TITLE: Closing the Distance - Part 1
NAME: frogdoggie
E-MAIL: frogdoggie@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: SRA
RATING: NC-17. M/SK. This story contains very explicit slash 
i.e. m/m sex. Also, some discussion of m/m rape. So, if you 
don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is 
forearmed. Proceed with caution.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Skinner deal with the aftermath of 
Mulder reading Skinner's mind in Biogenesis and Sixth 
Extinction. Missing a part of this story or just want to read more 
of my fic? Then surf here: http://www.squidge.org/3wstop or 
here, on my mirror site at: http://adult.dencity.com/frogdoggie
FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I 
HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy 
debate are always welcome. Flames? They only serve to warm 
my body and mind.
ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere - as long as my name and e-mail 
addy stay on it.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: SR819. Avatar. Biogenesis, 
Sixth Extinction and Amor Fati. Actually...pretty much the whole 
series. ROFL.
KEYWORDS: story slash Skinner Mulder NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully and all 
other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen 
Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright 
infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their 
use.
This story is a response to a writer's challenge issued on the 
mskslash list. Enjoy, Tesa...this one's for you.
Thanks again to Beta Goddess Susan...wielder of the masterful 
pink highlighter.
Completed in December of 1999 and January of 2000.
Some author's notes at the end.
Closing the Distance
by frogdoggie
Friday, December 3, 1999. 7 AM. A beach house near 
Crossroads, Maine
Mulder would never have found this place if the Gunmen hadn't 
made one last ditch effort to trace that credit card record. 
Mulder's quarry had been careful up to a point...but then he'd 
used his American Express card and Frohike had him. As soon 
as Mulder got the news on Thursday he'd left the Hoover and 
driven North, non-stop. He'd arrived in Crossroads, just a 
whistle stop in the road, he had hoped, hot on the trail. He 
flashed his badge. Showed a photo. The liquor store owner ID'd 
him all right. Mulder didn't take that as a good sign. He had to 
consider that by using the card his quarry had known someone 
could trace him. So...he was hiding in plain sight...and Mulder 
wasn't sure that was a good sign either.
Mulder obtained directions to the quarry's little 'hidey-hole' but 
even with the directions and knowing the address this little 
chateau hadn't been easy to find. The property was pretty 
remote. Yeah...like Wuthering Heights remote. Like the man he 
was hunting thought he was a Daphne Du Maurier hero. Like he 
thought he was Heathcliffe. Then again...that was somehow 
ironically appropriate.
Anyway...the house was way out here on the coast of 
Maine...on a peninsula...right on the beach. Hell of a place to 
come in December, Mulder thought. Well...hell of a good place 
to come if you wanted solitude that was for sure. And maybe 
that was the point with this particular individual right at this 
juncture. So, if solitude was desired by this man....why was 
Mulder coming way out here to break into that solitude? 
Because he and Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner had 
unfinished business that was why. For better or worse, he was 
here and he was going to verify the truth with Skinner. He was 
going to hear the truth straight from the horse's mouth.
He hadn't had a chance after all. After days of mulling it over, of 
stewing in his own juices over what he knew...Mulder had been 
denied the chance to talk to Skinner because the AD had done 
something no one, least of all Mulder or Scully would have 
thought he'd do. He took vacation. More specifically - he took a 
leave of absence and disappeared. He put distance between 
himself and Mulder and Scully again and they were caught 
completely off guard when he did.
While Mulder, Scully guarding him like a watchdog, was 
convalescing from his unscheduled brain surgery, it became 
apparent that Skinner wasn't going to be assigned Diana 
Fowley's murder investigation. For a myriad of convoluted 
reasons from 'he was too close to the case as her direct 
supervisor', to fallout over his actions in the hospital over Mulder 
going missing, the case wasn't put under Skinner's jurisdiction. 
Instead, it was assigned to AD Kersh. It was obvious that none 
of those were the real reasons Kersh was getting the 
assignment. Diana's case was being shit-canned - buried with 
no solution or some hapless perp would be brought in as a fall 
guy for her murder. Either way, Skinner was out of the FBI end 
of it.
As soon as the assignment came down, Skinner applied for and 
was granted a leave of absence. He claimed a family 
emergency. Scully informed Mulder that the AD left 
immediately and gave his mother's home phone number and 
address as a contact. He had called in but it had been a week 
since Kim had heard from him. However, she didn't seem 
overly worried and neither did Scully. Their opinion was that if it 
was a family emergency the AD was probably well occupied 
and for once he wasn't letting the job rule his life while he dealt 
with his personal affairs.
Mulder, on the other hand, had a bad feeling about Skinner's 
disappearance but he kept mum about his own worries 
regarding what he knew. He couldn't tell Scully what he'd seen 
in Skinner's mind...not all of it at least, and not yet...not until he 
was sure what was going on. So, he'd decided to pursue 
Skinner on his own and elicited the Gunmen's help. Calling the 
AD's mother's home had been the first step and when a maid 
had informed them that Skinner's mother was in Europe and the 
AD wasn't staying there the hunt for Skinner began in earnest. 
Mulder told Scully he was taking the rest of the day off and he'd 
left the Hoover and headed North.
Now, here he was, driving around in 'nowheresville', Maine, 
searching for his recalcitrant and no doubt disillusioned and 
depressed boss. If they'd called Mulder 'Spooky' before what 
would they be calling him if they found this out? Probably 
'Loony'. It would fit. So be it. He wasn't giving up and he wasn't 
turning back. 
Mulder set his jaw, taking on a stubborn expression very much 
like that of the man he was seeking. He pulled the car into the 
house's driveway and parked in back of the Jeep Cherokee that 
was already parked in front of the one car garage. He cut the 
ignition and surveyed the territory.
The one story, white clapboard beach-house looked deserted, 
the shutters closed tight. The screened-in front porch didn't 
even have any chairs on it. They must have been put into 
storage for the winter Mulder thought as he unfastened his seat 
belt. But, the Jeep was here. He knew from the credit card 
records that he'd rented it for the trip. So, where the hell was 
he?
Mulder checked his trench coat pocket to make sure his cell 
phone was in there. Touched his gun in its holster, and made 
sure the weapon was secure. His lips flattened into a line. 
Nothing looked out of place other than the fact that no one 
appeared to be home. Better to be safe than sorry though, he 
thought as he removed his hand from the gun butt. He opened 
his car door, got out and shut the door quietly behind him. A 
quick flip of the remote and the car was locked up tight. Mulder 
pocketed his car keys, straightened and looked around.
A cold wind slapped his face. His eyes watered from the sting 
of cold and sand blown into his face. The gust came in off the 
ocean and he tasted the salt in his sinuses. The stiff wind 
caused him to pull his coat around his body. He flipped the 
collar up as well and let his eyes roam the front of the house 
and garage. No Skinner. He decided on the direct approach. He 
walked cautiously up to the screened-in porch door and pulled 
on the handle. The door opened and he walked onto the porch. 
The boards creaked under his Nunn Bushes. 
The front door was locked. No surprise. Mulder surveyed the 
peeling paint for a moment and then brought his hand up, made 
a fist and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Still no 
answer. Ok. He debated applying more force to the knock but 
thought better of it. He had a niggling suspicion that Skinner 
wasn't inside anyway. Sixth sense? He shook his head in self-
deprecation. No...no psychic powers. Not anymore. No, this 
was just 'Fibbie' instinct and a natural hunch. No more mind-
reading and under the circumstances he was glad he couldn't 
read them any longer. He wondered if in Walter Skinner's case 
it would have been better if he'd never been able to read them 
at all.
