Author: Jvantheterrible
Date: September 10th - 12th, 2000
Rating: NC-17, of course...recuperation
or NOT. LMAO.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is
intended...I’m just using these characters until I can dream up my own to write
my first bestseller. No money is being made - unlike Mr. Carter and Co.
Author’s Notes: I am so sorry that I haven’t
written anything in so damned long. RL being what it is (and writer’s block), I
woke up this morning with a spring in my step and a million and one ideas. So,
perhaps this is the beginning of a whole new slew of stories. I certainly hope
so. At the very least, to make it up to all of you, this is a loooooong
chapter. Thanks for surfing here. Eternal kudos to amokeh, who recently came to
the desert to visit me for several days. Thanks, babe. I love you ALWAYS!
Feedback: Welcome to Rllnslvr@aol.com
*************************************************
Mulder gets us both home safe and sound, but I don’t think
he’s really over the entire ordeal yet. I can see him as he glances nervously
around the parking garage, looking for some unseen predators, certain that we
are being followed by someone who wants to hurt one or both of us. He tells me
to stay put, and continues scoping out the premises as he opens my car door and
offers me his hand to help me up and out of the car. I wave him off and groan a
bit as I pull myself up, insisting on doing it myself. His gaze leaves me and
returns to scrutinizing the garage, scanning for any sign of intruders.
“Are you alright, Fox,” I ask him, wincing a bit when he
jumps at the mere sound of my voice.
“Sure, Walt, I’m fine. Just...happy to be home. Aren’t
you?” He asks, his gaze still not meeting mine. He glances cautiously around as
he goes back to his side of the car and reaches in for the plastic bag that has
my bloodied clothes in it from a week and a half ago. He holds it away from his
body as he heads silently for the dumpster and tosses it in. I watch as he
heads back towards me, refusing to meet my eyes with his insistence on making
sure that we haven’t been followed.
“Are you sure everything’s alright, Mulder,” I ask him,
hoping that he’ll just confess his paranoia - put it out on the table so we can
talk about it and let it go - but he doesn’t.
“Yes, Walter, I’m SURE,” he says, a slight hint of
annoyance in his tone as he sidles up beside me and puts his arm around my
waist, steering me towards the elevator. All of his worrying aside, I have to
admit that it does feel damned nice to have his arm around me...now, if he’d
just LOOK at me instead of playing watchdog. I sigh aloud and shake it off,
content just to be out of the hospital and back where I belong; where WE
belong. Home.
*************************************************
As Fox unlocks the front door, I continue to ignore his
“Secret Service” behavior; he’s acting like I’m the President and he’s my
“Number One Guy” - which he is, of course. But I’m no goddamned leader of the
free world, and I just want to spend the next couple of weeks gazing into my
lover’s gorgeous hazel eyes, hold him in my arms, murmur words of love and
adoration into his ear until I can get all of my energy back, and have him wait
on me hand and foot. Is that so much to ask? Judging from his panicked
deer-in-the-headlights look, I’d say yes, that is too much to ask at this
juncture. Perhaps a nap would relax both of us; I’m absolutely beat from the ride
home, and lying down sounds like sheer heaven to me.
“Fox, I’m a bit winded. Would you mind terribly if I took
a nap for a little while?” His face is instantly zeroed in on mine, his eyes
full of concern for me, and I can see that he is visibly worried.
“Do you feel okay, Walt? Maybe they released you too
soon...I mean, maybe you should have stayed a couple more days until they’re
sure that you’re back up to par, you know? Doctors don’t know EVERYTHING, you
know, and you -” I cut him off in mid-rant.
“Mulder, I’m FINE, I promise. I’m just tired, that’s all.
Honest. The doctors told me that I would probably be exhausted when I got home,
remember? They said I needed a lot of rest. Having a knife inserted anywhere
into your body tends to take some time getting over, Fox,” I remind him, and
his gaze drops to the floor. Christ, now I’ve made him feel guilty. ALL I WANT
TO DO IS TAKE A GODDAMNED NAP! I want to yell at him, but I head for the stairs
instead, and he’s instantly at my side to help me up to the bedroom, his right
arm firmly wrapped around my lower back as he practically carries me up the
short flight of steps.
“Thanks, babe,” I tell him when we reach the landing,
planting a soft kiss on the side of his head that earns me one of his beautiful
smiles and eases my worry considerably. It’s only because he cares, I tell
myself, walking slowly to the bed and sitting down gingerly on the black
patterned comforter, relieved beyond words to be in my own bed for a change.
“AAAAhhhhhh,” I exclaim, getting a short laugh out of Fox in the process, “No
more Craftmatic Adjustable Bed (TM) with rails for me,” I smile up at him as he
crosses the room and joins me on the bed, sitting down next to me and taking my
hands in his. He brings my fingers up to his lips and kisses them tenderly,
finally giving me his complete attention.
“Welcome home, Walter,” he tells me softly, and I lean
into him slightly, resting my head on his shoulder, nuzzling against him as
best as I can without exacerbating the ache in my abdomen.
