Sadly, Fox Mulder was not surprised to find his apartment door unlocked when he pushed the key into the doorknob. He took a moment to run through a mental list of potential enemies, came up almost blank, and eased the door open.

The lights were off and Mulder left them that way. He moved quietly towards the living room, following the muted glow and soft sounds coming from the television, much like he had followed that elvish red light only a few nights before.

As he entered the room, he knew that if the words “follow” or “mad hat” flashed on the wall, he was definitely going to eat his gun.

No words appeared anywhere except falling out of Walter Skinner’s mouth.

“Mulder.”

Mulder froze; his eyes locked on the man sitting on his couch. The television was reflecting light off of Skinner’s glasses and making his expression nearly impossible to read. He was sitting up on the couch, and even in the chancy half-light, Mulder could see that he was in the same dark suit he’d been wearing all day, ever since he and Scully had found him in that hotel room….

“Can we please do this tomorrow, sir? I’m sure any disciplinary action will be far more effective if I’m actually conscious to appreciate it.”

“Shut up and get over here, Mulder,” Skinner growled in response to Mulder’s sarcasm.

“My doctor advised me to get some sleep.” Mulder replied, his sour tone betrayed by his body moving forward, seemingly of its own volition.

Skinner moved over to make room for him on the couch.

“She’s right,” he said as Mulder folded himself neatly on the worn leather futon, “You look like hell.”

“Ah, nice; abuse,” Mulder shot back, “I can see why you decided to keep this part of the meeting out of the office.” He leaned back and put a hand over his eyes.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve kept out of the office?” Skinner’s tone was grim; it was a startling contrast to the soft stroke of his fingers as he rested a hand on Mulder’s leg.

With a defeated sigh, Mulder uncovered his eyes and gave Skinner a guilty look.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” his voice stayed low but Skinner could hear the anger bubbling like noxious witches’ brew just below the surface. He knew, though, that this particular poison wasn’t for him. “You think I don’t realize that you’re the only one standing between me and a lucrative, not to mention highly rewarding career as a gay cater-waiter?” He tried to push Skinner’s hand away and got a firmer grip for his efforts. He sighed again, in resignation. “I fucked up. I know that…. But I--I was just so sure….” His voice trailed away.

“I know you were.” Skinner sounded less angry now. “And I’ll be able to smooth over the ruffled feathers on the fifth floor I’m sure. At least, with a little help from Agent Scully.”

“Scully believed it as much as I did,” Mulder wasn’t so much agreeing with Skinner as he was laughing at himself. “Figures,” he continued. “I finally convince the uber-skeptic to believe me, and it turns out I was wrong…. completely and utterly wrong….” Another shaky sound, this one more groan than sigh. “I am so fucking tired….”

“I know you are.” Skinner ignored a token protest and hauled Mulder into his arms. “And I’m going to let you get some sleep. But you need to know this:

“I don’t care about the brass and their griping. I don’t even care about the lawyers vulturing around that poor woman and her kid—“ As he spoke, he squeezed tense shoulders, nuzzled already mussed hair, and skimmed his hands over a heart beating just a little too fast. “Although I can’t imagine what would have happened if we had lost that little girl...”

Mulder shuddered and Skinner hugged him tighter.

“Just like I can’t imagine what would have happened if I had lost you.”  A soft kiss to Mulder’s brow, a harder kiss to his lips, punctuated Skinner’s words. A final tightening of arms, and then Skinner was releasing him and standing up with a stretch and a groan. Mulder gazed up at him with wet, solemn eyes.

“Long day,” Skinner almost gave him something not quite a smile and tousled his hair affectionately, “Get some sleep.”

Mulder smiled and closed his eyes.

“We’ll sort it out tomorrow,” Skinner said. “But not before noon.” He moved away from the couch, and Mulder leaned into the warm spot that he had just vacated.

A final pause in the doorway between living room and foyer.

“There’s still hope, Mulder.”

And then he was gone.