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A short while later, they were back on the road, the ducklings back
in their own private worlds, ignoring the two professors up front again.
He looked now and then at them by the rear view mirror. Heads lolled, even
Lyddie slept. Let her, he thought. She deserved the rest. But he’d forgotten
this, the worst part of driving. The boredom that numbed his mind as sure
as the seat was numbing his bottom. He used to do this all the time, drive
for hours, Scully riding shotgun like Lyddie was right now. Except Scully
never slept. Scully. When had he realized how unhealthy their relationship
had grown to be? There had been a time when if you cut Dana Scully, Fox
Heading that thought off at the pass, Mulder fiddled with the radio
again, searching for a station. Not much playing in the hinterlands of
Ohio. He found a country music station and listened for a moment. A pleasant,
not too twangy woman singer was on, and for a moment he enjoyed it, unapologetically,
tapping his fingers in time to the swingy rhythm, wondering if he and Walter
could two step to it. He wasn’t sure. Walter was the better dancer, the
one who liked going to that little club in Dayton. Mulder always just followed
Walter’s lead and tried not to fuck up. “Oh baby, just to feel this feeling…”
The woman sang. “It’s been too long since somebody whispered, ooooh, shut
up and kiss me! There’s something about the silent type, attracting me
to you. All
Mulder was reminded sharply of Walter, an astringent wash of feeling
over his heart rather than the usual warmth, pushing aside the pleasant
day dreams of dancing in that club or even just on the gleaming hardwood
of their dining room floor, the table pushed aside. He snapped off the
radio altogether, no longer thinking of two, strong masculine bodies moving
together as one, wondering just when had he gotten to be so unhappy with
his life with Walter. It had been a long
A few minutes of silence were broken only by the lonely sound of tires
on pavement. The fight, though it had been hours ago by this time, hung
around him like tinsel to a tree thrown out on the pavement the week after
christmas- useless, unwanted and clinging no matter one’s best efforts.
Before his gloom could deepen to irredeemable, his cell phone jingled.
He wonder who it would be. Not Walter. Walter would never call while he
knew that Mulder would be driving. He was still too sensible, to cautious
for that. Mulder reached carefully into his pocket, never taking his eyes
off the road. He slipped the cord of the headset up and tucked it behind
his ear, then pressed the
“Hello?” “Mulder, it’s me.” said a once familiar voice. “What can I do for you, Dana?” Mulder responded. He said Dana pointedly, hoping she would get the hint. He’d told her point blank often enough. If he didn’t have limits back then, he certainly had them now. He steered the subject into one of the few he judged appropriate between them. The son that Scully believed was his. Mulder didn’t think so. The dates just didn’t match up. But at one point he’d been a willing genetic donor, so he ponied up child support without complaint. It was the right thing to do and Walter concurred. “Did you need something for William?” “I just talked to Walter. He said you were on your way to Pittsburgh. I thought maybe I could run over and see you. You haven’t been this close in years. It’s more than past time that you met your son.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Mulder said, tapping the steering wheel with two finger again, but this time nervously. “This is a working weekend for me. I can’t really spare the time to see you. Some time later Walter and I will visit you in Philly.” That probably would never happen. There had been vague promises on both
sides for years now to visit each other at ‘some time later’. They both
knew that Mulder had no intention of visiting her again. If he thought
William was his son, it would probably be different, but the pictures Mulder
had seen led him to believe that William was no son of his. William seemed
one hundred percent Scully, through and through, without a trace of Mulder.
But they’d never know for sure,
“Mulder…” she began. “Fox. Please. Only one person is qualified to call me that these days.”
Ironic now how it had seemed an unwelcome intimacy, like people calling
him Fox once had been. “He’s at home in
“Fox. I’m sorry. I still just can’t get used to the fact that you’re no longer my Mulder. That you won’t let me have even a small claim on you anymore.” No Dana Scully, Mulder thought, you forfeited any such claim when you
went to Philedelphia because it was the better thing for both you and me.