Mulder lowered his hand and cast his attention elsewhere. He 
walked away from the front door and off the screened-in porch, 
letting the screen door flop shut behind him. Walking through 
the sand, his shoes slipping a little, he rounded the corner of the 
house on the side opposite the garage. The house was on a rise 
and sloped down to the beach. Quite the view he 
thought...yeah...right out onto the dock that stretched out into 
the ocean...and right out to the person sitting in a deck chair at 
the end of...oh shit! Mulder started to run down the slope, 
heading for the deck chair and its occupant, Walter Skinner, 
where he sat, his head slumped on his chest, his body slumped 
to the side.
The wind tore at Mulder's face and close cropped hair, whipped 
his coat around him as he dashed forward. He careened onto 
the deck at a dead run and bolted almost all the way to the end. 
As he reached the chair however, he pulled up short, skidding to 
a stop because he was immediately aware that Skinner wasn't 
silent at all. No...he was snoring. Like a 747. Mulder stood 
staring at his back in amazement. The AD sat almost bonelessly 
in the chair, wearing only jeans and a forest green crew neck, 
long-sleeved Henley shirt, one arm trailing down onto the deck 
and the other on his lap. The hand stretching down to the deck 
was wrapped around a bottle of top shelf bourbon. No hat. No 
coat. No socks. No shoes.
No gun. The first good sign he'd seen so far, Mulder thought. In 
a way he'd wished Skinner had armed himself. It would have 
been safer. But then again his having a gun out here could have 
indicated he was going to blow his brains out rather than protect 
himself. So, not seeing a gun was probably a good thing if 
someone besides Mulder had spotted him. Mulder didn't figure 
the AD to be the type who would eat his gun, but someone else 
might. Then again...he didn't think he'd get wasted and sit half 
undressed in a deck chair on a dock in winter either. Maybe he 
did have a death wish. Well, whatever. If he really wanted to die 
all he'd have to do was piss Krycek off enough. Yeah, if Krycek 
came after him, the bastard wouldn't be phased by a gun 
anyway. He could take out Skinner long-distance before the AD 
even had a chance to get off a shot.
Mulder ran a hand over his mouth in embarrassed chagrin and 
walked around to the front of the chair, glancing in back of him 
as he did. The chair was awfully close to the end of the deck. Its 
precarious position made worse by the fact that Skinner's long, 
muscular legs were stretched out ahead of him. Mulder stood to 
one side of his boss's legs, gaping at his bare feet for a second. 
How long has he been out here? God...he really could have 
died out here, ran through Mulder's mind. Hypothermia asking 
to happen. Jesus H. Christ. Mulder drew himself up and 
coughed loudly, watching Skinner carefully for any reaction. 
There was none.
"Sir?" he asked tentatively.
Skinner didn't stir.
"Sir?" he tried again.
He thought he saw Skinner's right eyelid twitch behind his lens 
but he wasn't sure. The snoring buzzed on. Finally, Mulder 
swallowed hard and reaching forward with his foot, delivered a 
light kick to Skinner's bare ankle. The snoring sputtered to a halt 
and Skinner came round. Mulder bent to hear what he said as 
his mouth worked to get the words out.
"Wah?" Skinner asked.
Mulder's eyebrows knitted together. Holy shit...if he lit a match 
right now they'd both go up from the fumes coming out of 
Skinner's mouth. Damn. Mulder gathered himself up again and 
tried to not let either maniacal laughter or righteous anger at 
Skinner's foolhardiness, both of which threatened to take hold 
of him, have their day.
"Sir...it's Mulder..." he began as Skinner blinked and tried to 
focus on him.
The AD was unshaven, at least a week's worth of beard growth 
evident on his face. He brought his free hand up, the left hand, 
and ran his hand up over his chin and then up under his glasses. 
He swiped his hand over his eyes and then lowered it, staring at 
Mulder. 
"Mulduh? Mulduh...get the fuck outta my nightmare," he 
growled, shutting his eyes again and settling back in the deck 
chair.
That was just about all Mulder could take. Something inside him 
clenched tight and he felt overwhelming pity for Skinner in that 
moment. Mulder probably was his worst nightmare right 
now...well maybe his second worst. But under the 
circumstances, since he'd been in Skinner's head he'd qualify 
for the top ten nightmare list for sure. But Mulder also thought 
that pity was counterproductive and in the long-run a disservice 
to this man. He shouldn't pity him. If he could, he should help 
him. Help him...and help them both to understand and deal with 
what he came to discuss with Skinner.
But any thoughts of asking him questions or discussing anything 
were superseded with the necessity of getting Skinner indoors, 
warm and hopefully, sober so they 'could' talk to each other. 
Mulder jiggled Skinner's leg with his foot again and the AD's 
eyes shot open. He coughed and looked up at Mulder again, 
frowning.
"I thought I told you to get the hell outta here," he rumbled. 
"You did...but..."
"So...go," Skinner interrupted, gesturing imperiously with the 
bottle of booze. He suddenly noticed he was still holding the 
bottle and brought it up to his mouth, taking a healthy swig.
"Sir...I can't let you stay out here. Not...not in this condition. 
You're drunk and..."
Skinner lowered the bottle to the deck again. The bottom hit the 
boards with a dull thud.
"Damn straight I'm drunk, Mulduh. Pol-lu-ted. I been drunk for 
days. And 'ya know whah? It feels good," Skinner replied, trying 
to enunciate with his booze thickened tongue.
"Right," Mulder sighed, looking into Skinner's heavy lidded eyes. 
He didn't look like he felt good. He didn't look like he felt 
anything and that was probably the point of this exercise 
anyway. Mulder theorized however that he was feeling a hell of 
a lot...and it wasn't good at all. At any rate, he couldn't let him sit 
out here and freeze to death while he wallowed in whatever he 
was wallowing in. Mulder's teeth were starting to chatter a little 
so he knew Skinner had to be chilled to the bone.
"You're agreein' with me?" Skinner replied, amazement in his 
voice. "Well shit... I'll drink ta dat," he added, making a sound 
somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. He lifted the bottle 
up to his lips again but Mulder's hand was on his wrist before he 
could complete the gesture. Skinner's eyes caught Mulder's and 
dull anger flared up in his as he gazed at the agent.
"Leggo," he snarled.
"No fucking way. You have to get back inside," Mulder replied, 
insistent. "You'll freeze your ass off out here."
"Nah cold," Skinner protested, pulling against Mulder's hand.
"No wonder. You've got enough anti-freeze in you to sit on a 
dock in Antarctica. I know...I've been there," Mulder tried to 
wisecrack his way through Skinner's recalcitrance. Wrong 
approach.
"Fuck you," Skinner hissed, yanking the bottle towards him 
hard. 
But Mulder held firm, staring into Skinner's eyes. Skinner stared 
back, his breath harsh and redolent of smoky 100 proof 
Kentucky Bourbon Distillers bourbon.
Something passed over Skinner's face. Several expressions 
played over it. A look of pain, self-loathing, desperate hope and 
finally resignation. He opened his hand and the bottle fell to the 
deck with a louder thud. Mulder let go of his wrist and moved 
back. Liquor spilled out of the bottle's neck and pooled under 
the deck chair. 
"Shit," Skinner mumbled and then his face fell forward on his 
chest.
Wonderful, Mulder thought. He must have passed out. But to his 
surprise, Skinner raised his head and hand, gesturing to him.
