Stand By Your Man

“But if you love him, you’ll forgive him
Even though he’s hard to understand.
And if you love him, be proud of him,
After all, he’s just a man.”
  -Lyle Lovett
  Stand By Your Man (OST: The Crying Game)
 

Special Agent Dana Scully walked into the office she shared with her partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder, just as said crackpot-albeit-brilliant partner was throwing a wastepaper basket across the room with all the force he could muster.

She crossed her arms and regarded him coolly from the doorway.

“I guess this means you’re report for Skinner isn’t quite finished.”

“It’s an important report, Scully,” Mulder replied, sitting back down behind his desk and retrieving a pen. “If I don’t frame the facts of this last case in just the right way, I can only imagine the consequences… official reprimand, possibly even censure-“

“A month of sleeping on the couch,” Scully teased.

“I’m being serious.”  Mulder pouted for a moment, then slipped his glasses on and turned back to the papers on the desk.

Scully made her way across the room, stopped a moment to right the seriously dented trashcan, then walked around the desk to look at Mulder’s report over his shoulder.

It would have been the ultimate act of kindness to call what he had written up a “rough draft”.  Only years of writing reports with her partner had given Scully the ability to decipher the nearly meaningless scrawl before her.  Mostly point-form, words made up of alternating lower case and capital letters spelled out the story.

“Mulder, you might want to leave out the bit about the sea-monster eating your cel phone.”

“But if I just say I dropped it in the lake, I’ll look foolish,” he replied.

She raised an eyebrow and gave him the silence that remark deserved.

“Okay, what if I just say something got my phone?”

“Better.  Now what about the motel bill?  How could you break the headboard on the bed when it was attached to the wall?”  Somehow, Scully just knew that she didn’t want to know.

“That was Walter’s fault,” was all he said; her imagination supplied the rest as she remembered that the damage to the bed had occurred before Mulder lost his phone.  She had the good grace to blush, earning a lopsided grin from Mulder.

“Next.”  She hoped fervently that Mulder had had the good sense to hang on to the receipts for the dry-cleaning of his suit, the towing of the car, and, of course the uninsured hospital visit, short as it was.

“To hell with it,” Mulder declared.  “I know what happened out there, and you know it too, Scully.  I’m going to type this up, hand it to the boss, and let the chips fall where they may.”

“Are you sure, Mulder.  I mean, I know we figured out what happened to those missing kids; we caught the guy red-handed, but…” She trailed off, not having to finish her thought.  Mulder knew that this case had been trouble from the get-go, but there was nothing to be done about it now.  The bills were due, and the report had to go in.  Before he could answer her, she noticed something else about his notes.

“Mulder, there’s no mention of your injury in here.”

“I know.”

“Why not?  It has relevance in that it was the perp who injured you, the result being the car winding up up to it’s bumpers in water, just moments before the thing with the phone.”

“You’re reaching, Scully.  I was there, I know what happened, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to try to weasel out of any of this by blaming our suspect, when it was-“

“You can not put a monster in this report.”  She cut him off firmly.  “Skinner is going to nail us on this one already, without your theory on what lives in that lake.”

“Can I just use something again?”

The phone rang, startling them both.  When Mulder eyed it like it was a rattlesnake getting ready to strike, Scully answered it.  Half a dozen ‘yes, sir’s later, she hung up.

“Walter?”

She nodded.

“Pissed?”

She nodded again, then, when his face fell dramatically, she said, “but not at us.  At least, not yet.” 

“Okay, I give.  What’s up that he didn’t have time to tear into you…or say hi to me?”  He frowned at that last thought, then looked to her for the answer.

“He says he needs our reports in an hour.  He’ll go through them and call if he has any questions, but we’re wanted for a Q and A from Violent Crimes.  Seems our suspect was a travelling man, and VCU thinks they can pin several other similar murders on him.”

“No meeting?” 
 

Mulder didn’t know whether to be relieved that Skinner would not be calling him on the carpet over this latest case, or disappointed that he wouldn’t be seeing his lover.

