* * * * *BACCARAT PIECE: THANKSGIVING* ** By Sean Spencer seans13@hotmail.com CATEGORY: SRA RATING: PG KEYWORDS: Mulder/Skinner Slash SUMMARY: For once, Mulder shows gratitude in the traditional way. DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and Dana Scully are the properties of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Follows immediately after Skinner's rescue. This is not a holiday story. Sorry about this. This has been sitting forgotten in my hard drive for more than a year. As always, feedback highly appreciated. ........................ "Jesus, Fox!" Skinner winced and his left leg jerked involuntarily. "Sorry, I'm sorry, Walter," Mulder paused in his cleaning of Skinner's leg wound. He peered at the older man's face. Skinner had his lower lip between his teeth in his effort to contain the pain. "You okay?" "Just get it over with," The DD muttered. He stared out the window and only flinched once when the cold sharp sting of the antiseptic was painted on his raw flesh. "Hey, you don't look so good," Mulder worried at the pallor of his lover's face. "I'm all right," Skinner growled. Mulder gently mopped at the sweat on his brow, but Skinner batted his hand away impatiently. It had been a week since they returned home. Two weeks since Skinner was rescued from a field in Dallas. They all thought that the DD's recovery was on its way but it didn't turn out that way. A few days ago, fever spikes set in. Then his left calf ballooned. Skinner was subjected to excruciating drainage of a pocket of pus in his leg muscle. He had strict instructions to keep his leg elevated at all times. For the past three days, Skinner had been confined to bed. For someone who'd always led an active life, it was sheer torture. "Your pills, Walter," Mulder was trying to be cheerful, but his patience was wearing thin, too. He waited until Skinner took the pills from his hand and drank it down one by one. Skinner downed five pills, a white one, two blue ones, a yellow and a red. None of the pills had major side effects but his stomach became upset every time he took the yellow one. And he his ears rang. He lay back down in the pillows and fixed his glasses over his nose. After a while, Mulder was back with the warm compresses. Heating pads were out because some parts of his leg were still numb from nerve damage. "It's not too hot, Walter?" Skinner muttered a reply, which Mulder took as a no. The agent carefully placed the warm cloths around Skinner's lower leg. Mulder cleaned up the room. Skinner glanced up once and saw the lines of fatigue around the younger man's mouth. "I'm sorry, Fox," Skinner sighed. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I know you've been as much through the wringer as I have." "I know how it feels to be cooped up in here for days on end," Mulder relented and gave Skinner a brief embrace. "Lie down and I'll give you a back rub." The backrub predictably relaxed the older man and he drifted off to sleep after. Mulder took the ear thermometer and unobtrusively checked Skinner's temperature. It was still elevated despite the bombardment of antibiotics and antipyretics. The doctor had warned them of continued infection. If the fever didn't subside within two days, Skinner would have to be admitted for further tests. The agent ran his hand impatiently through his hair. He was dog-tired but the case files he brought home with him called for his attention. He downed his second cup of coffee for that night and worked on the papers. He woke up the next morning to the buzz of his alarm clock. He felt Skinner move beside him. The older man was struggling with his crutches. "Walter, you need any help?" "No," Skinner replied. "I'm just going to the bathroom for a minute. Did you work through the night?" "I don't know," Mulder rubbed his face tiredly. He gathered the papers that had fallen by the bedside and fixed his files. Mulder sighed and dreaded another start of a long day. At work, cases were demanding as ever, but he was used to that. Here at home, he found out how difficult it was to take care of someone who refused to be taken cared of. Skinner accepted the change of dressings without complaint, except for last night's outburst. The rest of the time, he attempted to do things for himself. He claimed he had more severe injuries from Vietnam, so walking around in crutches should be a snap. But Mulder could see the older man was ready to climb the walls. Skinner hated being cooped up at home. He was never someone who was satisfied with watching mindless daytime television. He didn't like Mrs. Jackson fussing around him, too. The