To this day, Scully swore that she had
“I just can’t believe that you still don’t forgive me for going to Philedelphia when I told you right from the start that we’d figure out how to get you up there somehow. After all I’ve said and done to make it up to you.” She was crying, he was sure of it, but refused to be manipulated. “Dana, this is not a good time for me to be having this conversation.” He said calmly, detatched. It had taken many years for him to remain this distant when talking to her and he refused to give it up. “I’m driving. I need my attention for the road. Call me next week and tell me how William is doing. Goodbye, Dana.” Ironically, he had forgiven her for leaving him like she had. Actually,
though it hadn’t seemed like it at the time, it had been in his best interest.
She had been part of the piece that had been ripped out of his chest, a
big portion of that empty hole. If he hadn’t been at his absolute most
desparate rock bottom, if she had still been there in DC, he probably would
have blown off an interview for some miniscule college in the middle of
nowhere. He’d have remained in DC at his ultimate cost.
Lyddie was awake again. She must have woken some time during the call from Scully. She reached over and squeezed his hand gently on top of the steering wheel. She knew the story, at least part of it. She didn’t need to say anything. Mulder gave her a smile and she let her hand slip down. Then he concentrated on getting them to the conference. It was dark when they finally pulled into the hotel parking garage.
Thankfully, the van was one of the strange hybrid ones, not quite a mini-van,
not quite a full sized van, with one of the new hybrid combustion/powercell
engines. But it fit easily in the short height clearance of the garage.
He found a parking space and pulled into it. As they were retrieving their
bags, echoes and distant sounds buffeted them. Mulder was spooked, just
a little. He stood up a little straighter and
“I hate parking structures too.” Lucy said softly. “They always creep
me out and it’s not just watching the original Highlander too many times.
I think it’s that the sound reaches one without
Cassie smirked. Whatever came out of her mouth next was going to sting, Mulder knew. No love was lost between Cassie and Lucy, that was for sure. They had, as people said, ‘a history’ and rumor said that they’d dated, briefly when they were first year students, but both were going out with guys currently. “You going up to our room, Spooky? Or what? Somehow I doubt that the latest son of sam copycat is waiting for us in the lot of the Pittsburgh Days Inn.” Mulder burned with sympathy for Lucy. He wanted to shout, wanted to
slap Cassie for calling Lucy that, but he didn’t say anything just yet.
It was his own issues that caused his reactions. The better part of discretion
said to stay as far away from the interpersonal struggles of his ducklings
as they would let him remain. In any case, Lucy didn’t need him to defend
her. As he looked, Lucy didn’t crumple under the unkind name, but set her
jaw, slung her grubby Guatemalan cloth
Cassie stalked off, round lost, but clearly planning the next salvo. Mulder made a point of walking next to Lucy on the short trip to the front desk of the hotel. She seemed to sense that he wanted to say something to her so she slowed down, letting the others get a distance ahead. “You know what my nickname was at the FBI academy?” He asked her when the others were sufficiently ahead not to hear. “Spooky. Swear to God you’ll never tell anyone.” She smiled a rare smile. She was a small, taut, serious one, Lucy was.
In her pseudo-hippie outfit, drowning in a thick Peruvian sweater for a
coat, Lucy seemed an unlikely candidate for the BSU, that was until you
looked at her face and the smouldering intelligence there. Perhaps she
wouldn’t
“That eyebrow piercing will have to come out if you’re still set on applying to Quantico.” he said. “I’ll write your recommendation after you get your PhD. There’s still a few people there who remember me in a good way.” A few hours later and all the ducklings were settled in hotel rooms.
Officially, David and Thomas were sharing a room, and the four girls were
splitting two rooms between them. Unofficially, Mulder looked the other
way and didn’t want to know what the real sleeping arrangements were. He
and Mama Duck each had their own room. Mulder put through a call to Walter,
to let him know that they’d arrived. No answer, so Mulder left a brief
message, closing the call with a ‘love
A short while later, Lyddie knocked on his door and he let her in. She
looked around at the generic hotel room, one low chair by the window providing
the only place to sit besides the bed.
