Under My Skin
Date: December 16th, 1999
Author: Jvantheterrible
Spoilers: SR-819, and allusions to the new season...first few episodes, anyway. 
Disclaimer: Skinner, Mulder, and the rest of the gang belong to Chris Carter, 
1013 
and InFront Productions, and Fox TV. No money is being made from this. Duh. 
If I WERE making money from this, I'd have my own house, my own publishing 
company,
and ALL of you would get Christmas gifts. 
Author's Note: Well, we've done it. Amokeh and I have our own site up now. 
You can read our stuff at: 
www.angelfire.com/oh3/SkinnerSanctum. 
Yes, that's right, the Skinner Sanctum. There are also links to our favorite 
sites, and some 
photos....I am still learning the finer points of web design, but we have a good 
start. Check us out. 
Thanks for reading. This story is dedicated to amokeh, my best friend and beta 
reader extraordinaire. 
Warning: This story is NC-17.......slash, in the fine spirit of WalterTorture, 
and
angsty, and schmoopy. If you are offended by that, go away now. Feedback on our 
site and stories 
welcomed at Rllnslvr@aol.com OR amokeh@aol.com. Happy holidays.


**********************************************************************

I love it when Fox greets me at the door fresh out of
the shower. His hair is plastered against his skull,
looking all black and shiny, and he's showing off most
of his beautiful body to me; Jesus, he's pitched a
tent already just from seeing me walk through the
front door. He throws his arms around me and assaults
me with a greeting kiss that takes my breath away - as
if his current state of undress doesn't do enough to
me already. Bastard…he knows the effect he has on me,
especially after a shitty week at the office. And it
has indeed been a shitty week. I don't know if I've
ever been so happy that it's Friday in my life. He's
got me pressed against the front door - thankfully he
allowed me enough time to close it first - and his
hands are inside my shirt; he made short work of my
trenchcoat, and now he's running his hands up and down
my chest, caressing my muscles and pinching my nipples
through my undershirt. Feels like heaven. I love this
man.

Within a few more minutes, he's got me completely hard
and still trying to get me as naked as he is. I yank
the towel off of his hips and he thrusts against my
still clothed right thigh, which happens to be the
part of my body he's closest to at the moment. I
interrupt his ministrations for a moment to unzip my
trousers and set myself free, pausing only momentarily
to adjust myself so I am flush with his erection, and
we rub against each other like horny teenagers. He
moans against my throat, where his lips and tongue are
currently working their magic, and I run both of my
hands into his damp hair, reveling in the feel of it
between my fingers, so slick and smooth, just like his
gorgeous body. I grab a fistful of his hair in one
hand and gently yank his head back, running my tongue
along his jaw line, smiling at his sharp intake of
breath. I want to eat him alive, and before I can use
any more of my tricks on him, he's on his knees in
front of me. He takes me fully into his mouth and I
cry out his name at the sudden sensation of almost
being swallowed whole. He's become quite an
accomplished lover over the past several months, and
it takes me practically no time at all to shoot down
his throat. He appears mildly amused as he looks up at
me while he tongues me clean; I think he may be
disappointed that I came so fast. I can't help it.
Mulder has a strange effect on me - and I don't just
mean pissing me off at the office, either.

"Mmm, Walter, I love the way you taste," he grins at
me, and I cuff the side of his head in response. He
kisses me as I pull my pants back up, and I bend down
to get his wet towel. He sighs at me, "Walter, if all
you're worried about is damp carpet, how can I
possibly expect you to relax?"

"Fox, we've been over this and over this. You know
when I've had a week like this I need a little time to
unwind. This week has been - "

"- Pure Hell, I know. I was just trying to help you
get into weekend mode."

