From: Elizabeth Gerber Date: Thu, 18 Mar 1999 04:39:09 GMT Subject: NEW: Voice of Fear(1/1) M/SK SLASH (Voice of Reason sequel) Voice of Fear by Elizabeth Gerber Rating: NC-17 (language and sex) Category: SRA Keywords: SLASH M/SK Spoilers: SR-819, Redux, Gethsemene Teeny ones for a variety of other 5th and 6th season eps. Summary: Mulder's reaction to Skinner's dismissal in SR-819. Directly follows "Voice of Reason". Archive: Ephemeral, Gossamer, Archive/X, WalterTorture, MulderTorture--yes, please. Others, just ask first. Also found with a bookcover image at my page: http://www.geocities.com/WestHollywood/Chelsea/1334. "Voice of Reason" can also be found there. Feedback: Yes, please, to elixia@mindspring.com Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted within belong to 1013, Fox and Chris Carter. A couple of lines are taken directly from the episode SR-819. I don't mean any infringement, so please don't take offense. Also, I must acknowledge my debt in this piece and its predecessor to Rosalita's wonderful "Cruel Summer". My inspiration for the back story came from it, though in "Cruel Summer" the boys patched things up after Gethsemene Thanks: To m. butterfly for her masterly beta work once again. To the guys at #xslash for their inspiration in my time of need. I also admit to stealing a line (and getting a kick start) from Party of Five. The shame! Note: <<>> is used to indicate unspoken thoughts. WARNING!! This story contains romance and sex between two men. There's a bit more smut in this one than the last, but it's still pretty mild ^^^^^^^^^ There really wasn't any god-damned thing to do but get drunk. I think even Scully might have agreed with me, but I couldn't bear to be with her. I would just see her disappointed expression mirroring mine, and what good would that do? We'd talk about it, of course, and I'd end up crying. As I've said, I hate like hell when I cry; it gives me a headache. I trusted him, absolutely. I practically have "trust no one" tattooed on my forehead, but I trusted him with my secrets, my quest and my heart. I watched him nearly die before me, and I expected him to trust *me* with finding the bastards who did it to him. I sat in that meeting, so hopeful, so trusting, and he ripped that trust away from me and threw it at my feet. "I have neither the authority nor the will to allow your continued inquiry into this matter. You'll perform your duties as directed by AD Kersh and only AD Kersh." <> "This matter's closed, Agents. Am I clear?" It was very clear, crystal clear, how much of a fool I'd been. Again. As soon as I could get my feet back under me and get away from Scully, I headed to my favorite bar. The bartender there makes the screwdrivers with about three drops of orange juice, and that's just fine with me. After you get the first one down, your tongue's so numb that the rest slide down like water. After a few of those and an hour or so of musing over what to say, I caught a cab to Crystal City. Walter was going to have to tell me to go to hell without that desk of his to hide behind. ^^^ People have told me that I have a tendency to go overboard. Personally, I like to think of it as a flair for the dramatic combined with a keen ability to express my feelings, when I choose to. In any case, I had my "opening scene" at Walter's place all worked out by the time the cab dropped me off in front of his building. The alcohol hadn't dampened my ability to plan, not in the slightest. I flashed my badge to get past the front desk because having him buzz me up was not part of the plan. I rode the elevator up, knocked on his door, and then came my cue. The door opened, and Walter stepped onto my stage. He answered the door in his boxers and oxford shirt, the shirt unbuttoned to show the t-shirt underneath, the sleeves undone and loose around his wrists. The boxers were a plain striped pattern, the socks on his feet, grey. He looked tired, too, and I wondered for a moment if he was completely recovered. Then I remembered the meeting and my concern for him was pushed away. I shoved past him into the apartment and stared hard at him while he closed the door. "Come on in, Mulder, make yourself at home," he growled sarcastically. "What the hell did you mean in that meeting this afternoon?" I wanted to ask him first, to give him a chance before I laid into him. I figured maybe he had reasons--good ones. Walter sighed, but he stood his ground. "I meant exactly what I said, Mulder. The case is over. I'm fine. You don't even work for me anymore." <>, I thought. <> He continued, "I suggest you take a cab home and sleep it off, Mulder. I'm sure Kersh will have plenty of work for you. I think you also know that the Bureau would prefer I no longer be in contact with you and Agent Scully, so you might want to keep that in mind." It was then that I snapped. I'd come prepared to make a scene, and make a scene I would. I wasn't quite yelling yet at that point, but I think my lack of restraint was showing. "I'll keep that in mind, Walter. I'll keep that in