“Everyone settled in. I don’t think we’ll miss anything by skipping the opening social.” She said. “Hey, you weren’t out in DC at all, were you?” “No. Why?” “I’ll stay here and play chaperone. You go out and have a good time. See some of the big city gay life for a change. The strip isn’t that far from here.” Made unexpectedly nervous at this suggestion, he gripped the edge of the mattress and clenched. “Fine, except I’m not gay.” “Okay. Okay. I know. You’re not gay.” She suppressed an amusement at this, but only managed to banish the smirk from her lips. The eyes still glittered. “But as a man who’s openly set up housekeeping with a six foot two inches tall former Marine you can see how people might think that.” “I’ll grant you that. But as a bisexual six foot tall ex-Special Agent
with the FBI, you can see how my tastes would run to the masculine side
of things. I’m a guy. If I still drank, I’d be a beer kind of guy. I don’t
see how much I have in common with…” He paused, wondering how to say it
without being offensive. He certainly couldn’t tell her that though he
immensely enjoyed being fucked by that ex-Marine, he wasn’t at all ‘light
in the loafers’. “All of that. Rainbow flags. Pink
“All the more reason for you to see the sights.” She hadn’t let him off the hook until he’d at least agreed to go and
check out the bookstore, which she thought would still be open. So he found
himself strolling down from the hotel to a
His stomach had grumbled and he remembered that he’d picked over his dinner in the hotel restaurant earlier, hardly eating it, mind on Scully and Walter and everything but his food. At that moment, he looked up from his florsheim shod feet for the first time in the while. Across the street was a place called Liberty Diner. Despite the rainbow flags in the window, Mulder approached it. It looked like the sort of place one could get a decent tuna melt and maybe a piece of pie. Better than a greasy spoon, but still with the cosy atmosphere. It was open, not quite crowded, but with most of the booths occupied by a pre club crowd from the looks of it, gay men, mostly, getting a bit of ballast before heading out to an evening of dancing and drinking. Mulder found an empty booth and slid into it, picking up one of the plastic coated menus and looking at it without really seeing it. He looked around him. Gay positive everything fairly bedecked the place, struggling for space with safe sex posters and events posters. The clintele of the place were nonchalantly, easily out. Men’s arms draped over other men’s shoulders as they sat side by side in booths. Hands were held. Cruising was in heavy evidence, though it was just staring, watching, nothing heavy. In his turtleneck sweater and black rain slicker with the silver reflective tape on the sleeves, Mulder felt very out of place, old, plain and ugly, among all the ready for the party crowd. Birds of paradise, they were. Hothouse flowers. Exotic, at least to his experience. A waitress, wide, motherly, with a ferious mop of red hair that he suspected was a wig approached him. Her shirt was covered with buttons. PFLAG. Safe sex. Rainbows. I’m proud of my gay son. Pink triangles. Straight but not narrow. That shirt was leopard skin. She seemed genial and welcoming even before she spoke. Mulder rather suspected she was carrying dozens of condoms and would hand them out freely without the slightest provocation. “You look like you’re new in town, sweetie. And a bit lost. I’m Debbie.” Her voice was brash, but so kind. He found himself liking her despite himself. He smiled at her, remembering how once upon a time ago, it had been as if his face had lost the memory of how to smile. Not now though. The skill of smiling was one of the things Walter had given back to him. “Fox Mulder.” “What a wonderful name. So fitting.” she gushed. “Well, if you need help finding your way around, well, the whole neighborhood troops through here sometime or another.” “I’m from Indiana, a college professor. I’m in town for the students in criminal justice convention.” “Oh, a college professor! I should introduce you to my son Mikey. He’s so broken hearted since…” “I’m married, Debbie. I came here for pie.” Mulder said, easily. He held out his left hand so that the gold band caught the light. She flustered for a moment, obviously rearranging her conclusions. “I’m
sorry.” she said after a moment, more subdued, suddenly just another waitress
in a diner to him. “I suppose I shouldn’t jump to conclusions just because
you came in here. She must be a wonderful woman, since you