I give him a small smile, and he frowns a bit. I am
not responding to him the way he was hoping. I feel
guilty now, on top of everything else. Wonderful. Out
of the FBI pot and into Fox's frying pan. Why can't I
just let go of all the bureaucratic bullshit and live
my life? It seems so much easier for Mulder; he comes
home, and instantly he's in a whole new frame of mind
- provided he's not out on loan to VCU and doing
profiling. It always takes him several days to
recuperate after one of those cases. I dread sending
him out to them…I wonder if he feels that way about me
when I come home from a tough day at the office. Hell,
I'm lucky I can even get it up after this past week.
The only problem now is, I don't feel like doing
anything else. Not even for him - my mind is stuck on
other things. I don't know how to explain it to him
without hurting his feelings. There is no way for me
to avoid doing that anyway, with what I have to talk
to him about.

"Walter, you don't have to do anything for me, just so
you know - that was for you. I'm sorry you had a bad
week. I know I'm too pushy sometimes…." His voice
trails off and I feel even worse now. 

"Come here Fox." I take his hand and lead
him to the couch, pulling him down into my lap as
I sit. I kiss his cheek and hold him in my arms for
several long minutes before I speak. There's something
we must discuss, and I just don't know how to bring it
up. I suppose I'll just start from the top.

"Fox, I know you've been investigating something
behind my back." He tries to pull away from me so he
can give me his innocent puppy dog look, but I hold
him firmly in place, not wanting to hear him make up a
lie to put my mind at ease. It's too late for that;
the Smoking Man has already paid me a visit this week
to tell me that Fox is wandering into dangerous
territory, and it's the main reason why I'm so
distracted. I decide to continue with my present
course of conversation, despite the fact that Fox is
growing tenser in my arms by the second. "Look. I know
what I told you after that mess in the Ivory Coast. I
told you that the less I know the better, especially
since we're involved, but I think that I may have been
wrong, Fox. I think you should tell me what you've
gotten into."

"What do you mean?" He asks, clearly attempting to
dodge the subject. 

"You know what I mean. You had psychic abilities while
the research was taking place on those artifacts; you
found out that Krycek was holding my life in his
hands, literally, and you've been investigating it
ever since." The look on his face tells
me all I need to know, but the reality still hurts. He
promised me that he would leave it alone; he told me
he accepted the fact that it was my problem and he'd
give me the space I needed to work it out on my own -
or, as the case may be, to not work on it at all. He's
busted, and now he's panicking. He jumps up out of my
lap and pulls his towel closed, suddenly modest now
that we're talking about something serious.

"What did you want me to do, Walter? Just let Krycek
keep you under his goddamn thumb? Let him control your
life with the press of a fucking button? I love you,
in case you haven't noticed. I will NOT allow Alex
Krycek to do this to you. Not to anyone, but
especially not to you. Jesus Christ, did you honestly
expect me to just go along with you on that? Allow him
to hold that over your head? Allow him to….to take you
away from me at any time that the smoking bastard
gives the order?" He's got tears in his eyes, and even
though I feel badly now, I am still royally pissed off
that he has been sniffing around SR-819. That's ALL I
need - Mulder infected too.

"Mulder, you promised me that you wouldn't pursue
this. I took you at your word, and now I've got the
Consortium breathing down my neck again because you've
gotten too close to another one of your truths." That
stings him, and he stomps up the stairs to the
bedroom. I close my eyes as I hear drawers and doors
slam, and a few minutes later he comes back down,
dressed, his overnight bag in his hand. Tears streak
down his face, and I can feel the lump forming in my
throat as I watch him storm towards the front door. He
turns around and glares at me before he leaves; I
refuse to give in on this. He promised me, no, SWORE
to me that he would leave it alone, that he would
respect my wishes. I still have no idea what he's
found during the course of his illicit research. If he
has found anything, it doesn't look like I'll be privy
to it anytime soon. Shit.

"What do you want me to do, Skinner? You want me to
leave it alone? Let them kill you? I won't do it. I
can't." He shakes his head and leaves, slamming the
door behind him. I lean forward and put my face in my
hands. Hard to believe it, but my week just got worse.