mind the next time I have to watch you die. The next time I have to watch Scully agonize over it. The next time you're in pain because of what *they* did to you." "Mulder--," he tried to stop me, but I was on a roll. I picked up a delicate vase from his end table. "See this?" I smashed it to the floor. "This is me if you die." I grabbed a crystal candy dish from his coffee table and threw it against the wall, where it cracked in two. "This is Scully if she has to watch you lie in pain despite her best efforts." I back-handed the nearest lamp, burning out the light bulb. "And this is the Bureau without you. Darker. Broken. Pointless." I stood there in the middle of the wreckage I'd created, shaking a little, trying to get my breath back. I finally risked a glance at Walter, and he was standing there with his jaw open so wide he must have been collecting flies. After a few practice runs of opening and closing his mouth, he finally spoke to me. "Christ, Mulder, do you think I want to die? Do you think I want to go through that again? Not everything is about you, you know, and I do not need you to be my white knight." My lines as I'd planned them were finished, so it took me a moment to come up with something else to say. Walter motioned me to sit on the couch, and he took the chair opposite. "Do you remember what you said when you were in the hospital, Walter? You said that it wasn't that you didn't love me, but that I didn't love myself. "Well, you know, I try. I try, but it's really god damned hard sometimes. I need to help people, to save them, but every time I try I fuck up and end up hurting someone in the process. I tried to save Scully; I got her that chip, but then that chip almost got her killed. Not to mention that to get that chip I had to pretend to be a dead man, a man I'd killed. I had to betray you, and I love you, but Scully was dying. This is the story of my life. "So I know that I've earned it. I've earned your betrayal, and I suppose I deserve it But you don't deserve to die, and I think I can save you. You have to let me try. For your sake and mine." I stared hard at him, then, pleading with him to change his mind. He dropped his gaze and ran a weary hand over his face. I felt a twinge in my gut but held still. "This is more complicated than you know, Mulder. What you said is true, that all of this affects you and Scully, and I think I understand that better than anyone. Do you know all the nights I've wondered if you two were dead or alive? When you run off on one of your missions, do you think of what it might do to me?" His voice was soft, but I felt the sting in it nonetheless. "And Mulder, your value as a person or as an agent is not based on your ability to save other people. We'd be content if you could simply save yourself, and I really don't mean that as an insult." Well, there he was in front of me, very sweetly tearing me to bits. I just sat there with what I'm sure was a stupid look on my face. Skinner sat up straight in his chair and looked around. "Mulder, I'm going to go put on some pants. You look like you could use some coffee and food, and I, uh, haven't got anything here. There's a place down the street. Wait here for a moment." I gave him a nod, perplexed, and he walked into his bedroom and shut the door. I just sort of floated, tired, confused and semi-drunk, cushioned by the couch. Before I could get very far, Walter's door opened, and he walked out looking quite stunning. Dark black jeans, a little bit tight in all the right places. An off-white sweater that hugged the impressive muscles of his chest. Black boots. He grabbed a black leather bomber jacket from his closet and put it on before offering me a hand up from my spot on the couch. As he pulled me up, I felt so languid; I just wanted to pull him down on top of me and slide those marvelous clothes off his body. But I didn't. I dropped his hand and followed him out the door and down to the garage. ^^^ In the cold air of his car, I finally got my senses back and tried to ask him some questions-- "What's the point of this, W--," but he cut me off. "Mulder, do you think you could possibly be quiet for five minutes? I don't know if it's ever happened before, but I hear you believe in extreme possibilities." Taking the hint and the dare, as it was, I resolved to keep my mouth shut for the remainder of the drive. I didn't have much trouble, as we soon pulled into the parking lot of The Crystal City Diner--Open 24 Hours. I thought it sounded like my kind of place, and I was right. A middle aged waitress sat us in a booth as soon as we got inside. I ordered a grilled cheese and an iced tea. Walter ordered a coffee and a slice of apple pie. I decided it was time to stop acting like a good boy. "So, Walter, may I speak now?" He looked at me sharply. "I think it should be safe here. Honestly, Mulder, you have no idea what's going on. I have reason to believe my apartment, and maybe even my car, may be bugged. If they hear me telling you anything, then I *am* dead. Do you understand?" Frankly, I