Restitution

by amokeh

I can't help grinning like an idiot at that. I mean, that was exactly the reaction I was hoping for, you know?

Walter sees my smile and attempts a half-hearted scowl.   "You don't have to gloat about it, Mulder..." he growls, but I hear the humor behind his gruffness.  I duck my head, trying to force the smile from my face.   He shakes his head at me in mock-frustration but then concedes, "Well, I guess it wouldn't be you if you didn't gloat a little."  He stares down at his hands in his lap, and then lifts his gaze up to mine again, his face sober now.  "I read the letter you left me today over and over again, too.  It was....unexpected," he finishes quietly.

Unsure of what he meant, I ask equally quietly, "Unexpected, how?  The fact that I wrote a second letter as I had promised or unexpected as to the content?"

"Both," he admits.  "Don't get me wrong, Mulder.  You always start out with the best of intentions..."

His voice trails off but I finish the thought for him.   "It's just my follow through that is sadly lacking, right?"  He looks glum and a little guilty, as if he should be the one sorry for even thinking such a thing of me.  I'm quick to reassure him.  "Believe me, Walter.   It's....well, that's not news to me.  I seem to have a real problem with finishing things, don't I?  You'd think that, with all the unanswered questions, all the false leads through the years I'd welcome some kind of closure, that I'd accept the truth when I finally found it."  I try very hard to keep the frustration and self-disgust out of my voice when I say this; I don't want him to think I'm simply engaging in more Mulder-bashing out of guilt.

"And what truth is that, Mulder?" 

His voice is wary, and I know why.  He's thinking, there he goes again about his Quest for The Truth.  But this isn't about that, and I quickly dispel that belief.  I look him in the eye and say softly, "That you're it for me.  You're my truth."

He's stunned by that; he sits back, expelling a surprised huff of breath, his eyes wide and his hands pulling away from their tight clasp to rub against his denim-encased thighs as he absorbs my simple words.  But I'm on the offensive now, and I want to keep him off-balance for just a little while longer.  I need to; otherwise he'll be able to steel himself against me, to garner his resolve.

"Walter, I've spent the last twenty-six years beating myself over the head with my real and imagined failings, with my sister's disappearance, weighing myself down with the problems of the world, as if it's solely my responsibility to save the human race from alien colonization."  I pause to take a breath, and I can feel the injustice of the life that's been thrust upon me - no, that I've chosen - speed up my words, giving my speech an almost vehement passion as I rush to complete my thoughts before I'm overwhelmed by it.  "Well, it's not, Walter.  It's not my fault; it's not my responsibility and it's not my cross to bear.  I've allowed this quest of mine to consume me for almost all of my life, and at the same time it's consumed the people I love, and I've carried the guilt for that, too."  Walter's shaking his head rapidly, his eyes full of concern for me.  He starts to open his mouth to protest my denouncement of my life's work, but I stop him from interrupting.   "No, Walter, please let me finish."  I wait until he reluctantly shuts his mouth and then nods, his brown eyes still worried at where I'm going with this monologue.  "Walter, you've told me again and again that I borrow guilt when I have no reason to.  In the past I may have agreed verbally, but inside I felt it was my due.  That someone needed to carry the burden and since I had failed, once again, in my goal to expose the truth that it might as well be me.  Well, I'm sick of it, Walt.  I'm tired of the guilt, I'm tired of hurting myself, of being alone because I think I don't deserve anything good in my life.  You've tried these last few months to prove to me that I do deserve to be happy, and it's finally sunk in.  I just wasn't ready to listen to you before.  I wasn't ready to believe."

Walter's eyes search mine as he gently asks, "But you are now?"

His gaze is so....the only word I can think of to put on it is quiet.  Like when you wake up really early, before the sun has risen, and you can hear the birds' sporadic singing outside your window, and each time the birds go silent, you lie there waiting for their next note.  In that hush there's a feeling of expectancy, of newness; of knowing that their song will herald in a new day, replete with opportunity.  I can liken that quiet of the morning to the look in his eyes.   It's a moment of awakening and possibilities. 

I can't find my voice suddenly, which is odd so soon after so many words spilled out so quickly.  Instead, I stand up and reach my hand out to him.

