"the minute you let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better—"

Mulder shut off the CD player as he paced around the living room, picking up things and putting them down again restlessly, holding his cel phone with one hand and waiting for the party on the other end to pick up.

"Scully."

She sounded a little out of breath, and this concerned him.

"Hey, Scully, it's me. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I was just in the other room with mom and William."

"Hey, say hi to your mom for me. How's baby Bill?"

"A handful already.  But mom's been great, and we'll get by. Mulder, where are you?"

"I'm with Skinner. Listen, Scully, I need you to do something for me."

"No alien autopsies, Mulder, I'm on maternity leave." He could tell by her tone that she was teasing.

"Nah, nothing like that. I just need you to feed my fish."

"Are you going somewhere, Mulder?"

"We are." He emphasized the word 'we'.

"Is Walter okay?"

Mulder realized suddenly that they were all guilty of the same thing—using first names to indicate a level of seriousness. He wondered briefly about a profession that had so shaped all three of them that it became impossible for Scully, Skinner and Mulder to be Dana, Walter and Fox unless a crisis was presented to them. He made a quick vow to try and break the habit, then immediately broke the vow.

"Scully, I don't know. He seems fine, but he's taken a leave of absence, and he wants me to go away with him."

"Sounds romantic." Again with the teasing lilt, and he could hear the smile, the one that made her blue eyes sparkle mischievously.

"I don't think so."

"Is this about Krycek, do you think?" Mulder had confided in her the details of the Russian's demise, and she had wondered about its effect on their ex-boss, her partner's lover, and most of all, her friend. She suspected Mulder had a few issues there, too, but surprisingly enough, she trusted him to be able to handle the situation better than Skinner, despite the latter's apparent sturdy psychological appearance. At least, sturdy compared to Mulder.

"Maybe. You know how he is."

"How long will you be gone for?"

"I-I'm not sure. A week. Maybe two. He hasn't said, and I'm just going with the flow here."

"He hasn't mentioned a destination?" She seemed surprised, and he realized he wasn't the only one shocked by the impulsiveness of Skinner's actions, although, if he knew his lover at all, he suspected this was something that had been brewing in Skinner's mind since the moment Krycek had re-entered all their lives.

"Nope. And people say I'm the impulsive one."

"Okay. Here's the deal. I'll keep the mollies from starving to death on one condition."

"Name it."

"Call me."

"That's it?" He was surprised, not so much at the request, but at the tone of concern in her voice, and the way his heart warmed to it.

"Just check in every once in a while. Let me know where you are. Let me know how you are—how he is. And let me know you haven't killed each other."

This made him laugh.

"You got it, partner." The word slipped out before he could stop it. There was a pause on the line, and then she was back with that same tease in her voice.

"If we were still partners, you'd be ditching me without a phone call, Mulder."

"Point taken, Scully. I must be mellowing in my old age."

"Or being tamed, maybe."

It took him a moment to understand the Shakespearean reference, but when he did, he snorted.

"Maybe."

"He's been good for you." She sounded less light-hearted now. "Maybe this is your chance to reciprocate."

"Could be," he agreed.

"So, keep in touch. Bring me back a souvenir."

"Sure. Give Billy a hug for me, okay." Neither one of them missed the catch in his voice, and Scully wished for the millionth time that the baby was his.

"Of course."

Mulder heard Skinner's heavy tread on the stairs.

"Gotta go, Scully…thanks."

"Anytime, Mulder."

He shut off the phone and tucked it into his jacket pocket, then turned to face his lover with a smile.

"Are we good to go?" he asked. Skinner shrugged and dropped a duffel bag at the door.

"Is Scully going to feed your fish?" he replied.

"Hey, no fair eavesdropping!" Mulder exclaimed.

"I wasn't. I didn't have to."

Mulder knew it was true, and part of him hated that he was so transparent, while another part of him relished the fact that his lover knew him so well, and liked him—hell, maybe even loved him—despite himself.

"All right, Yappi, have it your way. Yes, Scully's taking care of the fish. She says we're supposed to bring her back a souvenir."

"I'll keep that in mind." He regarded Mulder with a dark, troubled expression. "Fox, I—" he began tentatively.

"Don't say it, Walter. You know me well enough to know I wouldn't do this if I didn't want to."

"Stubborn." But he was smiling as he said it, turning the mild insult into something like a term of endearment. Mulder grinned back and gave him a sharp hug.

"It's a noble trait in some societies," he said. Then he picked up Skinner's duffel, hoisted his own backpack over one shoulder, and jerked his head in the general direction of the door.

"Lead on, MacDuff," he said.

Skinner wanted to say more, wanted to tell Mulder how much this meant to him, why he needed to do this, and why he needed the other man to understand. But the words weren't there, even if the sentiment was, and the only reply he could find was to open the door, and hold it open as Mulder slipped through. He took a quick look around the apartment, shut off a last light, and closed and locked the door behind him.