You're a strange animal, that's what I know. And you're a strange animal, I 've got to follow...
 

Mulder was surprised to find the air at the top of the gondola lift chilly despite the bright sunshine, and he was glad that Walter had suggested a sweater. Of course, at the time of the suggestion, he had made some whiny comment about having dressed himself for a long time, now, to which Walter had replied, "yes, and badly." This was cause for a major pout until Walter capitulated, apologizing by kissing him senseless.

Mulder glanced over at the kisser in question, and frowned slightly.

Walter Skinner was staring out at the mountains, apparently deep in thought. He had his hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his jeans, and was absently scuffing the toe of one fawn coloured hiking boot across the rocky turf, kicking small pebbles through the grass seemingly without being aware of it.

Mulder eased along side him, looked at the same mountains, couldn't see what Walter was seeing, and gave the older man a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Nice mountains, Walter."

"Thanks."

They stood a moment more in silence, then:

"I came here after I got home," Walter said quietly.

"I thought Canada was where you went 'instead of', not after."

Walter smiled at that, looked at Mulder, looked away, and draped an arm over the younger man's shoulders.  Mulder sighed.

"Do I hear a story coming on?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"Then I think we need a quitting bench."

Mulder slipped out from under Walter's arm, took his hand instead, and explained.

"You know that bench in the park just down from the office--the second one in, by the light?"

"Sure." Walter allowed Mulder to lead him to a wooden bench set just off of the footpath they were on. As they sat, he saw that they still had a spectacular view of the mountains, as well as the flora and fauna surrounding them.  The bench was set in the shade of several old conifers, secluding them and making it even cooler.

"Well," Mulder continued, drawing Walter's attention away from the scenery, "whenever something at work was making me feel like shit, I'd head out to the park, to clear my head or whatever, try to get a fresh perspective or something, y'know?"

Walter nodded.

"And inevitably, Scully would always find me, we'd have some deep and meaningless conversation about the case, or her health, or mine, or whatever, and we'd convince each other to keep searching for the truth--not to quit."

"Hence the name." Walter smiled at the thought of his lover and his best friend, and the talks that must have taken place on that bench.

"So," Mulder said, "What giant fluke worm's got you down, Walter?"

"No X-Files, here, Mulder," he replied with a smile, "unless we're counting you."

Mulder just rolled his eyes and changed the subject.

"Tell me about the first time you came here."

Walter paused for a moment before speaking, gathering his thoughts and memories into some sort of cohesive order.

"A buddy of mine from high school dodged the draft here. He used to write to me once in a while."

"Oh?" Mulder arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing," Walter replied. "Most of the letters were huge socio-political rants about the great evil we were perpetuating against humanity with our dirty little war."

"Oh."

"Course, he knew it would take more than that to get me out. So, in between the 'better red than dead' speeches and 'how do you sleep at night, baby killer' rants, he described the Alberta mountains for me. Banff, Jasper, Bow Falls, the works."

"Propaganda and travel brochures. Nice."  Mulder reached into the pocket of Walter's windbreaker, poked around a little longer than he needed to, and found a half-full bag of sunflower seeds.  He offered some to Walter, who declined, then dug into them himself.  Between munching and spitting, he asked, "So then what happened?"

"Well, you know the rest of my tired old war story." Walter leaned back on the bench and nonchalantly threw his arm around the back of it, and conveniently enough, around his lover's back as well. "When I got home, I immediately threw myself into plans for the future. School--the law, of course--getting work, hell, even dated a girl or two--"

"Rebel," Mulder teased.

"But something had happened. All the time I was making decisions, setting goals, working towards whatever future I thought I was preparing for, I kept thinking about what had happened...and then...well, let's just say I started second-guessing myself a little." He frowned at that. "Not a little," he continued, "a lot.

"I didn't trust myself."

Mulder set aside the seeds and placed a hand on his lover's leg. He didn't speak, and he let Walter keep his own silence, recognizing his need to look back at that time and reflect a moment before telling the rest of his tale. After some time had passed, Walter continued.

"Dirk had kept writing after I got home, still extolling the virtues of the mountain air--said it would clean out the stench of the jungle--"

"His name was Dirk?" Mulder asked, not quite believing it.

"He kept telling me to come visit, that it would make a new man of me. Well, suffice to say, about that time I definitely wanted to be a new man."

"Dirk?" Mulder asked again, and Walter smiled. 

"What some people won't name their kids, hey, Fox?"

Mulder gave him a sour look. "All right, so you came to visit. And?"

"And Dirk had a cabin up near the Falls. He invited me to come and stay as long as I needed to. I think I was something of a personal crusade to him. So I took him up on it, and flew into Calgary. Rented a car, drove up here, at least as far as I could, hiked the rest, and there I was."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Hardly relevant, but no." From the sound of his voice, Mulder suspected that it hadn't even been an option. A moment later, Walter confirmed it.

"He wasn't there. The cabin was there, stocked with a week's supply of food, and a year's supply of scotch. And another letter. Some happy crappy about this being a quest for me, and that I needed to do it on my own, and how my life would never be the same, and blah blah blah."

