A Taste of Life

Date: July 18th-20th, 1999
Author: Jvantheterrible

Rating: NC-17 - WARNING - SLASH. This is my first attempt at slash. The only
way I can do this is to kill off one of my favorite characters, so if you
would be offended by that, or the idea of graphic sexual relations between
two men (what two do you THINK?), then by all means...FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO
READ. Also - in my universe, saliva is Mother Nature's lubricant; I can say
no more. (As if I needed to.)

Spoilers: This would NEVER happen on the show. Totally my own sick little
idea. From Skinner's POV, while Mulder and Scully are still under AD Kersh;
I've twisted some of the events around from the timeline...we can do that,
you know. MAJOR ANGST ALERT, as well.

Disclaimer: These characters all belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and InFront
Productions, and Fox TV. No money is being made from this, I only borrow
these beautiful people to bend them to my every whim. No copyright
infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Yes, this is dark. I can't help it, I've been wanting to do
this for awhile, and I just haven't had the guts to do so until now. I know
that slash isn't up a lot of your alleys, but I also can't help the fact
that, due to extremely talented authors in slash such as Xanthe, Sergeeva,
and frogdoggie, I have found myself more than slightly turned on by the idea
of Skinner and Mulder hooking up. I haven't had many ideas for stories
lately, and I have to go with what is inspiring me at the time. This week, it
just happens to be slash. Feedback welcome at Rllnslvr@aol.com. You have been
warned, and I do not want to hear any bitching if you don't like this - keep
nasty comments to yourselves. I am not writing this for the masses
necessarily...I am doing it for me. This story is dedicated to Xanthe,
frogdoggie, and Sergeeva - thank you for giving us a whole new realm to
appreciate. Also, thanks to Red for posting this...it's not the norm on SIS,
I know, but it IS Skinnerotica....tee hee hee. Special thanks to Amokeh for
helping me work up the nerve to do this and beta-ing her little heart out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I killed Dana Katherine Scully. Not intentionally, mind you; hell, I've given
my life for hers on more than one occasion, and I would do it again if I
could. This time, there was no one to answer to; no one holding the cards,
except for me. No cigarette smoking son of a bitch to shout at, no double
agent holding my life in his hands. This time, it was all on me, and oh God
if only I could take it back. If only. My heart aches when I think of her
smile, her fiery red hair, her ice blue eyes gazing at me across my desk,
putting up with yet another reaming, courtesy of Agent Mulder's actions. I
can't believe she's gone. I suppose I did love her, in a way; I respected the
hell out of her, that's for sure. She was one hell of a woman - smart as a
whip, brilliant fucking investigator, doctor, agent...you name it, she was at
the top of every list. And beautiful, too. You'd have to be blind not to see
that, for God's sake. Christ, it seems like she's been gone for years
already, and it's only been a couple of days. I had asked her along on the
raid just to get her out of the office for a while; I knew that she and
Mulder couldn't stand being on the phones all day, and even though Kersh let
me take Scully, he still wouldn't let Mulder out of his grasp. That bastard
really has it in for Mulder - I'm sure it has everything to do with the
Consortium, and very little to do with Mulder himself. As if feeling guilty
about losing Mulder and Scully from the X-Files wasn't bad enough, as if
losing them from my command wasn't a punch in the gut already....I took
Scully out into the field and did the one thing that Fox William Mulder would
never have let happen. I got her killed. No flukemen, no killer bees, no
cults, no little green OR gray men. Just a day in the field, a day that
happened to be Dana Scully's last.

I stand here now, in the apartment that I refuse to leave, staring into the
mirror behind my wet bar at the shell of a man that I've become so quickly.
Only three days have passed, and I haven't slept but for fits of tossing and
turning that end with me bolting upright, drenched in sweat, screaming myself
awake with her name still on my lips. I shake my glass, ice against crystal,
wondering if I should fill it up again. Scotch and bourbon are my new
friends; they don't really kill the pain, just make it tolerable enough to
keep breathing. I won't go back to the office yet, and I haven't really
decided if I'm going to go back at all. Fuck the pension, fuck the paycheck,
fuck the 401-fucking-K all to hell. I don't believe that anything matters
anymore, and I'd be hard pressed to change my opinion on that subject. I
don't believe I'm trustworthy any longer; how could I be? It took me years to
get Mulder and Scully to trust me despite all the bureaucratic bullshit and
conspiracy theories. I finally got them to understand that I was on their
side, that I would always be their ally. How ironic that my final payback to
Fox Mulder, my final thank you for that trust that I worked so hard to
obtain, was to kill the one soul in this whole world that meant a damn thing
to him past his quest for 'the truth' - and in so doing, I'm sure I've killed
him, too. I wouldn't know, you see, because he threw me out of his apartment
that day, and I haven't heard from him since. As far as I know, I'm the only
other person that resembles a friend that Fox Mulder has in the FBI...or
should I say, I WAS the only other person. I have one hell of a shiner, which
looks really nice with the pouches that now reside under both eyes. I pour
myself another bourbon, a full glass, and head to my couch. I don't have the
energy to climb the stairs, to put myself to bed properly, and even if I
could, it's not like I can really sleep. No, instead of sleeping, I will do
what I have done for the past three days. I will sit here, staring at the
wall, and relive that day over in my head again, wondering if I could've done
something differently. It won't bring her back, I know that; people die every
day in this world. But people like Dana Scully are few and far between, and
if I stop thinking about her, about what happened, it's like letting her go
all over again. Oh God, I can't.....I don't want to let her go. Ah, here they
are.....tears....I've been waiting for them today. Crying into my goddamned
bourbon like a blubbering baby. I'll just close my eyes, and................

