"Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."
Dover Beach
Matthew Arnold
"Mulder."
"Mm."
"Are you listening to me?"
"Mm-hm."
Skinner spared Mulder a glare from behind the driver's wheel.
Sure enough, Mulder bestowed another vague, placating smile
on him and then went right back to his bundle of papers
and maps. He wasn't listening to a word Skinner was saying.
He promised himself he would throw Mulder out of the car
if he started humming again. There. Decision made. He was
in control, after all. So they were driving down a deserted
highway in the middle of nowhere. On one of the rare occasions
when they had managed to coordinate their time off. So what.
At least Mulder still had his mouth shut. He stopped thinking
about it at that point, wanting to end on a victorious note.
This, of course, meant no thinking about what they were
doing out here. Done.
Feeling easier than he had just a few minutes ago, he
was as close to enjoying himself as he expected to be, when
Mulder started humming again. Softly to start with, but
Skinner knew from experience what he could expect.
A small irritant usually in the bigger scheme of things but
not today. Not when he was already here doing Mulder's bidding,
party to a lost cause.
"Okay. We're pulling over," he said grimly, suiting deed
to word.
This got a vague show of interest. Mulder stretched his limbs,
cat-like, all taut and trembling tension for a moment. Then
collapsed gracefully back into himself and cocked one eye up
at Skinner, considering him.
"What's up? Why're we stopping?"
"Because I said so, Mulder."
Mulder looked over from the passenger seat, trying to glimpse
Skinner's face over the stack of road maps between them.
He had carefully spread out the five most detailed ones and
had been pleasantly occupied, tracing routes and deliberating
the pros and cons of each choice.
Under the weight of Skinner's expressionless gaze, he said
hurriedly, "I was listening to you."
"Then what did I say?"
"Hm?"
"What did I say?"
"When?"
Skinner muttered an oath under his breath, only to hear Mulder
chuckle next to him.
"That you heard?"
Mulder gave him the benefit of a proper grin then, charming
Skinner into making a wry face back at him before he could
stop himself.
"What was I doing?" Mulder asked, his curiosity genuine.
His hands had already gone back to the maps, skimming over
them, turning them this way and that. Skinner sighed, irritation
competing with bemusement.
"Where do you want me to start? Can't you sit still for one
second? Do you have to make that rustling noise with
those papers? If you have to hum, do you have to hum the
same goddamn song over and over again? And why, for
fuck's sake, why do you put empty candy wrappers back
into the bag when you know the candy isn't finished?"
He paused for breath, blinking against his spleen and for all
the notice Mulder took of him, might as well have been tap-dancing.
If not for the slight twist to the expressive mouth, he would have
believed it too.
Wisely avoiding the temptation to continue with his litany,
he said instead in a much more conversational tone of voice,
"It's not too late to find a nice steak place, you know. I'll even
drink beer with you. We could spend the evening watching
you try to put away as many as me. Then I'll take advantage
of you, which you'll like. And as a gold star bonus, I'll listen
when you start begging me not to call you Fox. What could
be fairer?"
All that got him was a mild look of reproof. "You've done
nothing but try to bribe your way out of this all day, Walter.
I'll bet it's the most fun you've had in years. Admit it."
Skinner treated Mulder to an incredulous grimace which only
contributed to the smile in the other man's eyes. In fact, if his
patent lack of enthusiasm for
their adventure bothered Mulder at all, he had yet to show it.
Sure enough, in the next moment, he was once more banished
from Mulder's labyrinthine world of needs and wants.
He watched him twist around in his seat and snag the bag of
candy which had somehow migrated into the back seat. Putting
two into his mouth, he handed another to Skinner and managed
to check his hand as it began to put the wrappers back into the bag.
He let them fall at his feet instead and surreptitiously twisted around
once more until his joints popped and sighed in relief. Belatedly
took in Skinner's involuntary wince and patted his thigh with one hand.
Mumbled an indistinct apology around a candy-filled
jaw. Leant over, found Skinner's lips and pressed a sticky
kiss to them before burying himself back in his maps and papers. Started
rustling them all over again, oblivious to Skinner's reproachful gaze.
"Mulder, if you don't mind, could we start the car and get back
on the yellow brick road again?"
Mulder only nodded by way of reply, still humming under
his breath. "I think we should take the next turn-off, though. I've
found a shortcut."
Skinner sighed loudly. Pointedly. Put his hand to the back
of his slightly sunburnt neck, his eyes ready to speak volumes
if anyone were to catch his gaze. Then meekly set about
following Mulder's directions, burying his rising contentment
somewhere deep enough to keep Mulder safe from it.
After another twenty minutes of watching bland, featureless
landscape go by, he finally gave in to his curiosity and asked,
"So you really believe in ghosts?"
Mulder shrugged. "Don't you?"
"Never seen one. The stories I hear don't impress me."
"What?" Mulder put a mocking hand to his heart. "But Walter,
I tell you all the stories you hear!"
