Home-->Mom, Don't Go Here
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I'll Be
I'll be your crying shoulder and
Thank you for everything. Fox. One line, scrawled hastily on the back of a receipt. One line, at once as revealing as a bad magician's slight of hand, and as shrouded as a San Francisco morning. One line that could be the beginning, or the end. Walter kept the note in his breast pocket all day. A long hot shower had eased most of the ache in his back, the remnants of a night's sleep on the couch rolling off him along with the water, but bathing had done little for his state of mind. Throughout his morning ministrations, his mind focused on the night before, replaying every detail over and over, looking for errors, looking for answers. Showered, shaved, dressed, pretending he wasn't wearing the navy suit with the subtle charcoal pinstripe because Mulder had commented on it once, asking him if it was a Hugo Boss. Shined his shoes, slipped them on, holstered his gun at his hip, taking an extra long look at his I.D. badge before thrusting it almost angrily into an inside pocket, suddenly remembering how old he was, how grim his visage and how little hair he had left, and realizing that he had probably stepped over a line at some point last night. He couldn't make himself feel guilty about it, but now he was worrying about Mulder's state of mind as well as his own. Thank you for everything. Fox He drove to work on auto-pilot, his mind more concerned about trying to recapture the sensation of holding Fox Mulder, to remember the silk of his hair, the scent of his cologne, the weight of his body. He parked the car and rode the elevator up to his office with the memory of the other man's heat almost palpable on his skin. He gave his assistant a perfunctory greeting and poured his own coffee, pausing to touch his breast pocket just long enough to reassure himself that the note was still there. The morning was a blur of meetings, each one blending seamlessly into the next, and he couldn't say what they were about. He only knew he gave the appropriate responses at the appropriate times while savouring a slight twinge in his neck as confirmation that he had indeed held the other man on the couch as they both slept. Endless budget debates, crime statistics and financial assessments flowed around him while he contemplated what the note meant, less interested in the dynamic of the latest case files than in the dynamic of Fox Mulder. Thank you for everything. Fox Alone in his office at lunchtime, he drank coffee and ate a sandwich from the machine down the hall, not tasting either. He phoned the hospital and talked to Scully, not hearing her assurances of improved health and a swift return to work. He took the note out of his pocket and read it again, not realizing he'd said the name out loud until he did it the second time. "Fox." He let the word roll off his tongue in a whisper, remembering briefly the only time he had called Mulder by that name. His first case as A.D. for the division that included the X-Files, and he had been suggesting to his wayward agent that he take a vacation. Mulder hadn't said a thing, just looked at him with solemn eyes and agreed. Later, he'd found out that no one called him Fox. He wouldn't stand for it, insisting on answering only to his last name, and Walter had made sure not to slip again. Ever after that, he was Agent Mulder, or just Mulder, but he never forgot how the man had let him call him Fox that first time, even after he had refused to allow Scully to use his first name. He said it again, now. "Fox…" His assistant intercommed him. "Sir, Agent Mulder is on line one." "Thank you, Kim." He picked up the receiver, took a deep breath, took another one, and stabbed the connecting button harder than he had to. "Agent Mulder?" "Sir, I was just calling to-to-" His voice sounded tinny and frightened in Walter's ear, and he could almost see the man physically struggling for words. "I think I know why you called, Mulder." One way or another, the truth would come out, and there was no point in putting it off. "Sir?" "You called in sick this morning, and now you're wondering if there were any new files that required your attention." He knew that wasn't why the other man had phoned, but he also knew that no personal comments of any kind would come from his mouth so long as he was speaking on his office phone. It didn't seem to matter how often bureau security assured him that his office was clean, that cigarette-smoking bastard seemed to always know what was being said and done here. Maybe now with Blevins gone, that might change, but Walter wasn't taking any chances. "I wanted to know more about the case file you showed me last night." Mulder understood the need for discretion probably even better than his boss did, and Walter was grateful for it; grateful, and intrigued by what the younger man was saying without actually saying anything. He