Three Days Earlier

I got the call into my office around 9:00 this morning; I'll be goddamned if
it didn't sound like Waco revisited. I had to get a team together, and even
though it wasn't originally my case, the Bureau wanted me to handle taking
the assholes down. It was a smaller compound, out in the middle of fucking
Nowheresville, Maryland. A nice easy wrapup, they told me, just assemble your
men and bring them in. Weapons were thought to be at a minimum as these were
religious nuts, and although they had guards on the roof of their building,
no one really assumed that they would be much trouble to an FBI assigned SWAT
team. Yeah, well, we all know what happens when we fucking assume, now, don't
we? I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door to the Deputy Director's
office, where I was briefed and handed the list of agents that would be
accompanying me. I scanned the names on the page, nodding in agreement. I
don't know why I did, but I asked if I could take Mulder and Scully with me.
Shit, they were my best two agents, after all, and I figured they could use
the break from fertilizer detail that Kersh had so thoughtfully assigned them
to. He told me to take it up with Kersh himself, that he didn't care what I
did, as long as I brought the perps in today. I agreed, my work cut out for
me, and headed to Kersh's office. He grumbled at me when I suggested that
Mulder and Scully assist me and told me that he couldn't spare two agents, I
would have to choose one. That was not a difficult choice....Mulder, who
would rail on and on about religious cults and the psychology involved in
hunting them down and assessing their danger to society, or Scully, who would
sit quietly, do her job when we got there, and probably sit quietly all the
way home. That decided, Alvin sent me on my way, and I stormed down to the
phone room to rescue Scully.

To say that she was surprised to see me would be an understatement. Actually,
both she and Mulder looked as though their eyeballs might pop out of their
respective skulls.

"To what do we owe this pleasure, sir?" Mulder asked, in his usual snide
tone. God help me, I wanted to smack the smirk right off of his face, but I
didn't have the time.

"Agent Scully, I've requested your assistance in an operation that I've been
assigned to. We will be leaving for Maryland immediately. AD Kersh has been
kind enough to lend you out to me for the day." I stood there and watched her
gather her things with my typical AD stance in action, hands on my hips,
exuding total authority - except, of course, where Fox Mulder was concerned.

"Sir, may I ask you why you aren't taking me along as well? I'm sure I
could...." I cut him off in mid-whine.

"Agent Mulder, AD Kersh only allowed me one agent today. He told me that you
were entirely too busy with your work, and he could only spare one of you.
Agent Scully will be back on duty with you tomorrow." There, that shut him
up, although it didn't dissuade him from making a face and giving me a
healthy, "Hmph" before going back to his calls. I could feel his gaze burning
into my back as I walked out behind Scully, and I didn't need to turn around
to know that he was already trying to figure out where we were headed. As
much of a pain in the ass as Mulder is, he's a fine agent, and it's a damn
waste to have him on the phone, tracking fertilizer purchases and doing
background checks on white collar crime wannabes. Unfortunately, that's not
my call anymore.

I briefed Agent Scully in the elevator, relaying the facts as I knew them,
and bringing her up to speed on what our plan of action was. It was fairly
simple, just approach the compound, bring the twenty or so members out as
quickly and painlessly as possible, and take them in. End of story. As I had
expected, it was a quiet two and a half hour drive. Scully is like me in that
she doesn't really need to chatter to feel comfortable; we just took in the
scenery as it flew by, and shared a mutual enjoyment of being out of the
office for the day. We were in my bureau car, and were going to be meeting up
with the rest of the team about a quarter mile from the compound where we
would rendezvous and transfer into armored transport. You can never be too
careful, I remember thinking to myself; as it turned out, we weren't careful
enough.

We reached the team gathering point around 1:00 that afternoon, and after
discovering that we were all quite well organized and on the same page as far
as operations, we climbed into the three armoured vans that would serve as
our taxis. The team consisted of myself, Scully, and about 25 other agents,
all of us clad in kevlar vests and FBI logo jackets. Guns drawn and ready for
action, we descended upon the compound, a small structure surrounded by a
fence with razor tipped barbed wire. It wasn't so much that these people were
committing crimes, well, aside from kidnapping, that is. It's just that
neighbors tend to get a little nervous when Ma and Pa Kettle decide to cordon
off their property with barbed wire and armed guards, and teenagers from the
surrounding area decide that it's really neat to stay over at the neighbor's
house...indefinitely. With all that in mind, the FBI decided to check into
things, and lo and behold, team evacuation became necessary.

There were only about half a dozen guards on the roof. It wasn't like the
situation was totally out of control; in fact, things were going along quite
nicely. I had my trusty bullhorn, and after informing the perps that we were
going to have to take them in, they got a little excited. The team had been
deployed, taking their positions around the fence. They were waiting for my
signal to go, meaning that they would begin taking the guards out in the less
fatal areas of their scrawny little bodies, and we would rush in and take
over the compound. Simple as that. After about an hour, it became apparent
that they weren't going to come out peacefully. I gave the signal, and all
hell broke loose. There was one thing that we hadn't quite counted on that
day; one thing that made the difference in who was going to live and who was
going to die. I never thought, in all of my training and experience, that
these fucking hicks would have access to major ammunition. It wasn't that
they necessarily had a lot of ammunition. It was the type that they had -
Kevlar piercing bullets. Fucking cop killers. When I raised my arm and closed
my fist and pulled it back down, I heard the shots. I was completely on
adrenalin, as was everyone else; guns were going off left and right, and we
dropped the guys on the roof pretty damn fast. It wasn't until several
moments later that I heard, 'agent down, agent down' over the walkie talkie,
and I ran behind the compound, where the guys were calling from. Two members
of the team were standing next to the agent on the ground; the rest of them
having gone inside to bring out the - thankfully - unarmed inhabitants. I ran
to where the guys were standing, my heart racing, beating in my throat; I
swear to God it felt like I was going to throw it up. I sent the other team
members in to assist their peers and took over the grim scene before me.