"That," Skinner said dryly, "is another one of those
assumptions that get you into trouble. You think you're
my only source? Okay, so you tell me about flesh eating viruses
and aliens and all that shit. But ghosts - people stop by my
office everyday to tell me about them. Whole different
story."
"Ghosts. Aliens. Two different things. I'm writing this
down, Walter."
Skinner spared him a coolly disdainful look and then
concentrated for a few minutes on weaving in and out of
potholes. The road was getting progressively worse and
more deserted by the minute. After some time it became
clear that Mulder was not going to surface long enough to
begin conversation. Skinner did the honors instead.
"So, all those papers. All that
noise. What do you know, Mulder?"
Mulder frowned. "They're all so old now. It's hard to get
worthwhile information out of them. Most of the reports
are little more than eyewitness stories and some of those
are totally incoherent."
"But..." Skinner prompted, a little too innocently.
"But," Mulder said, "they all agree on the same thing, which
is interesting. They all picked up a hitch hiker, along this
stretch of road here. See?"
Mulder traced a small section of the highway on the map
with his index finger.
Skinner sharply turned his head at that, ignoring the proffered
map and took in Mulder's unblinking, virtuous gaze.
"No."
"What?"
"No Mulder, N-O. Fucking out of the question."
"No fucking? But it's the weekend, Walter. We always
fuck on the weekends."
"Mulder," Skinner said deliberately, a muscle jumping
in his neck. "Just tell me I don't need to be thinking what
I'm thinking."
"You don't need---"
"Mulder."
"Well, how did you think we were going to find the ghost?"
Mulder asked reasonably.
"Jesus."
Skinner rolled down the window and stuck his head out
into the hazy sunshine for a moment, letting the gentle,
warm breeze caress his neck and flap at his t-shirt.
Counted to ten. Then backwards to one.
"This is the plan? This is what we're doing today?"
"What's your plan?"
"I think I'm going to start calling you Fox all the time."
"Walter, that's so vindictive. I never had you pegged for
such a jerk. Wow. It's so sexy." Mulder said, openly
grinning now, making a momentary show of swooning in
his seat.
"I don't think," Skinner said dispassionately, his eyes
straying over Mulder's crotch, gratified to see him flush,
"I don't think you need me to tell you that sex
is the last thing you're going to get if I have to spend
my weekend picking up hitch hikers and poking them with a
stick to see if they're ghosts. You got that? Is there
any part of that you want me to make clearer to you?"
Mulder regrouped, raising a sorrowful eyebrow.
"Reneging, Walter? Is this the Marine code
of honor I'm seeing in action here? We flipped for weekend
plans. I won, fair and square."
Skinner scowled, caught in his own quagmire. He looked at Mulder,
his eyes narrowed, knowing their expression was by no means pleasant.
"Do you know what I'm going to do to you, if we don't find your
ghost?" he demanded.
Mulder batted his eyelashes in a way that Skinner supposed
was designed to be flirtatious. He looked more like he was about to
have a fit of some kind. "Don't tell me, Walter. I want it to be
a surprise."
"You're an asshole, you know that?" Skinner laughed ruefully,
temper dying away as quickly as it had risen.
"Ah, I see Mr Cro-Magnon's back with me again. Always a ple--"
Mulder's words were swallowed up as Skinner took one hand
off the wheel and unerringly grasped him by the back of his
neck, bringing his head down to Skinner's chest. Mulder made
no attempt to escape the makeshift embrace, remaining obligingly
still instead. Yet Skinner gripped him hard enough to bruise,
unable to curb the possessiveness that flared through him
each time he touched the other man. Instead, knowing how
much Mulder liked it, he used the rough pad of his thumb to
traverse a short path up and down the base of his skull,
delivering blunt, massaging caresses as he went.
They stayed that way for a little while until Mulder mumbled
indistinctly, "You rock my world too, Walter but in some countries,
this is considered false imprisonment. Do you think I'm ready to
breathe again? I have more good news."
Skinner released him with a none too gentle shove. "It can't
get worse, Mulder. But give it your best shot."
"No, no, this really is going to make things easier. All the
eyewitness accounts agree that it's a 'he' we're looking for.
So, see, right away we can discount picking up female
hitch hikers."
"Oh great," he said in disgust. "That really narrows it down."
"Now what's wrong?" Mulder asked.
"How are we going to - god I can't believe I'm talking about
this stuff - how are we going to, you know, uh know?"
"What do you mean - know?" Mulder inquired, puzzled.
"Christ! Forget it."
"Walter, you're blushing."
"Fuck off, Mulder," Skinner snarled, putting a look on his face
dangerous enough to drive any number of ghosts underground.
Mulder just grinned and said earnestly, "No, really, you are.
What the hell are you doing that for?"
"How should I know?" Skinner snapped back.
Mulder paused and stared at him, clearly baffled. Skinner
glared back, not prepared to explain himself.
