back, I was dying of boredom 
back there."  He remembered them asking about girls, and he 
remembered laughing.

Not that anything really happened, between him and Skyler.  No.  
That wasn't it ... exactly.

Not that he would have minded.

Well...

He would have minded. 

Now, all these years later, walking alone down this San Francisco 
street it was hard not to remember how he'd felt that last night 
of summer, 1982, when Skyler Cliese kissed him.  He remembered it 
felt ... scary.  Heart-racing, stomach churning, turning-on, 
fight-or-flight scary.  He remembered laughing, and kissing back, 
and the jolt like a chemical fire that went through his whole 
body -- the acrid self-smell of male sweat -- knowing in his 
back-brain that the chemistry was off -- and something in his 
cells crying "no! taboo! out-of-bounds! oh-wow-oh-shit-oh-my-
god!"

He remembered how summer had been ending, and how he'd been too 
hung up on the idea of having to get on a plane.  Having to fly.  
Too stressed.  His mother, as usual, busy picking fights in 
advance before she lost her chance, trying to get a whole 
academic year's worth of fights packed into a few short, sultry 
weeks, while his father looked the other way disapprovingly from 
a distance.  He remembered not feeling like a good son.

No girlfriend.  Feeling like a failure with girls.  The guy 
nobody wanted.  A new term starting, and all that on his mind, 
and the nagging stress of not having packed yet -- and everything 
all together combining into one sick lump of queasy, irrational 
certainty that if he took one wrong step, one step off the path, 
his whole precarious life might tip unbalanced.  As if it 
mattered.  Feeling like he was always walking a tightrope of 
approval.  Too afraid that if he just let things happen there 
might not be any going back, as if some essential something 
inside himself might break.  Kissing Skyler had threatened his 
still untested masculinity, his still fragile sense of himself.

Now, shuffling through San Francisco twilight, Mulder remembered 
all those feelings like a book he read once.  He remembered the 
panic, the uncertainty about sex, but didn't feel it anymore.  He 
knew who he was now.  He knew what he liked.  He remembered 
feeling giddy like flying, wild like wind, loose and scared and 
infinitely free, precarious, like dancing at the edge of a dream-
cliff.  Like jumping blind.  That was then.  Now he'd already 
landed ... eyes wide open ... in the basement, with Scully.  And 
that was all right.  Fine.  Not so bad, in its own way.  Not what 
he might've hoped for in his life, but better than he should 
probably have expected.

Hands shoved in pockets, he ducked into the dim, narrow bar, and 
found a seat in a booth off to the side.  He was early.  He 
ordered a beer, and jockeyed it between thumbs and forefingers, 
centering it, sliding it, letting it ride on the thin film of 
sweat and spillage.  Not picking it up.  

Cautiously, he looked around.  Dim bar.  Not dark enough to be 
intentional, but half-lit like they just hadn't bothered to turn 
on the lights.  Couple of guys over in one corner.  A handsome 
woman up at the bar, glancing his way.  One booth crowded with a 
mixed group of college kids.  Quiet, rainy, early evening feel of 
nothing happening yet.  

He raised his glass.

Then he saw Skyler, and suddenly couldn't stop a goofy smile from 
stretching across his face.

How many times had he imagined seeing Skyler again?  And yet he'd 
never imagined it like this:  Skyler calling in with an X-file, a 
secret copy of an eyes-only document, smuggled out of Area 51.  
Yeah, trust Skyler to come up with something like this ... and to 
drag him into it.  Trust Skyler to track him down.  They always 
had been on the same wavelength.

As he watched the way his old friend's eyes darkened, dilated, 
the way Skyler's head lifted a little higher, his chest puffed 
out, and his step bounced, Mulder just went on slouching over his 
beer, grinning inanely.  How could he ever have wondered if he 
would still recognize this man?  So many years later, and Skyler 
Cliese had hardly changed at all.  He was a little more chiseled, 
more rugged, no longer the slim, slightly pretty boy he had been, 
but more eye-catching now that he had a man's face and a man's 
heavier, more confident stride.  

"Hey Fox," he said softly, and he meant 'hello.'  "Move over." 