When I saw who was on the ground, I felt my legs go out from under me and I
dropped to my knees next to the gasping agent, her red hair making her face
seem even more deathly white. Dana Scully had been shot - not once, but twice
in the chest. I ripped her jacket open and pulled the mangled Kevlar vest
away from her body in one swift motion. There was so much blood - Jesus
Christ - I couldn't believe that she had that much blood in her little body,
but there she was. Her mouth was opening and closing but nothing was coming
out, and it seemed like I was yelling from really far away, like I wasn't
even attached to my body anymore. I was yelling to no one, yelling to Scully
to stay with me, even as I saw both of the holes in her chest, even as I
assessed that both of her lungs had been punctured, and she couldn't breathe
- oh my God she couldn't breathe. It was a horrid noise, some sort of wet
bubbling sound, but not really air, not really a breath. There was blood
trickling out of the corner of her mouth and I pressed my hands to her chest,
like that might stop the blood flow; like maybe divine intervention would
occur and she would be 'healed in the name of the Lord', I thought crazily.
But it didn't happen. She gasped and sputtered, just noises, and she looked
up at me with her eyes open so wide, so fucking wide, and she was trying to
tell me something. FUCK. She just kept bleeding on my hands, and I couldn't
stop it, I couldn't make her better. Not this time. No deal with any black
lunged bastard was going to fix this.

I kept yelling at her, telling her to stay with me, and she wasn't listening,
goddammit, I could tell she wasn't listening and I couldn't keep her
attention, her gaze kept going up to the sky, and she almost seemed to smile.
Panic. I was panicking. It was not my job to panic. It was my job to keep
control, to take care of my agents, and to do so with rock hard resolve.
However, there was nowhere in my job description where it said that I had to
keep it together if one of my favorite and most respected agents was dying
under my command, hell, under my fucking hands. Fuck that. I heard her
whisper, and I had to put my ear next to her mouth, and she spat some blood
on me as she tried to tell me something, and it was so quiet, oh God, it was
so fucking quiet, but I heard her.

"Love....Mulder......love......you.......love......mom," and then she was
quiet, and her chest wasn't moving anymore, and I was crying, I was sitting
there in the fucking grass next to the place that I had brought her, away
from the safety of her desk and her partner, the place where I had brought
her to die, and I cried. I heard the sirens from the police backup and the
ambulances, and I thought that perhaps if I attempted CPR, that she would
come back to me, so I tried it. I was still sniveling, but I did the chest
compressions and I pinched her nose, and when I tried to blow the air into
her it came out of the holes in her lungs. I fucking heard the air just
whoosh right back out of her as fast as I could blow it in, and then more
blood came up into her mouth and I stopped, not wanting to make any more of a
mess than I already had. Just like that, Dana Katherine Scully was gone.

I might as well have died with her, that's how I felt. I didn't even realize
that the rest of the team had finished rounding up the fucking assholes in
the compound, didn't know that our mission was completed successfully.
Successfully? That thought never entered my mind. It was a total loss as far
as I was concerned. Jesus Christ, I had no concept of what was going on. It
was as though I had contracted amnesia, I couldn't remember what was supposed
to be going on, what I was supposed to be doing. I was in charge? No, that
couldn't be right, because Scully was dead, and that would never happen if I
were in charge. I didn't speak to anyone. It was a good thing that the other
team members had their shit together, because my shit was well and truly
gone. They put me in one of the armored vans and left me there, shaking,
unable to speak, while they gave all the particulars of the bust and the
ensuing chaos to the local authorities. They also managed to arrange to have
Dana's body sent back to DC so we could have a proper burial arranged. I was
oblivious to what was going on, completely lost in a way I had never been
before in my life. I wanted to take Scully's place; I wanted to be the one in
the meat wagon, God Jesus Fucking Christ not her. Not Dana Scully.

One of the team members was kind enough to drive me back to DC and drop me
off at the JEH building, where the Deputy Director was waiting to speak with
me. It was almost 6:00 PM and most of the building was deserted. No one knew
about what had happened since most of the agents were from a different
branch. Nope, just good old Walter Skinner, leading the cavalry to certain
death. Yep, that's me. He told me that he was really sorry about Agent
Scully, and that if there was anything he could do, I should let him know. I
hadn't really recovered much yet, but I was able to tell him that I needed to
take a leave of absence, effective immediately, and I handed him my badge and
my gun, and left his office. He stood there with his mouth open, still
wanting to tell me what a great job I did under the circumstances, but I
never got to hear that part of his speech. I didn't give a shit. As far as I
was concerned, the whole thing was a bust, and I wanted nothing more to do
with it, no sir, nothing at all.

Now, I know you're thinking, "Walter, this is just SO unlike you. You are a
tough guy, a big tough guy, and you can take this, you really can. You
shouldn't be such a pussy, this is the really real world and these things
happen - it's just part of the job, no matter how awful it is." Well, fuck
you if you are thinking that. If you knew Dana Scully like I did, and you
also knew that you were going to have to go report the worst fucking news in
the entire universe to Fox Mulder, her partner and best friend, you'd be well
and truly fucked too. Excuse me, Agent Mulder, Death Patrol calling. Shit.

I had regained enough of my senses to drive myself to Fox Mulder's apartment.
I was surprised that he wasn't still at the office, but grateful as well,
because that was the last place that I would want to inform him of Dana
Scully's....fuck, I don't even want to say it. Okay, her death, I didn't want
to tell him that Scully was dead while he was at work. Hell, there isn't any
good place or time for that, but all the same, I was just glad that he was at
home. I took the elevator up, checking my reflection in the mirrored wall.
Haggard was a compliment by this time, my five o'clock shadow making me
appear even more distraught and sick than I already was. I was exhausted,
emotionally drained, and all I wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up and
have this all have been a dream. Life is just not that easy, and it was about
to get one hell of a lot harder for me in the next several minutes, I was
certain. As it turned out, I was right; Fox Mulder is never one to disappoint
and under the circumstances, he was totally justified.

I knocked on his door, trying to figure out just what the fuck I was going to
say. I took my glasses off and was rubbing my eyes when he opened the door,
and his jaw dropped open in surprise, "Sir, this is....unexpected. Come in,"
Mulder said, and I followed him through the door, shutting it behind me.