"And he was right, wasn't he?"

"He was right." A pause. "He didn't write any more after that." Another pause. "But I went home from here with a renewed sense of faith."

Mulder had suspected something like this since that fateful moment in the car park that had simultaneously saved one life, ended another, and damaged something integral in the man who'd been responsible. But beyond making sure that any damning evidence had been erased, along with spending as much time as was possible with his lover, Mulder had been unsure of what he could do to show Walter that he had done the right thing. Now, apparently, Walter had found the course of action he needed to take, and Mulder was just glad he was here. And he was determined to do whatever Walter needed him to do, to make this man who had become the most important person in his life understand himself, believe in himself, trust himself again...

"Do you think you can do it again?" The words came out of Mulder low and hushed.

"I don't think I could do it alone this time."

"You won't be alone." The moment seemed to call for something more. Mulder turned on the bench, knocking over the bag of sunflower seeds and dumping them onto the ground at their feet. Neither man noticed. Hazel eyes locked on chocolate ones as Mulder leaned closer and touched Walter's mouth with his own, lightly at first, then with more serious intent. Walter closed his eyes.

Then opened them wide when a sudden rustling sound at their feet caught Mulder's attention and he pulled away.

"Hey, look at that," Walter exclaimed with sudden delight.

A chipmunk had made a dash for the spilled seeds, scooped several into its mouth and then run off again. Both men sat frozen, hardly daring to breathe, and they were rewarded for their silence a minute later when two more of the small rodents carefully approached them, sat up on their haunches as if taking stock of the threat posed by the two big lumps on the bench, then reached for seeds with an almost human like delicacy.

"That's great." Walter was grinning hugely, but keeping his words whispered, so as not to scare the tiny animals as they nibbled the snack Mulder had accidentally given them.

Mulder was not so impressed. In fact, he seemed a little nervous.

"They're chipmunks," he whispered back. "Just rats with racing stripes, Walter." Rabid thoughts flitted through his mind.

"I don't think so. They're cute."

"Cute?" Mulder recognized at once that he was now in the presence of that part of Walter's personality that had decided that 'puppy' was an acceptable nickname for a forty year old, and he didn't know whether to be happy about it, or annoyed.

More chipmunks wandered close to them as they continued to watch, some of them snatching seeds on the run, some boldly sitting and eating them right at their feet.

"Cute," Walter confirmed. "Look at that one," he added, nodding in the direction of one of the animals, which, to Mulder's well-trained eye looked just like every other one. "He looks like you."

"Thanks," Mulder replied sarcastically.

"Seriously." There was barely suppressed laughter in Walter's voice now. "Look at him, all bright-eyed, inquisitive, curious..." A snort escaped him, and he put a hand over his mouth, but his eyes were still twinkling with unreleased mirth.

Mulder shot him a dangerous look, muttering, "Walter, I'm warning you..."

Another smothered sound, suspiciously giggle-like in nature. "I think he's searching for the truth...or an acorn!" And with that the laughter he'd barely been holding in check escaped him and he fell back on the bench dramatically, rich laughter rolling out of him, scaring the hell out of all the furry woodland creatures in the vicinity except for the one sitting next to him on the bench.

"You are such an asshole!" Mulder exclaimed, slapping his shoulder lightly with the back of his hand, but Walter could hear the humour in his tone, and he knew that the other man's posturing was simply for show.

"I am, I really am." Walter agreed, slipping off his glasses and wiping tears from his eyes. All the chipmunks but one had disappeared, and the last one was sitting some distance away now, alternating its bright gaze between the men and the last of the seeds on the ground. Walter reached over Mulder to scoop up a few of the seeds, and toss them in the general direction of the creature, who seemed to regard him with something like gratitude as it eagerly crammed the seeds into it's mouth.

"So help me, Walter, if you even try saying 'the seeds are out there', I will be forced to kill you with my bare hands." Mulder warned.

The last of Walter's laughter died away, but he couldn't erase the smile, and he knew that most of it had nothing to do with chipmunks. This smile was for himself, and for Mulder, and for the feeling he had that everything was going to go just the way it should, and that he'd made the right decision. And not just the decision to come here, to renew his sense of self in a place that offered both comfort and clarity, but also the decision to bring Mulder along with him.  Something cold and mistrusting that had been riding shotgun in his heart was suddenly bailing out, and he felt good--really good--for the first time since the shooting. He silently thanked his old friend, long gone now, for showing him what could be, as well as what was, and giving him this gift that was going to work again, renew him again.

"Let's go, puppy," he said, standing abruptly and holding out his hand. "I want to take you into the city tonight."

Mulder caught his grip and pulled himself up to his feet, still frowning in that not-serious way. "You compared me to a rodent, Walter. It's gonna take more than wining and dining to make up for that one."

Suddenly he was trapped, albeit willingly, in Walter's strong embrace, and shivering as his lover growled softly in his ear, "I'm sure I'll find plenty of ways to earn your forgiveness."

Mulder was pretty sure he would, too.