thought a long moment before carefully framing his reply. "I don't know if it's an X-File, Agent Mulder, but I do think it's an important case." "Yes, sir, so do I. I think it's definitely an X-File, although I'm not sure how qualified I am for this assignment. There are probably lots of other agents that you could choose. " "I would say you are the only one qualified to pursue this particular line of investigation, Mulder." Walter was enjoying the word play, and he thought he could almost hear a smile on the younger man's face over the phone. His voice sounded stronger than it had when he'd first spoken, and it almost held a teasing tone. "Have you had the case long, sir?" "I've gone over the file several times, and I really believe it calls to your strengths as an investigator." Walter decided to up the ante. "Would you like me to bring you all the relevant data?" Maybe not the most romantic proposal he had ever made, but he held his breath regardless, waiting for the reply. "I could come to your apartment to get it, sir. As I recall, I think I left a piece of information there last night, when you originally showed me the file. I think that one piece could be a key to solving this case." Walter took the note out of his pocket, unfolded it, ran one finger over the print thoughtfully, almost reverently. "I certainly hope so…Fox." He heard Mulder's breathing quicken on the other end of the line. "I'll call you when I'm leaving for the day. And Mulder," He paused. "Yes, sir?" "With regards to Agent Scully-her situation, and yours-take as much time as you need." "Thank you, sir…for everything." Walter heard the connection end, eyes still on the note, replaying the last words Mulder had said like a mantra in his head. Thank you for everything. Fox ********* Walter was reclining on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, half-dozing through the news when the knock at the door came. He sat up abruptly, wincing at his back's not-so-subtle reminder that he was getting too old to be sleeping on the couch. "Who is it?" he called out, knowing who it was, precautionary just the same. "Agent Mulder, sir," came the reply. Walter stood, stretched his back and approached the door with something like trepidation, and something like delight. He turned back the deadbolt and opened the door. Mulder stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, head bowed, studying his shoes. The hall lights backlit cinnamon highlights into his hair, fascinating Walter for a fraction of a second. Then he touched the younger man lightly on the arm, and Mulder looked at him. Walter took a moment to appreciate the flecks of gold and green that shone like rough gems in Mulder's eyes, and the long dark lashes that didn't seem inappropriate on this man. Then he also took note of the dark circles under the eyes, and the pallor of the skin beneath that. "Come in, Mulder." He stood aside to let his agent into the apartment, and he could have sworn that Mulder deliberately brushed against him. Then he shook off the thought as so much wishful thinking, and closed the door behind him. "Let me take your coat." Mulder shrugged out of the three-quarter-length leather coat he was wearing, revealing the rest of his outfit-jeans, which Walter had noticed only from mid-thigh down, and a black t-shirt, untucked. Walter could not disguise his frank admiration, noting with no clinical detachment whatsoever that casual clothes on Mulder gave him more muscle definition than his suits, which, while superbly tailored, were still cut in such a way as to make him look slimmer, lankier, somehow. Mulder failed to notice Walter's scrutiny as his own gaze roamed up, then down his superior's body, clothed in casual khaki pants and a pale lemon button down, open at the throat to reveal the top of a white undershirt. The shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing strong forearms corded with muscle. When Walter caught Mulder's gaze, the younger man went back to looking at his shoes, handing over his coat without looking up. Walter took it without a word, and slipped it onto a discreetly placed coat rack to the right of the door. "So, can I get you something to drink? Other than scotch, of course," "I don't know, sir-scotch does have its merits. But I better not." "Well, then, what about an iced tea?" Mulder looked up then, and almost smiled. "Did Scully tell you how much I like iced tea?" he asked, and Skinner could have sworn he heard a note of sexual tease in his voice. "No, she never did." He gestured vaguely at the couch. "Have a seat. I'll be right back." "When a character in a horror movie says 'I'll be right back', they never are-they always wind up hanging upside down in the kitchen with an axe in their face, sir." Mulder's voice was completely deadpan, and Walter had a feeling he wasn't teasing. "I will be right back, Mulder. Depend on it." Without waiting for a reply, Walter left the room. He returned