“It’s good to be back, Fox. It’s good to be able to be
close to you again without having to worry about a nurse walking in on us. Do
you want to lie down with me, babe? You look a little peaked yourself, you
know,” I tell him, and he nods at me and stands up to pull his shirt off, which
he tosses unceremoniously onto the floor.
“I see I’m going to have to retrain you completely,” I
husk at him, and he snorts at me as he unzips his jeans and pulls them down to
his knees, then drops back down on the bed next to me to push them the rest of
the way off. Clad only in boxers, he looks over at me and smiles sheepishly -
he doesn’t think I can actually perform at the moment, does he?
He reaches for my shirt, attempting to assist me in
undressing, but I catch his hands in mid-pull and shake my head at him. “Fox, I
can’t...I mean, I want to, believe me, but...” his smile fades and he drops his
hands into his lap and hangs his head, looking for all the world like a child
that has just been reprimanded for reaching into the cookie jar.
“I know, Walter, I know THAT,” he says quietly, “I just
wanted to help you, that’s all. I’m...I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to think...”
his voice fades away and he gets up and walks into the bathroom, closing the
door behind him.
“CHRIST,” I snarl under my breath, tired and now cranky. I
tenderly lift my shirt up and attempt to pull it over my head, but the motion
pulls at the stitches in my middle and I actually allow a slight howl to
escape. The bathroom door flies open and Mulder is at my side, checking me for
damage.
“Walter, what is it,” he asks breathlessly, his eyes
nearly black with worry as they rove over my body, his hands flailing around me
as they check me for further injury, “I shouldn’t have left you, I’m sorry,” he
gasps, “Let me help you with your shirt.” I don’t say one word as he helps me
lean forward slowly, and pulls the shirt off just like the nurse showed him to
do. Until the stitches come out, I’m going to be very tender, and my full range
of motion isn’t expected to return for a few weeks yet; I knew better, but I
still wanted to do it myself. Damn. All I’ve succeeded in doing is worrying
Fox; like he needs to worry MORE.
“Thank you, Mulder,” I murmur as he helps me back to an
upright position, depositing my shirt on the floor next to his own before
coming back to help me out of my jeans. I let him help me until I’m just in my
briefs, and then he helps me up so he can pull the covers back on the bed. He
refuses to look at the dressing covering the front of me, instead choosing to
gaze at my face or some other interesting point on the wall across the room. He
manages to help me back into bed, and I release a huge sigh of relief as I lie
down, my head hitting the familiar firm pillows that adorn my bed. OUR bed, I
think with a slight smile as I close my eyes, sleep threatening to claim me
faster than I realized.
Mulder walks around the bed and gets in on his side,
pulling the covers up and over both of us, and I turn my head so I can watch
him as he tries to get comfortable, unable to do so without some form of
contact with my body. It has always been that way; since Fox and I have been
together, the only way he is truly comfortable - and myself too, if I’m honest
- is if he’s nuzzling against me in some way, shape, or form.
“Come here,” I tell him softly, laying my right arm out
across the pillows, inviting him to snuggle up to me, which he does -
carefully, so as not to hurt me. He turns over so that he is face down, then
positions his head so he is gazing at me from my shoulder. He gently takes his
right arm and places it across my chest, his eyes asking me if it’s alright,
wanting to make absolutely certain that I’m in no discomfort whatsoever.
“It’s good to be home, Fox,” I tell him, smiling as I
close my eyes, “I love you so much.” I can almost hear the lump in his throat
as he returns my sentiment gruffly, kissing me on the cheek and sending me into
the most peaceful slumber that I think I’ve ever known.
*************************************************
We got home from the hospital at six o’clock last evening,
and after lying down around seven, we’ve both been out ever since. I wake up at
6:13 am, according to the alarm clock. It’s Friday. I look around in a daze,
wondering if I’m still in the hospital, wondering where Fox is...and then I
realize that we’re home. I look to my right and there he is. Sleeping Beauty that
Fox Mulder is, he’s still clutching my chest possessively. I feel my heart
expand with the love that I feel for him, and I smile at the sight of my sweet
little Fox sprawled out next to (and slightly on top of) me. Exhausted, neither
of us have moved all night. His right arm still rests across my chest, and I’m
still on my back with my right arm wrapped around his body. I can see my hand
on his back but I can’t feel it, and I don’t care; I know it’s there, holding
Mulder, and that’s where it belongs. It’s where I belong.
He stirs a little just from my slight movement, even
though I’ve been careful not to wake him; I think he’s missed out on a lot more
sleep than I have. I’m not sure that being unconscious counts, but if it does,
then I’ve got DAYS on Mulder. “Mmmm, Walter,” he whispers, pulling me closer to
him and getting a smile out of me, despite the fact that I have no morning wood
and his is digging mercilessly into my right thigh, “Glad we’re home, babe,” he
murmurs, rolling off of me and onto his side, pressing his back against my side
as he does nearly every morning. It’s almost like things are back to normal -
until I forget about my injury and attempt to roll over onto my side to spoon
against him.