"Agent Mulder, I think that you should have a seat. I have something that I
need to tell you." There. That was easy, I thought. I crossed the living room
and stood, looking out his window onto the city below, my arms at my sides.
Gone was the AD stance of power, gone was my icy stare and the need to hide
my feelings. The wall had been broken, and so had I. I turned to face him,
and I could already see the concern growing on his face.

"Did you drop Scully off at home already, sir?" Mulder asked, "She usually
calls me after she gets home, and I haven't heard from her. Have you been
back long? How did the raid go?" He truly had no idea, the poor bastard, no
idea that anything was wrong. He had, however, found out what the trip was
all about. That's my Mulder, my nosy inquisitive little Fox. I almost busted
out laughing hysterically for the second time that day, but figured that
under the circumstances, all hysteria would be best saved until after I got
home.

"Mulder, I...." He cut me off again, goddammit, he was making this way too
difficult.

"Sir, are you feeling alright? You don't look so good," he said, offering me
a chair.

I held my hands up, declining his offer to sit, "Mulder, I mean it, I think
you should sit down. I have something to tell you. It's bad, Mulder. It's
very, very bad, Agent Mulder. Fox. Can I call you Fox?" Oh yeah, I was losing
it, and fast.

"No, sir, please don't call me Fox. And what is it, sir?" He looked like he
was going to cry already, and I didn't know anymore if I could tell him, my
God, I was losing my nerve. Who else was going to tell him, who else would he
want to hear the news from, if not from me?

"Agent Mulder, this afternoon, at around 2:30 PM, Agent Scully was gunned
down by religious zealots with armor piercing ammunition. She died, Agent
Mulder, they shot her and they killed her, and I tried to save her, I swear
to God I did, but I couldn't, she was bleeding and I told her to stay with
me, I did...." I continued to ramble on and on, unable to make myself stop.
Jesus Christ, this thing was going to be the death of me yet, that or the
trip to the padded room with my own personal straight-jacket.

"What did you just say?" Mulder said very quietly once I had finished, or
reached some semblence of finishing. "Sir, I'm sorry, I don't think I heard
you right, sir, could you.....uh....what....." he was obviously having some
trouble with the news, so I put it in more simple terms for him. He was
shaking his head, and it didn't look as though he really had any control over
his body anymore, he was shaking so badly, but his head was still moving in a
negatory fashion, as though that was going to stop what I had to say from
being true.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully died this afternoon. She sustained two gunshot
wounds to the chest, each piercing a lung, and she died. She died, she died,
she died, Mulder, Scully is dead." There. That should do it. I didn't even
realize that I was crying until I felt the moisture on my dry lips and licked
them, tasting salt. God, I was parched, but I hadn't thought of anything like
that. No food, no water. Nothing, except what I had to do, and now it was
done and I really wanted to go home.

Mulder stood in front of me and he was doing the same thing that Scully had
done that afternoon with her mouth, it was opening and closing but nothing
was coming out. He looked like a fish out of water and for some reason that
thought made me snap. I clamped my hands over my mouth, trying to keep the
hysterical sounds out, but they came out anyway - in a rush. I laughed and
screamed and sobbed into my hands, and Mulder just stood there, his mouth
opening and closing, looking like he was going into convulsions. He more or
less fell to the floor, landing directly on his ass, and several moments
later I managed to stop the strange howling that I was doing, remove my hands
from my mouth and squat down to see if he was alright. Mulder was most
definitely not alright. His face was ashen and he looked how I felt. He was
still shaking his head back and forth, and he reached out and grabbed my
shoulders, pulling me towards his face and whispered,
"what.....how......you......" and that's all he said, but he still clutched
my shoulders and I reached out and grabbed him, shook him, trying to bring
him back to me.

"Mulder, she's gone, Mulder. Come on, Mulder, stay with me, here." I kept
talking to him in a low voice - it was like he was momentarily out of his
body and all of a sudden he came back to me. With a fucking vengeance. He
shoved me violently away from him, knocking me backwards and then he jumped
on top of me, straddling me, effectively pinning me to the floor. He looked
at me then, straight in the eyes, and the man that was presently on top of me
bore no resemblance to the man that I had known for the past six years. His
face was a mask of rage and I was his target. Jesus Christ, like I needed
this now. I had no choice but to take it, and take it I did. Lying down, but
I took it.

"YOU KILLED HER, YOU SON OF A BITCH. I TRUSTED YOU, SKINNER, I FUCKING
TRUSTED YOU, AND YOU TOOK HER AWAY AND YOU KILLED HER! I TOLD HER NOT TO
TRUST YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD, YOU KILLED SCULLY!" I took it all, everything
he had to give, spitting in my face and all. He pounded on me with his fists,
and I took it. He punched me in the face, splitting my lip open, nearly
breaking my nose, giving me a black eye that rivaled what I would've gotten
in the boxing ring, and I took it. After what seemed like an eternity, he
tired and slumped down on top of me, resting his head on my now bruised and
sore chest, and he sobbed. I didn't know what else to do, so I wrapped my
arms around him and I held him. I lay there, on his living room floor
battered and bleeding from his grievous assault, and I held him in my arms,
trying to give him comfort when I was so far beyond it myself.

It's odd, you see, because for a while there I actually felt as though I was
back in control. I was lying there, with Mulder in my arms, comforting him,
and I was 'Walter the Rock' again. What else could I do? Was I supposed to
leave him there, to just deal with it all on his own? I couldn't. As much as
I wanted to, I just couldn't desert him like that. So I stayed there for what
seemed like hours (and had been), I stayed there and let Fox Mulder cry in my
arms. I cried with him for a long time, sharing in his harsh breathing and
sobs and then, after a while, I was completely drained and it was all I could
do to keep my arms around him. But I did, and he just didn't stop crying. It
was almost as though Mulder had lost everything; I imagine he felt that way -
I know I did. It ripped my fucking heart out to feel his chest hitching
against mine, to feel his breath coming in little hiccups, to feel his tears
soaking through my shirt. It also did something else to me. Something that I
was not ever going to admit to, and something that I had abso-fucking-lutely
no business feeling now, or ever, for the weeping agent in my arms. I closed
my eyes, and the next thing I knew, sleep had mercifully taken over. That
would be the only time in the last three days that I really slept, and
strangely enough, the only time I felt truly alive as well.

