Chapter 6: When I’m Up

Scully watched Skinner lead Mulder out to the dance floor, sipped demurely at her mineral water, and wished John Doggett was there with her.

The three of them were at Boystown, Calgary’s most popular gay bar, ostensibly investigating the cause of Skinner’s illness. Neither he nor Mulder spent much time here in the city, but when they did come in, it was usually for an evening of supper and dancing. It had been Scully’s suggestion, once they were finished at the hospital, to follow their usual m.o. and see if that led to any clues about what was happening to Skinner.

Scully found herself frowning as she remembered the trip to the hospital earlier that day. Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover how she felt. From the moment they had entered the building, ‘uncooperative’ had been the name of the game, and although she had been warned by both Mulder and Skinner on the trip into the city that the hospital, not to mention most of the province, was in a controlled homophobic grip, she was still surprised at the resistance she received for even the simplest of requests.

She brought her bottle of water to her lips again and then tipped the bottle in a secret toast to her guardian angels. Well, guardian ‘geeks’ was probably more accurate. But regardless of whether any of them had had a date for their high school prom, the fact remained that at the first ‘I’m not sure if I should be releasing Mr. Skinner’s information to you, Miss-uh—Doctor Scully—“, Mulder had been on his phone, calling up the Gunmen’s number from memory. And while the hospital’s doctor and Skinner’s doctor battled it out quietly in a small office on the fourth floor, Mulder worked his own kind of magic with his friends. By the time the battle lines had been drawn, and the local man had all but admitted his dismay at having to work with and treat gay men in general, a release form was already faxing into his office. The FBI seal on it was enough for the doctor, and even if he had looked closer at the document, he wouldn’t have known that it wasn’t really the deputy director’s signature on it. Scully knew that handwriting, and she supposed that it was a good thing that Langly spent most of his time using a keyboard and not a pen.

With no other obstacles but the doctor’s resentment between her and Skinner’s information, Scully immediately scheduled a new round of tests to take place the next day. She commandeered one of the examination rooms to give Skinner a basic physical exam, but that was more for Mulder’s peace of mind, as well as her own. She knew she wouldn’t be able to plot a clear course of action until fresh test results were in. Skinner had been given an MRI when he’d been admitted two days before, but she wanted another one, and a CT scan as well, and she made sure that the X-Ray department would be available for use if necessary. Knowing full well just how quick and deadly the nanocytes in Skinner’s bloodstream could be, she wanted to be able to access information about their movement in his body with no restrictions, be they personal, or scheduling.

Unable to do more, and finding no reason to re-admit Skinner at this time, Scully suggested they find a coffee shop and start trying to find not the cause of Skinner’s illness, but the cause of the cause. The nanocytes had been lying dormant in him for over two years now, and since their first appearance had been orchestrated by an outside agent, (“that rat bastard and his fucked-up Gameboy” was how Mulder put it), it was a good bet that Skinner was being subjected to this latest attack in the same way.

Skinner himself couldn’t imagine who could know about the nanocytes, or how to manipulate them, while in contrast, Mulder was suddenly suspicious of everyone in the city, the province, and even the country. Playing middleman and suggesting that the person or people responsible had to at least have a nodding acquaintance with them, Scully found it easy enough to persuade the two men to look at their own actions over the last few months to try and find clues there.

There wasn’t much. Supplies were bought in Banff twice a month, once if it looked like the driving would be treacherous. They went into the city once every couple of weeks, again, depending on the highway conditions. There were a handful of restaurants they frequented, and just one club. Boystown had a little something for everyone. Dance floor and loud music, pool tables and dart boards, and a lounge on the lower level where two of the most talented bartenders in the city poured some of the finest cocktails, from scotch to Guinness, with a host of shooters in between. Both Mulder and Skinner enjoyed their infrequent visits to the place, and had even made a few friends since their very first trip there.