“FUCK,” I cry out harshly, rolling immediately onto my
back, both of my hands gripping my side tightly to try and alleviate the sudden
blinding pain there. Of course, all I’m doing by squeezing my side is
intensifying my discomfort, and I’m cursing a blue streak by the time Mulder
rolls off the bed and sprints into the bathroom to retrieve my pain pills and a
glass of water; I’ve never seen him move so fast so early in the morning. If I
didn’t hurt so goddamn badly, I’d laugh. Unfortunately, there’s nothing even
remotely humorous about the pain I’m in. How could I be so stupid?
“Jesus, Walter, here - take these,” he tells me, holding
out the pills and the glass, that “scared-deer” look back in his eyes,
consuming his whole face. I manage to get myself upright so I can take the
pills and swallow the water, and then I ease back down on the mattress, handing
the glass back to Mulder.
I start to space out from the meds a few minutes later,
and Mulder is still hovering over me, making sure that I’m not in any more
discomfort that I should be. I lift the corners of my mouth up at him, barely
able to keep my eyes open any longer, trying to explain to him that I forgot
about the wound, that I only wanted to hold him...but all that comes out is a
jumble of vowels and consonants that make no sense even to my own ears. As I
surrender once again to slumber, Mulder sits on the side of the bed and buries
his face in his hands, and I swear I can hear him sniffle as I drift off.
*************************************************
I don’t wake up again until the clock reads 12:30 pm, and
now I feel more awake than I have in days, despite the pain pills from earlier.
Mulder is no longer beside me, and I can hear him doing something downstairs in
what sounds like the kitchen; pots and pans are banging around, and I can hear
his muffled curses - he’s definitely attempting something down there. I sit up
slowly, proud of myself when I manage an upright position without assistance
for the first time in nearly two weeks. I decide to elaborate on my newfound
freedom. I brace my arms behind me and slowly but surely move my legs over so
they’re hanging off the side of the bed - so far, so good. Within minutes I’m
standing up, pleased with myself and eager to show off for Fox, to show him
that I’m not the invalid he brought home a mere 24 hours ago. I make my way to
the bathroom and take a long leak, relieved that I can manage to do that much
on my own at this point, and smile as I check my haggard appearance in the
mirror. Yeah, I look like hell, but I’m still happy to be home, and that is
outweighing ALL other emotions at the moment.
I quietly make my way down the stairs, grasping the rails
for support as I clench my teeth against the ache in my middle while I take the
steps downward. I slowly inch towards the kitchen, careful not to make a sound
as I sneak up on Mulder, watching him try to prepare lunch for himself.
“Goddammit,” he mutters, tossing a hand towel down on the
counter as the soup he’s preparing boils over and sizzles on the burner. He
still hasn’t seen me, and I lean against the door frame of the kitchen,
crossing my arms nonchalantly over my chest as he curses some more and grabs
the hot pot off the stove and moves it to a burner that isn’t glowing red. I
think he might have been trying to make grilled cheese at the same time,
judging from the smoke pouring off of a plate behind him next to the sink, and
I can barely hold in the laugh that bubbles up from my chest.
“Need some help, sunshine?” I ask him, and he freezes
where he stands, well and truly busted in the midst of what is NOT the first of
his attempts at greatness in the kitchen.
“Enjoying this are you,” he asks me, clearly embarassed
but smiling at me just the same.
“Absolutely, Fox. I thought you knew better than to try
and feed yourself when I’m around. With all the takeout available in this city,
I was SURE you’d just make a call.”
“Well, you were not available at the moment, Mr. Skinner.
Care for a sandwich?” He moves aside a bit so I can see the plate on the
counter behind him, blackened bread and cheese melted all over the plate
beneath it. Bless his heart; he made two! One for him, and one for someone else
who doesn’t mind some kind of Cajun grilled cheese.
I wince before replying, “Jesus, Mulder, you killed it!”
He looks back at me and appears to frown, but his face crumples up in laughter
and within seconds we’re both in hysterics. “You even killed the soup! Mulder,
you are no longer allowed to even TRY to cook, do you hear me? My kitchen can’t
handle it! That smells worse than the microwave popcorn you offed a few weeks
ago,” I tell him, and he turns off all the burners before walking over to me
and taking me in his arms, burying his head in my neck. I wrap my arms around
him and hold him as close as I can without hurting myself, which still isn’t as
close as I want.
“How are you feeling,” he asks me a moment later when our
giggles have subsided sufficiently, “I was worried about you this morning,
Walt.” His eyes are pure green in their concern, and I’m touched at his
sentiment, even moreso than his attempt at making us lunch.
“I feel much better, Fox. Now...what should we order for
lunch,” I ask him, shaking my head as I survey the ruins of the sandwiches and
can of soup that he has demolished in the last several minutes.
He pulls away from me just far enough so he can gaze into
my eyes, and says, “Your lips don’t hurt, do they,” before he catches my mouth
with his and kisses me passionately, all his pent up desire releasing itself
into my mouth. I drink him in until I can’t breathe any longer, our lips still
touching as we gasp for air, the burnt cheese smell of lunch fading with the
scent of one another, our palms resting on each others’ cheeks.