didn't. "Who do think is monitoring you? The Bureau? If it's them, we're sunk already from what they did hear. The Consortium? If you're working with them, you'd hardly be telling me this. If you're not, what do you have to tell me that I can't hear? I've come with you, and I've kept my mouth shut. Now I want to know what the fuck is going on." Walter looked down at the table and then back at me. His eyes were resigned, but guarded as well. "The party I'm dealing with here is neither the Bureau nor the group you call the Consortium, though I believe there may be connections to both. This man has contacted me since my release from the hospital and made it clear that he was responsible both for my illness and my sudden recovery. He also made it clear that he has the ability to reverse that recovery. Do you understand now? This man holds my life, quite literally, in his hands." I was floored, but he continued. "However, I have no reason to suspect that he will harm me again if I go along with his program. I'm useless to him dead, so killing me would put him at a great disadvantage. He also made it clear that he already was aware of our involvement and that he didn't care. I think he found it 'cute',honestly, so I wouldn't worry about *that* if I were you. What you need to do is pretend that everything is normal, that I have told you *nothing*. Above all, you need to *not* dig into this matter. What you might uncover, if you did dig, would be explosive and deadly--probably to us both. I don't think you want to do that to yourself. Or Scully." It was all too much at once. I find that the recurring pattern of my life is that information is withheld from me when I desperately want it. Then, the information is revealed to me in a great torrent, making it nearly impossible for me to comprehend it all. I think I need to start carrying around one of those mini tape recorders just for moments like these. Then I can go back and listen to the facts confessed in great detail. This time there was one thing, one piece of information, I especially wanted from Walter. "Who is this man, Walter? Do you know him? Give me his name, and I'll see what the Gunmen know--" "No, Mulder, that is *exactly* what you must not do. You must not question me. You must not search for this man's identity. You're an excellent investigator, so you would be likely to find it. But if you do, we die." "I thought you said this man wanted you alive?" "There are other factions involved in this. They are not, at this time, aware of my involvement. Your investigation would surely make them aware, thereby ending my usefulness." Agreeing to not investigate something like that went so far against my nature that I found it almost impossible to agree, even with Walter's explanation. I needed space to think. "I need a minute, Walter. I'm going to the men's room." Plus, with all those screwdrivers and the iced tea, well... ^^^ It didn't take me very long to make my decision. Once all the facts aligned in my vodka-slowed brain, I realized that I didn't have any realistic choice. I returned to the table, to Walter, with my answer. "I don't think I have much of a choice but to trust you on this. I investigate; you die. I leave it alone; you believe that you'll live. It's a piss-poor choice, but I could never forgive myself if I went against your wishes and something happened to you." He looked terribly relieved. "Thank you, Mulder, I know that's a difficult choice for you. Look at it this way: planting this bomb in my body is a means of insuring my cooperation, solidifying my interests. Given the choice, I would rather have signed over my Bureau pension to them, but this is the way they do things." Walter took off his glasses then, tilted his head down and rubbed the bridge of his nose, reminding me he was only two weeks out of the hospital. And I was keeping him up late, dealing with my demands. "How *are* you feeling? Scully said you were fully recovered, but are there any after-effects?" He cut me off with a wave of his hand. "I'm fine Mulder. I didn't like you nannying me when I was sick, and I won't tolerate it now that I'm well." I can't exactly explain why, but that hurt me, hit me like a fist to the gut, and my eyes suddenly filled with tears. It made me say something stupid, something pitiful and weak. "Well, excuse me. Excuse me for loving you. I see you couldn't possibly need *me*, so I'll leave. Trust me, I'll honor our agreement." I left a five on the table and walked out of the diner, past the odd look the waitress gave me, out into the cold night. Then, I realized that Walter had driven. I figured, fuck it, I'll walk back to one of the hotels and call a cab from there. So I stalked off down the road, trying to keep my eyes from watering in the cold. I've done the occasional stupid thing, but this whole night had to be at the top of the list. I hadn't gotten past the first major intersection when a car slowed down next to me. I figured it was either Walter or a bunch of rednecks looking to gang bang me. I almost wish