I woke up feeling like there was a concrete shelf on my chest, and when I
felt hair grazing my chin, I realized that I had spent the night on Mulder's
floor, and he was.....still.....in......my........arms. Fuck. Oh fuck. Scully
was dead, and I had spent the night with Mulder. It was really comforting to
know that all of the really fucked up things that were going on in my life
were all happening at once, and I would have a valid temporary insanity plea
ready and waiting. As I carefully tried to remove myself from Fox Mulder, he
stirred. His head popped up first, then he caught my eyes with his own and he
realized what had happened. He didn't move, though. He continued to gaze into
my eyes, and for a moment I swore he was going to smile, but he didn't. I
didn't know what the fuck was going on, but I really really really wanted to
go home now, the pinnacle of weirdness had just been reached, and I, Walter
Sergei Skinner, had had enough. Mulder finally pulled himself off of me, but
not before he ground his morning wood against mine. Mother Nature has never
been one to be merciful, and that morning was obviously no exception. Mulder
held my gaze as he lifted himself off of me, and I sat up, attempting to
straighten my more than slightly dissheveled clothing.

"Get out," Mulder growled, and went into his room, slamming his door. I
decided that it would be wise for me to do just that before he came out with
his gun and decided to make things even for Scully. I got down to my car,
snatched the parking ticket off of my windshield with a formidable growl, and
drove home. Strangely enough, on the forty-five minute drive home I found
myself caught between two different trains of thought. First, there was the
obvious - Scully. I was still so out of sorts over the whole situation, I
couldn't really accept what had happened. Secondly, there was Mulder. Why was
it that Mulder had slept in my arms all night? I mean, sure, he was upset and
needed comforting, and that was easy enough to figure out. But what about
that look when he had woken up? What was that all about? And why had it given
me a shiver....I shoved that thought down as I drove into my parking garage,
reducing it to a simple case of grief and comfort. It got easier to shove all
of my thoughts down once I got into my apartment and poured myself a drink. I
needed it so bad I could taste it in the elevator, before I even got in my
door. It didn't even occur to me that it was only seven in the morning. I
didn't have any concept of time at the moment, and didn't give a shit anyway.
I didn't have to go to work, I didn't have to make any calls, and I certainly
wasn't going anywhere. Cheers.

Now, I'm not an alcoholic by nature. Never have been, most likely never will
be. I usually don't medicate myself with drink, but this was a very special
situation. One of my two favorite agents was dead, while under my command no
less, and her partner, my other favorite agent, was a basket case. Yes, it
had been one hell of a day. And that was how it all went down three days ago.
And here I am, bourbon in hand, three days later, too ashamed to go to her
funeral, which is tomorrow. She's dead because of me. I don't know how I'd
face her mother, I mean, shit, she doesn't even know that Dana's last words
were 'love mom'. I can't do it, I've already ruined Mulder and myself over
this and undoubtedly Mrs. Scully, who has now lost both of her daughters to
the FBI's not-so-official business. I know, I'm a selfish bastard that I
wouldn't go and pay my respects, but shit; I watched her die, isn't that
enough? Doesn't that atone for something? Fuck, now I'm sitting here talking
to myself. I have no idea what's worse. Yes, I do. Being a selfish bastard is
worse. I drag my tired body upstairs and get my best black suit ready for
tomorrow.

Surprise surprise, couldn't sleep. I was doing something pretty close to it
when I woke up screaming for Scully and I've given up all hope of resting
myself for the service later this morning. I feel like my head weighs about a
thousand pounds as I climb the stairs to shower and shave off my newly grown
beard. Never have liked myself with facial hair all that much and neither has
anyone else. The hot shower did wonders for my hangover and my aching body,
no thanks to Fox Mulder for that one. As I stand over the sink shaving, the
phone rings and I nearly take off my lower lip - I wasn't even sure the damn
thing still worked. More shocking than that revelation is the one waiting on
the other end of the line when I finally find my voice and growl a curt
'hello'.

"Are you going to the service, sir?" Mulder asked in a voice more timid than
I think I've ever heard him speak in my life.

"Yes, Agent Mulder, I had planned on it. Is there a problem?" I'm staring at
myself in the mirror as I listen to him, wondering how long it's taken him to
get the nerve up to call me. Scratch that - I guess it's been about three
days.

"Um, no sir, no problem. I was just wondering if you'd mind if.....well....I
don't want to go alone." Dead silence after this last statement. Jesus Christ
- what in the hell am I supposed to do now? Well Walter, I think to myself as
I stare at my lather covered face pondering the question, drive the man to
the funeral. Hell you DID kill his partner, no matter how inadvertently.......

"I.....Agent Mulder......I'll be there in an hour." I hang up on him and
continue to stare at my reflection as I finish shaving. When I'm done, I
notice that I have lost several pounds - probably due to the fact that my
meals have been mostly liquid for the past few days - my face looks rather
sunken in. Add to that the still bruised eye, the pouches and puffiness, and
my wirerims to magnify it all. Absolutely fucking beautiful. I slam my fist
into the mirror - not one of the wisest moves I've ever made, but I do manage
to shatter my image into hundreds of pieces and I feel marginally better.
Wish I could say the same for my right hand; I cleaned the glass out of my
knuckles and bandaged it up, got myself dressed, and headed for Mulder's.