“God I’ve missed you, Fox,” I tell him, and his eyes begin
to glisten. I pull him close, wrapping my left arm around his back while the
other snakes up his neck, my right fist burying itself in his thick dark hair,
feeling as much of him as I am able to in my current state of incapacitation. I
wish that I could just throw him down on the floor and make love to him; I
think he wishes the same thing, but I just can’t right now. Christ, I can’t
even stretch my body properly; there’s no way I could take him on, no matter
how much I want to. And I WANT to.
His lithe body is pressed firmly against mine, his nearly
bare chest grazing against mine, my chest hair getting caught and pulling
slightly against his smooth skin. His hair is raking against my chin as he
nuzzles into my neck, his arms firmly pulling me to him, his hands roaming over
my back, kneading my tortured muscles. I groan his name into his ear, and his
cock comes to attention once more against my thigh; he’s rubbing himself up and
down my leg in an attempt to relieve his passion, but it’s not the same as it
would be if I could take him...if I could just get down on all fours and let
him have his way...if I could get on my knees and suckle him until he explodes
into my throat...he works his way down the front of me, his lips taking
inventory of my flesh, careful not to touch the part of me that is bandaged
over.
The doctors said four weeks until I could engage in sexual
activity, but I don’t want to wait...I can’t wait anymore. Being apart from Fox
for ten days has been hard enough, and never MIND the fact that he was unable or
unwilling or un-whatEVER for a couple of weeks before any of this ever
happened. He sinks to his knees in front of me and I brace myself against the
doorway and gasp as he finds my cock hiding in my briefs, licking at it, biting
it with tiny nips. I didn’t think that I would be able to rise to the occasion,
but with Fox Mulder around, there is never a question as to my abilities. The
doctors were wrong. I don’t care if they think I’m not up to it...my body begs
to differ.
I moan his name aloud as he takes me fully into his mouth
and begins to suck, gently at first and then increasing his momentum until I’m
thrusting carefully into his face, unable to hold back any longer. My hands
clench into fists at my side as he uses his lips and teeth and tongue to coax
me into full erection mode, slurping my name around my own cock, and I get
harder just from the sound.
True, my stamina is extremely compromised, but it feels so
good to have Mulder worshiping at my body that I don’t even care. I could stay
unconscious for a week at this point and still wake up sated and happy. As it
is now, I may very well have a total relapse; but his ministrations remove all
of my fears and inhibitions, and I give in completely to his mouth. That
beautiful fucking mouth, with that pouty lower lip, sucking my dick until I
absolutely cry out his name, “FOX,” my hands clutching at his hair as he works
me up and down, fully and completely. I nearly sob as he sucks me in to the
root, his prominent nose buried in the bush that frames my cock, content to
feel the vibration of his moans against my oversensitized skin, nearly coming
already.
“Christ, Fox,” I moan, clutching at him, groaning in
discomfort for a split second as I try to bend down and enfold him, then
surrender and straighten back up, content to watch him suck me off, licking me
from balls to tip and back again, then taking me back fully into his
throat...he lets me thrust into him and I cry out his name once more and shoot,
my semen filling up his beautiful mouth and nearly overflowing; he swallows it
greedily and pulls back to lap up every last drop, careful not to miss a bit.
“Uhhhnnn, Foxxxsssss,” I moan, nearly collapsing - but he
catches me, a sly smile on his face as he looks down at me in his arms, then
helps me up and over to the sofa. He lays me down gently and sits on the floor
next to me; I half expect him to begin bathing like a cat, licking and using
the backs of his hands to wet and smooth himself over, judging from the
expression on his face.
“Fox,” I gasp, still unable to catch my breath, wanting
more than anything to pull him up on top of me and hold him close - and still
unable to do THAT, too.
“I love you, Walter,” he murmurs as he licks his lips,
undoubtedly still tasting me there...and from the sight of him, wanting more.
“I love you too, babe,” I tell him, still out of breath.
I’m exhausted all over again, but there’s no pain now; just the desire to feel
his full weight on top of me, the desire to feel him underneath me - but that
part will most likely have to wait the whole four weeks. Damn.
“Fox, I could....I mean, if you stand up and angle around
a bit, I could...” he cuts me off in mid-sleazy-thought, shaking his head at
me.
“No, Walter, I don’t think so,” he gasps, “You need your
rest. Let’s just order lunch and take a nap, okay?” He looks up at me, his eyes
glazed over with lust, and I meet his eyes and try to convey my own love for
him twofold, succeeding if his smile is any indication, “Okay, deal, babe.”
We order pizza out and feast on it like the starving
beasts that we are, eating until we’re both fairly sure that we’ll burst if we
eat anything else.
I don’t remember the last time that I was this content;
having Mulder sitting so close to me, eating my fill and drinking in the sight
of him to top off the meal, feeling so drowsy with contentment - I give in to
the happy exhaustion that finally claims me.
