Chapter 15: Feel it Turn

Mulder exchanged a few last minute instructions with Scully at the door; he to her on taking her time, and trying not to worry; she to him on calling her if anything changed and what he could do to help Skinner in the meantime.

Doggett promised they’d be back as soon as they could, and then Mulder watched them get into Doggett’s rental truck. He continued to stand in the doorway gazing outside until the truck had ground the last of the gravel in the yard and was nothing more than a muted engine roar in the trees. Then he turned and walked back into the house.

Skinner walked into the living room from the direction of the bathroom, holding his glasses in one hand and mopping water from his face with a small towel.

Mulder approached him with a tentative smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like an asshole,” Skinner grumbled. He tossed the towel in the direction of the bathroom and gave Mulder a stern but troubled glance. “We have to talk.”

“Actually, we have to clean up the kitchen. Scully didn’t mention the potential for coffee stains during all of this,” Mulder replied smartly.

Skinner’s frown deepened. “I’ll clean it up. It’s my mess,” he said roughly.

Now Mulder frowned. “Our kitchen. Our mess.”

Skinner didn’t argue, just reached out as Mulder came closer to him, put an arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the couch. Mulder followed docile enough, but the frown remained.

Once they were both sitting, Skinner didn’t say anything. Instead, he silently looked down at his hands, then up and out the front window. For another couple of minutes his gaze tracked the cat as he strolled across the living room and flopped down in a sunbeam.

Mulder took one of Skinner’s hands. Instead of pressing the other man for words, or speaking himself, he performed complicated nonsense code with his fingers, clutching digits, tracing patterns on a damp palm, pressing a wrist to feel the pulse under his fingertips.

“If we can’t resolve this, Fox—“ Skinner began, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“We will,” Mulder shot back without hesitation.

“*If* we don’t,” Skinner repeated pointedly. “Then we need to talk about what’s going to happen.”

“I guess.” But he didn’t sound happy about it, and he looked even less pleased at the prospect than his voice suggested.

“Scully tells me that they had considered some pretty extreme measures last time,” said Skinner. As he spoke, he pulled his hand from Mulder’s and sat back on the couch, crossing his arms in a move more defensive than aggressive.

“They were trying to keep you alive in the only way they knew how.”

“I don’t want that,” Skinner replied flatly. Mulder opened his mouth to protest and Skinner shushed him with a light brush of his fingers over his lips.

“Seriously, Fox. I’m not saying I want to die, or that I’m giving up here. God, no! But if I’m not who I am—“ he glanced towards the kitchen briefly, home of the latest nanocyte-induced-mind-fuck. “Or if the alternative is—“ Again, he cut off his words and indicated his arms and legs with a shrug. “I don’t think I could—“

“I know.” Mulder’s voice dropped so low that Skinner had to strain to hear him. “And I understand, believe me, I do. But…”

There was no argument for it, and Mulder knew it, just as he knew that despite his resolve to remain strong in this situation, just that thought, the vision of Walter Skinner so physically or mentally incapacitated, for the rest of their lives…

He didn’t know if he could be that strong. Or maybe he could, but not alone. As always, it was a case of give a little, get a little with them, each man finding strength not only in himself, but in the other, and being able to then give it back when the other needed it.

Without hesitating, he squirmed under Skinner’s arms until the older man relented and took him into a warm embrace. Both men sighed noisily, and the cat looked up from his sunbeam momentarily, then dismissed them with a contemptuous tail flick and went back to sleep.

They shared a sad smile and then Skinner said, “Cremation.”

“What?”

“If it happens. If I die—“ Skinner felt Mulder shiver in his arms and he ran a soothing hand over his back, stroking tense muscles. “I want to be cremated.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Mulder replied, burying his face in the warm folds of the flannel shirt Skinner was wearing.

“I know.”

“We’re going to find Marita, and you’re going to be fine,” he insisted, his voice muffled.

“I know,” Skinner repeated, hugging him tighter and dropping a kiss on his hair.

Silence then, not uncomfortable, but definitely unhappy. Skinner kept his hands moving softly over Mulder’s back and shoulders, and Mulder played with the buttons on Skinner’s shirt.