"Help me get back inna house," he added quietly. He couldn't, 
wouldn't look at Mulder now. He was clearly ashamed, 
embarrassment pulling his eyes away from Mulder's composed 
and neutral expression. Mulder didn't draw attention to Skinner's 
drunken incapacitation any more than was necessary. He 
wordlessly took his arm as the AD struggled to lever himself up 
out of the chair. Skinner really was wasted. He could barely 
walk and since his feet were most likely cold and almost without 
feeling, Mulder had to take all his weight.
"Fuck. Sorry," Skinner murmured as Mulder pulled him up into 
a standing position.
"Put your arm over my shoulder," Mulder grunted and Skinner 
complied.
They started to walk tentatively back up the dock towards the 
house. After a few feet Skinner seemed to marshal some 
hidden sober resources and started to carry his own weight. He 
doggedly put one foot in front of the other as Mulder supported 
his upper body.
Finally they gained the steps leading up to the small deck that 
hung off the back of the house. The steps up onto the deck 
were interesting to negotiate. Mulder cursed more than once, 
silently, as the AD's numb feet stumbled and threw them both 
sideways.
They reached the back door and Mulder turned the handle. 
Locked. Figures. Fuck a duck.
"Sir...keys?" Mulder asked into the side of Skinner's weaving 
head.
"Huh?" he asked, swiveling to focus on Mulder. Mulder gestured 
to the door handle. "Oh. Yeah. Um...jean's pocket," Skinner 
answered, making a swipe at his right hand pocket with his left 
hand. He missed by a mile, nearly knocking them both down 
again as he clumsily reached across his body for a second try.
"Whoa...hang on a sec," Mulder warned from under his right 
arm. The agent grabbed Skinner's outstretched hand frantically. 
The AD looked up at him, eyebrow raised as Mulder clasped his 
hand. He gave him a wry, lopsided, drunk- sloppy grin.
"Wanna dance...Mulduh?" he burped into his face.
Oh man, Mulder rolled his eyes and then squinted under 
another wave of booze breath.
"Uh...maybe later," he mumbled off the cuff and then he 
winced. Shit...that might not have been the thing to say. 
Skinner's brow knitted together as Mulder shoved his hand up 
against the wall. "Can you lean here a minute, sir? I think I can 
get the keys if you do." 
"Sure," Skinner nodded agreeably, planting his hand on the wall. 
Mulder pushed him into the wall and held him there with the 
weight of his body. Then he gingerly reached into the pocket of 
the tight, faded Levi's Skinner was wearing and fished around 
for his house keys. He bit his lip as he felt the hot confines of 
the space, and Skinner's groin pulse beating against his fingers.
"Lucky I'm not tickerish," Skinner grunted as Mulder extracted 
the key.
"Ticklish," Mulder corrected, hefting him up by pushing under 
his arm again.
"Whadever," Skinner replied, frowning. He pulled back off the 
wall and managed to get himself into an upright position again. 
His arm draped heavily over Mulder's shoulders.
"Ok...here we go," Mulder replied, inserting one of the keys in 
the dead bolt. He just hoped to hell it was the right one. There 
were four keys on the ring. 'Bingo', he thought as the key turned 
smoothly in the lock. Lucky break. He had the doorknob lock 
turned quickly after that and then they were inside.
Mulder shut the door with his hip. He'd have to re-lock it when 
he could get Skinner off his back. He looked around quickly. 
The house was semi-dark due to the shutters being closed. The 
back door had opened onto a small open concept kitchen. 
Roomy but not too large. He could see the living room easily 
beyond...including the big overstuffed couch because there was 
a lamp lit in there. 'Bull's-eye', he thought. If I can just get him 
over there...
"Sir, I'm going to get you to the couch," he informed his listing 
burden. "Can you make it?" he added as Skinner lurched to the 
left. 
"Give me a fucking secun," Skinner grouched, straightening 
under Mulder's arm.
"I ought to let you fall on your tight ass," Mulder mumbled as he 
dragged Skinner forward.
"Whad?" Skinner asked, glancing at Mulder's face with 
suspicion. 
"Don't fall on your ass," Mulder replied, giving him a peeved 
look.
"Tempuh, tempuh," Skinner replied, giving him another shit-
faced grin.
Mulder ducked his head because for a moment he was tempted 
to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Laugh or cry, he wasn't 
really sure which. So, instead he kept his head down and 
struggled to remain mute as he navigated Skinner out of the 
kitchen and over to the couch.
Once he was at the side of the couch he used one leg to shove 
the coffee table out of the way as best he could, did a little 
sideways dance maneuver and tipped Skinner backwards, 
depositing the AD gracelessly onto the couch cushions. Skinner 
sprawled there, his body on the couch, his legs off it, arms loose 
at his side. Mulder stood back with his hands on his hips. 
Skinner peered up at him, blinking owlishly behind his specs.
"Room's spinnin'," he commented a little breathlessly.
"I would imagine," Mulder replied, nodding.
"Gonna puke," Skinner stated matter-of-factly and then he bent 
over and vomited onto the floor.
"OH SHIT!" Mulder yelled, glancing around in panic for 
something to stick under Skinner's face. The only thing 
available was a copy of the Washington Post so Mulder 
grabbed it off the coffee table and flung it open onto the floor 
under the AD's mouth. It landed in a small puddle of vomit and 
was quickly joined by another contribution as Skinner heaved 
again.
Mulder stood back, his hand over his mouth as Skinner emptied 
his guts. Finally he was down to dry heaves and Mulder risked 
leaving him for a minute to go into the kitchen. There was a 
dishrag hung on the refrigerator handle and Mulder snatched 
that up, dampened it in the sink and carried it back into the living 
room. By this time Skinner was struggling to get his legs up onto 
the couch.
Mulder walked over, grabbed his ankles and pushed them up, 
flinging the AD's legs up onto the couch seat.
"Thanks," Skinner replied, breathing hard.
"Here," Mulder replied, handing him the wet rag.
Skinner nodded his thanks this time and wiped at his face and 
then his mouth with the rag.
"You want to rinse your mouth?" Mulder asked solicitously.
"No...thank you," Skinner replied, handing Mulder the rag. He 
breathed deeply, getting his lungs under control.
"All right. You going to be ok?" Mulder asked him carefully. He 
sighed. It was very evident that the AD was anything but ok 
right now.
But Skinner nodded again, his breathing returning rapidly back 
to normal.
"Sleep," he mumbled, rolling more completely onto his side. His 
head fell fairly comfortably onto one of the couch's decorative 
hunt print throw pillows.
"Good idea," Mulder agreed as Skinner began to snore again 
almost immediately.
Mulder stood watching him for a minute and then he pulled the 
old plaid blanket that was folded on the couch back over 
Skinner's body. He tucked it in around his feet after first 
brushing traces of sand off his soles. Skinner's feet felt warmer 
already Mulder thought as he moved the material over them. 
He must not have been out there that long he mused with relief. 