As I drive up, he's waiting for me in front of his building. No smile of
recognition or anything, he just gets in and shuts the door after he's
seated. We head for the cemetery, neither of us uttering a sound. I must say
that he looks rather handsome, all properly dressed and for once with an
ironed shirt. I put that thought out of my mind, wondering what in the hell
is going on with my brain lately; the only thing I can figure is that the
stress of the whole incident is causing me to look at Mulder differently now,
because he is all I have left of my star team. I feel protective of him and I
want nothing more than to take away his pain, which appears most evident
today than perhaps any other time I have ever seen him upset. This does
nothing to ease my nerves; in fact, I feel more uncomfortable than I ever
have in my life. Where is the Walter Skinner that I myself know so well from
rumor and innuendo, the rock solid AD that everyone feels can hold the world
on his shoulders? I think he may have died in that field three days ago,
right along with Dana Katherine Scully.

The funeral is beautiful - lots of flowers, music, and prayers. Of course the
FBI's higher ups are all in attendance, paying their so-called respects, half
of them to an agent that they were not fortunate enough to know personally.
Still, there is FBI protocol to be followed and when an agent goes down,
especially one with a record as exemplary as Agent Scully's, they all take
notice. Bastards. Mrs. Scully comes up to me and gives me a hug, assuring me
that she doesn't blame me for her daughter's death, comforting me when I
should have be the one doing that for her. I tell her that Dana's last words
were 'love mom', and she bites her lower lip. She must see it on my face;
Jesus Christ, I don't know how anyone could think that I don't blame myself.
She also hugs Mulder, and they share tears for several moments before Bill
Scully steers her away from us, finally content that the FBI is disassociated
at last from his family - what's left of it.

I look to Mulder, and he looks at me, and we just nod at one another in
silent agreement that we are ready to leave this place. We get in my car and
just sit there, watching FBI big-wigs and friends and family of Dana Scully's
wander by. I have no idea what to say to Fox Mulder and yes, there is a first
time for everything - it's a huge first for me. I take my wirerims off and
close my eyes, rubbing my face with my hands, waiting for him to say
something, ANYthing at all. Finally he rewards me, after what seems like a
fucking eternity; I nearly jump when he speaks.

"Sir?" His voice is choked with emotion, and I'm not sure that I can even
look at him. I decide that it would only be polite to grace him with a
response, so I turn to him. It breaks my fucking heart to see the look on his
face. He is devastated. Completely.

"Agent Mulder?" I waited. It takes him several moments to gather his
thoughts, and I can't say that I blame him for that.

"Skinner, I really......I don't.......I mean......I don't want to go home
just yet." He looks down at his hands, and I have to bite my tongue to keep
my tears in check. I had actually done really well with the whole emotion
thing during the service. I kept my face as stony as I could, never mind the
fact that I was biting my tongue so hard that I tasted the blood for most of
the time I stood there.

"Where do you want to go, Mulder?" I ask him because I don't really know what
he's getting at - does he want to go get drunk? I am totally up for that - OH
yeah.

"I don't really give a shit, sir. I just don't want to go home." He looks
over at me again, and I just stare at him. I think I might have scared him,
because he starts to say something else but I cut him off.

"I have a fully stocked bar at my place." There, I said it. No rinky-dink
bars playing shitty music that will only make us feel worse. I figure that my
place will be best; we can drink for the rest of the fucking day and not have
to worry about anything. Did I actually just invite Agent Fox Mulder over to
my house? Shit. I did.

"That would be.....fine...sir." He looks back out the window, back towards
where Scully's service had been. I put my glasses back on and start the car.
His gaze never leaves Scully's direction as we drive out of the cemetery
gates. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, tears silently rolling down
his cheeks. My own tears start shortly thereafter and last pretty much until
we get to Crystal City. I let them fall for a change.

I find myself at somewhat of a loss once we get back to my apartment; I'm not
used to having company. Hell, the few times Mulder HAS stopped by, it's
always been out of distrust or needing something. He may need me now, but I
need him just as much. I can't believe I am admitting this, but it's fucking
true. I am tired of being alone and with everything that has happened, I need
a friend. I need Mulder. I think he needs me, too. Jesus Christ, I sound like
a complete sap. So be it. I ask him if I can fix him a drink; he is sitting
on my sofa looking more lost than ever, poor bastard. He just nods, so I fix
him a bourbon - no ice. Me too. I walk over and hand it to him; he takes it,
downing it in one gulp. I look at him, and then do the same; one gulp. I take
his glass and fix us both another. This time, I add the ice; it's going to be
a long afternoon and there's no need to be in any hurry.

It seems like hours have passed before either of us speaks. Mulder breaks the
silence, "I really loved her, Skinner. I really really loved that woman." Oh
God, here we go.

"Agent Mulder, I understand, but......." but what? Where am I going to go
with that? Jesus Christ, he's looking at me now, wondering what in the hell I
was going to say and I don't even know myself. God, if only I could
just.......what am I thinking? I want to put my arms around him and make him
feel all better? Yeah, Walter, that's a fine idea. Jesus.

"Sir?" He's sitting at the opposite end of the sofa from me, just looking at
me with that wide-eyed innocence that only he can pull off. Shit.

"Nothing, Agent Mulder. Forget it." There. That should stop him from cocking
his head at me.

"Sir, I....the other night.....um......" oh God, here it comes. Don't let him
say anything about it. Please let him forget his train of thought...maybe if
I pour him another drink really quickly he'll stop. Now, before it gets any
worse. I get up, and he stops me dead in my tracks with his next question.

"I'm sorry, sir, but.........I need a hug. I know it sounds childish, and
really quite unlike me, but I really.....need......a friend. I need you, sir.
Please." Oh God, he's crying again. I don't know what to do. Yes, I do. I put
my glass on the coffee table and I go and sit next to him on the sofa. I put
an arm around his shoulder and he leans against me and sobs like a child who
has just fallen off his bike. I don't know how much more I can take, without
giving into the emotion myself. I try to maintain the stoic AD attitude. I am
doing just fine until he begins to sob his words; words that I cannot ignore
any more than if I spoke them myself.