Then Mulder's mouth began to twitch and he said in a
suspiciously solicitous voice, "Do you want to know how
we'll know whether it is a ghost or not, Walter? Is that it?"
"It's a reasonable question, Mulder," Skinner said, wondering
why the hell he felt like the asshole here.
"Well, that's why I brought a flashlight. See, I figure if we shine
it - casually of course - on the guy, and it shines right thr--"
"Mulder," Skinner said deliberately. "One more - just one more
crappy line out of you and I'm going to kick your ass."
"Walter, Walter. If you're not going to be part of the solution..."
Skinner said nothing, staring at Mulder instead until the other
man grinned and said, "Okay, okay. I'll put you out of your
misery. I don't know, all right? From what I read and the
research I did, apparently we'll just know."
Skinner opened his mouth and then snapped it shut as Mulder
said, "We just will."
"Well, okay. Let's say we find this ghost. Then what?"
"What do you mean?"
Skinner sighed. "Mulder, I'm beginning to wonder if you're
completely nuts. It was okay when I thought you were kinda nuts
but complete nuts I'm not comfortable with."
Following his own train of thought, Mulder said abruptly,
"Oh, you mean, what'll we do with him?"
"Exactly."
"Well, we'll take him where he wants to go, won't we?"
"It's odd," Skinner said pensively. "You look normal."
Mulder cast his eyes heavenward. "Look, Walter. Trust
me, all right? From everything I've read on our guy, he's
a benevolent spirit who just wants a ride."
"And your benchmark for this character reference would
be what?"
"Okay." Mulder said with theatrical determination. "You
know I don't like to undermine you but you've driven me to
it. Everyone in this car who's seen interesting and inexplicable
phenomena up close, put your hand up. Oh look, it's just me.
So, trust me, Walter. I know the nasty stuff from the good stuff."
"Fuck off, Mulder."
"See, I knew you'd come around."
Skinner glared at him but said no more on the subject,
managing to reconcile himself to this sketchy gameplan
with the thought that no one would be dumb enough to be
walking the roads in such blazing heat anyway.
Suddenly, Mulder sat up straight and said excitedly,
"Walter! There's one!"
Like a goddamned retriever, Skinner thought sourly to
himself, almost looking to see whether Mulder had one
arm raised and pointing in the direction of the shabby
man by the side of the road, his thumb outstretched.
"Walter! C'mon, stop the car," Mulder half-whispered.
"What the fuck are you whispering for?"
Mulder had the grace to look sheepish. "Don't know."
"Right," Skinner said, back in AD mode for a split second.
"Listen to me Mulder and listen hard. Don't - do you
understand me - don't - that means, do NOT - do anything
stupid. It's our weekend off. I'm not rescuing you from
some disgruntled hobo whom you have the bad luck to
piss off. Got it?"
Mulder failed miserably in his efforts to keep a straight face
but said with creditable sincerity, "Walter, really, I'll be
careful. I'll watch what I say."
"Yeah, yeah. Okay, shut up. Here he comes. Jesus, what
am I doing? I'm an AD of the--"
"Hey, hey!! Thanks for stopping, guys. You guys are, like,
THE best. I really mean that. I hope the pig's okay with you.
Where you headed?"
There was a moment of thunderstruck silence. Then, Skinner,
vaguely aware they were both staring at the white, middle-aged
man leaning in towards the window like a pair of village idiots,
said, "Uh, just a minute."
He turned to Mulder who said doubtfully, "Did he say he had
a pig?"
"I think so."
Mulder looked at him. Skinner looked back at Mulder.
Mulder asked, "Well, does he have a pig?"
"Is that really the point?" Skinner asked, irritated.
"No I guess not," Mulder said vaguely.
Skinner closed his eyes against the deliciously uncomplicated
desire to simply put his hands around Mulder's neck and
throttle him.
"Well, I don't know about you," Mulder finally offered. "But he
doesn't seem like a ghost to me."
Skinner threw him an exasperated look. "No shit, Mulder."
He turned back to the man and said, "Sorry but my friend
here is...is allergic to pigs."
Mulder made a choking sound next to him and Skinner leant
forward slightly to obscure him from the pig man's view.
"Ah shit, man," their would be passenger said in disappointment.
"You wouldn't believe how many people been past this way
who got the same thing. Sucks. Imagine being allergic to
pigs."
He threw Mulder a pitying look.
"Yeah. Uh, looks like real bad luck all round here," Skinner
said in a voice that wasn't quite steady. An explosive sound
from Mulder that quickly gave way to a coughing fit had
the pig man trying to look past Skinner in alarm.
"Is he all right?"
"He's a sickly kind of guy," Skinner said dryly. "In fact,
we'd better get moving. He's forgotten his asthma pump
at home."
After some exhausting leave-taking and parting with a couple
of beers from their cooler, Skinner finally managed to get back
on the road. After watching their would-be passenger dwindle
to a mere dot in the rearview mirror, he turned wrathfully
on Mulder.
