This is a story I wrote shortly after I read the first X-files novel, Ground Zero. As I recall, it ended with a briefing that left Mulder alone in Skinner's office. Beyond that, even I don't remember the rest of what happened in the book.

Still Special Agent Fox Mulder defied the fates and remained seated for a moment longer. It was not an act of defiance or bravery, but one of exhaustion. Days full of long jet flights, hurricanes and supernatural thermonuclear forces had a tendency to take it out of a man. It took him a few moments to muster the energy to stand up.

He finally managed it, then started the long journey across Skinner's office to the door. His field notes were a heavy bulge in his pocket, proof, at least to him, that the fantastic events on Atoll Anika had indeed taken place and were not the stuff of his fevered dreams. Dreams, oh, damn, his dreams.

The idea of trying to sleep filled him with a real horror. He never really slept, his life one that insured nightmares that would put even the bravest of men off the idea. Instead, he grabbed a series of catnaps on the sofa in his living room with the drone of the television to keep a few of the lessor demons away. He doubted even that would blot out what he'd seen this time.

He'd type up his notes before he left for that lonely couch. Nothing but a delaying tactic and a token act of defiance. Skinner might not consider his observations of any merit, but they would at least become a part of one type of official record.

A part of him knew he wasn't being fair. Physical proof was god in the justice business, and all too often the cases Mulder and his partner, Dana Scully, investigated were devoid of all proof but their observations. And Scully always sought the rational, scientific causes for what she saw, so even her accounts did not back him up. Though he wanted no other partner nor did he miss the days when he worked alone, he sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a partner who agreed with him at least once a decade.

He smiled at that thought, but the simple motion seemed to drain the last of his reserves. So he found himself standing just in front of the door without the slightest idea of how he was going to open it. He studied the problem for a moment, but could not see a solution.

With a sigh, he leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest on the heavy wood. For a moment, he forgot which side of the door he'd found himself stranded on, but a deep voice soon reminded him. "Is there a problem, Agent Mulder?"

He could no more turn than he could escape to the hallway, so he spoke into the door. "Yes, sir. I can't open the door, sir."

It sounded absurd even to him, and he was the one who was too exhausted to move. Still the blistering remarks he expected did not assault him. Instead he heard the chair move back, followed by the surprisingly light steps of the big man.

Strong hands came to rest on his shoulders. "Are you ill?"

"No, just exhausted," he answered, that exhaustion making his voice hoarse and a full two octaves deeper than normal.

Mulder didn't know what to expect next. Another lecture, being thrown into a cab, or just a push out the door where he would no longer be the AD's problem, those and other notions occurred to him, but to his surprise, Skinner simply tightened his grip.

Mulder found himself being turned, then an order sounded in his ear. "Walk."

Mindlessly he obeyed even though Skinner seemed to be force marching him into a blank wall.

"Stop."

Again, he obeyed. A click of a switch, then the paneling slid aside to reveal a small room all but filled with a cot. A bed. Heaven and hell all wrapped up in one seemingly innocent piece of furniture.

Skinner pushed him forward, but Mulder jerked backwards, away from the bed, and coincidently up against his boss.

"Mulder, what the hell?" The AD demanded.

"I can't," he all but sobbed. "Too many nightmares. Please."

Mulder sank toward the floor. He fell asleep before his knees touched the carpet.

A drift in a sea of warmth, Mulder fought the impulse to wake up, but even an exhausted man could only sleep for so long. With a sigh of defeat and regret, he opened his eyes. He felt a bit disoriented after such a long, deep sleep, a sensation only worsened by the fact that he did not recognize the ceiling above him.

The warmth of the body pressed up against his back helped him remember. The broadness of the torso, the strength of the arms encircling him, the faint scent of a familiar cologne, they all led him to an incredible conclusion -- he was in bed with Walter Skinner.

Mulder, at least, was still fully dressed, and he guessed Skinner was in a similar state, so there was nothing sexual about this. Then why? He thought a moment and realized a few other things. He wasn't tired anymore. He'd slept away all of his exhaustion. And he could not remember a single nightmare.

No, that wasn't true. There had been one. The very nightmare he'd been terrified of had assaulted him during his long sleep. But the visions of nuclear holocaust sweeping over a small island, the screams of the long dead and the dying all seemed very far away, as if they'd swooped down upon him when he'd first closed his eyes.