“No meeting-not with us, anyway.  He’s meeting with the section chief, which I think has put him in a mood.  I’d say we’re getting off lucky.  So, why don’t you try and turn this-“ Scully indicated the papers on the desk. “into something resembling an official report, I’ll get Holly to make a copy of the autopsy and follow-up for our files, and we’ll go for lunch in an hour.”

“Fine.  But not that health food place again,” he replied.

“I like the burgers there.” Scully protested.

“You would.  How about Casey’s?”

“Sure.”

Walter Skinner rubbed absently at a pain developing above his right eye as he re-read Fox Mulder’s latest report and jotted down another note on the pad of paper next to it.  He recognized the headache that was coming, and knew there would be no relief for it.  At least not until he retired and didn’t have to spend his days reading about lake monsters and serial killers, and then justifying the costs incurred by the agents in his division.  Well, one agent in particular.

Once, in an almost serious moment, Skinner had asked Mulder why he didn’t just take a hammer to his cel phone as soon as he got it.  There’d be a lot less paperwork that way.

He recalled sleeping on the couch the night of that conversation.

Although he was concerned about his lover, and desperately wanted to see him, touch him, hold him-it had been almost two weeks, after all-he was dimly grateful not to have to be going over this report with him.  It was a fine line that Skinner walked between being an adoring (and adored) lover and a surly (and frustrated) supervisor, and he knew that this report would have earned Mulder a tongue-lashing at best, and a full on, called on the carpet reaming at worst.

His mind didn’t miss the double entendre, and he grinned to himself.

Back to the report, he turned the page and reached without looking for the ibuprofen in the top drawer of his desk.

He had to admit to himself that, were he not in a supervisory position where he had to justify Mulder’s reports to those higher up than himself, he would have been having a great read.  The story was interesting, well written, creatively spelled, and fascinating as only the paranormal can be.

It got far less fascinating when he thought about having to explain to the section chief how Mulder had lost yet another cel phone, and demolished a hotel bed.

He finished Mulder’s report, set it aside, and dry swallowed two pills.  He intercommed Kim and asked if she could bring him in a coffee, when she had a minute, then turned to Scully’s report on the same incident.

Much less hysterical, nonsensical or metaphysical in context, Scully’s report, including autopsy information and her own take on the case, was much dryer than Mulder’s, but a far cleaner document to both go through and justify.

Skinner noted something at the bottom of the second last page, and was still frowning over it when Kim brought in his coffee.

Mulder had made no mention of the fact that the perp had apparently tried to kill him as they were bringing him in, and that he had sustained injuries.  Not life-threatening, perhaps, but he had been choked and bitten, and his shoulder was sprained.

Typical, that Mulder would be more interested in reporting on the existence of some sort of sea serpent, than on a threat to his own life.

Typical, and frustrating, and Skinner wondered, not for the first time, about all of the people who must have come in and out of his lover’s life and what they had done to make such a damaging impression on him.  All of Mulder’s actions were self-destructive in some way, be it physical, mental, or emotional.  Everything from his inability to take a compliment to his complete disregard for personal safety which ran the gamut from laziness to full blown death wish made Walter want to simultaneously shake some sense into the younger man and hold him close and shower him with words of love.

Neither option was viable at the moment, as his intercom buzzed and Kim told him the section chief was ready for his report.

                    **********

The section chief was pissed.

More so than was the norm for him, it seemed, as the man was usually, if not open to suggestion, at least not completely closed to possibilities.

Today, it was apparent, at least to Skinner, that the man was being deliberately belligerent, almost sneering at the reports before him, and nit picking over what seemed to be minor details in a sarcastic way that Skinner was starting to resent.  He didn't want to deal with the chief today-hell, he didn't want to deal with any of it today.  He only wanted to be at home, with his lover, making sure he was all right.

Alphabetically, the X-Files were second last.