Mulder scooted sideways to make room for Skyler to slide into the 
booth beside him.  

"Don't like having my back to the door, these days," Skyler said, 
and laughed.  "Just one of those things, you know?"

Mulder laughed too.  "Yeah, I know.  Unfortunately, I know."

He felt Skyler's hand on his knee, and for one instant the doubt 
flashed through his head that this meeting was a set-up -- that 
Skyler had searched him out and convinced him to fly cross-
country to San Francisco on false pretenses, all for the sake of 
feeling him up.  He tensed.

Skyler smiled a lascivious smile, and leaned to whisper 
intimately in his ear, "Take the damn disk, will you?  I want to 
get this over with."  He was making it look like sweet nothings, 
Mulder realized dimly.

"Oh, uh, yeah."  His hand fumbled for Skyler's under the table.  
He brushed over hot skin, and then found the cold plastic case.  
Taking it, he slipped it in his pocket.  "Mission accomplished," 
he whispered into Skyler's ear.  "Thanks."

"De nada."  Skyler leaned back a little, and looked him over.  
"Jesus, Fox, you look -- great.  I'd barely've recognized you."

"Thanks," Mulder said dryly. 

"You know what I mean."  He slid his arm behind Mulder and ran 
his fingers through his hair.  "All your beautiful hair," he 
murmured sadly.  "Shit, man." 

Mulder shrugged, signaling the waitress to bring Skyler a beer 
and trying not to think about Skyler's fingers toying through his 
hair.  It felt kind of ... nice. 

Inadvertently he glanced around, but no one was watching.  No one 
cared.  They were in San Francisco.  

"I'm making you uncomfortable, aren't I?"

"Huh?  Me?  No!  Why would --?  Uh, well, yeah."

Skyler laughed.  "Can't knock a guy for trying," he said, and 
then his smile faded.  He dropped his voice and leaned in close 
again.  "But I should warn you that I'm being tailed.  Have been 
for several days now.  Don't look, but one of them is outside the 
window hanging around like he's waiting for a bus, and the other 
is that dude over there at the bar who came in right after me.  
Now, laugh."

Obediently, Mulder laughed as if his friend had just said 
something funny.  He let his eyes flick towards the bar, where a 
guy in a starched white shirt, dress slacks, and black shiny FBI 
shoes was trying too hard to look casual.  Mulder winced.  Shades 
of himself in his work clothes.  He congratulated himself on 
having been smart enough to dress down for a change.  

"Feds?"   

"Who the hell knows?"  Skyler nuzzled the words into his ear.  "I 
figure they want a tour of my private life, they can have it, you 
know?  So we've been going out every night, me and the guys.  
These two are Lenny and Squiggy.  They're fun.  They get really 
creeped out in gay bars, so that's where we're going."

"We are?"  Mulder gulped.

Skyler leaned back, raised his eyebrows, and grinned.  "Sure!  
You wanna?  We could do that!"  He toyed with Mulder's hair some 
more, and stroked his fingers distractingly over the back of his 
neck.

"No, I mean, I thought you said--"

"Stop stammering, hun.  You're supposed to be my date."

"I am?"

"Of course.  Haven't you been listening?  These guys wanna pin 
something on me, but I don't think they're sure what to pin.  And 
if they can't tell one trick from another...  Well...  That's not 
exactly my problem, now is it?"  He smiled a dangerous smile, 
leaned in slowly, and brushed his lips against the tender skin 
behind Mulder's ear.  Mulder shivered.

"Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable," Skyler whispered.  "You 
don't have to do anything, you know.  Just sit there and try to 
look like you like it.  Or slap me back, and I'll go away, and 
these two closet-cases will never be the wiser."

Mulder didn't move, didn't answer.

"You want me to leave?" Skyler whispered.

Mulder's heart was beating very fast.  "No."  

"Mmmm.  Good.  Can I kiss you?"

Soft question, soft voice, intense eyes.  He always had felt 
himself in danger of falling into Skyler's eyes.  Skyler was the 
first person who'd ever succeeded in hypnotizing him ... well, 
almost hypnotizing him.  Maybe because he'd almost wanted him to.  
God, the stupid things they used to play around with.  Kids with 
fire.