*******************************************

I try to call Fox several times, but he's not
answering his phone at home, nor is he responding to
his cell. I am going out of my mind, and mistakenly
decide that perhaps a bit of scotch will soothe my
frayed nerves. Christ, I thought I was having a bad
day before. This is the mother of them all; okay,
perhaps a close second to National Nanocyte Day. About
three fingers of scotch and an hour later, I'm buzzed,
completely agitated, and on top of that, worried about
where Mulder might have gone. Scully's out of town
visiting her mother, and I think his three friends 
are at some sort of rally up in Maryland. That either
leaves him a) sulking in his dark apartment, or b) out
getting sloshed at the neighborhood bar. Both are good
options, and I decide to shower, change, and try to 
bring him back. Maybe we can have some kind of 
civilized discussion about what, if anything, he's 
managed to dig up. I'll kick his ass for it later; right
now, I just want him back in my arms. Yeah, I'm a sap; 
for Mulder, anyway.

Forty-five more minutes and I'm out the door, still
trying to reach Fox on his cell, and still not having
any luck. Goddammit he's stubborn. I get in my car and
snap the seatbelt into place, and as I look up to make
sure the mirrors are all adjusted properly (I think
Fox drove the car last), I see a flash in the
rearview. It's not a good sign, which is confirmed
when I feel cold steel pressed to my right temple.
It can only be one person - Krycek. I decide immediately 
to give up on any hope of this weekend getting better. 
"I had a feeling you'd be showing up, Alex."

"Hello, A.D. Skinner. How are you doing this fine
Friday evening?" I look in the mirror again and he's
sneering at me. I am going to remember at some point
to check the back seat of any car I'm getting into
before I buckle up. I should've known, with my
visit from Spender Sr. earlier this week, that Alex
wouldn't be too far behind. What the hell is Fox onto,
anyway? He's pissed off the entire Consortium, or so
it seems. 

"What do you want, Krycek?" I want to spit at him, but
I can't. Not a wise move with a gun to my head, I
suppose, but I can envision myself doing it and I feel
a little bit better.

"We need to talk. Your nosy little Fox is in big trouble,
Mr. Skinner." 

"Is it really necessary for you to hold a gun to my head
while you question me, Alex?" He hits me on the back
of the head with the butt of his weapon, and even
after the windshield stops spinning I'm not feeling
very well.

"I'll ask the questions, Walter. Did he tell you or
not?" 

"No, he hasn't told me a thing, Krycek. I know
nothing. You know he has no respect for authority,
especially where I'm concerned. I told him to leave
me out of the loop. It would appear that he has 
actually followed my orders for once." My teeth are 
clenched so hard that my jaw hurts, which actually takes
away from the dull thudding coming from the back of my
skull. All I need is one second to grab that asshole's
good hand and yank the gun out of it, but he's not going 
to give me that second. I can hear him rustling around 
in the backseat, and the next thing I know, I feel an
explosion of pain in my right side. It's an all too 
familiar and excruciating feeling; one that I had
hoped never to experience again. 

I suppose I know better; they've had me by the balls 
ever since they put that shit in me, and they were
bound to use it again. I know that you just never know 
when your time is up, but Jesus, does it have to be 
THIS predictable? I crack my head on the steering
wheel as I lurch forward at the first sensations of 
the virus building in my bloodstream. Figures.
"You know something, Skinner? You're right. The less
you know the better. See you in Hell." 
I look up in the mirror, and Krycek jumps out of the car.
I can hear him laughing as he runs away, the fucking
bastard; he doesn't even stick around to watch me suffer.

I do manage to peer into the rearview mirror briefly
in order to inspect the cut over my eyebrow, which 
is dripping blood down the side of my face. Head wounds
do that; no matter how small they are, they bleed like mad. 
I look scary as hell, and I am already too weak to get out 
of the car. Yeah, getting help should be NO problem, Walt. 
Jesus Christ. Who did I piss off in the karma department 
this week, anyway?