************************************************
I wake up later in the afternoon, a bit groggy and not
feeling very well. I wonder if maybe I should’ve followed the doctor’s orders
about sex, and then I shrug that thought off. I didn’t do anything, after all -
it was Fox that did all the work. I smile to myself as I look around the condo,
curious as to where Mulder has gone off to. He was here when I practically
passed out, but he’s nowhere to be seen now. “Fox,” I call out, waiting for him
to come rushing to my side, disappointed when several minutes pass with no
response. “Fox?” I call again, louder this time, grimacing at the strain that
yelling causes to my midriff. Where the hell did he go, anyway?
I decide that I am going to have to get up anyway to
relieve my bladder, so I stand up and inch my way up the stairs yet again. Of
course Mulder’s nowhere to be found, so I take care of business and head for
the bed, where I lie back against the pillows and turn on the television.
Click. Nothing on. Click. Nope, not there either. Click. Click. Click. Click.
Click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick. DAMMIT, where did he GO? I toss the
remote onto the nightstand and cross my arms over my chest, pissed off and
unable to do anything about it. I’ve never liked not being able to be up and
about, and this is really grating on my nerves. And I’ve only been home for one
full day.
*************************************************
I finally hear the front door open and close, and I wait
for him to realize that I’m not where he left me. “Walter?” He yells, a slight
hint of panic in his voice already, “Babe?” I hear him coming up the stairs,
which he must take three at a time, and he bursts into the bedroom with his
arms full of file folders.
“Thank God, Walter, Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,”
he says, dropping the files on the floor in a heap and coming to sit on the bed
next to me.
“Nice of you to tell me you were leaving,” I tell him with
a frown, staring at the muted television but not really seeing a thing.
“Walter, I had to go pick up some files from the office. I
didn’t want to wake you...you just looked so peaceful when I left, I decided to
let you sleep. The Director asked how you were, and I explained that you are
home recuperating, and that the hospital asked me to take care of you to save
the Bureau from spending money on a nursemaid.”
“Nice angle, Mulder,” I tell him, still not looking at
him. “He probably thinks that you’re my own personal little candystriper.
Great. Thank you SO much Fox,” I finish grimly, “I’ll be lucky if I still HAVE
a job when this is all over.” My foul mood gets the best of me before I can
catch my tongue, and from the change that crosses his face, I’m sure I’ve
ruined his mood now, too.
He gets up off the bed silently and walks to where he
dropped his files, picking them up and heading out the bedroom door and up the
hall to the office, where I hear him slam them down on the desk. He reappears
moments later, asking me curtly if I need anything.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Fine. I’ll be in the office if you need anything,” he
says, hurt showing on his face at my attitude. His footsteps are heavy up the
hall, and I feel horrible about how I spoke to him. I nearly call him back,
then decide to just let him work for awhile. I un-mute the television and find
an old film on American Movie Classics (TM) to watch which holds my interest
for all of about half an hour until I doze off, boredom finally getting the
best of me.
*************************************************
I wake up sweating, squinting at the alarm clock to see what
time it is - 2:45 am, and I reach beside me for Fox. He’s not there. I see
light spilling into the hallway from the direction of the office, and realize
that he has been in there working all this time, oblivious to the time as he
usually is when he’s concentrating.
“Mulder,” I rasp out, needing a drink of water very badly,
frustrated when I get no reply. I decide to get up and get it myself, when a
nasty wave of nausea washes over me. I suppose there is a reason that they want
you to eat a lot and drink plenty of fluids with the damn painkillers; this is
probably why - all I ate today was that pizza. Apart from the darkened room -
Mulder must have come in at some point and turned off the light and the
television - blackness obscures my vision and I drop to my knees, trying to
catch myself on the side of the bed and crying out in agony when all I manage
to do is stretch my body to a position that it’s not ready to accommodate.
“FUCK,” I gasp through clenched teeth, dismayed when I
look down and see blood seeping through the bandage covering my wound. I don’t
even have time to uncover it and make sure I haven’t pulled the stitches out
before Fox is at my side, eyes wide open in alarm, his face pale white in the
dark of the bedroom.
“What happened Walter? Did you fall out of bed? Oh my God,
should I call the doctor? You’re bleeding! I’m calling an ambulance,” he says
shakily, reaching for the phone on the nightstand.
“No,” I whisper, “S’okay, m’alright, swear,” I tell him,
“Help me into the bathroom...please,” I ask him, allowing him to help me up and
practically carry me to the bathroom. He flicks on the light and I see that I’m
not bleeding as badly as I thought, but Mulder looks like he’s going to pass
out any second. I ask him to run downstairs for the bag of goodies the hospital
sent home with us so I can change the dressing. He nods and nearly runs into
the wall as he exits the bathroom, allowing me to unbandage myself and check
for damage.
Thank God I didn’t pull the stitches out, but I’ve
definitely stretched myself beyond my current limits and I curse aloud when I
try to dab off some of the gore with a cloth; hurts like a bitch. Rule number
one - do NOT touch the injury, or
anywhere in the vicinity of the injury. Mulder comes running back into the
bathroom and nearly loses whatever he’s eaten for the day when he sees me with
blood dripping down my stomach and seeping into the waistband of my white
briefs.