"A man with a pig, for god's sake, Mulder."
Mulder's only response for some time was to put his head down
between his knees and give way to the repository of laughter he
had been storing up all that time. Finally when he managed to
taper off into a series of helpless chortles and snickers, he
said weakly, "Sorry."
Skinner had started grinning at some point and felt obscurely
cheated at being unable to recapture his earlier need to kill
Mulder.
"If I knew what was good for me," he said, "I would get that
goddamn flashlight, hit you on the back of your thick skull
with it and drive us straight to that house by the beach
we're staying at. Nothing but sun, sand and sea there."
Mulder grinned, unrepentant. "Good thing I'm in charge
here, then."
"Is that what you think?" Skinner asked with a kindly
interest.
Mulder opened his mouth to retort, only to have his eyes
caught by a figure by the side of the road. Skinner followed
his gaze.
"I think we've got another one, Walter."
Even from a carlength away, there was something chilling
about the lone figure who stood by the side of the road. It
was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman, since the figure
was slight in stature. Mulder was sitting very still next to
Skinner but Skinner realized it was because he was excited.
He, on the other hand, was suddenly horrified by the casual
spirit in which they'd decided to embark on this adventure.
At the time it had seemed, in a bizarre way, to be just crazy
enough to be fun. Mulder had also become worked up enough
by the idea to not let it go.
Mostly though, Skinner hadn't for a moment, even in the
deepest of his misgivings, imagined they'd actually find
Mulder's ghost. Who the hell decided on a ghost-watch,
drove to the assigned spot and then, easy as pie, found
the damn thing? Only, of course, he had noticed, almost
in the back of his head, the rigorous research Mulder had
thrown himself into once Skinner had reluctantly agreed
to the trip. He had fallen asleep on more than one night
when Mulder had stayed up, frowning over old parchments
and maps and files. He should have known Mulder's instincts
rarely failed him. Now here they were.
One look at Mulder, who was oblivious to his scrutiny, was
enough to tell him he hadn't thought any of this through any
more than Skinner had. The difference was that Skinner
should have known better. Thinking ahead was what he did
best. Yet, as he drove up to the figure, he found his brain
unable to engage with him at all. Instead he felt the flesh on
his arms rear up angrily in protest as the temperature dropped
with dizzying rapidity.
More for the need to speak than anything, he said quietly as
the figure shambled over to their stationary car, "Mulder, do
you feel the change in the air?"
Mulder nodded and said animatedly, "Yeah! Remember, I
told you we'd know when we saw it! This is really it. How
amazing is this?"
Before Skinner really had a chance to say any more, the
figure was upon them. In the next instant, Mulder drew a
shaky, shocked breath.
"It's a kid," he said.
Rolling down his window, Skinner used up the only line he
had rehearsed.
"Need a lift?"
The boy looked to be about fourteen years old and
a half-starved, bedraggled fourteen at that.
Skinner had an insane desire to reach for the sandwiches
that Mulder had eschewed in favor of the candy but lost
the urge very quickly when the boy lifted his eyes to the two
men. It was all they could do not to recoil. His eyes were
dark pits, with nothing but a small spark in them
to save them from appearing sightless. His face was gray
and pinched with fatigue and when he moved towards them, both men
were conscious of an insidious sort of weariness invading
their bones. Without saying anything, the boy got into the car
and Skinner, not knowing what to do or say in the face of a
suddenly pale and shell shocked Mulder, steered them back
onto the road and just drove.
It was strange to look outside the car and see the bright
sunshine beating down on ordinary things, giving them
their shadows. They passed a set of power lines and
Skinner could see the birds perched on top of them,
cheeping raucously at the car as it passed by. Ordinary
things. Yet inside the car, the three of them sat listless
and dispirited, the air heavy and silent. Almost academically,
Skinner noted that they couldn't hear the birds. In the
backseat, their passenger sat silently, his eyes
turned downwards.
Each time Skinner looked into the rearview mirror he found
himself immeasurably grateful to see the boy's face wreathed
in shadow. He cared nothing for the fact that it was the
opposite side of the car that had thus far been in the shade.
He truthfully didn't give a fuck about the number
or measure of physical laws being broken as long as he
didn't have to look into the boy's eyes.
About twenty minutes down the highway, with their ghostly
charge still motionless, Skinner felt something change in the
atmosphere. Something new had made its way into the
car.
Mulder turned then, suddenly able to find words again, and
said with an urgency that brought the hairs up on
the back of Skinner's hands and neck, "Something bad's
going to happen."
"Jesus, Mulder!" he snapped, furious at this mess they were in.
"I thought you said it was going to be a benevolent experience.
What the fuck is this bad thing?"
Mulder shook his head. "No, no, not to us. Nothing's going
to happen to us. He's not going to hurt us."
