Home-->Mom, Don't Go Here
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“I could have been someone.
*** Skinner looked across the table and frowned as he watched Mulder picking at his food, moving it around, organizing it with lackadaisical precision on his plate. At no time did the fork in his hand ever perform its primary function of shuttling food from the plate to Mulder’s mouth. “How was your day?” Skinner wanted to simultaneously hug his lover and hold him down and force feed him. He settled for an innocuous question instead. “Fine,” came the muttered reply. Certainly not the usual rambling answer that Skinner had come to associate with Mulder. It had been like this since their return from the desert. Nothing had been said, but a year after they had gone on the run, they were back. And now Scully had her baby back, and was almost cherubic in her role as mother, and Skinner’s lover had been replaced by this walking zombie, who barely ate, spent more time sleeping on the couch than in their bed, and hardly talked at all. At first, Skinner had been too overwhelmed with relief to address the changes. Relief at being allowed to live after being ushered into Kersh’s office that fateful day, sure he’d been facing death yet again. Relief that he’d been offered the golden handshake instead. Well, perhaps bronze rather than golden, but he was still drawing breath at any rate. And then, when Mulder and Scully had returned, his joy at having his two most special agents back had eclipsed everything. But now Scully practically ignored them, and Mulder was…was… Mulder wasn’t his agent anymore. Special or otherwise. Mulder’s apartment was long gone, as was the condo in Crystal City. Instead, Skinner had been living in this small house just off the highway into Washington proper. A quiet suburb close enough to all the amenities, but far enough away from prying eyes. It was easy for Skinner to keep his silence here, and his anonymity. And when Mulder had returned, he’d shown up on the doorstep with a hug and a kiss and slipped in like a stray cat, completely unexpected yet totally at home within moments of crossing the doorway. Everything should have been perfect. Instead, it was ‘fine’. “What did you do today?” Skinner had picked up some consulting work for a small law firm, and while the added income didn’t hurt, he found he enjoyed the work, which was even more satisfactory. An added bonus was that he wasn’t faced with daily moral decisions, and even the tough situations were never life threatening. “I went for a run. Read some. Hopped on the net and nitpicked the inaccuracies of Enterprise.” Mulder shrugged, still peering into the depths of his supper plate, perhaps trying to glean more answers to Skinner’s questions in the mound of uneaten pasta there. “Fox, look at me.” Mulder dragged his gaze up unwillingly, and just before a cool mask of indifference settled over his features, Skinner saw on his face a look of desperate unhappiness. A bewildered child’s face, full of fear and longing and a million other things. A face he recognized from his stint in that Saigon hospital a lifetime ago. And he knew that he couldn’t let this go on. For both their sakes. “What happened to you?” The question was broad enough, Skinner hoped, to let Mulder answer in any way he chose. He just wanted something. Anything to give him a brief glimpse of the man he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. The man he’d watched over, fought with, mourned for, found again and finally claimed. Anything at all. “I’m stuffed,” Mulder replied brightly, “This was great, but I couldn’t eat another bite.” He jumped up and moved quickly to the sink, taking his plate with him. “Mulder…” Mulder started the water running in the sink, and scraped his supper into the garbage. “I’ll just get the dishes started. That’s the deal, right? You cook, I’ll clean. That’s fair.” Mulder was talking into the sink, his back to Skinner, and the older man could see the tight lines of tension in the muscles under Mulder’s t-shirt. He stood up from the table and stepped towards the sink warily. Mulder seemed unaware of him, though Skinner knew that was unlikely. He reached out one hand tentatively, held it just above Mulder’s shoulder, and then touched him softly just as Mulder plunged his hands into the sinkful of soapy water. “Aw, hell!” Mulder jerked hard enough to throw Skinner back a step. Suds and water splashed up suddenly, and from behind Mulder, Skinner saw a flash of silver and then a bright gout of red. He just had time to realize that Mulder must have cut himself on a knife, and then his lover turned around and pierced him with an angry glare. “Christ, Walter, don’t sneak up on me like that!” His hand was dripping blood onto the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Fox, your hand—“ Skinner reached out, and Mulder slapped his hand away. More blood sprayed. “It’s nothing—I’m fine!” “Come on, Mulder, knock it off!” Skinner realized that pussyfooting around like he’d been doing ever since Mulder had come back into his life wasn’t going to work. In fact, it hadn’t been working at all. It wasn’t his style, and it obviously wasn’t Mulder’s either. His lover was falling apart before his eyes, and he’d been offering nothing more than hugs and puppies. Mulder had opined frequently on his “beacon in the night”, and Skinner realized that he had to show Mulder that he could still be that for him. He wrapped his hand around Mulder’s wrist. “Hey!” Ignoring the yelp of pain, Skinner dragged Mulder away from the sink, paused only briefly to snatch up a towel hanging off the refrigerator door, and hauled Mulder bodily into the living room. Forcing him down on the couch, Skinner quickly wrapped Mulder’s bleeding hand with the towel, placed his other hand on his wrist to hold it and gave him a sharp glare. “Don’t move,” he growled. For a moment, Skinner saw something hot and angry snapping in Mulder’s hazel eyes, making them flash almost green. And then Mulder turned his head, his mouth turning down in a trembling frown. Skinner left him there, glancing back just once, but Mulder didn’t move. ***
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