“H..here, bandages,” he whispers, then turns and leaves me
to clean myself up. Some candystriper HE makes, I think to myself as I re-tape
clean bandages all around the wound and pop a couple more pain pills. He comes
back a few minutes later, refusing to look at me as he tosses a clean pair of
briefs to me and then walks to the bed and sits down to wait for me.
Feeling moderately better, I manage to make it to the bed
and sit down next to Fox, who is obviously shaken from the experience.
“Mulder,” I tell him, placing my right hand on his left thigh, “For all the
times you got injured when you were out running around with Scully, are you
still that faint at the sight of blood?”
He shakes his head and looks at me with tears in his eyes,
speaking in a voice so low that I can barely hear him, “No, Walter. It just
makes me sick to see YOU bleed.” He rests his head on my shoulder and we sit
like that for a while, until I zone out and have to lie down, careful not to
stretch out too much while I allow Fox to nuzzle up against me. Somehow we’ve
just made up, and I decide that this is how I prefer to fall asleep; Mulder
curled up beside me beats the hell out of any old movie putting me to sleep. Or
anything else, for that matter. Amen.
***********************************************
As the days go by, my mobility increases and I find myself
not needing to sleep nearly as much as I did when I first got home. Mulder’s
actually becoming somewhat of a gourmet with my help, no longer burning soup
and sandwiches. Hell, this afternoon he even managed to make us pasta without
demolishing the kitchen OR burning himself.
I’ve passed the point of needing pain pills and can
actually take a shower now...although I think Mulder is going to miss giving me
sponge baths. I think I might miss getting them a little too. I’ve promised to
give him one when I’m all better; he has threatened to call the hospital and
curse them out for giving me ideas - but there’s a gleam in his eyes that
secretly says he can’t wait until it’s his turn.
Fox is going out of town in two days to hunt down some
mutant iguana-man that supposedly exists in the sewers of New York, and since
I’ve been home nearly two weeks now, I’m feeling much better. I haven’t had any
more trouble with the stitches, and they’re due to come out tomorrow -
Saturday, if I remember correctly. Funny how you forget the days of the week
when you’re not at work.
**************************************************
It’s a gorgeous day outside, sun shining and blue sky,
just a few puffy clouds overhead - I decide that it would be a good idea to
take a walk. Mulder has been buried in his files all morning - I pad into the
office and find him hunched over the desk, where he’s been since early this
morning. I check my watch, and it’s 2:00 in the afternoon. Time for my
hard-working agent to take five.
“Fox, it’s beautiful out. Let’s go take a walk,” I tell
him, expecting him to jump at the chance to take a breather.
“What?” He asks, looking up at me with his glasses perched
precariously on the tip of his nose.
“I said, take a break, Fox. Let’s go out for a walk. I’m
feeling great, and I want to soak up some sunshine and fresh air. Shall we?” I
ask him, crooking my right arm and offering him my elbow to take.
“Uh, I’m really busy, Walt,” he says, pulling off his
glasses and rubbing his eyes.
“Mulder, you’re going to be out of town next week, and I
would really like the chance to spend some quality time with you. Christ, I’m
not even working, you’re bringing files home, and I STILL can’t spend an hour
with you? Come on, babe, let’s go,” I tell him, adamantly waving my arm at him.
He ponders my idea for a moment, then I can practically
see the light bulb go on over his head. “I know,” he says, his face lighting
up, “Why don’t you go sit out on the balcony, and I’ll fix us some tea, and we
can soak up some rays that way?”
“Mulder, I’m really sick of this view, to be quite honest
with you. Seeing the city is nice, but not for three fucking weeks in a row,
alright? Come on, let’s just -” he cuts me off in mid-plea.
“NO,” he says, standing up and heading for the stairs,
“Just go sit outside, and I’ll bring you some tea in a minute, okay?”
This is NOT what I had in mind. I am damned tired of being
cooped up in this condo, and this isn’t the first time that Mulder hasn’t
wanted to go out of the house with me. The first couple of times, I just
figured that he was really too busy with work. That was last week. Now, there
really is no excuse for him not wanting to go out with me...unless...no, I
refuse to allow myself to think that. He couldn’t still be that paranoid.
“Fox, I am not going to go sit on the balcony. I am going
for a walk, with OR without you,” I tell him in no uncertain terms. He stops
where he’s standing at the top of the stairs, his back stiff with stress;
funny, he didn’t seem stressed out five minutes ago...before I asked him to go
out with me.
“Fine,” he growls, allowing me to walk past him and down
the stairs, “But I still don’t see what’s wrong with the balcony,” he mutters
as he plods along behind me. I flip him a bird that he can’t see, feeling quite
happy with myself that he is giving in for a change. He’s been treating me like
I belong in a nursing home ever since ‘the incident’, and I’m damn well tired
of it.
I maintain my cheery attitude as I breeze through the
living room, not wanting to give him a chance to change his mind, and frown at
him when he attempts to make me wear a jacket.