Mulder took a deep breath, and moistened his lips.  "Uh..."  He 
cleared his throat.  He was sure he must be blushing.

Skyler smiled a wolfish smile, and his eyes sparkled.  "God, 
you're fun," he breathed.

"Listen, I, uh--"  Mulder cleared his throat, and swallowed some 
beer.  He wanted to back away; wanted to move closer.  This game 
didn't feel like a game for some reason.   

Skyler rested his arm on the back of the booth, draped casually 
close to Mulder's neck in a way that projected intimacy without 
actually crowding his space too much.  "Look, I'm just being 
practical, here," he murmured, leaning to whisper into Mulder's 
ear.  "We kiss a little, grope a little, we can get out of here 
faster, and they'll just think we're on our way to, uh --"  His 
eyes strayed down Mulder's throat, down --

"Yeah, yeah, I get the idea," Mulder cut in quickly. 

Skyler laughed.  And then he nibbled at his earlobe, and Mulder's 
whole body flushed. 

He closed his eyes very tight.  Exhilarating sensations, 
immediate and unforgettable as falling off a bike, splicing years 
out of his life and rendering him young and giddy and foolish in 
an instant.  How long since...?  It felt...  It felt...  "Mmmm," 
he heard the soft sound resonate deep in his own throat and it 
startled him, but he didn't try to hold it in.  Skyler's hand was 
kneading his shoulder, caressing the side of his neck, and energy 
and warmth flowed into him making him know, admit, realize if 
only for a moment just how essential a thing was touch.  Human 
touch.  The touch of a hand, a mouth.  Things he remembered 
taking for granted ... a long time ago.  

"OK," Mulder whispered, surprising himself.  But, really, why 
not?  What harm in a kiss?  Not like he was scared, or anything.  
Anyway, it was just in play.  Not real.

"Hmmm?" Skyler had already forgotten the question.  "OK what?"  
His voice slid heavy, deep, and warm into Mulder's ear.  Half 
lost.

Feeling excitement racing in his throat, Mulder nearly smiled.  
"You can kiss me," he mumbled, lowering his eyes and nudging a 
little closer, willfully shutting down some rational, critical 
part of his brain.

"You mean it?"  His friend was all at once very still, barely 
breathing.  "I can?"  A breathlessness in his voice.

Mulder nodded, looking up despite himself, meeting Skyler's eager 
eyes.  Hot eyes.  How come no one ever looked at him anymore with 
eyes like this?  He wanted someone to look at him like this.

Skyler leaned in slowly, very slowly, very deliberately, tipped 
his head, and moved in close.  He brushed his lips over Mulder's 
lips.  

Mulder's heart was racing.  This was exactly what he had feared, 
(hoped?), imagined too vividly.  This was the fantasy he had held 
at bay, inwardly ridiculed, and promised himself would certainly 
never happen.  Couldn't happen, in fact, because he'd thought of 
it already, and things you imagine in too much detail never come 
true -- that is a known fact.  So how could this be happening?  
And how come his heart was pounding as if he had not feared but 
hoped -- as if he'd desired it?

"You gonna kiss me, or what?" Skyler murmured teasingly against 
his lips.  He wasn't making this easy; he was forcing it to be 
real.  Even while outwardly he played it up, and his body 
language projected romance and intimacy, he still left Mulder 
with a choice.  A *real* choice.  Because the show was only for 
show, but a kiss, if they kissed, would be real.  Everything 
Mulder knew and remembered and sensed of Skyler gelled in that 
moment, and he felt hot.  He felt something like arousal, and 
suddenly he *did* want it, and he let himself lean into Skyler's 
lips.

There was the old, familiar nausea gripping in his stomach, and 
his hands had gone clammy.  He was simultaneously turned on, and 
turned off, hyper-aware that people might be watching.  A weird 
cell-deep resistance was keening in his ears, throbbing through 
his blood, a sort of gut-level "no" -- and yet at the same time 
he felt a sort of singing, soaring, joyful lunacy.  Defiant.  It 
tasted a little like stealing nectar from the gods, this 
disobedient pleasure, this rebellious, headstrong assertion of 
*will* over chemistry-- 

And Skyler's lips...  Soft.  Suggestive.  Tempting.  On impulse, 
instinct, Mulder pressed deeper and opened his mouth.  A mouth is 
a mouth.