Scully’s report got the first once over, and the chief didn’t have much to say, beyond a query as to that particular agent’s state of health, and whether the bureau would be incurring the cost of the use of the local health department’s autopsy facilities.  If he noticed the increasingly clipped tone of voice Skinner was using to reply, he didn't comment on it.

He was silent as he read Mulder’s report.

And re-read it.

He was silent as he stared at Skinner, who was suddenly more interested in the carpet than on the man before him.

And stared.

When the silence finally got too uncomfortable, Skinner looked up at the older man squeezed behind the opulent oak desk.  “Sir?”

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” the chief asked angrily.

“No, sir.  Is there a problem?”  Skinner knew this was going to get ugly, but all he could think about was Mulder’s injuries, and a muscle in his tightly-clenched jaw twitched as he suddenly visualized kissing every bruise better, starting at the ankles and working his way up.  If the chief noticed, he gave no clue, jumping into a nasty verbal tirade instead.

“'Is there a problem?'  Would you like them alphabetically, or at random, Mr. Skinner?  This is not the first time that you have brought me a report from Agent Mulder that reads more like something out of Jules Verne than a real life story.  And then I’m expected to approve it?  Tell me, how did you find the ability to justify these costs?”

“Sir, I-“

But the chief wasn’t finished yet.

“The car wound up in the lake, for god’s sake!  How do you drive a car into a lake when the lake is twenty miles from the place where the suspect was apprehended?  And another cel phone?  Your division has the highest rate of equipment loss in the building, Mr. Skinner.  And it seems to me that most of it comes from these so-called X-Files.  How can you justify-“

Walter slammed his hands down on the desk, effectively cutting off the section chief in mid-sentence.

“Sir.” His voice was sharp, but not loud.  It didn’t have to be.  Once he was sure he had his superior’s full attention, he continued in the same tone, anger flashing in his dark eyes as he spat out the words like bullets.

“May I remind you, sir, that the X-Files division has a case solution rate of over 70%.  That is far above standard bureau requirements.”

“Mr. Skinner-“

“May I also remind you that the agents under my supervision have faced more than their share of deadly situations and never shirked their responsibilities, sometimes with resulting personal injury that they manage to overcome to still solve the case.”

“Uh-“

“And, yes, sometimes even I am at a loss to explain the contents of some of Agent Mulder’s reports, but the man is one of the finest agents in the history of this organization, and to reign him in over something as damned insignificant as a lake monster eating a cel phone would be both unwise and counterproductive!” 

Skinner stepped back from the desk, took a deep breath, and waited for the axe to fall.  He wondered if the section chief would take his outburst and add two and two together to make four.  Or five.  Certainly he defended all the agents working under him when the situation warranted it, but this had been personal, and he knew it.  Now he wondered if the section chief knew it, too.

The chief gave him a look, and asked quietly, “Is that all, Mr. Skinner.”

Skinner nodded.

The chief looked down at the report on his desk, and looked warily back at Skinner, who gave him a defiant glare, as if daring him to attempt another attack on the X-Files, or Mulder.  He didn't care if it was personal.  If this was "coming out", then so be it.  He'd be out, but on his own terms, knowing that he hadn't denied his lover, hadn't hurt a man still recovering from a lifetime of hurts.  The feelings were at once frightening and freeing at the same time, and he was content he had done right.

“You stand by this report?”

“I do.”  Skinner didn’t back down, literally or figuratively.  His only thoughts now were for his lover, who, he was sure, had just cost him his job, or at least earned him an unscheduled vacation.  And somehow he didn’t care.  He wasn’t going to listen to any more attacks on Mulder that he couldn’t justify himself, and that was the end of it, as far as he was concerned.  Now it was up to the man sitting in front of him.

The chief set the X-File to one side and picked up the next file folder on the pile.

“Now, what can you tell me about the Zimmer case?”

Skinner breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and stepped back close to the desk to take a look at the file in the chief’s hands, looking forward to wrapping things up and getting home.