it had been the rednecks, because at least I might have been able to get rid of them with my gun. "Mulder," he shouted out the car window, "Get in the god damned car already, before I have to wrestle you in, and I think we both know who would win that fight." I didn't stop. "Mulder, please, I'm sorry!" I stopped. I don't think I'd ever heard Walter apologize before, not for something personal like that. He brought the car to a halt, and I got in silently. I looked at him blankly because I didn't know what was supposed to come next. "Would it be alright if I drove us to your place so we can talk? That way you won't have to get a cab home. Plus, it might be...safer." I nodded, said something like, "Yeah, sure," and he drove on to Alexandria. ^^^ We finally arrived at Hegal Place after a rather uncomfortable trip. Walter followed me up the stairs to the fourth floor, never even asking why I eschewed the elevator. I guess he knew I wanted some more time to figure out what the hell was going to happen once we got alone inside. When we reached the fourth floor landing, he stopped and touched my shoulder. "Mulder? Your apartment, is it safe?" "Yeah, I have the Gunmen sweep the place for bugs periodically, and Frohike was just over last week. I think they've been leaving me alone since, well--" He knew what it was since. Since the big ugly centerpiece came to be sitting between us on the table. He nodded, and we headed through the thick metal door to the hallway. I fumbled with the lock, and then we were inside. I keep my apartment in continual disarray, and I like it that way, but I never fail to be embarrassed when I bring someone over. I hastily swept a pile of papers from my chair so we wouldn't have to share my couch. I didn't want to put that kind of pressure on him. "Do you want anything to drink?" Never let it be said that I'm an inconsiderate host. He shook his head and stood in my living room looking out the window. He removed his jacket and tossed it on my chair. He stood there with his hands on his hips, his wrists pushing up the bottom of his cable knit sweater, his jeans hugging his powerful thighs. I lost my breath for a moment, realizing again how magnificent he was. How he would be mine if I hadn't lost him. I sat down on my couch and pulled my tie completely off, laying it and my jacket on the floor. A horn blared outside, but he didn't turn away from the window. "I didn't think I could forgive you, Mulder. I really didn't. For letting me think you were dead, for putting me through that." His voice was calm, but my chest seized up nonetheless. I knew I could never apologize enough for that, never make up for one bad judgement made on one terrible day. I thought he was tormenting me, punishing me. As though I hadn't punished myself enough. Drowning myself in my silent chant of <>, I almost missed his next words. "But I have, Mulder. I might well be crazy, and if I am I'm sure I caught it from you. But I've been thinking to myself the past few months, 'Walter, you could do worse. You could do worse than a man like Mulder. He may be a pain in the ass, but his love is worth the pain. And maybe with you looking out for him you won't have so many sleepless nights.' And now it seems like I need you looking out for me, so we must be meant-- We must be tied together in some sort of inexplicable way, and I don't know what to do about it." He sat down next to me on the couch then, facing out towards the room as though he were talking to himself and not me. Finally, he turned his head towards me, an open look on his tired, handsome face. "What do you think I should do about it?" I stretched a hand up to touch his cheek, and then we were kissing. I pulled up onto my knees on the couch, thankful for the slipperiness of leather. I held his face with both hands and gently covered his mouth with mine, turning my head to the side to connect more tightly. My hands slipped around to the back of his head, and I reached out with my tongue, meeting his, slipping over and under. I felt his hands in my hair, and it was like a miracle. His warmth coursed through me, and I realized then that I'd been cold for a year, cold like that night in the Florida wilderness when I'd longed for his strong arms around me. Cold like the searing nothingness of Antarctica or the deep blackness of the Atlantic. Cold like the butt of a gun, like facing death on a wind-swept field. Cold like secrets frozen away, and his absence. Then I was melting under his touch. Briefly coming up for air, we gazed into each other's eyes, and he smiled. I hadn't seen him smile in so long, and the rare gift was exhilarating. Our lips met again, and my hands smoothed down the back of his head to his broad, incredible shoulders, his thick, muscular arms. I worked my way down to his hips and began pulling his sweater up. I heard a small chuckle deep within his throat, and then he pulled away from me. I lifted the sweater up over his head to reveal his chest, that work of art, even near fifty. A few strands of silver in with the