"Something's going to happen to him?" Skinner asked, frowning,
trying to concentrate even as his eyes began their inexorable,
terrified slide to the rearview mirror.
"Don't ask me how I know, okay? I just know."
"You're not the only one," Skinner replied grimly and Mulder
turned to look in the backseat.
The boy had lifted his head and was staring through the
windshield. Then he slowly turned his eyes on the two men.
Instantly, Skinner knew what was different. Fear. The boy was
terrified.
What he said next made no sense to either of them.
"For god's sake, watch the road. Watch the road."
His voice was hoarse and despairing. They both looked
at the road, Skinner nearly slamming on the brakes just from
the resignation in the boy's warning. It stretched on, empty and
desolate for as far as the eye could see. There was
nothing there.
"Pull over," Mulder said desperately. "Pull over. Maybe
that'll help."
Some sixth sense told Skinner otherwise but he silently
pulled the car over by the side of the road and they both
got out. Without needing to talk about it, they got into the
backseat. Although terror still overwhelmed them all, making
the enclosed space claustrophobic with its stink, it wasn't
coming from the boy. Skinner saw the sickly frame shaking
uncontrollably and was no longer afraid of the apparition.
The boy was breathing in short, harsh gasps, his dark hair
plastered to his too pale face. Skinner touched him, gently,
trying to soothe him in some way and he whimpered
piteously.
Skinner, for his part, was startled to feel his fingers sink
into what he noted for the first time was an incongruously
heavy overcoat. It was more suited to winter than the summer
heat of the day. His hand sank through bone and wasted muscle
and came out the other side. It felt unpleasantly cold and strange
but didn't hurt. It didn't seem to help the boy either though, so he
removed his hand.
Mulder, of course, passed up touch for speech and kept
saying, over and over, "Tell us how to help you. We
want to help you. What can we do?"
It was to no avail. The boy started crying, small ugly
sounds of fear. They sat there, helpless, not knowing what
they were waiting for. Slowly but surely the feeling of dread
and horror deepened, becoming almost a tangible thing.
Skinner saw Mulder take a shallow breath, finding it
hard to breathe, and knew it wasn't just his own
imagination. The air was getting heavier and it had a
rotten smell to it.
He leant over the boy, who had fallen into some kind of
fugue state, crying and mumbling unintelligible
words, and said softly to Mulder, "I can smell it."
Mulder reached out and grasped Skinner's hand and it
wasn't until his warm, firm grip closed over his own, that
Skinner realized he was shaking. Suddenly the boy jerked
upright, his face straining to shape itself into an expression
so torturous that no mere muscle and tissue could support it.
He screamed, the sound ripped raw and bloody from his
throat, and cried out, "Watch the road. For god's sake,
watch the road."
In the next instant, they heard a sound so deafeningly loud
that they both ducked down behind the front seats, acting on instinct.
It seemed to go on forever but only ten or fifteen seconds
passed in reality. When it stopped, the soft, gurgling sounds
coming from the boy seemed just as loud in the eerie silence
that fell over them.
Skinner heard Mulder say faintly, "Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Walter."
The boy's clothes were splattered with mud. Big heavy clots
of rain-soaked mud. As impossibilities went, it paled in
comparison to the dark liquid bubbling out of him. It was
blood, the black kind, and it was coming out of
every visible orifice. His mouth, his nose, his ears; they
all seemed to be nothing more than conduits for it to find
its way out of him.
He was choking on it and Mulder said tersely to Skinner,
"Help me sit him up."
The boy made a high, keening sound when they put their
hands into him and it wasn't difficult to work out why. His
bones were smashed up. They could feel sharp shards
sticking out at odd angles and Skinner was sure Mulder
was as thankful as he was when they were able to release him.
They'd managed to sit him up a little but even without the blood,
both of them had seen death enough times to recognize it in the
boy's clouding eyes.
Mulder looked over the top of the pathetically small head
which was resting on his shoulder and said bleakly to
Skinner, "That was a car we heard. Going very fast."
"Yeah, it was," Skinner agreed, his skin crawling again in
earnest.
It didn't take very long after all. The boy tried to sit up,
turned his head a little on Mulder's shoulder; managed
to say some name they couldn't quite hear; and so died.
Even as they sat there, the body disappeared before their
eyes. Not exactly vanished but more as if it had never
been there at all. Like a trick played by tired eyes, at the
end of a long night. Sound and sensation came streaming
back in a nearly unbearable hodgepodge of light and noise.
Mulder stumbled out of the car first, Skinner a close second.
Mulder walked around the car to him and demanded,
"You all right?"
Skinner nodded and Mulder said curtly, "Get out
of the way then. I'm not."
He walked stiffly away from the car to a tree set a little
distance in from the road and leant one hand against it, his
head hanging down. Skinner could see him shudder from
where he was. In a minute, he was done, all efficiency and
practised ease. Skinner's heart twisted a little at that, even
as he tried to quell his anger at ending up in this situation.