with drinks in hand to find Mulder standing in front of his bookshelf. Clearing his throat to announce himself caused the younger man to whirl around, startled and Walter wondered, as he had last night, if it was him that was making the young man so jumpy, or if this was just Mulder's normal paranoia. Either way, he didn't like it and wished he could find a way to soothe away his agent's fears. Instead, he held out a tall, frosted glass. "I'd tell you I made it myself, but I'd be lying, unless stirring counts." Mulder took the glass from him with a smile and said, "I think stirring definitely counts, sir. Any time you stir something up, it's got to count for something." More word play, and Walter realized that for Mulder, this was the easiest way for him to express his feelings. "Of course it counts." Walter sat down on the end of the couch, and beckoned Mulder over with his eyes. Mulder turned back to the bookshelf instead. Walter let him continue his inspection of the books in silence for a minute or two more, then, taking a sip of his own drink-definitely scotch for himself-he abruptly asked, "Looking for anything in particular?" With his back still to the older man, Mulder spoke, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "Handbooks and manuals dating back to when you would have first joined the Bureau-you're a thorough person who likes to keep on top of things. Just one book about Vietnam, and it's a picture book of Asian art and scenery. You don't like to remember the war. Tom Clancy, Dick Patterson, Michael Nava-you keep your fiction grounded in reality. Naruda, I see here, and Browning, and Yeats-expensive collector books of poetry indicate good taste and maybe a hidden romantic side." He turned finally to the older man sitting on the couch and gave him a measured look. "But I don't see Leaves of Grass here." Walter didn't know if he liked Mulder profiling him like a serial killer, but he replied immediately: "I keep Whitman in the bedroom." Mulder had the good grace to blush. Walter patted the couch cushion next to him. "Come. Sit. Sportsline is on." Mulder moved carefully over to the couch, his eyes never wavering from Walter's steady gaze. He sat next to the older man but not too close. Walter made no move towards him, instead turning his attention to the television and taking another sip of scotch. Mulder set his glass down on the coffee table and also focused on the sports program that was just beginning. He perched on the end of the seat cushion, shoulders hunched forward, looking slightly ill at ease. But, as the announcer on the television began announcing the basketball scores of the day, and Walter made no moves towards him, he began to relax. Walter gave the younger man room to set the pace. He wouldn't rush anything, knowing that it was Mulder's choice to be here tonight, just as much as his own, and that whatever was going to happen, or not happen, would reveal itself slowly. He could feel emotions that he'd thought he'd successfully buried leaping and gibbering in his brain, back from the vaults and thrilled to be here. A silent self-rebuke allowed him to watch the show, while stealing surreptitious glances at the man next to him. Mulder's eyes were glued to the television, absorbing the sports information like military secrets. His hands were busy in front of him, forming fists, then rubbing open-palmed down his thigh, then coming together as he cracked knuckles. Walter didn't even know if Mulder was aware he was doing it, but it fascinated him. The television was forgotten as he watched the young man beside him. Without thinking, knowing he would only second guess himself into oblivion if he did, Walter reached over and took one of the younger man's hands in his own. Mulder had long fingers, but they seemed slight beneath his supervisor's great paw. Walter felt the tension slamming through Mulder's muscles from his hand, up his arm, and back again. He looked over at his agent, catching his gaze and holding it, his own eyes never wavering. He didn't speak, didn't push, just held the hand and waited. The moment was long and terrible and wonderful. Walter didn't move, scarcely breathed, just continued looking, getting his visual fill of the man beside him, while Mulder's gaze kept alternating between Walter's dark, sparkling eyes and their joined hands, almost as if his brain couldn't accept what his eyes were seeing. When he didn't pull his hand away, Walter squeezed it almost imperceptibly, and asked quietly, "Are we okay here?" Mulder thought a moment, bit his lower lip, then decided. "Yes. I think so." "That's good then." And he turned his attention back to the sports cast. He didn't look over at Mulder, but couldn't help but smile when he felt the younger man tighten his grip on his hand. They didn't speak again until the show was over. Then Walter pulled away, picked up his empty glass and stood. Mulder looked up at him quizzically. "I