“Debbie, his name’s Walter.” Mulder said. “An ex-Marine and a carpenter who has against all logic and reason decided that he loves me.” Mulder didn’t add that Walter also used to be one of the highest law enforcement officials in the country. It just didn’t seem to fit in that much with his picture of who Walter was anymore. A.D. Skinner had passed away in much the same way that Special Agent Fox Mulder had. For the best probably. Walter was a better man than AD Skinner had been, not penned in by compromise and circumstance, no longer forced to make decisions he hated by vicissitudes he could never control. Smiling as she realized that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion again, Debbie said, “What can I get for you, sweetie? I don’t recommend any of our pies. Have the lemon bar instead.” For a moment, Mulder was heartsick for Walter’s cooking. “I don’t suppose you have meatloaf, do you?” “Of course. Right up.” Debbie glanced behind her at the sound of the
opening door. Mulder looked over her shoulder to see four men enter the
diner together. One who would have been
All Debbie said was, “Here comes trouble.” Under her breath though. Then she added, “I’ll go put your order in, sweetie.” She left. The alpha caught Mulder’s eye, acknowleging the stare that Mulder couldn’t help continuing. The alpha broke away from his pack. Mulder swallowed, suddenly realizing the man’s destination. He was paralysed. Entranced as the other man slipped into Mulder’s booth without invitation. Mulder had never before been the object of the serious hunt like this. Walter by his side had always fended off everything but the clumsiest of pick up attempts at the club in Dayton. The other man moved easily, gracefully, with loose bones that already suggested a post coital languor. Mulder’s heart sped up and his breathing grew perceptibly more rapid. He was hungry suddenly, but not for the promised meatloaf. This was unfamiliar, the thought that anyone besides Walter could want him in the way that the other man’s suggestion of a smile promised. Even newer, the thought that he would want a man besides Walter in this way. In a way that grabbed his balls and made his whole abdomen jump. And Fox Mulder was not without his vanity. It was almost shatteringly flattering, the thought that the much younger, much more gorgeous man would consider him worth contemplating conquering. Almost enough to make Mulder forget for the moment about wrinkles and graying hair and the fact that he was approaching fifty. “New in town?” the other man said. The question implied was more along the lines of ‘welcome to my territory. You want to see it? My way, of course.’ “Here for the Student’s In Criminal Justice convention.” Mulder answered.
Not sure how this was supposed to go, not even sure what the hell he was
doing, he answered with honesty. He wasn’t going to make this easy for
the alpha, he decided. He certainly wasn’t going to humiliate himself
The alpha glanced at Mulder’s left hand and seemed to take offense at what he saw there. He sneered, “I see you must have left wifey at home while you’re out looking for weekend fun.” “Wifey is a six-feet two, two-hundred and twenty pound ex-Marine who would probably pound you to hamburger if he saw you looking at me that way.” Mulder said mildly. Actually, that was probably the last thing Walter would do. Not inclined to violence for the sake of violence to begin with, since leaving the Bureau Walter was downright pacifistic. Actually, Mulder said it more because he hoped the thought of an implied alpha confrontation would increase his desirability. The young alpha would score a point, not just a notch on his bedpost by snatching him away for a while from another alpha. “And if he caught you looking that way at me?” “I don’t know. I’ve never gone looking before. Anyway, I’m here for the meatloaf. That’s what I’m looking for.” But as he spoke, he kept looking right into the stranger’s eyes, body language belying his words, telling the other man with his eyes, yes, let’s fuck. A short while later, Debbie brought a plate loaded with meatloaf, mashed potatoes. She nearly dropped it on the table when she saw his company. “Brian Kinney, you leave him alone. He’s got someone at home. Someone who sounds really nice.” Mulder was about to say something to Debbie, but a complex, unspoken
conversation was going on between the two of them with angry flashing eyes.
This Brian Kinney finally decided Mulder wasn’t worth the wrath he would
face from Debbie. Fair enough. Brian was obviously a regular of some kind
here, knew Debbie far better than he would ever know Mulder, even if Mulder
did end up in Brian’s bed. Debbie was a fixture in his life and Brian apparently
either respected her or
Then Brian retreated to the table where the other three were now seated.