Mulder gently removed Skinner's glasses and put them on the 
coffee table in front of the couch. The agent stepped back and 
wrinkled his nose at the newspaper. Oh well...he'd make it fast, 
he thought as he went into the kitchen in search of a sponge or 
mop.
xXx
After he cleaned up the mess and re-locked the back door, 
Mulder did a little recon around the house. The place was what 
might be termed a 'weekender'. One story. One bedroom, 
kitchen, living room, one bath. Simple. Obviously the owner 
came here to fish in the summer. Maybe he came here in 
winter as well. The place seemed snug enough to withstand a 
winter on the coast. But fishing in summer was definitely in 
evidence. There was a large marlin stuffed and displayed on 
one wall. The couch was in the middle of the living room and 
bordered by two end tables with lamps, a coffee table and two 
overstuffed chairs. That group faced a small entertainment 
center. There was a pot-bellied stove in the corner to the right of 
the entertainment center. The stove was cold however. So, the 
house must be heated in some other way because it certainly 
wasn't cold inside. There was no dining room. The front door 
that led out onto the screened-in porch opened directly into the 
living room. Mulder stepped outside to open the shutters on the 
two windows that faced out onto the screened-in porch. Light 
brightened matters somewhat as he continued his quick survey 
of the premises.
The kitchen was large enough to accommodate a wooden table 
for two people. Here also, off the kitchen in a service area he 
discovered a small washer and dryer as well as a furnace and 
small hot water tank. So, that accounted for the heat. The 
appliances were fairly modern. There was a Mr. Coffee as well 
as a microwave. Gas stove. Mulder rooted around until he 
found some coffee in the freezer. 'Maxwell House' French roast 
but it would do. He started a pot of coffee and snooped some 
more. The cabinets were fairly well-stocked with canned goods. 
The refrigerator contained the basics. Quart of milk. Eggs. 
Bacon. Head of lettuce. Some ham and Swiss cheese. A loaf of 
bread. Juice. Margarine. No leftovers. It looked like Skinner had 
gone shopping. But, Mulder had to wonder if Skinner had been 
eating at all.
In the living room he passed the snoring AD and went to a desk 
that sat under the window on the side of the room opposite the 
bedroom wing. Mulder couldn't see out but he surmised if the 
shutters were opened he'd see the Jeep and his rental Ford 
sitting in the driveway. The garage was a standalone and sat 
back from the house. He looked down at the desktop. Skinner's 
laptop was open there, the screen flickering. Mulder's eyes 
were drawn to the screen and before he could stop himself he 
moved the track ball to get rid of the little Corvettes that were 
racing across his screen saver. There was a document 
displayed on the screen. He started to read it. It appeared to be 
a letter.
//Dear Sylvia:
I know we haven't seen each other much less corresponded in 
a while. However, I did want to drop you a line because I'll also 
have to write Mother and this will affect you both. It's not fair to 
leave Mom, you, Roger and the boys out of it.
There's something important that I have to tell you, Sylvia. This 
isn't easy for me to do.///
The letter stopped there, the cursor blinking, waiting for input. 
Mulder ran his long fingers through his hair. Obviously, Sylvia 
must be Skinner's sister he thought. Mulder shook his head. He 
didn't know anything much about Skinner's family. Evidently 
they weren't close however, if he hadn't spoken or seen his 
sister and her family recently. Now, whatever had proved 
difficult for Skinner to tell her must have been very difficult 
indeed, probably compounded by the fact that they'd been out 
of touch. He shook his head in chagrin. He wondered what 
Skinner had been specifically going to tell them. He reached out 
towards the keyboard and his fingers hesitated over it. Should 
he investigate, he thought. He was trying to make a decision 
when a low moan from the couch distracted him.
He swiveled to look at Skinner. The first moan was followed by 
a second. Mulder walked quietly back over to the couch and 
prepared to intercede in case the AD was going to have a 
nightmare. Mulder knew what his own nightmares were like. 
How he'd wake up sweating, screaming and shaking. He 
couldn't imagine what Skinner would do during one.
Skinner mumbled and Mulder listened carefully to try to pick up 
what he was saying.
"No. Won't tell you...go to hell," he whispered, enunciating 
surprisingly clearly this time. "Do it. What the fuck do I hafta 
lose?" he added with a small groan following his words. Then he 
settled back and started to snore again.
Mulder stood over him, grimaced and decided with those 
mumbled words that he was definitely staying on. No matter 
what Skinner said to him when he woke up...he was staying 
here to straighten things out. And he admitted...he was staying 
here to help as well. Because no matter what Skinner thought of 
himself. No matter what hell he was dwelling in right 
now...Mulder knew one thing. He knew Skinner was worth 
more than he probably thought he was worth. That he was a 
better man than he thought he was as well.
Those two facts were clear to Mulder even after being in 
Skinner's mind that first time in the AD's office. No, Skinner 
was no lost cause. He wasn't even a traitor or coward. He was 
a man who had made some very serious mistakes, 
miscalculations and was now in a horrendous situation due to 
his errors in judgment. He was paying for every decision to walk 
the line that he'd ever made. And right now what Skinner 
needed more than anything else was what Mulder thought he 
could at least give him. Walter Skinner needed a friend and Fox 
Mulder was willing to try to be that for him. Mulder took his 
trench coat off and moving over to one of the overstuffed 
chairs, draped it over the back. Then he headed into the kitchen 
to get himself a cup of coffee.
At 4 PM Mulder called Scully a second time. He'd already 
called her very early in the morning on the way to Maine to tell 
her what he was really doing. She'd been just a tad upset with 
him. But, after he'd explained about the phone call to Skinner's 
mother and his idea that the AD had hared off due to stress and 
after he'd also convinced her not to come in as back-up she 
was ok about his ditching her.
She made him promise however to call her again when he 
located Skinner and so he had fulfilled the promise, albeit not 
exactly right at the time he'd found the AD. Mulder explained to 
Scully that his hunch had been correct. Skinner was exhausted 
and had what appeared to be a raging case of the flu coming 
on. It was partly a lie of course but he wasn't about to tell her the 
AD was incapacitated due to being in a drunken stupor. He 
assured her that all he needed was rest.
Mulder was hoping that was all at least. He hoped that he could 
drag Skinner up out of whatever was bothering him. So, he 
couldn't bring himself to tell Scully the whole truth about 
Skinner's condition. Not yet. Not unless he absolutely had to tell 
her. Scully was relieved to hear that the AD was essentially all 
right and accepted Mulder's statement that he was going to stay 
on to make sure Skinner remained that way. After once again 
promising to update her later, Mulder had hung up his cell phone 
and went in to warm up his coffee.
It was 5:40, two cups of coffee, a glass of milk, a sandwich, the 
call to Scully, and two trips to the can later when Skinner finally 
woke up. Mulder was sitting in the overstuffed chair, the other 
lamp on to help with the room's much dimmer light. The 
weather outside had shifted from sunny to cloudy as the 
afternoon came on and now the sun was going down as well. 
Skinner stirred and Mulder put down the copy of 'GQ' he'd been 
reading while Skinner slept it off. Skinner's subscription. No 
wonder the guy was a clothes horse. Skinner opened one eye 
and squinted at the agent.
"I thought I was dreaming," he sighed, clearly a lot more sober. 
He put his hand over his eyes for a moment. When he withdrew 
it both eyes were open and focusing. His brow creased 
however. He had headache written all over his face. He 
glanced at the open shutters and even in the dim light he winced 
a little.
"Guess not," Mulder replied, putting his hands on his knees. 
"Sorry," he added with a small smile.
Skinner grunted and started to get up, pushing the blanket 
aside. 
"Hey...uh..." Mulder began.
The AD waved him off as Mulder rose from the chair.
"I'm fine. Stay there. I just have to use the bathroom," Skinner 
explained, rising with much less difficulty.
Mulder sat back down and let Skinner stand up and walk away 
on his own. He walked stiffly but his gait didn't waver. Mulder 
hoped he had some aspirin or Tylenol in the can. He was going 
to need it.