Mulder sighed, and then asked quietly, “Did you want me to find a columbarium, or just keep you on the mantle where the cat can tip you over?”

It took a moment for Skinner to realize that Mulder had picked up the conversation where they had left off. He thought about the question for a minute, and then relaxed his grip on the other man.

Mulder looked up at him at the loss of contact.

“Let’s go for a ride,” Skinner said, with something almost entirely unlike a smile on his face.

“Okay.” But Mulder seemed reluctant to move from his controlled sprawl across Skinner’s chest. He smoothed his hands over the fabric of Skinner’s shirt several times, and then finally sat up with another sigh.

“Two questions,” he said.

“Yes, I’m fine, and yes—“Skinner punctuated the sentence with a kiss, “I love you.”

“Well, that’s great, Walter, but that isn’t what I was going to ask.”

Skinner’s eyes held a teasing glint, and Mulder tried to reconcile this side of his lover, all sly humor and sarcasm, with the anger-ball that he had faced off against in the kitchen. He wondered if it was possible to kill someone more than once, and his hands clenched into fists as he imagined briefly but clearly a certain blonde haired, blue-eyed neck he’d like to snap…twice…

“Two questions, hm?” Skinner was closer to a smile now, and Mulder felt himself relax in response. “Um…42 and black lace panties?”

“Closer, but no.” Mulder tried to return the half grin; to find his optimistic center in light of Skinner’s attempt at humor. At first it wouldn’t come. He kissed Skinner instead of speaking, pressing their mouths together for a lingering moment, and that seemed to help.

Just before the kiss could turn into something more distracting, and even while a part of him insisted that he let himself be distracted, Mulder pulled away and stood on only slightly shaky legs, holding his hand out to Skinner.

“Two questions,” he repeated, pulling his lover to his feet. “One: Should I call Scully and tell her where we’re going?”

“No, that’s okay,” Skinner shook his head in reply, “Let’s give her some quality time with John. I’m sure we’ll be back before them anyway.” His hand was warm in Mulder’s, his grip firm.

“Okay; definitely a visual I didn’t need, but all right.”

Skinner nuzzled Mulder’s hair as he spoke, “Mmm, and what’s your other question?”

Mulder arched his neck under Skinner’s mouth, enjoyed the brief intimacy a moment longer, and then turned a lecherous smile on the other man.

“Should I bring the lube?”

The question shocked laughter out of Skinner and he was almost able to forget the episode in the kitchen. If it weren’t for the residual headache, it would be like it never happened.

“Ah, puppy,” he sighed, “you always know how to make me smile.”

“I wish I’d known sooner. Maybe I would have gotten a few less of those nasty office lectures back in the day.”

“I thought you said my office lectures were sexy.”

“I think it was more the Hugo Boss suits than the ‘what kind of idiot loses four cell phones in one week?’ pep talks that I found sexy.”

As they spoke, they moved easily together towards the door, finding shoes and keys; Skinner clipped a sheathed hunting knife to his belt and Mulder slipped a gun into his ankle holster. They exchanged an unacknowledged grim look, and then continued their conversation.

“I never called you an idiot,” Skinner protested. Then, softer, “Did I?”

“Well, maybe not ‘idiot’ per se, but there were “I” words involved, I remember that much: Irresponsible, Irritating, Ingenious…”

“Ingenious?” Skinner raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Maybe it was ignoramus—either way, it wasn’t exactly a love sonnet.”

Skinner laughed again as they stepped outside, and Mulder heard him murmur, “Can you imagine…”

They locked the cabin door; at first, Skinner thought they should leave it open for Dana and John, in case they got back first. Mulder vetoed that with the argument that the military, government, or even the chipmunks might make off into the night with his big screen TV, and that was simply unacceptable.

“Scully and Doggett can wait for us. And then we can see about getting Scully a key,” Mulder added, “I like it when she visits.” He paused, then added “Although I think I’d like it better if it could just be her, and not the aliens, military and psychotic assassin’s psychotic ex-girlfriends she seems to bring with her every time.”

“Ah, me too,” Skinner replied, laughing softly and then leading Mulder to their truck with a warm arm around his shoulders.

End 15/19