They fell immediately in a gossipy, easy conversation. Probably about Mulder.
They were far enough away that Mulder couldn’t hear. Mulder envied them
for a moment, the carefree give and take, their openess. Even
Mulder shook his head, wondered what the hell he’d been thinking and
then started on his meatloaf. Not like Walter’s at all, this was covered
with gravy, not tomato sauce. Confused by his own mental state, wondering
how one minute he could be homesick for the man’s tomato sauce, the next
minute seriously contemplating fucking another man. Cheating on Walter.
He’d never said the words, not aloud, but still the standard marriage vows
were an unspoken assumption
Mulder left the twenty on the table like he’d been planning, hoping
to slip out without catching sight of Debbie, feeling already like a slimy,
cheating bastard, knowing what Debbie would think of him if she knew what
he was doing. She managed to catch his eye as he left and she didn’t say
Not sure still what he decision was, he slipped back out into the night,
leaving the artificial cheeriness of the Liberty diner behind him. He wandered
through the well lit streets of
When he arrived at the address, he lurked in the shadows across the
street from what had once been an industrial building, warehouse perhaps,
but was now a luxury loft conversion. Brian Kinney, from the look of this,
did very well by himself as an ad executive. Mulder was, honestly,
Kinney was waiting outside, arms crossed, scanning the night. Mulder’s
old skills served him in good stead and Kinney didn’t catch sight of Mulder,
for five, ten minutes. He was still trying to decide just what it was he
was going to do when Kinney appeared to give up. The other man shrugged
his shoulders, gave the night one final look, then turned to go, not up
to his loft, but out to the hunt again. Mulder was obviously just another
body to him, another anonymous fuck. Mulder knew Kinney’s name, but Kinney,
Mulder noted, hadn’t asked Mulder’s and probably wouldn’t. Mulder’s feet
were moving before he’d made a conscious decision. He stepped out of
Mulder’s long legs and traitorous body brought him across the street with rapid, easy steps. Inside, part of Mulder watched with mute horror as he approached the other man. Walter wouldn’t have to know, but this still would poison the love they had, as far from perfect as it was. Yet it still kept Mulder sane, was still the plug on that gigantic hole where his heart had once been torn out. He knew all this, but couldn’t stop himself from walking up to the gorgeous younger man and saying, “Hey. I came. I assume that’s what you meant. I’ve never done this before and I’m unfamiliar with the etiquette.” “The etiquette is simple. We go upstairs. I fuck you. You leave and go home to wifey.” With that, he put Mulder into a clinch, right there, out on the street. He pushed him against the rough, cold brick wall of the nearest building and out of the light. Mulder almost reacted violently, long dormant instincts peeking their head up as if this were a fight and then add the anger at hearing Walter described again as wifey. Of course, what right did he have to be angry about that? His own sin
here, his own betrayal was far greater than any disrespect that Kinney
could heap on. Mulder was about to have sex with this strange man. He was
erect, breathing heavily, traitorous body wanting even rougher and more
Kinney’s hands roved while he planted light kisses on Mulder’s neck
and jawline, moving closer and closer to Mulder’s mouth, as if asking a
question. Mulder answered, “Don’t kiss me.” Somehow, that would be even
a greater betrayal than bodies just getting off on each other, as if it
Kinney found something under Mulder’s jacket. Something he didn’t like. His hands flew off Mulder as if burnt and he stepped back. Damn. Mulder had forgotten the gun. Well, it wasn’t like he’d planned to go out prowling for an anonymous fuck. The holster and the weight of the gun was something so familiar, Mulder didn’t think about it most of the time, just another part of the clothes he put on to face the world. “What the fuck?” Kinney was saying. “I thought you said you were a college professor. I may not know anything about guns, but I do know that’s big enough to be major firepower. What are you really?” “I am a college professor. Now. Criminal justice. I used to be a cop.
