By Michele (starshine24mc@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC17
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: M/Sk
Date: February 23, 2002
Beta: none
Spoilers: just itty bitty ones, but they run the gamut from Little Green Men and One Breath to Colony, Anasazi and SR819
Boring but necessary disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I’m just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!
Summary:There's nothing that can't be solved by good friends and good coffee! This one's for Logan, who asked for just a little less angst...Please note, this is the only chapter not part of the MBFW soundtrack--instead, it's the Peter, Paul and Mary lullabye that has sweetened many of my dreams.

***

The security door disengaged with a harsh buzzing sound before Skinner could even press the button next to Scully’s name on the intercom.  Of course, she had to have known he was coming. She was the one who’d called him, after all, scaring the crap out of him when he’d awoken, still in the hallway, to discover Mulder missing. After the first shock of seeing the open bedroom door, and a fleeting thought of kidnappers, he had paid attention to what Scully was saying, and hung up on her as soon as he heard the words “He’s here,” in tinny cell-phone tones.

He wasn’t giving the Tylenol he’d taken on the drive over much of a chance to work on the kink in his neck as he hustled down the hall to Scully’s door, but it was a distant ache, hardly worth noticing, compared to the pain that threatened to force his heart out through his throat any second now. All his concern was for Mulder, and the fact that it appeared to be unwanted concern just added to his misery.

Again, Scully was waiting, door open before he could knock, and she escorted him into the living room waving him silently over to the couch. He sat almost unwillingly, eyes scanning the apartment with fierce scrutiny, trying to will into existence a lover that appeared not to be. He turned to Scully with the question already poised on his lips, but her back was to him, and she was moving away.

Scully disappeared into the kitchen, reappeared moments later with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to him, then sat next to him on the couch, and said in a normal tone of voice, “He’s sleeping. I gave him a pill.”

Skinner nearly spilled his coffee as he started to rise. Scully’s hand was gentle on his arm, but held all the strength of steel, and he slowly sank back down on the couch. He turned troubled eyes on her.

“What did I do, that he could leave like that?”

“It wasn’t you, sir, and you know that,” her tone was gentle but admonishing just the same, and he felt a flush rise up in his cheeks. “This is Mulder’s fight.”

“With me?” he couldn’t help asking.

“With himself,” she corrected. “I don’t know if you understand how he feels right now.”

He opened his mouth, started to defend himself hotly. How dare she question his relationship with Mulder? And now of all times. Then he shut it with a snap. How could he know what Mulder was feeling—the man wasn’t talking. At least not to him. Some part of the puzzle that was his lover seemed to fall into place, and he suddenly realized that maybe Mulder hadn’t been running from him, from them, maybe he’d been running to someplace…to someone…

“He trusts you,” he mused aloud. Scully simply nodded.

“He doesn’t trust me,” he said, but that didn’t feel right, and he noticed Scully frowning. “He doesn’t trust himself with me,” he amended. There was something to think about, and he did so, sipping at his coffee and letting his mind sift through a hundred different memories, a thousand lines of dialogue, worrying them like a dog with a bone, and then sifting and sorting them into some sort of understandable conclusion. Scully didn’t interrupt his thoughts, just kept quiet and drank her own coffee. A small sound from the bedroom startled them both, but Scully rose first.

“I’ll just check,” she told him needlessly. Everything in him called out to go with her, and he didn’t.

Scully could see the tension flaring in Skinner’s jaw, a tic she recognized from a myriad of frustrating incidents she’d been witness to under his supervision, and she knew he wanted to go with her, wanted her to ask him to. But it wasn’t time. He still had to understand, if he was going to approach Mulder with anything resembling a solution. So she simply walked away, willing him to stay where he was. He did, and moment later she was back, and he gave her a questioning look.

“I think my bed’s too short for him,” she said with a small smile. He returned it around his coffee cup, and they lapsed into a friendly silence. Scully watched as he always so stern supervisor’s features changed and softened with each new thought.

At last, he said quietly, “He’s blaming himself for what happened to him.”

“Mulder’s always been one to borrow guilt,” Scully agreed.

“But it’s more than just that.” Skinner continued in that same thoughtful tone of voice. “He’s always used that guilt somehow. Gained some sort of energy—extra desire, or something—to find the truth. Maybe to prove to himself, to others, that it wasn’t his fault—holding up little green men as evidence, as if to say, ‘see, I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s wrong of you to blame me for this.’”

They looked at each other for a moment, then said in unison, “Grey,” and shared a soft laugh.

“But now, with this…” He hesitated, trying to find the words. “It’s as if he’s so---he’s angry and hurting, and he’s turning it all in on himself. His self doubts are poisoning him…and it’s slopping over onto us-he can’t see how there can be an us, when he can’t even believe in himself.”

Scully didn’t have to affirm his words. He could feel that he was on the right track.

“If I can get him to let me in…”

“That’s one hell of an ‘if’, sir,” Scully said. Again, their conversation was interrupted by a sound from the other room. Scully gave Skinner a measured look. “I gave him Tuinal,” she said, not sure if that would mean anything to him. “It’s prescription.” When he continued to just stare at her, she jerked her head in the direction of the bedroom. “Why don’t you make sure he’s comfortable.”?