agent silently pleaded for some kitchen appliance to break down so that the older man would have something to do with his hands. He doubted Skinner would take knitting lessons from Mrs. Jackson. Hey, maybe, the toaster could use one of Mrs. Jackson's strategically placed hairpins... Skinner was at the kitchen table by the time Mulder came down for breakfast. He was reading the papers with the leg propped up on the other chair. Their elderly housekeeper was plying Skinner with breakfast. Skinner insisted on his morning coffee. Mrs. Jackson only poured it for him when Mulder shrugged helplessly at her. Mulder bolted his meal. But when Skinner put aside the papers, it became clearer why the older man was in a bad mood. His face was splashed on the papers. The Bureau finally released statements of his kidnapping and the successful rescue. "I thought they were going to tell all after one more week," Mulder muttered as his eyes scanned the paper. "Well, some journalist was able to put two and two together, the agent's death, the Bureau car," Skinner said with irritation. "To offset false rumors, it was time to go to the press. The Director called yesterday and we agreed it was for the best. "Fox, it might be better for both of us to lie low for a while. Don't call attention to yourself whenever you leave the building. If this gets worse, you might have to move to the 10^th floor." "Yes," Mulder said grimly. "I'll keep your phone off the hook. With you on leave, it wouldn't be so difficult. You can hide up here." Mulder left the kitchen and found Mrs. Jackson straightening things out in the living room. "Mrs. Jackson, he has a 2 p.m. appointment at Northeast Georgetown..." "Don't worry, I'll take him...if he lets me. How is he anyway? Still with a fever?" "Yes. And please remind him to keep his leg up at all times." "I will." Mulder impulsively landed a peck on her cheek. "Good-bye." "Bye, Fox. Be careful. I saw the papers, too." "I will. Bye, Taylor. Good dog." There was more to clean up around here, Mrs. Jackson sighed. When one or the other was left at home for sick leave, the apartment had more dust and magazines strewn all over the place. Especially if Fox was the one taking a needed break from work. The few times Walter was the one sick, the older man was a quiet and tranquil companion in the hours she was here. But this time it was different. Walter was always restless, getting in the way of her work, especially with the crutches. He refused help when he could. The two had explained sketchily that Walter had been shot in the melee of the kidnapping. This sullen mood, however, was suddenly explained away this morning when she read her copy of this morning's paper on the bus. Her tabloid fare had shaken her when she read that her employer was put in a box and kept inside for four days. What was the world coming to when they would torture a perfectly good man in the most horrible way? Skinner spent the rest of the morning in the den, where as far as Mrs. Jackson could tell, he was conferring with his lawyer. He ignored her plea to take a rest. The lawyer was urging Skinner to think about pressing charges against the Bureau for not providing the security he needed. That was the last thing Skinner wanted, to start a case that would delve into his personal life. The ceaseless lawyer-speak was exhausting. Skinner lay back his head and shifted his leg from the uncomplaining Taylor who chose to crowd him on the couch. He closed his eyes for a minute. When he heard steps in front of him, he found Mrs. Jackson with the dreaded thermometer. Dutifully, he opened his mouth and for once received the thermometer under his tongue without complaint. He sighed with exasperation at the next set of pills, which meant another few hours of tummy ache and ringing ears. It was a short hop to the hospital. He insisted for Mrs. Jackson to leave him. He said he was going to get a cab home afterwards. But it became more complicated than that. Skinner ignored the chilly feeling. He assumed it was from the contrast of summer temperatures outside and the air-conditioned halls of the Medical Arts building. At the waiting room, however, he began to feel miserable. He was lightheaded and the world seemed to swim around him. He cursed himself for this weakness, when all he had was a slight infection of his leg. He shakily stood up and drank from the water fountain. The cool water in his mouth made him feel a bit better. He went back to his seat and closed his eyes. And waited for his name to be called. The DD felt someone slip in beside him but he kept his eyes shut. A hand gently slid into