need another drink, and then we need to talk. Are you okay?" he gave a nod towards Mulder's mostly untouched glass of iced tea. "Yes." Walter left him to his own thoughts, but was back before he could begin sorting them into anything resembling coherent ideas. Processing was totally out of the question, especially when Walter sat down next to him and took his hand again. "Talk to me, Mulder." "I wouldn't know where to start, sir." Walter pulled the note out of his breast pocket, unfolded it and tossed it on the coffee table, where it sat as inconspicuous as a scorpion. "How about starting with that," he said. "Um, I wanted, that is-" Mulder kept his eyes on the note and away from the other man. "I didn't think I should just leave. I mean, with all that's happened, you might have thought-I just didn't want you to-to be worried." "You signed it 'Fox'." Mulder sighed, and his reply was almost inaudible. "It sounds nice, coming from you." Then he covered his eyes with his hands and said, louder, "I can't believe I just said that." Walter pulled his hands away from his face and smiled kindly at him. "I'm glad you did. And I'm glad it sounds 'nice'. If we're to go anywhere with this, I don't think I could just call you Agent Mulder." His eyes turned dark and his tone turned serious. "Are we going somewhere, Fox?" "I don't know…Walter. I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now." He stood up abruptly and began to pace. "I don't know where this came from-if it's just some sort of reaction to everything that's happened, or if it's a guilt reflex of some sort, or maybe-" He halted in mid-sentence and looked at Skinner imploringly. "I don't know if I can trust my feelings on this matter." Walter stood up and met him in the center of the room, stopping his movements with a firm hand on his chest. "If it helps, I trust you." A moment of silence. Neither man moved. Walter's hand was still pressed firmly to Mulder's chest-he could feel the younger man's heart beating quick and strong beneath his fingers. Then: "It helps." "Do you want to try sitting down again?" Walter smiled and let his hand brush down and away from the other man's body. They sat back down on the couch, and Walter again took Mulder's hands in his own. Slowly, so as not to startle the young man beside him, Walter moved forward until his mouth touched Mulder's lightly. He didn't try to increase the intimacy, merely held his lips gently on the other man's, letting him get used to the idea, letting him decide. Mulder drew back, looking wounded, but Walter didn’t think he was to blame. "I'm no good at this," Mulder said. "I can't give you what you want. I don't even know if it's in me to give." His breath trembled out of him. "I won't ask for more than you can give, Fox." "I'm scared, Walter," he confessed unexpectedly. "Do you have any idea what this could do to you? Your career, your life-I-" Walter brushed his lips across Mulder's again and said, "I hear you, Fox. I hear what's going on in your head. But what does your heart tell you?" He grinned suddenly. "And I believe that puts us even for romantic cliches tonight." Mulder smiled back, then quickly pressed a kiss to Walter's cheek. Walter tightened his grip on Mulder's hands but otherwise didn't move. Mulder cocked his head to one side, smiling at Walter, looking almost bemused. The kiss on the other side of his face was just as soft, but there was something more deliberate in the caress as Mulder opened his mouth a little, tasting warm skin and rising stubble and liking it. Walter closed his eyes, felt Mulder pull his hands away and then, a moment later, his glasses were being gently removed from his face. When he opened his eyes, he was staring into wide green pupils that smoldered with something like desire, something like fear. Walter brought his hands up to Mulder's face, and gave him a far more intense kiss, licking and nipping at his lower lip, then thrusting his tongue into the other man's mouth. Mulder returned the intimacy with a hesitation borne of uncertainty, not revulsion, but even his innocent, almost clumsy maneuvering sent a wave of desire through Walter's body, and he groaned against that lush mouth, his hands moving down to Mulder's throat, then his chest. They kissed for several minutes, with Mulder growing bolder as his own need intensified. He held the back of Walter's head with one hand while the other stroked up and down the larger man's back and shoulders. Walter pulled back abruptly, his breath coming in quick gasps that he was pleased to note matched the other man's exactly. He stared hard into Mulder's eyes and slipped one hand around to tug at the hair on the back of Mulder's head. "Before this goes any further, Fox, again, I'm asking you, are we okay with this?" "This-this isn't about needing comfort, Walter," Mulder struggled to get the words out. Just the feel of the older man's big hand in his hair was enough to send