In a few minutes Mulder heard the toilet flush and then water 
run in the sink for quite some time. He waited patiently, 
considering what to do next, and at last Skinner made his way 
back out into the living room. His hair was damp. He must have 
dunked his whole head in the sink.
"You want some coffee?" Mulder asked, his voice neutral. 
Skinner reached the couch and glanced over at him. Mulder 
watched Skinner's face and observed a struggle there. Mulder 
was fairly sure Skinner was debating whether to eject him as 
quickly as possible or allowing him to stay. Maybe even asking 
him to stay. After a few seconds, Mulder relaxed as Skinner 
sagged into himself a little and shrugged. 
"Yeah. Thanks," he replied, coughing a little.
Mulder seized the moment and beat a hasty retreat to the 
kitchen. He retrieved his mug from the drainer where he'd 
placed it to dry after washing it, and got another mug out of the 
cupboard. The cupboard was full of matching dishes. He pulled 
a mug down. Both mugs were plain, heavy, white glazed 
ceramic from a set of six mugs. This place was really well set-
up for a vacation - a fishing party type vacation. Mulder 
wondered how the hell Skinner had found it. The outside 
showed signs of the coastal winters but the inside was snug and 
tidy. Another conundrum. Man, the two of them really had a lot 
to discuss. Mulder poured coffee into both mugs and carried 
them back out into the living room.
"Black, right?" he asked Skinner as he approached the couch. 
Skinner was just seating his glasses on his face.
"Right," Skinner replied, giving an appreciative nod and 
extending his hand for the cup. Mulder handed the cup over and 
then returned to the overstuffed chair to sit down. He sipped his 
coffee and watched as Skinner sipped his. They drank in 
companionable silence for a few minutes and then Skinner 
looked at Mulder over the rim of his mug. 
"You're not going to leave are you?" he rumbled, giving Mulder 
a baleful glare.
"I think it would be better if I didn't go quite yet," Mulder replied, 
leaning over and placing his mug down on the coffee table. 
Skinner put his mug down as well and settled back into the 
couch cushions. He rubbed his temples a little and then 
captured Mulder's eyes.
"How much do you know?" he asked quietly.
"Pretty much all of it," Mulder replied equally as quietly.
"Then why are you still here?" Skinner responded. The men 
stared at each other and then Mulder had to look away from the 
pain he saw in the other man's dark brown eyes. "Mulder...just 
go," Skinner whispered.
But Mulder couldn't go. He couldn't just leave Skinner to drown 
his sorrows in bottle after bottle of bourbon. Not now...not after 
what he'd seen in his mind. He felt compassion for Skinner. He 
wanted to understand, and he was sincere about wanting to be 
his friend. His own curiosity wouldn't let him leave either. The 
need to know...what was in his own mind as well as how 
this...how Skinner could...he shook his head. He still couldn't 
quite wrap his mind around the idea. His own confusion on the 
matter was forcing him to stay as well. He needed to discover 
what was in his own head over the issue. What was in his own 
heart.
"Sir...why do you think I should leave?" he asked carefully, 
looking back into Skinner's eyes.
Skinner snorted and looked away this time. As he answered he 
stared out the front window.
"Mulder...it's not every day a man finds out his boss...his male 
boss has been in love with him for almost seven years. Why 
would I think you'd want to stay under those circumstances?" 
he replied, his voice showing the strain it took for him to utter 
those words. "The thought...I could understand how the thought 
might be personally distasteful for you," he added with 
bitterness.
"Friends don't desert friends," Mulder replied softly, watching 
Skinner's face.
Skinner turned his head sharply to look at Mulder again. His 
eyes were dark and hard, like obsidian.
"Don't patronize me, Mulder," he spat.
Mulder felt his face flush instantly in anger. He felt his pulse 
race.
"Patronize you?" Mulder asked, incredulous. "Are you saying 
my calling you my friend is patronizing? Yeah...well fuck you 
then," Mulder added, shaking his head. "Stay here and play 
Papa Hemingway of Maine then. Get drunk. Jerk off...eat your 
gun. Do whatever you damn well want. What the fuck 
difference does it make?" he blurted out, his emotions suddenly 
getting away on him. He made to stand and leave.
He was really angry. How dare Skinner? How dare he assume 
that Mulder just came up here out of curiosity alone. That was 
part of it...but not the only reason. He came because he was 
confused about just how he did feel when he'd read Skinner's 
love for him in his mind. He sincerely wanted to discuss it with 
Skinner because...all right...he wasn't at all unsure he wasn't 
attracted to the other man as well. So, he damned well better 
get that out on the table if they were ever going to function 
together on any level again. Besides the sexual attraction issue, 
he did consider Skinner a friend and didn't blame him for what 
he'd done. He was offering his boss his friendship and support 
regardless of anything else involved in the way they saw each 
other. He didn't expect to have that offer shit on...not even by a 
guy with a rep for being a surly bastard like Skinner.
Skinner stared at him as Mulder's butt hovered over the chair 
seat. The agent was breathing heavily for a minute, his face 
reddening slightly, his jaw clenched tight.
"You're serious," Skinner observed, his eyes playing over the 
agent's face.
"Yes, damn it. I'm serious," Mulder responded, getting up, his 
eyes never leaving Skinner's. Skinner tracked Mulder's 
movement and the AD's mouth formed a grim line.
"Well...bravo, then. How very liberal of you to call your queer 
boss your friend, Agent Mulder," Skinner hissed, acid dripping 
from every word.
Mulder started to make another heated retort and then he 
suddenly realized what Skinner was trying to do. He was trying 
to make Mulder pissed off enough to cut and run. Make him 
angry so he would keep telling him to go fuck himself as Mulder 
walked right out the door. Skinner could avoid confronting the 
issue that way. Very convenient. Uh uh. Well, that wasn't how 
things were going to work here. Not now. 
"Oh no," Mulder shook his head, slowly sinking back down into 
the chair. "No way. I wasn't born yesterday, sir. You're not going 
to goad me into getting angry enough to leave here. I've seen 
that tactic before. Hell...I've used that tactic before. No...we're 
going to sit here like two mature adults and discuss this matter."
Skinner stared at him again and after a few heartbeats, the 
ghost of a wry smile played over his lips. Just a flicker but it was 
enough to relax Mulder. Skinner seemed to relax a bit as well. 
He gave a gruff snort that could have passed for a chuckle.
"Oxford educated psychologist. I wonder why I forgot that just 
now," came his wry reply.
"Maybe because your brain's half pickled?" Mulder replied 
acerbically.
"Touché," Skinner replied, nodding and scrubbing his hand over 
his mouth. When he removed his hand his expression had 
softened a bit. When he spoke his voice was tired but less 
harsh.
"All right. Look...I'm sorry. Stay. I guess...uh..." he replied, 
fishing for what he wanted to say. "Oh Hell, Mulder. This isn't 
easy for me...obviously," he gestured at his disheveled 
appearance, "there's a lot that isn't easy for me right now. 
I'm...uh...oh good Christ..." he let his voice trail off in disgust.
Mulder nodded and slumped back in the overstuffed chair.
"We don't talk do we? I mean...men. We don't share at all do 
we? It's better to suffer in silence than ask a friend to lend an 
ear, isn't it? It's never easy to talk is it, sir?" Mulder observed, 
running a hand through his hair.
Skinner fixed him with a penetrating look.
"No, it isn't easy. It's never easy," he replied quietly, looking 
down at his hands.