Amused puzzlement crosses his features now, but he takes my hand, allowing me to tug him up off of the couch to stand before me.  I smile warmly at him, and pull him around the couch towards the bedroom, motioning to my desk with my free hand as we pass it.   "Please take note that the majority of the desk's work surface is clean and -" I raise my eyebrow and pause dramatically.  "- dusted."  He throws a glance at it and chuckles but then the chuckle dies away as I open my bedroom door.  His eyes immediately lock with mine, and he begins to protest but I cut him off.  "Don't presume, Walt.  Just go in and take a gander."  His ears turn a little red at my words but he gamely walks past me into my bedroom.  I throw the light switch and promptly collide with the solid muscle wall of his back, as he's stopped dead in front of me.  I'm not surprised by his reaction.

My bedroom, for perhaps the first time since I moved in, is immaculate.  My bed is even made, the comforter tucked between the mattress and padded rails.  I watch Walter as he slowly turns around, more than a little stunned.   When he finally faces me, he's doing that jaw roll he reserves for moments of serious contemplation.  He catches the amused look on my face and then glances down at the carpet.  He looks back up at me and deadpans, "Blue-gray.   Nice."

I try to hold back a smile but know I'm grinning stupidly.    I can't help it.  I love his dry sense of humor.  I nod towards the bathroom and he's into the game now, so he steps through the doorway, flips on the light and mutters, "Lord have mercy!"  I cover my mouth with my hand just in time to cut off the bark of laughter.  I can hear him pull on the shower curtain and after a long pause he pokes his head around the corner, his face deadly serious and asks, "What did you do with the fake fur tiles?" 

I can't hold the laughter back this time and end up spraying saliva all over my hand.  I wipe my palm off on my jeans as my laughter dies down and Walter exits the bathroom, turning off the lights behind him. 

"So?" he inquires, his eyebrows raised.   "What next?"

"Kitchen," I reply and hold out my now-dry hand to him.  He glances at it pointedly and then back at me, so I pull it back and hold the other out instead.  He chuckles and takes it in his, letting me lead him out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen  I have to trade my hands in the process to keep us from getting tripped up on the way and he makes a show of hesitating before accepting my other hand, sighing dramatically as he clasps it tightly, giving it a squeeze.    I lead him directly to the refrigerator and start to open it, when he asks, "Is that where you're storing the pod?"   I throw him a dirty look and open the refrigerator door wide, gesturing inside it with a nod of my head.

Walter leans forward a bit and peers inside, the puzzlement on his face obvious as he searches for whatever it is he thinks I want to show him, but then it hits him.  "It's clean!"  he exclaims rather loudly in his surprise.  He throws me an embarassed look but repeats, "I mean, really clean."

I laugh out loud at his amazement.  "Yeah, I evicted all the previous tenants.  They were beginning to demand voting rights and welfare."  He chuckles as I close the door and watches me, amused as I let go of his hand to throw wide all the cupboard doors.  I start pointing out my new organization system; "Dry goods are all in this one:  cereals, cookies, potato chips - actually, I had some trouble deciding whether potato chips qualified as meal-in-a-bag," I wave towards the boxes of Rice-a-Roni and Mac-n-Cheese on a lower shelf, "but figured I'd just eliminate that problem by keeping them all in the same cupboard."  I glance quickly behind me at where Walter is leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, a big grin splitting his face as I continue to explain why the soups are separated from the vegetables.  "...of course, they're all canned goods, but again, soups can be considered an entire meal while green beans are only a side dish.  Walt, are you paying attention?  I'm only giving you the tour once, and I expect all food stuffs to be properly categorized and put away the next time you buy groceries."   

His laughter cuts me off and I just stop to drink the sound of it in.   Jesus, I didn't think I'd ever get to hear that again.  It's absolutely wonderful; it hits me dead center in the chest and then spirals outward, spreading warmth.  I chuckle too, my eyes never leaving his even when his laughter subsides and he gazes at me, speculatively, but still with humor.  "Fox, it's...great.  The whole apartment really looks...great.  It obviously took a lot of hard work, but I don't see what your point is."  He's smiling as he says it, and I know it's time for my coup d'etat.

I take a step towards him and say quietly, "The point is, Walter, that when I decided to clean up my act, I started by cleaning my living room.  Then I moved to my bedroom and then the bathroom and," I make a sweeping gesture around my kitchen with one hand, "the kitchen.  Then, when my apartment was livable again, I started working on myself." Walter's smile fades and his eyes widen as he finally catches on to where I'm going with this.   

