"I was travelling down the road feeling hungry and cold I saw a sign saying food and drinks for everyone so naturally I thought I'd take me a look inside…"
 

"I am so sick of small towns," Mulder grumped as Skinner steered the truck into yet another slant parking space on another non-descript street in another nameless burg.

The main street of this particular town at least had the benefit of streetlamps, and Mulder watched them come to life in no particular order and without much strength, like geriatric sentinels against the encroaching darkness.

Skinner shut off the engine and looked up and down the darkening street, feeling his mood shifting as it became apparent that nothing was open.

"It won't be much longer," he replied, surprised to find himself tamping down the urge to snap at his lover.

It had been a long, strange day. Neither man seemed able to shake off the events of the previous night. Both were suffering from the after-effects not only of drinking to excess, but of the hostile display they'd encountered outside the bar, and the resulting nightmares and insomnia.

There'd been no intimacy between them beyond a careful good morning kiss, and they'd kept their thoughts to themselves as they packed up and headed back out onto the highway.

Mulder had been pale, shaky and withdrawn, and after a few bungled attempts at conversation which he answered in monosyllables, Walter gave it up and concentrated on the road, while Fox slipped into an uneasy doze, which he kept waking from in fits and starts, and which gave him no rest at all.

Of course, Walter worried about this, but his gentle queries were rebuffed with a snarling "I'm fine," that was so vehement that he knew it was a lie. And this worried him more. Which only added tension to his already tight shoulders and neck, making them ache, making him more tense, and making him angry at nothing. He knew he should be trying to coax his recalcitrant lover into discussing the issues from the night before, as he had learned from painful experience exactly what lack of communication did to their relationship, but somehow, he couldn't find his way in. And after some time had passed, he found he didn't want to. Not because his concern for Mulder had lessened, but because, if he got the truth from Mulder, the other man might ask the same of him. And that just wasn't a place he was ready to go. He knew this trip was a pilgrimage of sorts for him, to find the truth within himself, but they weren't at their destination yet, and Walter's thoughts and feelings reflected this. He was in transit, and not prepared to work everything out yet. He supposed just thinking about it was a step in the direction he wanted to take, but that was as far as he was willing to go.

In fact, Mulder didn't press him at all, although he caught him once or twice scrutinizing him carefully, looking almost afraid, not of him, but for him, somehow. But it wasn't often, and when he scowled back, Mulder would turn away, feigning sleep, or just staring out at the passing scenery, which wasn't scenic at all, and refuse to comment.

And so the day had passed. The rain they had experienced two nights previous returned with less force, and for most of the afternoon, grey drizzle outside matched the mood in the truck perfectly. The weather had cleared just in time for dusk, so that they had basically missed the sun all day. Which seemed about par for the course.

"Do you see a hotel?" Mulder asked, and Walter wished he could have said yes.  He saw a co-op store, closed, and a beauty salon, also locked up for the day, and a drug store, with a sale on hair colour, or so the sign next to the closed sign proclaimed. He also noticed a closed bar, a closed restaurant (The Do-Drop-Inn café, and wasn't that fucking clever?), and a closed bank.

"I guess we'll have to keep going," he sighed.

Mulder immediately opened his door.

"Where are you going?" Walter demanded, growling without meaning to.

Mulder gave him a startled look, then a hurt one, and then a mask of impassivity slipped over his features. All this happened in less time than it takes to tell, but Walter noticed nevertheless, and again wished for whatever was needed to make things right between them.

"Just going to stretch my legs, Walter. I'll be right back." He didn't wait for a reply, just closed the door softly behind him and walked off into the darkness. 

Skinner watched him walk away, then pause in a dim pool of yellow streetlight. As Mulder flexed his arms back behind him, then twisted his torso, Skinner felt the familiar pangs of desire, and he knew he should get out of the truck and go to the man, make some attempt at fixing whatever it was that was making them both feel like shit. 

As he continued observing his lover, he saw Mulder pause and turn his head towards the end of the street. Walter was struck for a moment at the bestial nature of the pose. Mulder was frozen in place, arms at his side, weight resting lightly on the balls of his feet. His face was turned up and away from Walter, and it looked for all the world like he was testing the air around him.

Walter got out of the truck.

He locked the doors behind him, pocketed the keys, and was at his lover's side in a moment. He didn't say anything at first, and in the quiet between them, he could hear the distant murmur of music and people. He looked over in the same direction as his lover, and saw a lone lighted building at the far end of the block.

Mulder finally acknowledged his presence, relaxing slightly and fixing his gaze on the older man.

"Do you hear that?" he asked in a quiet voice. Walter nodded.

"Do you think we should check it out?" his tone was deferential, and he touched Walter's hand briefly, got another nod.

"Do we need to do this?" This third question threw Skinner; he didn't understand what Mulder meant. He felt the touch of the other man's hand on his own again, this time pressing a little harder, lingering a little longer, and it made some sort of sense to him. Something had to be done to overthrow the doubts and fears that they were both feeling, and that they were currently misdirecting at one another. A mystery for Mulder, an investigation for Skinner, and just enough of a distraction to begin healing the wound that lay between them.