                    **********

Mulder looked at his watch again, and fretted some more.  Walter was late, and Kim was getting impatient with his incessant phone calls on the subject.

“He’s still in the meeting, Agent Mulder.  I’ll tell him you called, again.”

That had been over an hour ago, and there was still no word from his lover.

Still in the meeting at seven. The section chief must be raking him over the coals about my report- shit, shit, shit…I am so dead.  I never had a chance-he never had one either.  Maybe if I offered to pay for the cel phone myself.   Mulder began to pace. He’s going to kill me.  I wonder if I should call Scully-she could start the funeral arrangements…Damnit!  He flopped back down on the couch, then immediately stood, ignoring the angry throb from his wrenched shoulder.  Maybe I should go to a motel.  I’m sure this will blow over eventually, and then-

Mulder froze as the door flew open.

Oh, god…

He tried on a smile that felt ten sizes too small, and gave Walter his best casual “Hey.”  What came out was more squeak than tone, though, and he flushed red.  Skinner seemed not to notice, responding instead with his own greeting.

“Hey.”

It was a running gag between the two of them, the casual greeting they’d always used with one another, the one that  they still used, although their circumstances these days were far from casual.

“How-how was your day?”  Mulder stammered, still standing motionless in the middle of the living room as Skinner came towards him, shedding his London Fog along the way.

“Oh, you know, meetings, paperwork, more meetings.  Same shit, different day.”  And he smiled, not seeming upset.  At all.

It was then that Mulder noticed the flowers that Skinner was thrusting at him.

“Uh-wha-“ He’d lost the ability to verbalize, but instinctively reached for the paper wrapped package. 

 Skinner slipped one arm around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then nuzzled his hair briefly and asked, “How are you doing?”

Mulder stared stupidly at his lover, not sure what to say. 

“Um…fine?”  He didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, it just did.

“You didn’t mention getting injured in your report.”  Skinner led him over to the couch, hand gentle but firm on his back. 

Mulder was still staring at Skinner, unable to understand what had happened, only realizing that he had been granted some sort of cosmic reprieve, and his lover was not going to tear him a new asshole, as he had expected.  With the sort of wariness that years of disbelief can foster, Mulder wondered what Skinner was up to.  Immediately he felt guilty for not trusting his lover, and again, it was a feeling he recognized.  These thought processes were not new to him, only the person involved was. 

All this went through Mulder’s mind in less than a minute.  He didn’t reply to Skinner’s statement, instead he turned his attention to the package in his hand.  Undoing tape and pulling at paper revealed two roses on a spray of baby’s breath-one brilliant yellow, one blood red. 

Generally, Mulder was not a flower kind of guy.  Funerals were about the only thing he’d sent flowers to, and then he let the florist pick something suitable.  He’d never received flowers from anyone, either, until now; until Walter.

This was not the first time his lover had brought him some sort of floral display of affection.  If there was a hospital involved, there was Walter, bouquet in hand, regardless of the seriousness, or lack of seriousness, of the situation.  Once, Mulder remembered, one of his fish had died, and Walter had brought a dozen mums with the replacement fish.  There’d been carnations for Valentine’s Day, goldenrod for Halloween that had made Scully sneeze, and dozens of roses, always paired like this, never expected, but always appreciated.  He knew the care with which Walter chose the flowers, and it made them all the more special.  He had learned to enjoy the gifts, not be suspicious of them.

“Um, thanks?”  Again unsure, his tone turned the statement into a question.

“So, how come I had to read about this-“Skinner touched a livid bruise on the side of Mulder’s neck.  “in Scully’s report and not yours?”

Mulder shrugged and winced at the pain in his shoulder.

“You need to be more careful, Fox.”

His first name made him aware of Walter’s seriousness and he wondered if the flowers were simply Walter's way to soften the blow.

“I know.  I will be.”  But he couldn’t meet his lover’s eyes as he spoke, and both men knew he was on the path to hell with that statement.