He knew, logically, it was the both of them that got themselves
into this mess. He knew, also, that the best thing to do was to
just write it off as one of those big mistakes that everyone,
however grounded, however sane, made, from time to time.
Yet a fugitive voice reminded him traitorously that these things
only ever happened with Mulder. Being who he was, he couldn't
help but file it away for future reference, hating himself as he did it.
Mulder came back to the car, a little pale but walking more
easily. Skinner said as gently as he could, "Are you okay?"
Mulder looked at him then, his eyes dark with sorrow.
"We have to go back for him."
Skinner stared at him. "What do you mean - go back?"
Mulder said again, "We have to go back for him," neither
emphasizing nor softening his words.
Both knew, again without needing to discuss it, that the boy
would be waiting exactly where they had first found him.
Skinner's heart thudded with anger, visceral and tainted
with fear.
"We're not going back."
Mulder blinked at him once, twice, and then said tonelessly,
"Okay, I'll walk."
Without waiting to see Skinner's reaction, he started walking
back along the side of the road, the set of his shoulders
unnaturally straight.
It took Skinner five long, purposeful strides to reach Mulder
and a little bit more than that to hustle him back to the
car, his fingers pressing deep bruises into his arms. He
was using most of his strength to subdue him even though
it wasn't strictly necessary. It was clear that Mulder was too
distraught to really fight him off. Yet he took no chances,
dreading the consequences if Mulder got away from him in
his present frame of mind.
As it was, Mulder was struggling so hard that it was impossible
not to bruise him further and he was calling Skinner every kind
of name he could think of, in a voice that Skinner had to strain to
hear. He felt sick at the whole fiasco but every fibre in his
being strained towards getting the hell away from this place
they were floundering around in. The implications of Mulder's
plan bloomed behind his wide open eyes like poisonous
flowers, bright and hurtful, and it was all he could do not to
knock him out. It would have been far simpler. But it might
not be something they would survive.
Somehow he managed to get Mulder into the car and said
violently, "Don't move. Don't you fucking move, Mulder."
Shaking a little himself now, he went around to the
other side and got in, almost surprised to see Mulder had
done as he'd asked.
When he thought he could speak again, he said in a low
voice, "I'm going to drive now, to the house we organized
to stay at, down by the beach. I'm not going to start until
you promise me you're not going to act like an asshole."
Mulder said nothing, his chest still heaving in shallow
movements. Skinner turned to look at him then and
met the overbright eyes frankly. Mulder flushed under
his steady gaze, his face an unhappy tableau of
humiliation, frustration and something as close to hate
as Mulder had ever directed at him. Skinner looked
away first, wondering how they could be so alone
together, like this, on such an overpopulated planet.
Finally he heard Mulder say, "I'm not done with this
yet."
Skinner didn't look at him. "I asked you to
promise not to act like an asshole. We can talk about
whatever you like once we get to the damned house.
I don't want you trying anything crazy in the meantime.
That's all I care about right now."
Mulder laughed. "Here comes the big, bad AD," he
sneered. "You've always got that card to play, I
guess. Makes you feel good, doesn't it, Walter? Don't
worry, I'll behave. Drive on, driver, drive on!"
Skinner closed his eyes for one dismayed, heartsick
moment before turning the key in the ignition. The
drive to the beach house was mercifully silent, Mulder
putting his sunglasses on and Skinner keeping his
eyes on the road.
The front of the beach house was an invitingly shady
patio, sprawling out in a cheerful mix of brick-red floor,
some wicker chairs and an impossibly wide couch
with a panoramic view of the bay. Pleasant as
it all was, none of it was particularly on Skinner's
mind as they walked up the steps.
Mulder sat down in one of the chairs, his movements
sharp and angry. Skinner remained standing, an
iron-wrought railing at his back, watching Mulder gravely.
When Mulder finally spoke, it was plain he was making an
effort to control his voice. "What did you think you were
doing?"
"Stopping you from having to see that poor kid go through
his death over and over again."
"It's not your job to guard me!" Mulder said in a low, furious
voice. "I'm not a child and I don't need another parent,
believe it or not."
"Yes," Skinner replied evenly, trying to keep a check on his
own temper. "I know that. I also know you had no intention
of stopping to think about what you were going to do, Mulder.
Go on. Tell me that's not true, if you can."
Mulder glared at him for an instant before saying sullenly from
behind clenched teeth, "I can't tell you that."
Skinner said nothing, turning instead to look out at the fishing
boats, the late afternoon sun shimmering over the bay, giving it a
fragile, glassy look. Apart from a few kids shouting and
playing at the water's edge, there was no one to be seen,
the heat probably having driven everyone indoors. It was a
hopelessly tranquil scene. In a few minutes, Mulder got up
from the chair and joined him. They stood there together
silently for a while, looking out over the bay.
"It's an amazing view," he finally said.