I realize that it doesn't really matter if I get help or not, 
because it's not like there's anything that anyone can do to
help me anyway. How's that for positive thinking? I'm sorry,
my ability to be positive in any situation has officially 
taken an indefinite leave of absence. This makes me laugh out
loud, and now I know I must really be a sight. I'm sitting here 
in my car, my veins are starting to go three dimensional, I'm 
bleeding, and I'm laughing hysterically. I start to cry somewhere
along the way, because I can't believe that this is how my life
is going to end. Alone, in my car, in the parking garage of my 
condo. No one knows I'm here, and the only other person that I 
give a fuck about is out carousing because I got pissed at him
for trying to save my life. 

I try to relax after several minutes of sniveling, which serves
no purpose other than adding a stuffy nose to my list of shit 
gone wrong today. Marvelous. Jesus CHRIST these things 
hurt like hell; Krycek must have turned them up to about
75-80% effectiveness, because it didn't happen this fast
the last time. I check my watch - 10:00. Fox has now
been gone about two and a half hours. I wonder if he'll come
back anytime soon. I wonder if it'll make a difference.
I recline the seat and try to apply pressure to the 
cut so it'll stop bleeding. It hurts to have my arm up, but 
breathing is beginning to hurt too, so I clench my teeth
and prepare to grin and bear it for as long as I remain
conscious. I just want to see Fox one more time. I'm 
not a religious man, but I start talking to the Big Guy
anyway. Maybe he grants last wishes. I hope so.

******************************************

Oh. My. God. Pain. I forgot...how much it hurts. I actually
fell asleep for awhile; a fine way to spend my last few
hours - sleeping in my car. No Fox. He's not here. I try
to check my watch again, but I can hardly move. I do 
manage to turn my head a bit....my God, is it? Is that 
Mulder's car? It is. He just pulled in. Thankyouthankyou
thankyouthankyouGod. Shit, I can't sit up, I can't 
let him know I'm here! FUCK! He's stumbling towards
the elevator. Yep, he was out drinking. I've never been
so happy to see anyone in my life, I swear. I'll kick
his ass later for drinking and driving....right now, I 
am willing him to hear me calling him. Mentally.
Please, Mulder, please..........I know you can't help me,
but I have to see you. I'm here. Dear God, I'm here!
My tears start again, only this time I can't wipe them
away. I don't care. I just have to see Fox one more time.
To tell him I'm sorry. And I was wrong. And I love him.
And goodbye.

******************************************
MEANWHILE, UPSTAIRS ON THE 17TH FLOOR.........

"Hello?" (Sound of shuffling feet, searching for a lamp
in the darkened room.)
"Honeeeyyy, I'm hooooo-oommme...." (Voice slurred from
way too much liquor, also about 2 octaves higher than 
normal.)
"Walter? Hey, Walter, I'm really -hiccup- sorry about
earlier, okay? I mean it, okay? -Hiccup-." (No reply.)
"Walt? 'ryouokay?-hiccup-"(Sound of feet climbing
stairs, tripping, muffled "Oomph", and more climbing.)
"Hey.....where'dyougo? It's all dark in here and stuff.
-hiccup-." (Sound of lamp being turned on. Sound of
bedsprings creaking as drunken man sits down.)
"Dammit, Walt, I said I'm sorry - hiccup -." (No reply.)
"Hey, waitasec.......your car's down there. Where'syerkeys?"
(Sound of head being scratched.)"Hic - Hiccup."
(Sound of footsteps going back downstairs. Sound of 
breathing becoming heavier.)
"Walt-hiccup-er? Shit. -Hic-." (Sound of front door
opening and closing, elevator door swooshing open
and then closed. Elevator going down.)