Although Skinner claimed he wasn’t hungry and Mulder was impatient to act on their discussion, Scully insisted they find something more substantial than coffee and biscotti before taking the next step. Neither man was capable of overriding her on her decision, and she found herself eating salad in a small restaurant just blocks away from the club, interspersing bites of lettuce, tomato and blue cheese dressing with pointed glances at Skinner and outright glares at Mulder, forcing them to put food into their own bodies.

When she was finished, she could see Mulder getting ready to pull out the heavy guns; his face started getting what she always thought of as his patented puppy-dog look. She didn’t even know if he was aware he was doing it, although she suspected he’d long ago learned that he could get results from actions as simple as widening his eyes just a little, letting a tiny smile turn up just one corner of his full mouth, making the hopeful grin tremble a bit, and then just giving his head a fraction of an incline, a movement that would have been a full bow in another, courtlier time.

Apparently Skinner had been on the receiving end of this routine once or twice himself; before Scully could reply, he caught Mulder’s attention by placing one hand lightly on the back of his neck. Instantly, Mulder’s focus was on his lover.

“Did you want anything else? Are you still hungry?”

“I wasn’t hungry to begin with. Let’s just go.” Although his tone was decisive, he turned to Scully for confirmation. She nodded and reached for her purse, but he waved her off with the hand not currently attached to Mulder.

“I’ve got it.” Same tone of voice, but he wasn’t looking for her permission.

Scully didn’t see any point in arguing.

Skinner paid the bill, Mulder insisted on driving, and a few minutes later they were hanging up jackets in the coat check of Boystown. The club was busy already, and Mulder stuck close to Skinner’s side as they entered the main bar. As Scully watched, he reached out and took Skinner’s hand, got a squeeze back, and they remained joined that way until they reached the bar.

Scully stuck with mineral water, Mulder asked for the same, and Skinner reluctantly changed his order to water as well, after being glared down by Scully when he ordered a scotch.

They found a table near the dance floor, and although the music was quite high in volume, they were still able to hear one another if they talked just a little louder than normal. Mulder scanned the crowd on the dance floor, the staff and the other patrons with a critical eye, looking for familiar faces, and maybe not so familiar ones as well, while Skinner told Scully about the club itself, about their visits here, and some of the people they knew. It was a pretty short list, and Skinner seemed sure that no one here could be trying to harm them.

The music changed subtly as the DJ mixed out of a remix of some television theme song and mixed into a classic Cher song that had also been remixed. Mulder turned and smiled at Scully, and she grinned back, remembering a comic book monster with a big heart and a soft voice. Immediately, that memory was replaced in Scully’s mind with a vision of Mulder smiling shyly and holding his hand out to her. She was only mildly surprised when he did extend an invitation to dance…to Skinner.

For just a moment, Skinner looked embarrassed, but when he glanced at Scully and saw her beaming at the two of them, the uncomfortable moment ended, and he caught Mulder’s hand in his own and allowed himself to be led out onto the floor.

Scully knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help herself, and she refused to feel bad about it. The two men moving easily together on the dance floor were her best friends, and watching them dancing moved her in a way that she couldn’t explain. She felt gratitude of sorts, that Mulder had found someone to make him feel all the good things she thought he deserved, and equally pleased that Skinner, truly one of the stoniest men she had ever met, was able to relax and show his feelings for his lover in such a relaxed way. Blending into these warm feelings was a faint melancholy. She didn’t feel jealous of either man, not in the traditional way. Instead she felt faintly envious that they were together here and now, and her own partner was hundreds of miles away. She shook off the lonely feeling and smiled a little, thinking about what John would make of this place. The smile got wider as an obvious drag queen sashayed past her with an exaggerated swish of padded hips, and she could almost ‘see’ the look on her lover’s face. Then she returned her attention to Mulder and Skinner.