"Glad you like it." Skinner smiled after a moment and said,
"I wasn't sure if it'd be too quiet for you."
"I'm sorry. You don't know how sorry I am."
Skinner said immediately, "How were you supposed to know?
You were just trying to have a little fun."
Mulder shrugged and said shortly, "It wasn't fun though,
was it?"
Skinner hesitated a moment before answering. He didn't yet
know how to deal with Mulder when he was like this.
Finally he said, "No, it wasn't. But you would have kept on
until you found something that satisfied you, Mulder?"
Mulder turned to Skinner at the half-question in his voice,
his eyes bright and hard. "You know me too well, Walter.
I'm my own worst enemy."
Skinner bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue,
saying instead, "You know I didn't mean it that way. Don't
be a jerk."
The ugly, mocking light died out of Mulder's eyes, at that.
He put out a hand and gripped Skinner just above the elbow,
squeezing his arm. "Sorry, I know you didn't mean
it like that. I don't know why I said that or anything else either,
really. I don't know why I did any of that stuff. I
must have been out of my mind to think I was going to do
anything good for...for him."
"You're not responsible for every truth you find," Skinner
replied, tiredly. "You don't need me to tell you that, Mulder.
You never have."
Mulder shook his head at that. "He was just a kid though,
you know? And he looked so tired."
"I know," Skinner said grimly.
"I didn't mean the things I said. Not really. Not like that."
"It's no fun, Mulder. I can't talk to you when you get like that.
What am I supposed to do? I'm not going to beat it out of you."
Mulder scuffed his shoe viciously against the solid hardwood
floor. "I won't do it again. I won't."
Skinner sat down on a step and nodded at the space next
to him. "I don't want you to die of convulsions or anything
when I tell you this but you will do something like it again.
And I'll probably handle it just as badly as I did then.
We'll do what we can. Come here and sit down."
Mulder sat down but said in mutinous tones, "You
didn't handle it badly. There was no way you could have talked
me out of it. I wasn't thinking about anything...sane, at all."
His voice shook a little at the last few words and Skinner
passed a very gentle hand over his wrist, careful to avoid
the bruises that were beginning to show up. Slipping his
hand into Mulder's, he brought the other man's hand up to
his mouth and spoke against it, choosing his words carefully.
"Let's not argue over it. If there's anything to be gained at
the expense of hurting you, I don't need it that bad."
They sat there on the steps for a few minutes more before
Mulder spoke again, following his thoughts out
loud. "It can't be as bad if he doesn't know that he's
repeating the journey each time, can it?"
Skinner curbed the impulse to reach out with his thumb and
smooth out the lines at the corners of Mulder's eyes,
knowing it would seem unthinkably patronizing.
"Yeah, the thought occurred to me." He looked away
from Mulder's suddenly attentive regard.
Whatever, it seemed to do something for Mulder. He didn't
know what but accepted it for what it was. They were still
too inexperienced at reading each other to know which
words gentled and which ones savaged. Learning to appreciate
Mulderian logic was a full time job in itself, he thought,
nearly smiling then in spite of everything, as he wondered
what in hell the picture looked like from Mulder's end. And
decided he didn't want to know.
As it was, Mulder was somewhat himself again, and at his
suggestion, they unpacked the car and brought inside what
few supplies they had decided were necessary for the
weekend's getaway. Neither man wanted to look around
or linger inside the beach house just yet, both made too
claustrophobic by the afternoon's events. By implicit
agreement, instead, they checked that the food they'd paid
for in advance had been delivered and put away in the
refrigerator. Then grabbing a couple of beers, they
went back outside again.
They didn't speak of the boy again and Skinner suspected
they wouldn't for some time to come. Maybe when they did,
it'd be the better for having been left so long. Right then, the
beer was the best part of a very
long day. Without too much talk between them, they spent
the next couple of hours in a lazy, comfortable tangle of legs
and arms on the couch which was both wide enough and soft
enough to accommodate them. They wore nothing but shorts,
their skin saved from sticking to each other by the shade of the
patio. Three beers each were enough, in the unrelenting heat, to
send them both into a languid siesta from which Mulder was the
first to wake.
So it was that Skinner, when he reluctantly struggled upwards
through molasses-like layers of sleep to open his eyes, found
Mulder to the left of him, already awake and staring pensively
at him.
Skinner smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Like being the
first one up for a change?"
Mulder said, his throat sounding a little rusty, "I'm glad
you're here," and moved a little lower so he could rest his
head comfortably on Skinner's chest.
After a moment of confusion, Skinner understood Mulder
and replied firmly, "I'm as real as you,
Mulder, and this - you and me - this is real too. Don't
doubt that."