He felt Skyler gasp, and was surprised at how good it felt, how 
hot it got.  Surprised at the intensity with which their tongues 
met, danced, embraced.  Dimly he noticed the nearby clink when 
the waitress set Skyler's beer on the table.  A moment later, 
they separated.  Mulder got his hand off Skyler's thigh, and 
Skyler let go of Mulder's head.  Skyler's eyes seemed darker now, 
and deeper.  "Something you wanna tell me, Fox?" he inquired 
pleasantly, picking up his glass.

"Uh..." Mulder chuckled.  "Not really.  No."  He dropped his eyes 
again, and drank.

The silence grew awkward.  

"That is--" 

"No, it isn't," Mulder cut him off quickly.  "It's not."  He 
shook his head.  "Uh-uh."

"You're not--?"

He shook his head again.

Skyler shrugged.  "Well, I didn't really think you were.  Maybe I 
*hoped,* sometimes, I'll admit it, but..."

Nervously, they both laughed.  Skyler's lips had a lovely curl to 
them, Mulder noticed, a strength, and a certainty, and just a 
hint of something sensual.  He caught himself staring, and forced 
himself to look away.  But Skyler was looking at his mouth, too. 

They each turned away, and then glancingly their eyes met.

Then away again. 

God, it was just like flirting. 

The shiny-shoed Fed at the bar turned his head quickly, avoiding 
Mulder's unexpected glance.

Mulder settled in more comfortably, turning a little towards 
Skyler and feeling his knee bump Skyler's knee.  He let it rest 
there.  Warm.  He put his elbow up on the back of the bench seat, 
and took a deeper breath.  Relaxed.  Smiled.

"What if--?" Skyler started--

At the same time as Mulder said, "Would you--?"

They both laughed.  

"You first."

Mulder twiddled his beer glass.  "I was just wondering if you 
were, uh, hungry?"

"Dinner?"  Skyler smiled.  "You know, if we went someplace really 
nice, these goons'd have to wait outside.  I think they're on a 
budget." 

They smiled.

=================================================

Walking.  

Drizzle rain.  Girls in skimpy tops with pierced belly buttons, 
holding hands, laughing.  Snarled Hippie-hair guy playing flute 
under shelter of an overhang for a bored cat.  San Francisco 
early evening, and something about San Francisco, something about 
the smell of the streets and the chill, damp eucalyptus air that 
was very much not Washington.  Not the sharp bite of Washington, 
not the cutting cold, just a cool insinuation against hot skin.  
Or was it something in Mulder that felt different?  Something 
inside himself not at home here ... or a little windy here ... or 
as if this air might hear a secret and not echo it back.

As if...

They glanced at each other sideways.  Took the BART to the 
Castro; let Lenny and Squiggy follow along.  Talked of adolescent 
summers, and adolescent dreams.  

And laughed.

=================================================

The restaurant Skyler led him into was dim, intimate.  Firelit 
and candlelit, with handsome waiters ... not that Mulder was 
noticing.  He was much too caught up in listening to Skyler's 
account of his checkered career.  

Mulder sipped Scotch on the rocks and tried to make sense of it 
all.  Harvard, grad work in biochemistry, MIT, research with 
hallucinogens, casual asides to months, perhaps years, off the 
career track and out in the field, Beat interludes -- the real 
thing -- spiritual quest, Mexico, Central and South America, and 
the whole conversation punctuated by discordant hints to some 
affiliation with an organized, nameless group, and references to 
labs, studies, government grants.  God, he must sound like this 
himself -- mad, rushing, paradoxical, confused -- and in his 
enthusiasm he, too, probably neglected chronology, and forgot to 
connect the dots enough to show other people the way all the 
seemingly-contradictory pieces fit together.  Mulder listened to 
Skyler, and heard himself.  And yet not himself.  He was 
enthralled.  

(Continued in part 3)