They were no Solid Gold dancers, but both of them kept the beat easily, and their close proximity to one another not only advertised their relationship in a way that even a blind man could see, but also invoked a heightened sense of intimacy that was almost but not quite sexual. Skinner had one foot planted firmly on the floor between Mulder’s legs, and on the downbeats, he would lean forward just enough that their bodies would brush together. Then he would stand up straight again, and rock gently to the beat. His movements suited his large body perfectly.

Mulder was more dynamic in his dancing, more about arms and legs, but he, too kept his feet firmly planted, never missing the opportunity to lean in when Skinner did and make physical contact with his lover. He moved his arms gracefully enough, and found ways to keep the beat of the music and occasionally stroke a hand over Skinner’s shoulder, or waist, or hip in a possessive way.

When Cher began to give way to Pink, both men glanced over at Scully, and by some unspoken agreement, made their way back to the table hand in hand.

“Sorry,” Skinner said, taking a drink of water, “that wasn’t exactly conducive to our investigation, was it?”

“I was doing reconnaissance work on the dance floor,” Mulder protested.

“I think you were doing reconnaissance work on me,” Skinner replied. Mulder couldn’t honestly disagree, so he avoided an answer altogether by taking a large drink from his water bottle, brushing his bangs off of his forehead, where they were curling damply, and then asking Scully if she wanted to take a turn.

“Join me for a little more surveillance?” he asked.

“You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet, Mulder,” she replied.

“I’m all charm,” he agreed. Ignoring Skinner’s laugh, he took Scully’s bottle from her, set it on the table, and put her hand in his.

“Come on, lady, let’s dance.”

Scully didn’t miss the look Mulder gave Skinner—a brief glance, but obviously meant to both assure Skinner of his intentions, and reassure himself that said actions would have no repercussions for at least the next few minutes.

“Don’t let him try to lead, Dana,” was Skinner’s reply.

Scully and Mulder moved away on a wave of shared laughter.

Skinner watched the two of them step out onto the dance floor. He saw Mulder lean down close and say something in Scully’s ear, and she turned to smile back at him. He returned the smile and waved at her, and then the crowd on the dance floor swallowed them up. He scanned the floor for a minute more, thought he might have caught a glimpse of the top of Mulder’s head, and then decided he wanted a drink.

Not seeing any waiters in sight, he left the table and headed for the stand up bar.   Three gropes, a flirtatious wink and five dollars later he was ambling contentedly back towards the table, a short neat scotch in hand. A tentative sip and a smile creased his lips as he discovered that the scotch in the bar’s Glenfiddich bottle was in fact Glenfiddich, and not some cleverly disguised house brand.

He thought Scully might have something to say about him having alcohol at this time, but he also thought that he might have something to say right back to her about it. The thought made him smile again.

The music barely changed, blending seamlessly from one high-energy hit to the next, but apparently the new song didn’t work for Mulder as much as the first one had, and Skinner could see him and Scully turn and walk towards him.

A tall woman in platform boots and a dress made up mostly of wire and sequins approached Mulder as Skinner watched and threw her arms around him.

The look on Scully’s face was priceless.

Skinner couldn’t stop smiling as he watched his lover making awkward introductions, and he was still grinning as Scully joined him at a new table, this one a bit further back from the dance floor.

“Roxy?” Scully gave him a skeptical look that made him laugh.

“He’s a great guy,” he assured her. “Very sweet, in fact.”

“He told me his vagina was an outie.” Scully managed to look shocked and dismayed for less than a minute, and then they were both laughing.

Skinner took a moment to wonder about the hidden side of Dana Scully. Mulder had told him stories, vague tales of tattoos and office romances, but since those stories often accompanied reports of aliens, man-eating amoebas and jaguar-spirits that hung entrails in trees, Skinner hadn’t exactly given them a lot of credibility.  Now, watching Dana still laughing about a drag queen’s comment, he wondered…

Meanwhile, Mulder was removing Roxy’s hands from his ass for the third time in as many minutes and silently cursing Dana Scully for abandoning him.