"God, Skinner, I just don't fucking understand. Why? Why....Scully...." his
breath is hitching, and I pull him closer to me, trying to absorb his grief.
I want to take it all on, and oh God, if only I could. I share his loss, but
I can't share the magnitude of their relationship. They were closer than any
two people could ever be, and not even in a sexual way; at least I don't
think so. Jesus, what does THAT have to do with anything? Walter, you need
help.

"Mulder, please," is all I can manage, and he pulls back from me and looks at
me, his hazel eyes so dark and foreboding.....God, I'm lost looking into them
already...what am I thinking? His bottom lip is quivering......oh Jesus....I
just want to touch his face...touch that lip and make it stop pouting.....I
reach for his face, and he closes his eyes in anticipation. I cup his face in
my hand, and........my thumb finds its way delicately to his lower lip and
holds it in place. He sighs, a deep shuddering sigh and I forget everything
that I am..........I want to comfort him, to give him back just a little of
what I've inadvertently taken from him........... he uses his lips and teeth
to draw my thumb into his mouth and runs his tongue gently around and around
my calloused flesh.

For several moments, I am entirely lost. His mouth around my thumb is an
immediate pathway to my cock for some reason; my trousers become
progressively tighter, and I wonder if I have well and truly lost my mind.
Walter, this is a fucking federal agent...one that you have respected and
tried to mold into your form for the past six years.......God........I'm
realizing....I really DO want to mold him to my form.......NO.....that can't
be right. But it is and I know it; deep down I know it and I haven't felt it
in over 20 years, not since 'Nam, but now.....FUCK...............

He removes his lips from my thumb and looks at me, that lost look replaced
with something that I can only assume is desire, judging from his half-open
eyes and not-so-pouty (anymore) mouth. He is licking his lips and I am
squirming in my seat, trying to figure out exactly what it is that he wants
from me. I know what it is and I can't believe that he is feeling it too. I
didn't realize that there was any way on earth it could ever happen again,
especially not now - not with him - not after all these years and especially
not after all that has happened these past few days. Goddammit, leave it to
Fox William Mulder.

I don't say anything to him, merely look at him, wondering what his next move
will be and hoping that it will be exactly what I am dreaming that it will
be. It is. He leans toward me, his full lips protruding just slightly, and I
know that my life is going to take a massive turn; I'm still not certain in
which direction, and at this moment, I could decidedly care less. Our lips
meet, and it is instant fire. Sweltering heat, melting me to my very core,
and I can sense it is the same for him. Our limbs are suddenly intertwined,
tangled more hopelessly than the most wicked brambles in all the rose gardens
of Hell - or Heaven, I'm just not sure which, and I don't care anymore.

I can feel his tongue battling with my lips, and I succumb to his relentless
pursuit after many minutes of warring, giving him the prize that he so
deservedly seeks. My cock is begging for contact with him, and I put that
thought on hold briefly as I try to concentrate on just his lips and mouth
and tongue....giving back everything that he is trying to take from me with a
vengeance, meeting him stroke for stroke. It is delicious, and I can no
longer deny that this is what I need...what I want.....now and forever, as
though that were possible. Perhaps it is.........I no longer know, nor do I
care. I only know and desire Fox Mulder, and he is what I intend to have -
even if it is only for this moment. I will take everything he has and more,
and I will return it with everything that is left in my ragged, tired soul.

His arms wrap around my neck and pull me closer; he is desperate for contact
and feeling just as I am. We are lost in the vortex of death and we both
desire to be rescued, perhaps we will be able to save one another from its
inevitable grasp, even if only for this coupling. I take his tongue deep into
my mouth and show him that I am not afraid of him and I am not about to shy
away from the idea of becoming closer. I press him into my white leather sofa
as my body covers his and I can feel him moan his surrender into my mouth,
physically as well as spiritually. He is mine, and I am his. I want nothing
more at this moment than all of him, and he has no choice but to give himself
to me. This is what we both want, both need. I grind my erection into his,
reveling in the feel of hardness against hardness, life against life. It
is.......liberating.

He thrusts his hips up into mine and I groan into his mouth. I remove my lips
from his and kiss his throat as my cock grinds against his - we both silently
agree that the material between us is an unwanted barrier. I reach down and
undo my fly, releasing my prick from its unintended prison. I gasp against
him as I feel his hands doing the same, freeing himself at almost the same
time. Suddenly, I feel hot flesh against hot flesh, and we moan each other's
names; names that before now, we would never dare to speak aloud.
"Walterrrrrr....." he gasps, as I am still lost in the utterance of,
"Foxxxxxxx............."

We twitch in mutual appreciation, then realize that it is quite necessary for
us both to divest ourselves of the rest of our clothing.....as well as our
inhibitions. I stand quickly and fervently remove my clothing, watching him
predatorily as he removes his own. After we are both naked, he opens his arms
to me and I once again crush him into my sofa. This time, however, we are hot
skin against hot skin and it is almost too much for us both to bear. He wraps
his legs around mine and I feel his cock pressing against my own, begging for
sweet release. We thrust into one another, cock against cock, and it is
almost painfully apparent that one of us must take the road to dominance. It
is my place, as it has been in all other aspects of our until now
professional relationship. He knows this as well as I do, perhaps better, and
waits for me to assert myself. Under the circumstances, it takes me little
time to realize what I must do; it is the same position that has always been
expected of me, and I hardly intend to disappoint the beautiful man writhing
almost desperately beneath me now.

He removes his legs from around me and I waste no time in sticking my index
and middle fingers into my mouth, wetting them as he gasps beneath me. He
senses what is coming and closes his eyes in anticipation. I probe the cleft
of his ass with my fingers and then plunge them inside him. He gasps at the
penetration, pain and pleasure crossing his face all at once. I enjoy the
helpless state that he appears to be in and it arouses me even further, my
cock straining against his washboard stomach, aching for release.

He hisses a prolonged "yessssss" at me as I thrust my fingers in and out of
him, gently at first, then more quickly as my desire increases. Hearing his
voice only spurs me on, and his legs thrum with increased lust....I can't
hold back much longer now. My sole mission is to prepare him for my throbbing
cock, hoping that I can ready him before I shoot all over us both.