brown didn't mar it at all, even if he had gained a few more since I'd seen him last. I'd aged too, God knows. While I busied myself with warming every inch of that chest with my hands, he unbuttoned my shirt, pulling it off me quickly. I set to running my tongue around his nipples, hardening them, tugging them into my mouth and sucking tightly. I think we had a silent agreement to not rush things, to re-acquaint ourselves with each other. God, I wanted to remember every bit of him, in case he should go away from me again. I wanted to show him how much I loved him, how much I needed him. He tried to budge me from my ministrations, but I reached up and kissed him again. "This is for you," I whispered in his ear. "This is how much I've missed you." I bit down gently on his earlobe, and he gasped, his cock hardening beneath me, straining against his jeans. I pushed him backwards, down onto the couch, and began undoing his pants. I popped the button and undid the zipper hastily before tugging the dark denim down over his slim hips. He lifted his ass to make it easier, and the bulge in his boxers was suddenly in my face. I struggled with his boots, his socks, and then I yanked his jeans and boxers down, peeling them off together and discarding them in a twisted heap. There it was, then. Hard and beautiful, reaching towards me. I ran my hands over the soft, paler skin of his hips and moved my mouth down over his sex. I dove down deeply, God!, letting it fill me, and then pulled back, running my tongue over the ridge, the tip, caressing it with my lips. Walter moaned, then, and I loved him so much. I looked up, and his eyes were dark and soft. Returning to my task, I moved my hands to gently cup his balls, took his shaft into my mouth and sucked. I think he understood how much I needed to do this for him. He just lay there on the couch, twining his hands through my hair, his moans rising in pitch and frequency. I felt him growing inside my mouth, and then his hips starting thrusting, just slightly, not enough to choke me. But I knew he was close. I moved one hand to the base of his shaft, pumping up and down, pulling my mouth away a bit so I could suck on the head. His moans strung together into one single note, he thrust once more and then he came. I swallowed quickly, licking up the last drops, and buried my head in his lap for a moment. As his breathing returned to normal, I began kissing my way back up his body. The thick patch of hair, his flat, powerful stomach, his impressive chest, the sweet hollowness of his throat, the sharp stubble on his chin, and then his mouth. I kissed him on the corner of the mouth and then met his eyes. If I thought his smile earlier was amazing, it was only because I hadn't seen the real thing for so long. The smile he gave me then, lying spent on his back on my couch, was like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds after months and months of rain. But his eyes were struggling to stay open, and I knew that day and the past few weeks were catching up with him. I smoothed one hand over his sweaty head and gently kissed one eyelid, then the other. "Sleep, lover," I whispered, and he drifted off. I stood up and covered him with a blanket so he wouldn't get cold. Still in my suit-pants and shoes, I stripped and walked to the bathroom. In the warm spray of the shower, I let the sweat and the vodka and the fear wash off of me. I let the water pour down over me, blessing me, until it turned cold. Dressed in my favorite grey sweats and an old black t-shirt, I walked out to the kitchen for some iced tea. ^^^^^^ I'm looking out into the living room now, and there he is on the couch. Walter. My Walter, once again. I have no idea about forever, and I know I don't even dare think about it. I don't honestly think there is a "forever" in my world. There's a bomb inside of him, and I can only trust and hope that it will never go off. Of course, there's always been a bomb inside of me, and it goes off again and again. I look back over my life, and I see this trail of bodies and broken lives. I know it's not all my fault, but I'm still the common factor, the Typhoid Mary. And then I look in front of me, and there's this beautiful sight. One body, one life, whole and intact and miraculously open to me again. I take a few silent steps closer, and I can see the steady rise and fall of his chest. With his face relaxed in sleep, I can see just how stressed he's been lately. I don't want to wake him; he needs his sleep, but I want to be with him, feel his warmth join with mine. So I lift up the blanket and sit on the edge of the couch. I slowly slide down, turning onto my side, and he angles himself sideways, unconsciously moving to admit me. I work my arms around his thick chest and intertwine my legs with his. I kiss him lightly on the cheek, and a tiny smile moves across his face. Finally, resting my head in the hollow of his shoulder, I sleep. ^^^^^^^^^ THE END Thank you for reading! Feedback will be welcomed with grateful tears at elixia@mindspring.com.