Skinner didn’t need to be asked twice.

He hesitated at the doorway a moment. ‘Scully’s bedroom,’ he thought. ‘This is Scully’s bedroom’. The thought was enough to bring a warm rush of blood to his cheeks.

Mulder groaned and Skinner moved through the dark room, part of him wanting to rush, the rest of him knowing if he didn’t let his eyes adjust to the darkness, he’d be as likely to fall on Mulder as see him.  So he stepped forward cautiously, and his eyes widened to take advantage of the streetlight coming from outside the window, and the hall light spilling even more brightly from behind him, and by the time he reached the bed, he could make out Mulder’s features fairly easily.

Mulder was twisting in the middle of the bed, enmeshed in a dream that had caused him to kick off the quilt Skinner assumed Scully had put over him. He was dressed in grey boxers, and a familiar torn t-shirt. A quick glance at the bureau revealed jeans and a white shirt, folded neatly. Again, Scully’s work, Skinner knew. Mulder was generally fastidious in his grooming habits, from showers to shaving, but no amount of nagging or sexual bribery had convinced him that the floor was not an acceptable shelf for discarded dirty clothes. Skinner had simply accepted the occasional trip over a crumpled shirt as part of life with Mulder, and stopped thinking about it.

A whimper and another groan, and a frown creased Mulder’s brow above his tightly closed eyes. Skinner’s throat worked briefly, and he pulled his glasses off, swiped at his eyes almost angrily, and sat down next to his sleeping lover with a sigh. Mulder turned again with a soft cry, and the t-shirt twisted and rode up on him, revealing a slim strip of pale flesh. Skinner shivered, and his hand was already reaching out when Mulder called his name...

*Walter. Do you remember any of it?

*No. Shit. I’m sorry I woke you.

*Don’t apologize. Been there, done that, you know the story. I was just surprised, that’s all.

*What do you mean? You’ve seen my REM bullshit before, Walter—

*Hey, none of that! I just mean that you’ve never said my name before.

*I can never remember, though. Maybe it was a sex dream.

*If that’s the sort of response a sex dream that has you calling out my name at the end of it provokes, I hope it wasn’t anything of the sort!

*I’m sorry.

*That’s enough, Mulder! Don’t take it on. You don't need to feel guilty about this--really. Haven't I turned and tossed you right out of bed once or twice. It was just your turn on the nightmare ride, that's all.

*I’m—never mind—

*Hey, just because I’m telling you not to own this shit doesn’t mean I want you to give me the silent treatment either…you’re trembling…cold?

*Cold. Scared. You know, the usual suspects.

*Here…Better?

*…mmm, all kinds of better. Maybe this is why I called for you. My subconscious knows just what I need, apparently.

*Well, with that ringing endorsement, how can I go wrong?

*Walter?

*Yes, Fox…

*Thanks for being here…

“…here, Fox.” Skinner was startled to hear himself speak out loud. At the sound of his voice, Mulder stilled his weak thrashing, and appeared to relax, the frown on his face smoothing out, lips slightly parted. A small sigh slipped from his mouth.

Skinner let his hand finish the journey it had begun moments before, bringing his palm lightly down on Mulder’s stomach, barely touching him, but relishing the warmth of his skin with an emotional jolt more than any fervent caress could have achieved.

“I’m right here,” he whispered again.

Another sigh, this one deeper and thick with sleep, and Skinner moved his fingertips lightly across his lover’s body, already pulling away as he realized that Mulder was back in a more restful sleep.

Mulder’s hand on his own startled him, and he might have pulled away if those long thin fingers hadn’t entwined with his own, and then he may as well have been handcuffed to the bed, so unable was he to move. Mulder didn't seem inclined to give up his hand any time soon, and it was the best thing that had happened to him since that phone call a lifetime ago. A first step, he hoped. An opening, a light at the end of the tunnel that wasn't just an oncoming train. Suddenly, a smile bloomed on lips that hadn't done more than frown grimly in far too long. He hoped Scully had a book handy, and had no issues with napping on the couch. He wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon...

***
Mom? No, mom, I didn’t mean to break it, honestly! It was Sam—she was the one, she—Samantha! Samantha! Who’s there? Where are you going? I can’t move…I want to believe—I—I—I’m sorry, Dad, so sorry—I know I should have—should have—she’s gone…I’ll tell mom…there was a man—he—I—my partner, Dad…Scully was—did you hurt her?! Did you hurt her? Who did this to her? Scully! Scully—aren’t you afraid of…he’s dead, Scully—I didn’t kill him! You have to believe me! You—you’re my one in five billion…no one else…not that! No! A friend of mine is dying—but you’re still in charge of them! Who you’d turn to…who would you turn to? Walter? Please don’t leave me, Walter, I know I screwed up again, I should have—should have—how can you? I—I—I want to—Walter! Walter? Oh…. I can’t believe you came…I should have known you…Walter, I…mmm….