"Christ, Mulderrrrrr....." I growl. He pulls away from my hand and arranges
himself in front of my dick, his lips reaching for me even as I am still
trying to convince myself that all of this is really happening. He encircles
me with his sensual mouth, and I groan his name again, this time
unintelligible to even my own ears. All I can feel is his tongue on my cock,
circling and licking, caressing and silently begging, and once again I am
deliciously lost in his touch. I wait for my senses to come back to me, and
when they do, I am harder than I can ever remember being in my life. My
pre-cum is dripping down my pulsating erection and I know that if I wait much
longer, I will waste my load all over his stomach. I don't want that....I
want to share this moment completely and totally with him. He deserves this,
goddammit, and so do I. We both deserve to feel alive; I think it's been
longer than just these three days since either of us have felt that way.
Alive. Jesus Christ, I feel it now. I want him to feel it too.

I push Mulder off of me and back down into the sofa and he looks up at me,
lost and found all at once, begging silently to feel my touch. I lever myself
up on one arm and raise three fingers to my mouth, but change my mind and
offer them to him instead. Without hesitation he starts to lick them, tasting
the combined salt of our bodies. He sucks them completely into his mouth,
coating them liberally with his own saliva to ease their entry into his eager
body. Once properly lubed, he gives them a final flick with his tongue and
looks up into my eyes. I see tears glistening in his eyes and his body
undulates against me as my fingers invade him once again. He shudders before
submitting completely to my touch, allowing the tight muscles in his ass to
relax and accept me fully. I am so hard that it hurts and I can wait no
longer. As if he is reading my mind, Mulder leans forward and silently begs
me to withdraw my fingers. We are beyond words now, and I'm glad....I
wouldn't know what to say if I had the chance. He squirms like a snake
beneath me, moves down and engulfs me with his lips again. I cry his name
aloud, and I'm not sure if he has even heard me. It doesn't matter...he is
lubricating me and when he finally releases my cock I know that we're ready.
Oh my God what are we doing....I don't care...it's what I want, what I
need...what we both need right now - right this minute. The time for
wondering is over.

I gasp to him,"are you sure...." and he replies,"yes.....God, now......." and
that is all I need. He moves back up so that he is under me once again,
drapes his legs over my shoulders, and I drive into him fully, his own saliva
acting as our lubricant. He cries out as I enter him, then bucks back against
me as I press into him. My balls rest against his ass, and he cries out my
name, "Walterrrrrr...." as I pull slowly out and push back into him once
again. I stay inside of him, buried to the hilt, enjoying the feel of his
tightness around my cock. We both moan in unison then, our names becoming
lost in the lust and thrusts that our bodies demand of us. I lean down as
far as I can and manage to kiss him....we begin the war of our tongues once
again as my cock slides in and out of him, him panting beneath me, me
practically sobbing at the feel of being inside of him. His muscles fight
against me, but it only spurs me on. We kiss as I thrust in and out, and he
cries out, his cock straining for relief of its own. I realize this and wrap
my hand around his dick, even while I thrust into him and kiss him, claiming
him with my tongue and my fist and my cock simultaneously. I grasp his
erection and thrust my hand up and down, up and down his shaft as I thrust in
and out of his ass.

He cries out, giving in to his ecstasy as he finally spurts up and over my
grip, his semen coming to settle on my hand, his stomach and both of our
chests, even as I continue to pump mercilessly in and out of him, driving
myself to climax. I feel myself explode into him, and I loudly grunt
something that resembles his name. As I twitch and deflate inside of him, we
kiss; he quivers at my touch, his spent cock finally going limp in my hand.
He manages to remove his legs from my shoulders, stretching them out beneath
me as I relax myself and rest heavily on top of him, essentially burying him
in my soft (and now damp) sofa. He doesn't seem to care; his breathing is
still very fast, and his eyes are closed. I wonder if it's because he doesn't
want to look at me, doesn't want to face what has just happened. Christ,
Walter, can we give the fucking uncertainty a little bit of a reprieve now? I
rest my head in the crook of his neck and wait for his breathing, as well as
my own, to even out.

Some moments later, I feel his arms wrap around me. We are naked on my couch,
bathed in one another's sweat and fluids, and Fox Mulder has his arms around
me. I suppose that should answer my question, but it doesn't. I lift my head
and look at his face; his breath is coming deep and slow now - goddammit,
he's asleep! Fucking figures. He looks like some sort of fallen angel, I
think. Innocent and guilty, stressed but relaxed all at the same time. I
shake my head and smile slightly, removing myself gently from his light
grasp. I grab my trenchcoat and cover him up with it so he doesn't freeze
while he dozes. Mulder rolls over onto his side and I don't have the heart to
wake him; hell, if I DID wake him, what would I say? I don't know. It's
easier for now to just let him rest. He needs it. So do I. I go upstairs and
take a quick shower, then climb into my bed. I lay there for a while thinking
about my life, about all of the things that have happened in the past several
days. I have no idea what will happen, but I don't feel quite so grim, quite
so.........dead. I feel alive, and I like the feeling. I am exhausted from
everything.......the grief, the anger, the fucking guilt......oh, I suppose
the sex had a bit to do with it, too.......and I think I fall asleep with a
slight smile playing across my lips, despite the dark cloud that still hangs
over my head.

At some point during the night, I hear a sound in my room. The shower runs
for a couple of minutes, and then shuts off. The covers are pulled back for a
moment, and he climbs into bed beside me, replacing the sheets and comforter
over both of us. He moves close to me, his warm naked back against mine, and
I hear him sigh deeply. I know how he feels, and I wonder if either of us
will ever be able to talk about it. We have a lot to talk about, Fox Mulder
and I. For now, though, I roll over and spoon up against him, wrap my arms
around him and pull him closer to me. We fit together nicely - in many ways.
I dream that he's still here in the morning...........



End Part One