Skinner simply took him in his arms, mindful of his hurts, and held him and kissed him, relishing the feel of him, whole and reasonably healthy, and he thought again of what he’d missed for so long, and was thankful for what he had now.  Any reservations he might have had about his conduct in the meeting today were dismissed by the warm body pressed tightly to his, and Mulder's mouth kissing him back.

Even as he returned his lover's affection, Mulder was still unsure.  He loved this side of Skinner, the caring, attentive lover, but he could never fully accept what the man offered, not without expecting repercussions of some sort.  He sometimes wondered if it wasn’t pity that kept the older man with him, or some sort of skewed sense of kindness, much as one would feel for a puppy in the pound.  He knew that Skinner must have had his hands full justifying his report to his superiors today, and yet, here he was, worrying more about him then his own ass.  Mulder couldn’t quite believe it.

“Walter?”

Skinner made a sound of acknowledgement close to his ear as he dropped a light kiss on his neck.

“About my report…” He wasn’t sure where to start.

“Don’t worry about it.”  Skinner pulled back and continued. “How does Italian sound for supper?  I’m too beat to cook tonight.”

“Italian sounds fine, Walter, but I need to know about the meeting, and my report and-“

Skinner kissed away the words.

“Everything went fine, Fox.  No fear.”  Not only did Skinner not regret his angry words in the meeting tonight, he also wanted to make sure that Mulder understood that he believed him, trusted him, loved him, and not all the section chiefs, sea monsters or lost cel phones in the world would change that.

"Really?" Mulder was understandably skeptical.

"Do you trust me?" Skinner demanded.  He wasn't hurt when Mulder didn't answer immediately.  He knew that Mulder's trust issues would be a part of their relationship for a long time to come.  He wasn't going to get over the lies and misuse that had filled his life to date just because Walter wanted him to.  It was going to take time, and Skinner was determined to make sure he was an integral part of Mulder's healing process.

In fact, it was less than a minute before Mulder replied in a firm voice, "Yes."

"Well, I trust you, too.  And I believe that is all that needs to be said on the subject for tonight."  Skinner swooped in for another kiss, this one less friendly and more carnal.

Mulder pulled away, not quite finished with his worrying, although Walter's kiss seemed to have derailed his train of thought, and his breath came in quick, panting gulps. 

Walter didn't push, even though he knew that he could end this right now, distracting his partner with mouth and hands until Mulder was incoherent.  But he also knew that for this relationship to continue on beyond the physical, there had to be room for everything in it, good, bad, healthy or not, and he had to be patient.  So he waited, and eventually Mulder found his voice again.

"If there was a problem, you'd tell me, right?"  He couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened in the meeting tonight, something that Walter wasn't telling him.  It didn't feel like a bad thing, more like a startling thing, almost as if something stiff in his lover had relaxed somehow.  He didn't understand it, and that made him nervous.

"Of course I would."  Walter replied easily.

"You don't have to defend me, or my work, you know."

"I know."  He took hold of one of Mulder's hands, brought it to his lips.

"I mean, I don't expect you to."

"Of course you don't."  He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of Mulder's inner wrist and felt his lover's pulse quicken under his mouth.

"No, I mean it Walter.  I'm not asking-"

"And I'm not telling."  Walter knew this conversation was quickly becoming pointless.  They could go around and around for hours this way, with Mulder doubting everything and everyone in his life, even his lover, and Walter trying to ease his insecurities with pat phrases, roses and kisses.  Of course, Walter also knew that the only way to make the relationship work would be to have these conversations, making sure that both men felt sure and comfortable enough with one another that they could voice doubts and fears as well as contentment and love. And he was more than willing to have more of these talks in the future.  But for now, all he wanted was to forget the meeting, the reports, the job, and just be a man spending a quiet night with his lover, savouring both the emotional and physical pleasures he was getting from Mulder.  So he turned on the surly Assistant Director button in his head for one last growl.

"Shut up, Mulder."