“Does Shoulders know about the redhead, honey?” Roxy asked, her arch tone suggesting that if Mulder was in fact stepping out on Walter “Shoulders” Skinner, then not only was she going to be the first to let him know, but she would also make sure to be around for any possible consoling that might need to take place.

“She’s just a friend, Roxy,” Mulder protested. A soft smile graced his face for a moment. “My best friend, in fact.”

“Faghag?”

“Doctor.”

“Ah.”

The hands were back on his ass, and he glanced over at Skinner and Scully, hoping one of them would choose that moment to learn teleportation and appear between him and the grope. Both were smiling at him, but seemed disinclined to move.

“Did Shoulders’ buddy ever hook up with you guys last week?”

“What?”

“That guy that was looking for the big guy—“

Mulder forgot all about Roxy’s hands as he turned his attention from Skinner and Scully to the drag queen in front of him. The look in his eyes was bright and intense.

“Who are you talking about?” he demanded.

He and Skinner were not completely friendless here. People knew them. But it was in a vague, more acquaintance than friend way that suited them both fine.  They had a reputation in the club for being social drinkers, mediocre dancers, and obviously devoted lovers. They knew other people’s names, and had a reputation for remembering faces, even after just one introduction, but somehow their own names and history were less up front. Most of their acquaintances had a better idea of what they drank than of what their lives were like.

Mulder, always the more gregarious of the two, did know people who would call him “Mulder”, but the list of people that Skinner knew well enough to offer his name to was even shorter. A handful of men called him “Walter”; many more knew him as “Scotch”, his drink, or “Shoulders” courtesy of an anonymous admirer. And once, after a night of endless shooters and dancing, a drag queen had introduced him to someone as “Jean-Luc Sohard”.

Skinner had threatened Mulder with a month of sleeping on the couch if that name ever passed his lips.

All these thoughts and more ran through Mulder’s mind in a handful of heartbeats and he felt something like an itch inside his skull while he waited for Roxy’s reply.  It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a long, long time; the itch that told him that the case was open, the game was afoot; it was his profiler itch, and as much as he had hated it, still did sometimes, he loved it, too, and he leaned forward, eager to hear what Roxy had to say.

“You know, that guy last week—the butch one,” Roxy replied, giving him a conspiratorial wink, which was not as clever as she thought and mostly looked like she was losing one of her false eyelashes. “He kinda looked like ‘Shoulders’ there—not as hot mind you, but still—“

“This guy,” Mulder interjected, “Our, uh, friend—he was asking for Walter?”

Roxy saw the intense look on Mulder’s face and drew back a little.

“Well, you know, he was just probably cruising or something. Thought you or your man were hot stuff, or whatever.”

Mulder shook his head, the itch growing stronger. He wanted to peel back his skull and scratch. Instead, he eased it with probing questions.

“Did he ask for Walter by name?”

Roxy could feel the rhinestones decorating the sleeves of her dress digging into her arms where Mulder was clutching at her.

“I don’t remember,” she informed him, suddenly sounding nervous. “God, that was a week ago—I’m lucky if I can remember what dress I was wearing five minutes ago.” With a shrug of shoulders, and a shift of hips, she managed to throw Mulder’s hands off of her. “What’s the big deal, anyway?”

Mulder resisted the urge to snap, but barely. He glanced around the room, suspicious of everyone. He saw Scully and Skinner talking and smiling, and he watched Scully laugh at something his lover said.

Mentally steeling himself, Mulder offered Roxy his best ‘nope, nuthin’ wrong here’ smile, touched her briefly on the shoulder and said, “Let me buy you a drink.”

Roxy’s mistrustful glare melted into a grin. “Now that’s what I was waiting to hear! Vodka, cranberry, two limes, I’m going to change.”

Mulder took another deep breath as Roxy turned and charged towards the curtained dressing room behind the dance floor, and he had to give her a silent salute for the way she could maneuver in platform heels.