"This is just the beginning, Walt.  Cleaning my apartment doesn't really mean anything.  But it was the first step in turning my life around.  I've made such a mess of things - with my career, with my life, with you.   In the past I've left it to you and Scully to pick up the pieces for me, but this time I knew I was the ony one who could do it.  And this," I again indicate our surroundings with a wave of my hand, "was a tangible, measurable way to begin the clean-up effort."  I take a deep breath before I continue.  "Like I said, the fact that I did some housework isn't what's important here.  But it does serve as a good analogy.  I made a decision to do it, I worked hard at it, and I got it done.  I finished something, Walter.  I proved I could finish something."  I take another step and reach out for his hand.  He grasps it in his and pulls it against his chest, focused intently on what I'm saying.  "I know that my work isn't done.  I know the apartment's going to get messed up again.  I know that it's a continual process and that I'll have to work at it diligently if I want to succeed.   But I think I've made a good start here."   I pause and Walter squeezes my hand, encouraging me to continue.

"Now, this is where the analogy part kicks in.   You see, I've decided I want to spend the rest of my life with you."  Walter's eyes clench shut for a second with emotion, but then open again, bright with unshed tears.   "I'm ready to work hard and do whatever it takes to make it happen.  I know that along the way, I'm going mess up; that I'm going to hurt you and you're going to hurt me because we're only human and we make mistakes, but I'm ready to accept that hurt and those mistakes because I want to see this through."  I give his hand a squeeze.  "I'm tired of pushing you away because I'm too afraid of where we're going.  I don't want to push you anyway anymore.  Wherever you're going, I want to come along, too."  

I take another step towards him and now we're only inches apart, his breath warm against my face.  We're so close that I hear him swallow hard.   I take a deep breath, holding his gaze in mine, and say:  "Walter.   I love you.  I want to spend the rest of my life with you.  I'm ready to accept the love you have to share with me, if you're still willing to share it."  

I move fractionally closer and touch my forehead to his.   We're both breathing a little heavily now, from all the emotional buildup of the last hour as well as our nearness.  I swallow hard past the huge lump in my throat as I flex my fingers against his, pressing our combined grasp against his rapidly beating heart.  I close my eyes because he's too close to focus and frankly, I'm a little dizzy from being this close to him after believing I would never feel him against me again.  I ask breathily, "Are you willing, Walter?  Will you give me another chance?  Will you see this through with me?"  I hold my breath, waiting for his response.

I feel him shudder against me, and then he's pressing our fists against my chest, and I'm forced to back away from him a little, my eyes immediately opening and fixing on his.  What I see there is enough to rob me what's left of my ability to breathe. 

His gorgeous eyes, so brown they're almost black, are filled with love and longing and acceptance.  He lets go of the counter behind him and brings his big hand up to cup my cheek as his eyes probe mine.  His other hand grips mine so hard I'm sure the bones are going to start popping any second now, but I do nothing to dissuade his grasp.   He slowly - so slowly I could die from it - leans his head forward and just before his lips touch mine I hear him whisper, "Yes..."

Then nothing else matters because he's kissing me, his mouth hot and needy against mine, his body hard and straining against mine, and our hands are still clasped tightly together between our bodies, throbbing with the steadily-increasing tempo of our pounding hearts.  He pulls away suddenly and we both gasp for breath; if I hadn't already been leaning into his strong body I might have stumbled for the abruptness of his retreat.  My voice hoarsened with desire, I ask a little desperately, "What?  What is it?"

His eyes meet mine, searching again, and he whispers, "You mean it this time, don't you?  You're actually ready to accept this and commit to it?"  His voice is gruff, and he caresses my cheek, the evening stubble rasping against his calloused palm.

I let out a deep sigh of relief and smile at him.   "I'm ready to be happy," I state simply.  It's apparently what he needed to hear and he smiles back at me.  A full, beaming, glorious Walter Sergei Skinner smile.  My breath catches and, feeling my knees get a little weak, I rest my head on his shoulder, pulling our still-joined hands away from our chests to rest at our sides, while I encircle his lean waist with the other. 

He runs his hand through my hair and then wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me tight against him.  Dropping a kiss on my temple, he chuckles, "It's about damn time..."

To be continued....

Continue to final chapter - FIXED

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