He felt Mulder's soft hair moving across his skin as he
turned his head to place a kiss on Skinner's chest. Then
came a row of butterfly-light kisses along the underside
of his ribs, sweet and unhurried. Left to himself, Mulder
would no doubt go ahead and execute whatever grandly
erotic manoeuvres he had in mind. Skinner, on the other
hand, wanted to have a conversation, however inconvenient
it might be for his suddenly talkative groin. Moving his left
hand from the small of Mulder's back, he wrapped a
sizeable portion of Mulder's hair around his fist, loving the
silken way it slid away from him, and tugged gently.
Mulder stilled at once under him and looked up, concern
shadowing his gaze.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, fine," Skinner murmured. "But I want to talk. Come
back up here."
Mulder's concern turned to unconcealed disgust.
"Jesus, Walter. I'm about to volunteer for blowjob duty.
What, you got a solution for world peace? Because if not,
I have to tell you, I'm going to lose my will to give."
"Stop talking shit," Skinner said, secretly relieved
to hear Mulder sounding more like himself. "And
come here. It's important."
Mulder sighed and slid back up Skinner's body until
he came to rest in the crook of his shoulder.
"So?" he asked, the impatient query at odds with the
domesticated way in which his body fitted itself to
Skinner's.
"Relax a little," Skinner suggested, unmaking the fist
which governed Mulder's hair, giving it back its sovereignty.
"Tell me what the problem is and I will," Mulder retorted,
a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice.
"Mulder, for chrissakes. There's no problem." Skinner
exhaled, then swallowed back his irritation. "I just want
you to know there's nothing here for you to worry about.
Understand? If the weekends aren't perfect, then so be it.
If...if something happens, like today, I'll still be here at the
end of it, okay? If a fuck up happens that's too much for
one of us, then that's just the way the shit goes. None of this
depends on a blowjob, however fucking brilliant. Or you
never making another mistake. Got it?"
"Got it," Mulder muttered awkwardly. "Look, I think...I mean--"
He stopped then, losing his words, seeming to Skinner so
alive with distress as to be only mere seconds away
from sending up emergency flares.
Finally he said tensely, "Alright."
Skinner nodded and pulled Mulder up to him, sealing the
bargain with a warm kiss and breaking it off as Mulder began
to move against him. It drew a strangled protest from
Mulder.
Skinner grimaced and said regretfully, "I know, I know.
But we have to eat something. If I'm getting a headache,
you must be too. We've got lots of time, anyway, don't we?
It's only early Saturday evening and we don't have to be
back till Monday night?"
"Shit, Walter, the Marines was a while ago," Mulder muttered,
even as he swung himself off the couch. "Enough with this
rationing mentality, huh?"
He neatly stepped out of range of a lazy attempt to swat
his ass. "If you were a bit younger, you'd probably have better
reflexes. Now I think all you're good for is that lasagne we
saw in the fridge."
Skinner, not in the least bit ruffled, asked, "What will you
be doing? Making castles in the sand?"
Mulder's neck turned a startling shade of red and he said
hotly, "One time. One fucking time and I don't have to
remind you that there was a child involved, Walter. Your
fucking nephew, in fact."
Skinner was laughing in earnest by now and held up his
hands in mock-surrender. "All right. Okay. Shit, it's not
like I'm calling you a terrorist, for chrissakes."
Mulder was already stalking off and called over his shoulder,
"I'm going to have a shower and I'm going to use all the
water and both towels."
Grinning, Skinner followed him inside. Finding the lasagne,
he put it in the oven and after a few bemused minutes,
was satisfied he wasn't going to blow the place up. He
went back outside and leant against the patio railing, looking out.
Dark clouds, streaks of purple and orange threaded through them,
were steadily lining the horizon. He watched as the sun began to
sink, acquiescent, into the sea. Waiting for Mulder patiently,
as he always had, he felt a smile curling his lips, the most natural
thing in the world, when he heard him return.
Turning to look critically at him, he thought that the barefoot
and spiky-haired man standing before him, precariously
holding onto two bottles of beer by their necks, was a big
improvement on the one he'd been dealing with in the last
few hours. This Mulder gave him one of those crooked grins
that he had learnt to crave and pulled him in for a light kiss
on the mouth. Definitely an improvement.
Taking a long, icy cold swallow from the bottle Mulder
handed to him, Skinner nodded at the beach. "You feel
up to stretching your legs a little?"
Mulder looked up at the overcast sky. "We'll probably
get caught in a downpour but if you don't care, I don't either."
"We can always start a fire when we get back, if it gets too
miserable," Skinner said, adding laconically, "Who knows?
We might get lucky and find a love rug waiting in there for us
by the fireplace or something even worse. You saw all that
'70s decor."
Mulder grinned at that, saying, "Walter, can't you ever think
about something other than sex?"
"No," Skinner drawled, his eyes on the first fat raindrops
beginning to fall as they walked down towards the waterline
where the gulls were swooping and shrieking urgently at each
other. "I'm just in it for your ass, Mulder. Don't you know that
by now?"
He heard the clear, delighted laughter bubble out of Mulder
before it was torn away by an inopportune gust of wind and as
always, found it worth the wait.
END