his. "Hey." "Shouldn't you be at work?" Skinner didn't have to open his eyes to know that Mulder was beside him. "Mrs. Jackson ratted on you," Mulder said. "She told me you still had a fever this morning. And you sent her home. She felt guilty so she called me." "I...I don't feel so well." There. He finally admitted it. "Don't worry, I'm here." To Mulder, Skinner's declaration meant he must be truly ill. Skinner opened his eyes a slit and saw Mulder start a small commotion at the desk. Before he knew it, Skinner was wheeled into an examination room. Then the chills started big time. He was too busy trying to get warm. The rapid-fire conversation around him went over his head. After a painful hip injection, everything quieted down. His chills became more manageable and only he and Mulder were in the room. "You're going back in." "Not again," Skinner groaned. "More tests, MRI and possible surgery. You're pretty septic." "You have their terminology down pat, don't you?" Skinner's teeth chattered around his words. Mulder hugged him over the blankets to add more warmth. "After all the time I've spent in hospitals, you should, too. Besides, Scully keeps me abreast." The agent's voice was muffled by Skinner's blanket. He soothed the older man's fevered brow as the chills finally subsided. By early evening, Skinner found himself being wheeled into the OR. Another set of pus pockets was to be drained. The DD recovered rapidly once the final focus of infection was eliminated. They didn't have to tread like they were walking on eggshells around him. But other things were going on. "God...no..." Another one of Skinner's strangled cries through the night. Mulder woke up and held his lover. "I'm here, Walter...ssshhhh..." "No!" "Shhhshhh..." Mulder enclosed the older man much tighter to tell him in sleep that he wasn't alone. Despite the healed leg, the psychic scars took longer to heal. Skinner moaned again and the agent kept rubbing his back until Skinner relaxed and went back to sleep. By the end of the month, Skinner only needed a cane to ambulate. They didn't even think twice about going to the movie. At first, everything was okay. Mulder ate his popcorn while Skinner sipped a cola. Then when the house lights turned off and the movie started, Skinner felt everything closing in around him and he found it difficult to breathe. He didn't want to say anything at first, telling himself that this was only a movie. Only a movie. But Mulder noticed the clammy condition of his hand. "Walter, you okay?" Mulder tilted his head and looked as much as he was able into Skinner's eyes. "I'm all right," Skinner answered between his teeth. "No, you're not. Let's go." "The movie's just starting." "No, we're leaving." Both of them were surprised when Mulder hauled him bodily from his seat. Their exit caused a slight hubbub in their row. To Skinner's relief, the closed-in sensation disappeared once they were out in the well-lit lobby of the theater. It was only then that he admitted to himself that his claustrophobia was getting out of hand. And it was only then that he finally took notice of his therapist, the therapist he alternately humored and ignored. The scars on his wrists and leg faded quickly and flattened out with time. Cooperating with his therapist and Mulder's unceasing support combined to smooth away the invisible scars of the kidnapping to a more manageable level. On the last Sunday of his medical leave, Skinner was recovered enough to drive himself to church. Tomorrow on Monday, it was back to work. As he dressed, he could hear Mulder downstairs making a racket. Maybe the younger man was whipping up a special breakfast. Skinner still had a slight limp as a result of the loss of muscle tissue from the repeated surgeries. With his right leg unaffected, driving to church would be no problem. But the DD was surprised to find Mulder fully dressed in the kitchen as well. "I'm going to church with you," Mulder explained as he set the food in front of his lover. "I can drive. Don't bother. It's not a problem." "I /want/ to go with you, Walter." The earnestness in the younger man's voice caused Skinner to look up. Mulder cleared his throat uneasily. "Don’t get your hopes up. I'm not converting. It's just this one time...you know...a real thanksgiving." Skinner turned away, all misty-eyed, but he wordlessly nodded. END OF BACCARAT PIECE: THANKSGIVING Feedback highly appreciated seans13@hotmail.com ------------------------------------------------------------- "A beacon in the night." Mulder in reference to Skinner Nisei ------------------------------------------------------------- 1