It had to have been several hours ago, and from that he could guess what had happened. He'd passed out in Skinner's arms, and the AD must have put him to bed. Mulder didn't know quite what he had done when the nightmares came -- whimper, moan, cry, scream or any of several distressed sounds. Whatever it had been, it must have attracted Skinner's attention, then his big, tough, ex-Marine of a boss had crawled into bed with him and had held him like a frightened child.

For the first time since that horrible night when he was 12 years old and his sister, Samantha, had been kidnaped, Fox Mulder had felt safe. No one, not his parents or a small string of casual lovers had ever managed to make him feel like that, had kept the demons away.

Mulder's hand shifted, covering one of Skinner's. He felt the other man stiffen, proving he wasn't alone in being awake, but the comforting embrace was not withdrawn. In gratitude, Mulder's thumb caressed the hand beneath it. At that moment in time, Mulder couldn't imagine anything more horrible happening to him than losing Skinner's warmth. But he had to risk it. "Sir?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder?"

"Would it bother you if I fell in love with you?" The fact that he was a bisexual was a part of Mulder's file, and contrary to popular belief, such a notation did not end one's career in today's FBI. But it was far from a good idea to flaunt it, and making a pass at one's boss was even a dumber idea, but the embrace neither tightened nor loosened.

Skinner sighed, his breath warm against the back of Mulder's neck. "It would be easy enough to love you, Mulder."

His heart leapt in hope. Still... "I think I hear a 'but' coming."

"It can't change our working relationship."

Mulder was going to say 'of course, not,' then he realized what Skinner was saying. The way to the answers he sought, the answers he sometimes thought Skinner had, was not through the man's bed. Trust no one. The thought of applying that credo to Skinner saddened him, but the warm security enveloping him did not dim. And Mulder realized he was not on the verge of falling in love, that he had actually fallen long ago and just hadn't realized it.

He turned in the bed, careful to move slowly enough to keep the arms securely around him. Skinner had taken off his glasses before climbing into bed, and Mulder looked into a pair of dark hazel eyes. "Just don't lie to me," he said. "Tell me to shut up, to go away or that you won't tell me, anything you want, just please don't lie to me."

"All right. You have my word that I will never knowingly lie to you," Skinner answered, then kissed the tip of Mulder's nose. "Just you remember that I don't always know when I'm being lied to."

Mulder smiled. "Aggravating, isn't it?"

"Yes," Skinner agreed. "Almost as aggravating as you are." The words might have sounded harsh, but they ended with their first kiss. Tentative at first, almost shy, it grew stronger, then Mulder's lips parted at the push of Skinner's tongue.

He groaned as his mouth was filled, his hips pushing forward to press his hardness against his lover's. The bed was too small and their need too great to allow a graceful, slow removal of each other's clothing. Instead they pulled shirts open, pushed drown just far enough to bare sudden, intense erections.

They thrust together, and in and embarrassingly short time, they came, their seed intermingling as it splashed over their chests and groins. Momentarily satisfied, Mulder snuggled up against Skinner and tried not to purr.

Skinner held him for several minutes, but then the larger man shifted. "Mulder, Kim's due in any minute now. She'll check in here when she realizes my desk looks like I've been working all night."

"Hmm, she must have a few stories to tell."

"Very funny. The bed is for catching a fast nap during late hours, not for office conquests."

"Whatever you say, sir."

"You can call me Walter. I make it a point of being on a first name basis with anyone I sleep with."

"That's nice, Walter."

He heard Skinner sigh and had to smile. The man always had put up with a lot from him. In honor of that, Mulder decided to have mercy on him and said, "Let me guess, you want us to get up, go downstairs to the gym for a shower and get back to work."

"I think the FBI would appreciate it."

Mulder sat up, then began straightening his rumpled clothing. "The things I do for my country," he sighed.

Skinner went to work on his own suit, but before they stepped out of the small room, he caught hold of Mulder's hand and drew him back into his arms. "Be back here at six tonight."

Mulder glanced toward the bed. "Nap time?"

"Time to take you to dinner. Then I think you'll find the bed at my apartment more comfortable than this one."

Mulder gave him a kiss. "It's a date," he said, then left, a smile on his face and lightness in his step as he went to face another day at the office.

The End

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