"Let's go." Skinner held Mulder's hand deliberately as they headed off down the street. 
 

***

The signs of life they'd noticed at the end of the block turned out to be, of all things, a wedding reception, being held in the town hall. It appeared as if the entire town had turned out for the event, as people spilled out of the large building onto the lawn, talking, laughing, drinking and smoking.

Mulder and Skinner walked up the street, paused just before the lawn in front of the long wooden facility, and turned to smile at one another, amused at what they had found.

"Hey, look, free food," said Mulder, grinning devilishly and taking a step forward.

"Oh, no, Fox, we can't—" Walter stopped in mid-protest as a man in a tuxedo approached them, gave them a curious, but not unfriendly look, and asked politely, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Uh, yeah, we're from the bride's side from the family," Mulder replied earnestly, and Walter was hard-pressed not to laugh aloud as he noticed a mischievous light making his lover's eyes dance. At the same time, though, he knew they shouldn't be doing this. This wasn't their place. They weren't supposed to be here. It was wrong. But then why, oh why did it suddenly feel so right?

"Oh?" the man looked skeptical, but not overly so.

"Yes," Skinner stepped forward and took the man 's hand in a hale and hearty tough guy handshake, grinned at his wide-eyed lover, then scanned the cars in front of the hall, hoping the one he wanted was there, hoping the one he wanted was under a streetlamp. 

"I'm Walter, and this is Fox," he continued, and his eyes settled on their goal. "We haven't seen cousin,"—he squinted at the bridal car—"Muriel for years. Isn't that right, Fox?"

"Uh—" Mulder gaped at him, mouth hanging open. When he had looked up at the stars mere moments ago and wished that he could get Walter to relax, this wasn't quite what he had expected.  This went way beyond any Skinnerdefinition of 'relax' that he'd ever come across.

It didn't take long to convince the man, who just wanted to get back to enjoying himself. When Walter added a friendly slap on the back that nearly knocked him over, the man grinned and said, "Come on in."

They followed the man into the hall, still grinning disbelievingly at one another, then laughing out loud at their own audacity.

And now, here they were, an hour and several toasts to the bride later, and Mulder was dancing with the five year old flower girl while Skinner was attempting to extricate himself from the clutches of the divorced mother of the groom.

The divorcee in question had all the charm and subtlety of a rhino in a pantygirdle, and when she smiled coyly and told Walter how sexy she thought bald men were, he found himself almost overwhelmed by an insane urge to wipe the lipstick off her teeth…with his foot.

"I think I need another drink," he muttered and turned to the bar, marching double time across the room and ignoring the plaintive bleating of the dowager: "Walleeee—"

He thought up several dark and cryptic tortures for the man who had brought him into this mess while he waited in the line-up for the bar. These thoughts ran the gamut from a week on the couch to a night on the cross, with all manner of spankings and stern talking tos in-between. He conveniently chose to ignore his own complacency in their deception, 

Finally the young bartender was handing him another cold glass of cheap champagne, and he downed it with a grimace, feeling his tastebuds cramp in that "this ain't Glenfiddich, Mac!" way.  He shook it off, and took a second glass right out of the bartender's hand, giving the resulting sound of protest such a cold look that it turned into something peeping and unsure before it ever left the young man's mouth. Skinner, who agreed that the better part of valor was indeed knowing when to keep one's mouth shut, tipped him heavily, then walked away, determined to find Mulder, give the bride one last kiss goodnight, and get the hell out of here before he had to deal with one more minute of wedding crap.

He stopped on the far side of the dance floor, as far away from the divorcesaurus as he could get and still see his lover.

Mulder was still on the floor, and Skinner marveled at how he somehow fit into the sea of suits on the dance floor, even wearing just faded jeans and a casual v-neck sweater.  Hell, he didn't just fit in; he looked better than most of the suits in question, even the tuxed and tailed best man.  Of course, Skinner thought he might be a little biased, but not that much, if the smoldering looks his puppy was getting from the bridesmaids (all four of them) was any indication.

Mulder didn't seem to notice all the noticing.  He was completely enthralled with his dance partner, smiling warmly at the little girl in white lace, holding her tiny hands in his large ones, and matching his steps to hers. When he let go of one hand and twirled her around, she giggled, and when Mulder laughed along with her, Walter did too.

The song ended, Mulder bowed to his partner, who offered him a clumsy and charming curtsey in return, and out of the corner of his eye, Walter saw his 'date' lumbering towards him like a wildebeest crossing the African plains.  Walter momentarily wished he was a lion, then decided he made a better gazelle, and fled across the dance floor.

He caught up with Mulder as he was escorting the flower girl off the floor. Walter's hand on his arm pulled him up short, and the little girl found her way back to her mommy unescorted. 

Mulder turned to his lover with a smile, saw the glass in his hand, and took it without a word, sipped demurely for a moment, then downed the whole thing.