Mulder looked back at Skinner and he felt a sudden stillness in 
his mind. He had that feeling coming over him that he got 
sometimes when he was profiling. The notion that what he was 
about to do was right. The correct course of action. The only 
course of action that would solve the case and bring the perp in. 
The only action that would wrestle the demons to their knees 
and bring them to heel. He leaned forward a little and addressed 
Skinner, his face calm and open, understanding written there 
plainly for the AD to see.
"Does that have to be a rule, sir? And if it is some kind of 
unspoken rule...can't we defy it for once? Break it. Would you 
talk to me? If you would, I promise to lend an unbiased ear," 
Mulder replied. "And...I'll try to understand," Mulder added, 
sitting with his hands on his knees.
Yeah, I'll try to understand, he thought. I'll try to understand 
what's going on here with both of us.
Skinner looked back up at him and raised a speculative 
eyebrow. 
"When did you ever follow the rules, Mulder?" he asked, his 
voice taking on a wry note.
Mulder let a small grin play about his lips.
"The question is, sir...are you still going to follow them?" Mulder 
replied, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Skinner barely changed expression but Mulder knew he'd hit 
home with the remark. Ball's in your court, Mulder thought.
"It seems to me that deciding not to follow someone's rules any 
longer is what got me in trouble in the first place," Skinner 
rumbled, looking away from Mulder for a moment. Mulder 
watched his face in profile. He was caught up in its rugged 
planes for a second and then Skinner looked back at him. 
Mulder watched the wheels turning in Skinner's mind motor his 
emotions across his face. He watched the older man's head 
nod imperceptibly.
"So...what do I have to lose?" he asked, his eyes on Mulder's 
face again.
The repetition of his earlier dream-mumbled words sent a short, 
sharp chill up Mulder's spine. He suspected those were 
Skinner's last words to Krycek. Scully had told him Krycek had 
attacked Skinner in his office after Mulder had disappeared. 
Skinner must have defied Krycek, refused to give him any 
information about Mulder's whereabouts...what little he'd had 
after distancing himself from Mulder's disappearance, and the 
bastard had done his worst. Scully had theorized as much. 
Mulder had another hunch after hearing Skinner talk in his sleep 
that she was exactly right.
"Only that bitch of a hangover you have," Mulder replied, a 
smile gracing his lips.
Skinner snorted a real chuckle
"No worries there. I'm done. I should know by now the booze is 
never a solution. I...I have no excuse though. I lost it, plain and 
simple. So...uh...I'll just give a blanket apology for any of my 
actions earlier if you don't mind," he replied a little hoarsely. 
Mulder gave a shrug.
"Sounds like the expense report's accurate to me," he quipped 
giving Skinner another small grin.
Skinner raised an eyebrow and then for the first time he 
returned a small smile of his own. Mulder was amazed how 
much better it made him look. He'd hardly ever seen Skinner 
smile. It was...refreshing to see him do it.
"Thank you for your assessment, Agent Mulder," he replied 
wryly. 
"Anytime, sir," Mulder replied with alacrity.
They sat silently for a moment at a loss for what else to say. 
There was certainly a huge white elephant sitting on the coffee 
table between them now with 'gay' stamped on its forehead. 
Mulder found his stomach fluttering with nervous anticipation. 
God. How in the hell were they going to get through this 
discussion? He had a moment of panic at that thought. Then he 
squelched down his worry and composed himself.
Why worry? After all...as he had said - they were mature adults. 
They could discuss it and determine...determine what? In the 
back of his mind the idea that Mulder very much wanted to find 
out what they'd do about it rose up and made his face hot again. 
And it wasn't from anger. No, it was from the idea that he 
wanted to find out because he felt attracted to Skinner too. Oh 
brother. Well...it was a half formed thought all along of course. 
He had to admit it. It was the reason he'd been so obsessed with 
finding Skinner and having him confirm what he'd read in his 
mind. He needed to hear Skinner say it to his face so he could 
confirm or deny his own feelings. If...he was suddenly 
distracted from his musings by Skinner's voice. He refocused 
on the AD as Skinner spoke up, shifting on the couch.
"Listen...uh...I can smell my own stink," Skinner commented 
honestly. "I'm going to shower. If...if you really do intend to 
stay...well...do you have your kit or..."
Mulder sat up again galvanized by having something to do.
"FBI 'SOP' - my garment bag and shaving kit are in the car. I 
guess I should get them," he replied, rising from the chair.
"Good. And uh...I guess you're stuck with the couch tonight," 
Skinner added, getting up himself.
"Yeah...well...that's something I'm not unaccustomed to, sir," 
Mulder replied quite readily.
Skinner gave him an amused look.
"Right. Well...it does fold out. So, it's not quite what you're 
accustomed to I suppose," he replied, running a large hand 
down his chest and stomach. The gesture was reflexive but 
Mulder found himself fascinated by the progress of Skinner's 
hand. He jerked his eyes away and refocused on Skinner's 
face.
"I'm sure it'll be fine. Uh...I'll be back in a few minutes," Mulder 
advised.
"Make yourself at home," Skinner replied as he turned away 
and headed back towards the bedroom wing.
xXx
While Mulder was getting his bags, his mind was running into 
overdrive. There were just too many questions. Not enough 
answers and confusion was mounting by the minute. The only 
recourse he had was to tell himself to take a deep breath, calm 
down and try to assess the situation dispassionately.
All right...he was attracted sexually to Skinner. He had to admit 
he'd looked at him more than a few times in the past. He'd 
never acted on it for all sorts of reasons from the superior and 
subordinate dynamic to the fact he didn't trust Skinner at all at 
first. That idea had changed of course. But the main reason 
he'd never given Skinner a second thought was the guy was so 
damned...unapproachable and closed off and so 
quintessentially...straight.
Mulder would never have imagined Skinner looked at him as 
anything other than an agent assigned to him who he respected, 
maybe even admired...maybe even considered a friend and ally 
- when he wasn't chewing him out. He was a hard-ass on the 
job. A task-master, but for the most part, fair. The epitome of 
FBI. The guy was just...well...butch...so alpha male. Mulder 
knew, as a psychologist and profiler, that he shouldn't 
stereotype people. But Skinner's whole FBI persona didn't say 
gay. Mulder had some gaydar after all. He thought he would 
have picked up something over the years if Skinner had been 
homosexual.
But with Skinner's macho vibes, his marriage of 17 years failed 
or not, his sleeping with that prostitute...Mulder just assumed he 
was heterosexual. Evidently that was a big error in thinking. But 
even if he'd suspected Skinner was gay he would never have 
thought he was attracted to him. He had covered that very well. 
Never said a damn thing. Skinner had never looked at him with 
anything other than professional decorum...or professional ire. 
No clue about his feelings...until Skinner touched him in the 
hospital. Held his arm so that Mulder could write on his palm. 
With that touch the floodgates had opened and Mulder had seen 
it all.
Actually, it wasn't the sexual aspect of what Mulder had seen in 
Skinner's mind that bothered him at all. Mulder did sex. He did 
casual sex with men and women as a matter-of-fact. But he 
didn't do relationships. In fact...he hadn't had a relationship in 
years and his current sexual partner was himself - as in jerking 
off - and had been for quite some time. Yes...any relationship 
he'd tried at, he'd failed in - men as well as women. Geoffrey, 
his first male lover at Oxford, Phoebe, Reggie his first partner at 
the Bureau, Diana. All had been failures. So, what was he 
supposed to do? Skinner didn't want casual sex. Mulder had 
seen that he was looking for a lot more. 