******************************************

Please come back, Fox. Please realize that my keys
are gone and you saw my car, pleasepleaseplease. I'm
not much longer for this world, I can feel it. It all 
hurts now, hurts to breathe, hurts to swallow, hurts
hurtshurts. I hear the elevator door ding, and I pray
silently that it's him. Christ, it hurts to blink. 

Oh Lord. He's really drunk. He's pressing his face up 
against the car window, trying to see through the
tinted glass. I can't move at all, but somehow, he 
sees me. He's scrambling to open the door, and I 
can feel my heart starting to slow. Oh God, Fox, I 
don't think I can even tell you how I feel anymore.
My voice is nothing more than a slight whisper of 
air coming from between my lips. My door is locked.
This is just great. Wait. Mulder. Try the back door; 
I don't think Krycek locked it after he got out.

By some strange twist of fate or just plain dumb luck, 
Fox manages to get into the car through the back 
door, and even though I can smell the alcohol on him, 
I think that this is sobering him up pretty damn fast.

"Oh no, Walter, -hiccup-, no, not this. Oh fuck,
no, no, no." He's looking down at me, but he's upside-
down from my vantage point, and his tears are
landing on my face, mixing with mine. Crying is
about the only thing my body is capable of, so I
go with that. Not even crying, really, so much as
shedding tears, but I am proud that I can manage 
that much at this point. I'm almost done, I can 
feel it, the searing pain eating me up from the
inside. Some sort of fucked up man-made cancer, 
and it's doing its thing. I know what I must
look like, and I wonder what the hell Fox is
patting down the pockets of his coat for. 
His gun, to put me out of my misery? A tissue
to wipe my tears? What? A needle? He has a 
syringe in his hand. He's shaking his head and 
telling me something, but I can barely hear him.

Great. I'm lying here dying and he's smiling at me,
drunk moron that he is. Oh no, that's not what I 
wanted my last memory of him to be! SHIT! Fox,
what the hell are you....OUCH! At least finding a
vein wasn't a problem. I would kick your ass if I
weren't in so much......wait a minute. Just one
goddamned minute here. I.....I can breathe.
Holy Shit, I can fucking breathe! I'm blinking!
It stopped hurting.....just like that! What the.....
oh. Wow. Shit. Fuck. Shitshitshit. I'm going to
owe him big time for this one. I'm going to have 
to retire now, because I will have to approve
every stupid thing he wants to do for the rest of
his career if I don't. 

"Fox," I whisper, and he's still grinning down at
me, this crazy goofy smile plastered on his face.
He nods his head at me, and I try to smile back,
and I'm shocked to find that I can. He's still got 
tears running down his cheeks, but I realize now 
that he's not upset; he was initially, but he stayed
calm (probably because he's drunk), and he saved me. 

"I love you so much, Fox," I tell him in my rasp of
a voice, "I'm so sorry. I was so wrong, SO wrong."
He shakes his head back and forth, and just caresses
the top of my head; the veins are already starting to 
recede, and I find that I have regained some of my 
mobility already. I reach up and touch his face, 
wiping his tears away with my fingertips,
trying to let the love in my heart flow into him; I 
feel like I'm about to explode with the intensity of it.

"Sssssh," he tells me, punctuated with a "hiccup", and 
I start to laugh, even though that still hurts, but I don't
care. It feels good to be alive. Damn good. 

"I love you, Walter. I'm sorry, too. I had to do it,
though. I had to." He's all serious now, and he leans 
down and kisses me tenderly on my parched lips,
being careful not to hurt me. I return the kiss, and 
he smiles at me once again as he lifts his head away
from mine. Somehow, I find myself thinking that 
maybe, JUST MAYBE, this weekend might be 
salvageable.

I struggle to gather my voice once more, because 
there is a song that has popped into my head out
of the blue, and I am caught between exercising my
newfound strength to laugh, or serenade my lover, 
who is now my saviour. I opt for the latter.

"I've got you....under my skin......" I start, and 
Fox and I laugh. Together. Again.

The End???