shivers of wanting up and down his spine. "I'm not looking for a security blanket. Or-or a daddy." This last was said so quietly that Walter almost didn't catch it. But he realized immediately what Mulder was thinking, and he stroked the hand in his agent's hair around the side of his face, catching his chin and tipping it up just as Mulder was considering studying his shoes again. "Mulder…Fox. When I look at you, I don't see a child. I see a man with a child's awareness. A man who is not afraid to look beyond the possible, who's not afraid to believe." "Sometimes I am afraid." "If you want to stop, right now, I will still be here for you. Do you understand?" Mulder looked at him a long time, and, like a revelation, he understood with crystal clarity just what Skinner was offering him. And it scared the hell out of him. Not the physical feelings, he was familiar with them, was even enjoying them, in his way. Not even the implications of paternal protection worried him-he knew Walter would be his strength without thinking less of him as a man. No, it was the fact that Walter Skinner was not just wearing his heart on his sleeve here, he was in fact handing the whole shirt, heart and all, to him, to Fox "Commitment? I can't even keep fish alive" Mulder. And he didn't know if he could take it. Didn't believe he deserved it. But he had never more in his life wanted to believe than at that moment. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the other man in a fierce embrace. Walter felt Mulder's warm breath tickle his ear as he whispered, "I trust you." In the same quiet tone, Walter asked, "Do you want to go upstairs?" He felt Mulder stiffen momentarily, then, his voice still muffled on Walter's neck, he replied, "Show me." ********* Walter led Mulder by the hand upstairs to his bedroom. He smiled almost smugly when he heard Fox gasp, either with terror, or delight, he wasn't sure which, and at this point wasn't sure if it mattered. "Nice bed, Walter, does it have it's own area code?" Walter recognized the wisecrack for what it was: a defense mechanism wielded by a man whose very survival had depended on such verbal walls for far too long. Walter was determined to find holes in those walls, maybe even a door, if he was supremely lucky. For now it was enough to smile at the younger man and lead him with kisses and caresses until he was seated on the super king-size bed. Mulder looked up at Walter and smiled uncertainly. The grin faltered as he let his eyes roam over the other man's body, and it faded completely when his gaze fell directly on Skinner's crotch. Skinner had a rare insight as he realized exactly what Mulder was thinking, and where the sudden frown had come from. He hastened to allay the other man's fears. "Tonight is about getting to know each other, Fox." He held up a hand before Mulder could protest that they had known each other for a long time, now. "I'm not a profiler, nor do I have any "spooky" insights into you-" Mulder gave him a grin at the use of his nickname. He continued. "I can only find out the things I do in ways that work for me. In my work, I've always been hands-on…" He knelt in front of Mulder. "I've always done my best work physically rather than mentally, and I'm not ashamed of that…" He was eye to eye with Mulder now, and he put his arms around his neck and kissed him. "I want to know you, Fox, if you'll only let me…" Walter's mouth muted any reply Mulder may have been forming. He tasted every inch of the other man's mouth, using tongue, lips, and teeth the way Mulder used words, phrases and gestures in determining a criminal profile. Walter came to his feet shakily and Mulder's eyes tracked him, less wary now. Walter slowly began undoing the buttons on his shirt. Mulder's eyes grew wide as Walter shrugged out of the garment, then pulled off the muscle shirt he had on underneath it. Both items fell to the floor, unnoticed. Walter moved close enough to Mulder to run one finger across the slightly frayed collar of Mulder's t-shirt. "I'd like you to take off your shirt," he murmured. He continued fingering the worn cotton garment as he came to sit next to the younger man on the bed. Mulder tipped his head back as Walter's mouth found his neck and he made a small sound as Walter's hands snaked under his shirt, running up and down his back and chest with rough abandon. When Walter moved away, Mulder hastily pulled his shirt over his head and flung it in the direction of the door. He didn't protest when Walter pushed him back on the bed, nor did he voice any complaint as the other man stretched out beside him and took his mouth again, one hand on the back of his head, gently supporting it, the other stroking across his chest. When Walter lightly brushed his fingers over Mulder's crotch, the younger man's body involuntarily arched up under his hand as Mulder pulled his mouth away from Walter's. That wary look was back in his eyes, but his breathing