Damn it, he thought. You know...the only relationship he'd been 
successful in at all was his partnership with Dana Scully. He 
and Scully were best friends, they did love each other but there 
wasn't a sexual component to that love really. Mulder always 
thought the reason they'd worked so well together and kept their 
friendship intact was because they hadn't slept together. Scully 
wasn't the casual sex type anyway. Ed Jerse could testify to 
that idea. So could Jack Willis. Scully had been in love with him. 
It had hurt her deeply when he broke it off with her. Mulder was 
more like a brother to Scully he thought. And if he'd admit it 
Scully was like a sister as well. So they'd never be lovers but 
they had a precious connection and Mulder hoped someday 
Scully would find someone to give her the type of relationship 
she needed and deserved as well. So, he had no romantic or 
sexual relationship with Scully and it was a good thing because 
his track record of royally fucking up relationships was pretty 
much intact.
So, the problem was Skinner didn't just want casual sex 
anymore...with anyone and particularly not with Mulder. No, he 
wanted a relationship and Mulder didn't know if he could handle 
that idea at all.
At first he'd tried to avoid confronting the issue and tried to 
concentrate on his recuperation. It hadn't worked well at all and 
he ended up realizing that...damn it... he'd have to confront 
Skinner eventually. He'd been foolish to think he could continue 
on with business as usual after everything he'd seen in 
Skinner's thoughts. However, when he started to let his mind 
work on the problem the casual versus serious relationship 
issue came back immediately. When Skinner disappeared he 
knew he'd have to hunt him down and get it all out into the open 
somehow...or risk hurting them both in the long-run.
But man...what a mess. Ah screw it. Enough. There was no 
sense in overrationalizing this incident. Sometimes it was better 
to bide your time and see what happened next. So, Mulder 
decided to take that approach and hoped it wasn't going to hoist 
both he and Skinner on their own petards.
When Mulder brought his garment bag and shaving kit back 
inside, he heard the shower running. He threw the bag over the 
overstuffed chair and the kit on the seat he hadn't been sitting in 
and reconnoitered for a moment. He noticed immediately that 
Skinner's laptop was gone from the desk. The envelope was 
gone as well. He scratched at his stomach and frowned slightly. 
He had hoped Skinner would trust him enough to talk about the 
letter. Well...that was a lot to ask. In the grand scheme of 
things...maybe it was a minor upset compared with the rest of 
the things that were eating Skinner up.
Eating. Food. His train of thought jumped to the idea that 
Skinner probably hadn't eaten in quite some time. When he'd 
emptied his stomach earlier it had been mostly liquid. He might 
be hungry. But with hurling as hard as he did, Mulder couldn't be 
sure. He decided to go down to the bathroom door and inquire 
about whether Skinner had any appetite. Before he went 
however, he removed his suit coat and placed it over his 
garment bag. He took his tie off and left it there as well.
He walked down the hallway to the closed bathroom door. He 
had to shout over the running water.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Agent Mulder?" Skinner replied, shouting back.
"I was wondering if you were hungry. It's close to my dinnertime 
and I was going to scrounge up a meal. Want me to cook you 
something?"
There was silence for a moment. Mulder wondered if Skinner 
was debating saying yes or in shock because Mulder was 
offering to cook. Or maybe the AD was just shocked that he 
could cook at all.
"There's some soup in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. I think 
I could manage some tomato. Thank you," Skinner hollered.
"Coming right up," Mulder yelled. He smiled a little and walked 
back down the hallway, his step a tad lighter.
When Skinner finally came out of the bedroom, shaved and 
changed into fresh clothes, Mulder had two bowls of tomato 
soup and some grilled ham and cheese sandwiches on the table 
in the kitchen. Skinner sauntered in, wearing a black T-shirt and 
Dockers Khakis. He was still in his stocking feet. Mulder thought 
that physically he looked a lot better. He looked very good as a 
matter-of-fact. Mulder let himself admire the AD's physique for 
a moment. The tight black T-shirt really accented his muscular 
chest and biceps. Yeah...the guy was a stud. No doubt about it. 
Sex with him would be no problem at all. Mulder swallowed and 
squelched his arousal. He didn't want to start something here 
that would backfire because it couldn't be taken any farther 
than a one night stand.
"How's the head?" Mulder asked as the AD stopped short and 
stared at the table for a moment.
Skinner tried to cover his look of astonishment mixed with 
pleasure and amusement at the grilled cheese sandwiches but 
he wasn't quite fast enough. Mulder turned and picked up the 
two refilled coffee mugs so that Skinner could resume his usual 
impassive expression. Skinner cleared his throat as Mulder 
turned back around and carried the mugs to the table.
"I took some aspirin. The hot shower helped too. It's better. 
Uh...how's yours?" Skinner replied, indicating the back of 
Mulder's head.
Mulder's spiky haircut barely compensated for the shaved area 
at the back of his skull. Mulder's brow furrowed a little. He 
hadn't expected to get into the mind-reading before eating. He 
was hoping to fortify himself a little before the fireworks started. 
Skinner noticed Mulder's discomfort and shifted awkwardly. "I 
didn't mean it that way...I meant any residual pain...blurring 
vision...anything...else," Skinner rumbled, moving to sit in the 
chair that had its back to the living room.
"Oh. Uh...my head's fine, all things considered. Thanks," Mulder 
replied, shrugging.
Skinner nodded and sat down, his brow cleared when he 
surveyed the repast before him. Mulder sat down across from 
him and the AD looked up from studying his bowl of soup. He 
twitched his lip into a terse smile.
"I'm impressed, Mulder," he commented. "Really. This looks..." 
"Eatable?" Mulder replied, grinning a little.
"Delicious," Skinner answered, picking up the grilled ham and 
cheese sandwich. He took a large bite and began to chew, 
nodding in confirmation. Mulder nodded back, picked his 
sandwich up and bit into it. Yeah, not bad if he did make it 
himself, he thought, chewing vigorously.
They ate in silence, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. 
Soon the sandwiches and soup had been consumed and all that 
remained was the coffee in their mugs. Skinner sat back, 
sipping his reflectively and Mulder took that as his opportunity to 
start a dialogue.
"So...how long were you sitting out on the dock?" he asked 
quietly, taking up his own cup and sipping from it. Skinner 
shook his head a little in self-deprecation as he swallowed his 
coffee.
"You know...I wanted to see the sunrise I guess. I...I'd been up 
all night and I thought it would be peaceful or restful or...shit...I 
don't know," Skinner answered in a pensive voice. He 
considered his words for a moment. "It was ridiculous. I was 
blitzed. I shouldn't have gone out there at all. It was idiotic and 
dangerous. It wasn't one of my most sterling moments. I should 
thank you for saving me from hypothermia," he added in an 
uncomfortable monotone.
"You're welcome. And I'm not going to disagree about the 
uh...'sitting by the dock o' the bay' bit," Mulder replied neutrally. 
"And vomiting in front of you was rather inglorious as well," 
Skinner added with a slight grimace.
Mulder shrugged and kept his face as neutral as he could.
"Hey, I've been there, done that and in front of Scully too so I 
wouldn't worry about it," Mulder replied sympathetically.
Skinner sipped some more coffee and watched Mulder over his 
mug rim for a few seconds. Then he slowly put the mug down 
and sighed. 
"Mulder...I'm not sure what I should say," Skinner began, turning 
the mug between his large hands. Mulder waited patiently as he 
gathered his thoughts. "I guess if you read my mind there isn't 
much I can say regarding what Krycek did to me and why," he 
added bleakly, looking up at Mulder.