“Fox, I swear to God, don’t make me kick your ass,” I warn
him, giving him my best teeth-clenching stance, hands on my hips, “It’s the
middle of September, and it’s 70 degrees. I do NOT need a jacket...mother,” I
sneer at him, and fight back my smile when he tosses it down on the couch and
points to the door.
“Fine, let’s just go,” he says curtly, falling back for a
moment so that I have to wait for him in the hallway. He comes out a couple of
minutes later, and I immediately see what he was doing; his pants leg is
guiltily caught up on the small revolver that he wears at his ankle.
“Mulder, is it really necessary to be armed to take a walk
with me,” I ask him, eyeing the weapon.
“Yes, Walter, it is. You never know what might happen, and
being that we’re two FBI personnel, you can never be too careful,” he tells me
matter-of-factly. All this does is confirm my fears that he is still paranoid
about going out in public - but is it because of me? Because of a freak
incident that occured almost a month ago? Or is it something more...something
more along the lines of being insecure about ‘us’? Is he really not comfortable
with the idea of ‘us’? It becomes blatantly clear what the topic of
conversation is going to be during this little jaunt - which is incidentally
the first time I’ve been able to get him to go anywhere for nearly a month. I
realize suddenly that it’s not the first time he’s gone anywhere in a month.
It’s the first time he’s gone anywhere with ME in a month.
***************************************************
There’s a small park about five blocks from the condo, and
it’s there that I lead Mulder. We walk in complete silence, with me looking up
at the sky and soaking up the day, watching him scanning the immediate area out
of the corner of my eye. Does he honestly believe that we are going to be
accosted in the middle of the day, in THIS neighborhood? I don’t question his
behavior until we reach the park and sit down on a bench in the middle of the
surrounding grassy knoll. I let several minutes pass before I say anything,
content to merely watch him visually patrolling the area.
“Mulder.” He jumps a bit at the sound of my voice.
“Yeah,” he asks, his gaze not meeting mine.
“Have you recently applied for the Secret Service or the
CIA? Is there something that I should be aware of, such as a covert operation
for the Bureau that didn’t go through me for some reason?” My sarcasm finally
breaks through his intense scrutiny of the park and he furrows his brow and
shoots me a dirty look as he responds.
“Jesus, Walter, why in the hell would you ask me that?”
His gaze leaves mine quickly, watching two children on bikes ride along a path
about fifty feet away, not returning to meet mine until he’s certain that
they’re not snipers or some such thing.
“Oh, I don’t know...perhaps the fact that you haven’t left
the condo since the incident outside Anthony’s except to retrieve some of your
files,” I begin, and he snorts and shakes his head at me but doesn’t say
anything so I continue, “and the fact that you refuse to be seen with me in
public, and when you finally DO come with me, you bring your gun,” I finish,
and he shoots me daggers with his eyes.
“What are you getting at, Walter?” He asks, agitation
clearly evident in his voice. Ahh, I do believe I’ve struck a nerve. Hmmm.
“Fox,” I begin, and he cuts me off with his usual finesse
at doing so.
“Look Walter, you wanted to take a walk. So we’re taking a
walk.”
“And you’re scoping the park out like some assassin is
going to come by at any given time. Can’t you just enjoy the day?”
“No I can’t, for your information, Skinner,” he says
defiantly, pissing me off by using my last name - something that is reserved
solely for business purposes. I made it quite clear some time ago that calling
me ‘Skinner’ was not to be done outside of the office. He agreed to it - then.
“Some assassin may very WELL come by. I would have thought you’d know that by
now, SIR,” he grates out, further fueling my anger, “If I recall correctly,
that is the precise reason that you ended up with a knife in your gut a month
ago.” I am so infuriated that I can feel my hands shaking. He does know how to
push my buttons, but this time he’s mixing work life with personal life, and I
could’ve sworn that we’d agreed not to go there. Well, so be it...if he’s going
there, two can play at that game.
“Mulder, you are wayyy out of line here. That was no
assassin that got to me, and you damn well know it. That had NOTHING to do with
us working for the FBI or anything else. It was -” he cuts me off again, and
this time, I nearly scream at his retort.
“It was, SIR, a warning that we should not be seen
fraternizing together,” he says, continuing to avoid my gaze, “Regardless of
the fact that we’re public officials, we made a mistake. One that will not be
made again,” he finishes.
“Really, Agent Mulder?” I am so pissed now that I can
hardly see straight, “And how do you figure that it will never happen again,
seeing as how we live together?” I spit out at him, my jaw aching from holding
it in a position that used to be solely reserved for meetings with the very
subordinate who is now my lover.
He looks at me with a steely cold gaze that I’ve never
seen grace his face before now and says simply, “Because I’m leaving, sir. I’ve
been thinking about it since that night at Anthony’s, and it’s not worth it.
I’ve already lost Scully...I...I won’t lose you, too. I’ve put a lot of thought
into it, and it’s the only solution. As soon as you’re well, I’m going home.”
“Excuse me?” I ask him incredulously.
“You heard me. I know your hearing isn’t going, Walter.