"Thanks, Walter. I needed that." He grinned, Walter couldn't help but smile back, and they walked off the floor. They found two chairs that were set slightly apart from most of the revelers, and sat down together. Mulder caught the eye of his new favorite five-year-old and gave her a little wave. She waved back, and her mother fairly beamed at the man who had so pleased her daughter, wondering again just which part of the family he was from, and why she didn't remember him…

"Well, Mulder, I think our work here is done," said Walter, touching him briefly on the leg. "I think it's about time we get out of here before our cover is blown."

Mulder kept on smiling, looking around the room. "Look at these people," he said, his voice quiet, maybe even a little wistful. "They're amazing."

"What do you mean?" Walter was glancing at the African matriarch, who, having lost site of her tall, bald quarry, was now grazing her way through the buffet on the other side of the room. Amazing might have been an apt adjective for her, he thought, but not in that good way.

"I mean, Walter, that we're sitting here in a room full of people who don't know anything about aliens, government conspiracies, duplicity, lies, cover-ups-" he paused, thoughtful. "Or maybe they know, but it doesn't matter. They're happy. Content. And accepting." The smile disappeared, then returned with less force. "They trust us without question, and we've done nothing to abuse that trust."

"Other than lying about who we are and why we're here," Skinner mentioned helpfully. Mulder laughed quietly.

"Well, yes, other than that. I think you know what I mean, Walter."

"I know, puppy." Walter had to agree. He felt good, quite despite himself, and he thought maybe this had been an important step towards the half-formed goal he had in mind for himself, as unplanned as it had been. "They are amazing." He patted the younger man's leg again, then gave it a little squeeze and left his hand there, surprising both of them. "But I really think it's time to go."

Mulder appeared not to have heard him at first. He was gazing down at Walter's large hand like he'd never seen it before. Then he scanned the room quickly, his attention flitting from person to person in what Skinner thought of as his 'scan mode'. He'd seen Mulder use the same technique on crime scenes, and it never failed to turn up just the right piece of evidence that seemed to elude everyone else. He wondered what Mulder was looking for, what he was seeing…

"One more dance?" Mulder asked quietly.

Skinner looked over at the little girl, who was still grinning at Mulder like he was Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and all four Teletubbies rolled into one.

"All right." Skinner expected Mulder to walk away, and was completely taken aback when his lover stood and held out his hand.

"C'mon, boss, let's dance."

"Fox, no, we are not doing this," Walter hissed through gritted teeth. Mulder took his hand and tugged gently on it, pulling him to his feet, pulling him close.

"I'll let you lead," he whispered.

Walter looked wildly around the room, wondering if anyone was seeing what he thought was obvious.  Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a blonde or so girl of about thirteen blushing furiously as she watched them, and giggling madly into her cupped hands. The divorcee from hell was staring wide-eyed at them, bits of cake falling from her open mouth. But the flowergirl was still smiling, and so was her mother.

"Walter," Fox's voice was low and urgent, "We are in the middle of nowhere, drinking cheap champagne in a room full of wonderful strangers who think we are nothing more than distant cousins of the bride. They don't know us, they've never heard of the X-Files, hell I bet half of them have never even heard of the FBI. They don't give a crap about our agenda, and, frankly, right now, neither do I." He pulled back, but kept his grip on the other man's hand. "They're happy, Walter. They feel something that's not angst, or anger, or fear. And I want to feel that, too." He leaned back in and pressed his lips to Walter's cheek, then ducked his head, and offered a smile—one that Walter recognized from far too many absurd travel requests.

"Dance with me, Walter," he said in a normal tone of voice.

The band, who was apparently part of some international inappropriate behaviour conspiracy, segued out of the hatchet job they'd been doing on Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll" and into a passable cover of the Rovers "Black Velvet Band."  Walter recognized the tune immediately, and a stray thought of Sharon crossed his mind.  He remembered an instant of time when the two of them had danced to the song at some cousin's wedding, and he remembered her telling him that she never felt more loved by him than when he danced with her.  He also remembered thinking at the time that it was typical Sharon foolishness, and that he didn't have time for such sentimental crap.

He gave Mulder a piercing look and the younger man dropped his eyes, but held onto his hand.

Walter decided he could make time for some sentimental crap.

Mulder couldn't mask the huge delighted smile on his face as Walter pulled him out onto the floor.

There was no gasp of astonishment. No circle of on-lookers formed around them. No one tried to pull them apart, or applauded their unabashed declaration of devotion to each other. This wasn't a movie, or an HBO series. This was life. Good, bad or indifferent, and while they struggled with the latter two on what felt like a daily basis, this was one of the good moments.

They held each other close, matched each other's rhythm perfectly, and shared a smile with their eyes that spoke louder than any words could. Then Mulder rested his head on his partner's shoulder, and they finished the song barely moving.

The band informed the crowd that they were taking a much-needed break, but would be back soon, and Fox and Walter left the room. In the quiet left behind, the mother of the groom belched loudly, and the bride asked, "Who were those guys?"