Moment over, he caught the attention of a passing waiter, ordered Roxy’s drink and an iced tea for himself, and then finally made his way back to where Skinner and Scully were sitting. He fell gracefully into the chair next to Skinner and groped for the older man’s hand without looking at him, addressing Scully instead.

“I think we’ve got something,” he said. He felt Skinner squeeze his hand tightly.

***
“Thanks, lady!”

Mulder caught the slim young man by his upper arm and held him in place, even as he was trying to just grab the drink and go.  He not so subtly manhandled him down onto the chair next to him, between him and Scully.

“Hey, Red, long time no see!” he said to Scully, and then took a demure sip from the straw in his glass.

“Mitch,” Mulder supplied in response to Scully’s confused frown. “Formerly the fabulous Roxy Diva.”

Scully saw it then; the hint of makeup around the eyes, traces of lipstick on the full mouth, and the hand holding the drink, undeniably a man’s hand, but sporting long artificial nails painted the same shade of gold as Roxy’s dress.

“Uh, hello, still fabulous, thank you very much!” Mitch snapped.

“Hi, Mitch,” Skinner said, “Good show tonight.”

Mitch visibly preened. Mulder thought that if he were a peacock, his tail would be fanned out completely, and he had to smother a smile with a sip of his drink.

“Thanks, big guy,” Mitch replied.

“Mulder tells us someone was talking to you last week about us—about me,” Skinner continued, his voice loud enough to be heard over the regular bar din, but low and friendly at the same time. He smiled at Mitch and gave his shoulders just the tiniest stretch at the same time. That was enough for Mitch.

“Well, he asked for you,” he told Skinner, “Described you—“ he paused and gave Skinner a frank and smoldering glance, “perfectly.”  Then, almost as an afterthought, he took another sip of his cocktail and added, “He didn’t seem to be one of ours, though, y’know?”

Mulder’s expression turned greedy at this bit of news, but Scully spoke first.

“One of yours?” she asked.

“You know,” replied Mitch, “Playing for our team? One of the family? A friend of Dorothy’s?”

Scully was still drawing a blank.

“A big nelly screamy thing?”

“Oh.” Scully found herself blushing and looking from man to man at the table.

For a variety of reasons, some religious, some sociological, she knew that she’d never thought of Skinner or Mulder that way. Oh, she wasn’t blind, or a fool. They were lovers. But they were also her best friends, and she never thought of them as anything but that. Now, after the actions of the hospital staff today, followed by this evening’s drag/dance/club adventures, she realized that she had been practicing her own form of homophobia. Just as quickly as the revelation came, she was working to overcome it, offering Mitch a warm smile and asking, “How could you tell?”

“You can always tell,” Mitch confided in her. “Gay-dar, I guess they call it, although I think it’s just a case of good fashion vs. bad fashion.” A shrug, a last sip of his drink. “The guy who was scoping you out—he was—“ Another shrug. “He looked regular army to me.”

“Army?” Mulder yelped.

“You know—crew cut, but not a good one, no product, no colour. Khakis, but obviously not GAP. I dunno, he just wasn’t—“ A third shrug was followed by a pointed stare at his now empty glass.

“He wasn’t fabulous,” Scully suggested.

“Exactly!” Mitch exclaimed.  Then, to Mulder: “I think the lady deserves a drink.” A well-rehearsed pause, and then: “and get one for Red here, too.”

Mulder didn’t want to play waiter anymore. They had a lead now, albeit a slim one, but still…there were clues to track down now, more people to question, hints of the truth. Every part of him that was made up of his training, his talents, and his experiences was telling him to move, begging him to act, insisting that he solve this.

He felt Skinner’s warm grip on his hand again, and those strong fingers entwining with his own grounded him completely.

“I’ll get us one more round, and then we’ll go, okay?” he said.

“I never say no to another round,” replied Mitch.

Biting back any and all catty comments, Mulder rose from his chair and headed for the bar. Immediately, Mitch moved closer to Skinner, and Mulder heard him say, “So, are you two *really* mutually exclusive, or what?”