This has all been a mistake...it only happened because of...because of,” he
says, his voice catching a bit before he finishes, “Because of Scully. None of
this...WE would never have happened if Scully hadn’t been killed.” He
straightens up on the bench next to me and meets my eyes with resolve that it
must have taken him weeks to build up as he continues, “It took Scully dying to
bring us together, Walter. And it took you nearly being taken away from me for
me to realize how important you are to me. And I won’t lose you too. I’d rather
be alone and have you yelling at me at the office than lose you totally. I’ve
made up my mind, and that’s that. When I get home from New York, it’s going to
be to MY home.”
My jaw is resting on my chest, the remainder of my body -
especially my heart - in complete and total shock. What in the hell is he
talking about? He’s going to leave ME? US? “What?” I gasp at him, and he looks
concerned at my inability to respond.
“Walter, breathe dammit,” he says, “I said, I’m going home
after I come back from New York.”
I shake my head vigorously back and forth, negating what
he’s saying, attempting to make it disappear from existence as I try to find
the words, “Home is with ME, Fox. OUR home. We are an US, aren’t we? We’re a
WE!” I nearly squeak, making myself want to kick my own ass for my newfound
weakness. Hardly newfound; I think deep down, Fox has always been a soft spot
for me, way before anything ever happened to Dana. YEARS before Dana, even when
my marriage to Sharon was failing, back when I first met HIM.
He looks at me apologetically, as if his sympathy will
correct the situation, and says, “Walter, it’s not worth it. I’ve lost too much
already. I don’t want to lose you, too. I can’t,” he says, his voice fading
away with the breeze that has started to blow around us, “You’re all I have
left, and I refuse to let you go.”
“You won’t,” I assure him, hoping that my argument will
change his mind, change the decision that he has obviously been warring with since
that night at Anthony’s...or was it even before that night? “You won’t lose me,
Fox. I’m not going anywhere...not without you.”
“You nearly did, Walter. I nearly lost you that night, and
I can’t...I WILL NOT allow that to happen again.” It seems that a chill has
been born in the air, and I shiver uncontrollably in the wind, making Fox stand
up and reach for my hand to pull me up and, I assume, to drag me home...to a
home that he no longer considers his own - if he ever did.
I wrap my arms around myself involuntarily, trying to stop
my teeth from chattering as he attempts to pull me to him, pushing him away at
the same time that I want him to hold me. This can’t be happening. Four
ignorant redneck strangers cannot possibly be to blame for Fox ending our
relationship. God...have we even ever HAD a relationship? Or was this all just
a way for Fox to deal with losing Scully?
“I..d-d-don’t..un-n-derst-tand, Fox,” I stutter, unable to
stop my shivering, “Y..you want t-to leave m-m-me?” I ask him, no longer caring
about the concerned look on HIS face. “I...I thought...y-y-you loved m-m-me,” I
tell him, shaking my head at him as he struggles to find the words to comfort
me, chilled beyond consolation now even though the wind isn’t really all that
cold.
“I DO love you, Walter,” he moans, tears forming in his
gorgeous hazel depths, “Don’t you see? That’s why I have to leave,” he chokes
out, one solitary tear running down his cheek, “I HAVE to,” he repeats, his
eyes closing and forcing more tears out as he hangs his head in defeat.
“No,” I tell him simply, shaking my head against his words
and emotions. “No, goddamn you, NO,” I shout, taking off from in front of him
and running. I’m not sure if running is really something that I should be
undertaking at the moment, but I don’t care. It feels good; the burn in my
chest, the heaving of air in and out of my lungs makes me feel alive. Fox is
trying to kill me, and I have to stay alive...I have to fight the feelings
welling up inside of me, feelings that threaten to destroy my very being by
ripping my heart out and showing it to me...Mulder intends to remove himself
from my life? I’ll fight it.
I’ll fight it more strongly than I’ve fought anything
else...more than fighting the memories of Scully dying in my arms that flee
into my mind. More than fighting the feeling of Mulder passing out on top of
me, beating at my chest for his loss, and grinding against my groin the next
morning. More than fighting the bliss of falling asleep next to him for these
past several months. More than fighting the anguish of nearly losing him at
Scully’s grave. More than fighting for HIM to get well, and nearly being killed
myself at our celebration of his success. I will fight this more vehemently
that I’ve ever fought anything else.
Ironically, the one thing I’m running FROM is the one
thing I’m running TO...home. I have no choice - where else would I go? CAN I
go? Nowhere. I unlock the door and slam it behind me as I enter my condo, the
place that has been home to me for the last couple of years. It no longer feels
familiar to me; not since HE’S been here. I have always just thought of it as
OUR home. Ever since Scully died, it’s been Mulder’s and my home. From the
first night that he was here, it no longer belonged solely to me. And now he
wants to leave me?
*************************************************
Uh-oh, angst. And while poor dear Walter is recuperating,
no less. Ho hum. Whatever will happen next? Will Fox really leave Walter? Will
Walter let Fox leave? SHOULD Walter let him leave? Maybe in Chapter 9 of “A
Taste of Life” things will finally become clearer for our guys. Or will they?
---Jvantheterrible