was laboured and he made no attempt to move away. Just looked up at him with eyes so dark and unsure that Walter wanted to cradle him in his arms and kiss away every fear, every uncertainty, and simultaneously find every rat bastard who had lied, mistreated and abused Mulder and kick the crap out of them. His eyes flared righteous anger for a moment at that last thought, and his jaw clenched in a grim frown. "Walter?" Mulder's voice was timid, as was the touch of his hand on the side of Walter's face. Walter snapped out of his momentary rage and pulled Mulder into his arms, smiling and kissing him gently. "It's all right, Fox. We don't have to do more than this. I understand." "I don't want your understanding, Walter. I want to do this-" he waved one hand around dramatically, "whatever 'this' is. I want-" Now his eyes blazed as brightly as Walter's had a moment before, but there was no anger in them, and no hesitation in a voice that had barely broken a monotone all night. "I want you." The simple statement sent a bolt of renewed desire through Skinner's body, and his pants suddenly felt achingly tight. "It's just been a long time, Walter." Fox continued. "And I'm not sure-" Walter interrupted him with a kiss. "How long?" Silence for a moment, then, returning the kiss, "Oxford," he whispered. Walter looked at him sharply, trying to judge the man before him. "It's been a long time for me, too, Fox, " he confessed. "I want so much for this to be right between us, but I-" he hesitated, and in that moment, Mulder took his hand and placed it back between his legs. "I don't know from right or wrong here, Walter. I don't even know if I want to know. I only know what I feel. And this feels good." He arched back up into the unmoving hand, eyes never wavering from Walter's. "This feels like the truth." He touched Walter lightly. "Our truth." Walter groaned aloud as Mulder's touch grew bolder, long fingers stroking him through the material of his pants. His own hand was mimicking Mulder's movements, and Mulder was thrusting forward, pushing hard against him. Walter began a taste tour of Mulder's chest, nipping and licking at his collarbone, pressing his mouth to every part of the bare flesh he could find, until he reached one perfect small nipple, and took it in his mouth, suckling hard enough to make Mulder gasp and not notice when his pants were undone. Walter's hand made contact with Mulder's skin and he pushed the jeans down. Mulder raised his hips to allow Walter to disrobe him completely, only dimly aware of anything beyond what that talented mouth was doing to him. Without hesitation, Walter moved his mouth down Mulder's body, relishing the taste of his skin, a combination of soap, sweat and something spicy and uniquely Mulder. Mulder cried out when Walter took him in his mouth, stunned by the actions of his-his what? His supervisor? His friend? His lover? He didn't know, didn't care, could only give himself up to the intense sensations coursing through his body, centering on his cock. His hips came up off the bed, and Walter pulled away, quickly removed the rest of his clothes, then turned his attention back to the young man writhing on the bed. He draped himself full length over Mulder, holding most of his weight up on his arms, keeping just the barest amount of friction between their two bodies, chest to chest, hips to hips. He grinned as Mulder arched his back, trying to force more contact. Mulder had closed his eyes, but now he opened them and found himself looking deep into eyes the colour of bittersweet chocolate. He felt something old and rusty loosen up somewhere around his heart. In Walter's eyes, past the teasing glint, he could see both overwhelming desire and layers of concern for him that made him shiver. "Last time, Fox. Are we okay? Are we going to be okay?" His words came out in a soft growl, like a great cat suddenly given the power of speech. The quiet question penetrated Mulder's own desires, hitting that place deep inside him that he'd been trying, almost successfully, to ignore. He reached up and with two strong arms around the neck, crushed Walter to him and whispered in his ear. "No promises. But no lies, either. Just you. And me. And the truth." Walter saw tears glistening in the younger man's eyes. Mulder felt Walter's heart beating in tandem with his own. Desire pumped through two vastly different yet equally powerful bodies, and they relished it. And then: "And if you stop now, I'll kill you." Walter laughed, a crystalline note of pure joy in his voice, then redoubled
his ministrations on the man beneath him, and their universe spiraled down
in a whirl of arms, legs, mouths, hands, and cocks until their movements
became fluid and wordless and one…
What happened then? I hear you ask. Okay maybe I don't hear
you, but if you want to know, check out part 3 of what I lovingly call
the Redux Trilogy,
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