A fed. Special Agent with the FBI. There are people out there who still
have grudges out there about perps I brought to justice back then, enough
that I have legitimate cause to worry. I have all the permits I need to
legally
“Damn. And I thought I had to be worried about wifey, not you.” “Oh, I’d still be worried about wifey. He used to be my boss.” Kinney seemed to regain courage, perhaps the aphrodesiac of the potential
power exchange here was working, the thought of not just stealing this
prize from the other alpha, but of topping a man who should in his own
right be just as alpha, just as tough. Kinney closed the gap between them
again, hands knowing just exactly the responses they wanted from Mulder’s
traitorous body, nothing overtly sexual was touched just yet, hands nowhere
near dick or ass, but still those hands
And yet, how intoxicating it was to be wanted in just exactly this manner, with no apologies, no mutuality. Mulder was ready to offer himself up, ready to surrender to this. He would have gone through with this, except he felt something tugging at his ring finger. “Take this off and put it in your pocket or something.” Kinney said. “I can’t do this thinking about your wifey.” Mulder was frozen. He’d never, not once, taken off that ring since the night he’d put it on while Walter served meatloaf. It belonged there. Like he belonged in Walter’s arms, not in the octopus hands of this total stranger. The part of him that had been watching in mute horror before decided it had taken enough of this crap and found its voice now. He said simply, automatically, “No. Fuck you.” and then “I can’t.” “What, it doesn’t come off anymore?” Kinney made another pull on the ring and Mulder pulled away from the grabbing, invasive hands. He had to slap Kinney’s hand off his ring finger. He stepped back three paces giving him over a good clear yard between Kinney and himself and he knew he would never close that distance between them again. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried. But it’s not coming off.” “What the fuck is your problem here? I’m here to get off. I thought you were too. What are you really here for?” “I honestly don’t know. I’m going now. This was a mistake.” He pulled
Kinney’s business card out of his pocket, dropped it on the ground and
just walked away, not waiting for Kinney’s
He made his way back to the hotel. He had a momentary fear that Lyddie
would be waiting up for him, wanting to tell her how it went, but she was
nowhere to be seen, hopefully sleeping. He let himself into the anonymous
hotel room with the key card. He shut the door behind him and then leaned
against it, head back, one hand over his eyes as if fending off a headache.
In a moment, he cautiously took his hand away, as if it wasn’t doing any
good. The hotel room was warm, almost
“Oh, fuck! What did I just do?” he muttered to himself. Then it was
there, knocking at his consciousness, the stirrings of a full blown panic
attack, familiar and hated, perhaps the same one
As he felt the first clutching pain in his chest and the unthinking
need to flee mounted, he muttered to himself, trying to reason himself
through this, like he had learned over the years. “No
There was the small amber bottle of medication in his garment bag, just
one and he’d find himself quite able to cope. But the next day, he’d feel
stupid and slow. Mulder knew that the only reason his doctor was so free
with her prescription pad was that she knew he hated the drugged feeling
and most of the pills would be tossed out once the expiration date rolled
by. But keeping that prescription current was still a necessary security
blanket, just one that he didn’t think he should
The television sat on the dresser opposite the bed, a big black unblinking
eye. Once his constant companion, now it was a stranger. He’d gotten rid
of his television because something in him recognized it as a block to
his healing. It replaced thought, was a substitute for feeling. Something
that he could hide behind and not really deal with his issues. He had recognized
that he couldn’t do the healing he needed to do with it as a possible escape;
that if he was going to allow the silence of his refuge to heal him, he
had to listen to the silence. So he had left it in DC. He was past that
point now, but Walter hadn’t brought his television either and they’d just
never brought
Mulder rummaged in the briefcase, wondering if maybe he had a novel
he’d tucked in and forgotten. No luck. Only student papers to grade and
the laptop. The laptop, of course. There
He was, under the pseudonym of William Hobb, the author of a series
of mildly successful young adult mystery novels. Not big time, nowhere
near approaching the success of Stine’s
Mulder quickly skimmed through the last few chapters to remember where
he was in the story and then was quickly absorbed in the adventures of
his two intrepid boy investigators, imminent panic attack averted and nearly
forgotten in the easy flow of words. It left him feeling merely
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