"I understand that you were ready to side with us and he 
decided that was counterproductive to his objectives," Mulder 
replied quietly, studying Skinner's face.
That was the surface reason of course. Mulder knew the 
underlying reason was Skinner's love for Mulder and the fact 
that he'd finally allowed that love to change his stance on the 
balancing act he'd been playing for years. But Mulder also knew 
it was going to take some time before that subject was 
broached. It would be easier to start talking about the issue on a 
more general level.
When he'd looked into Skinner's mind Mulder had seen 
Skinner's love for him etched deep. It was in there right along 
with Skinner's vow never to say a thing to Mulder about it. That 
revelation had bothered Mulder a great deal when he'd caught 
the last faint glimmer of the thought that followed on that 
revelation's heels. He'd sensed that Skinner thought Mulder and 
Scully were either already lovers or very close to being so. He 
respected the relationship. He wasn't going to step between. He 
was just going to side with them out of his respect for Scully and 
his love for Mulder. He wanted Mulder to be happy above all 
else. That one idea was the thing that drew Mulder to Maine. 
Skinner had been wrong in his assumption and if nothing else 
he wanted to set that record straight. Besides, as far as Mulder 
could see, Scully and Skinner were the only two people 
concerned with his well-being. They were the only two who had 
been for a very long time. So, he had to at least make the 
attempt to reach out to Skinner on some level. He...Mulder's 
inner dialogue was interrupted by Skinner's reply and he 
refocused on the other man as he spoke.
"Apparently," Skinner rumbled. "Mulder...Krycek insists he's 
part of the resistance...a member of the group working with a 
second alien race...the one pitting themselves against the grays. 
I gave him that tape..."
"Because you thought he was the lesser of two evils?" Mulder 
replied, letting his face show that he understood the position 
Skinner had been put in.
"I don't know what I believe anymore, Mulder...but yeah, at the 
time that was pretty much my reasoning. But...I don't know 
now. Maybe I was just telling myself that so I didn't feel like 
fucking Judas," Skinner answered, the misery in his voice 
palpable.
"Krycek told me once, sir, that we had a choice in this battle. 
We could either resist or serve. But...I'm not sure resisting one 
master and serving another is very good advice."
"It does come down to that doesn't it?" Skinner replied with a 
curt nod. "But...Krycek does have the air of a zealot about him. 
He believes he's doing the right thing, I think. He may be 
compromising his ethics for what he believes is the greater 
good," Skinner added carefully.
Mulder considered his words. He knew Skinner was also talking 
about what he thought he'd been doing over the years in that 
last sentence. Mulder didn't see Skinner's actions that way. He 
couldn't equate Skinner's behavior with the types of things 
Krycek had done over the years. He didn't want to reinforce the 
idea but he wasn't sure how to address it either. He decided on 
the direct approach and hoped he wouldn't cause Skinner to 
close off again.
"Sir...I never saw you as a self-centered, self-serving, 
blackmailing murderer who changes sides like quicksilver 
depending on where he can benefit himself the most..." Mulder 
began.
"Krycek is a survivor, Mulder..." Skinner interrupted.
"Oh, I'm sure he's doing what he's doing to survive, yes. But...I 
don't agree with his methods. I don't think you do really, sir. I 
don't think you ever would agree to those methods," Mulder 
replied intensely.
Skinner shrugged and looked into Mulder's eyes.
"I took the coward's way out, Mulder. Which is worse? 
Following your beliefs for what you consider to be a higher good 
no matter how disgusting those beliefs and methods seem to 
someone else...or being overly cautious, refusing to take sides 
and jeopardizing yourself as well as others because of your 
actions?"
Mulder held his eyes for a moment longer and then looked 
down at his hands.
"Sir...we've all made mistakes in this...this fucking war. I can't 
claim my way is the right way either. We've all paid for the right 
things as well as what could be considered wrong things that 
we've done. But Krycek...until I have direct proof - he's a 
bastard. You can't tell me he isn't one...not after what he did to 
you...can you?" Mulder replied, looking up again to gauge 
Skinner's reaction.
Yes, done to Skinner not to mention done to Scully when he 
had a hand in her first abduction and done to Melissa Scully 
when he probably had a hand in her murder. Oh and of 
course...he'd actually murdered William Mulder, the only man 
Mulder had known for better or worse as a father even though 
he evidently hadn't sired him...and betrayed Mulder in 
Russia...and sold out Marita Covarrubias and...it was a fucking 
long damage list. Krycek went way beyond bastard in Mulder's 
mind. He felt both saddened and sickened at the memories. As 
he looked at Skinner he felt a sudden mental exhaustion 
bordering on depression as well. Skinner's face had slipped into 
that mask-like quality he donned when he wanted to hide his 
feelings again. The AD's eyes shifted away.
"One thing I will agree with you on...Krycek is a bastard," he 
replied, the strain in his voice betraying his stony facial 
expression. He looked out the window into the newly fallen 
night. "But, Mulder...don't set me up as some kind of sainted 
martyr. If you're going to pick someone Biblical to describe me 
I'd suggest Pontius Pilate. That analogy might be more apt."
"Assuming I want to be labeled as Christ," Mulder sighed, 
rubbing his face.
Skinner's head snapped back and Mulder lowered his hand 
when he saw the movement. Skinner was giving him a raised 
eyebrow.
"I'm just a man, sir. We're both just men. Men are fallible. We 
make mistakes. I don't know what else to say," Mulder replied, 
spreading his hands out, palms up.
Skinner's eyebrow descended and his face softened a little.
"I guess we have to hope we learn from our mistakes," he 
replied quietly.
"Yeah," Mulder answered simply, drawing his hands back. "And 
for what it's worth, sir...and if it'll help at all...I don't blame you 
for yours. Really. Don't...don't think I hold anything against you, 
because I don't," he added, getting that out in the open at last. 
Mulder watched Skinner as he struggled again with something. 
His face showed relief at Mulder's remark and the agent was 
glad. But he was trying to decide on another action or on what 
else to say. Finally Skinner shifted and nodded.
"Thank you, Mulder," he rumbled. "Uh...I...I'm sorry for my 
remarks earlier regarding your friendship. I'd be honored to call 
you my friend," he added almost in a whisper.
"Yes, sir. You're welcome. I'm honored to be your friend as 
well," he replied, withdrawing his hands.
So formal he thought. So...Skinner. Mulder could tell that it was 
very likely that Skinner had wanted to touch him. Perhaps 
shake his hand but had been afraid to let himself do it. It was 
sad. Until the sexual agenda was discussed between them, 
things were going to be awkward. Mulder felt uncomfortable for 
sure. Right now he didn't know what to do with his hands so he 
took his coffee cup up again, but it was empty. Skinner noticed 
his glum expression as he looked down into it.
"Listen...you want another cup of coffee?" he asked.
"Sure," Mulder answered, pushing the cup across the table.
Skinner tapped the table with the knuckles of his right hand, and 
then reached for both coffee mugs. He picked them up and left 
the table. Mulder watched him stride across the room to the 
coffeemaker. So much contained power he thought. Skinner 
had a grace that some larger men possessed and it was part of 
his ability to command. Outside control, a hard muscularity, 
grace like a lion or tiger, holding in something that Mulder had 
glimpsed in his mind. A very passionate man. A passionate side 
that was barely ever allowed out. Mulder shook his head. What 
that must have cost him all these years had to be incalculable. 
Before he realized what he was saying the words were out of 
his mouth.
"So, sir...uh...when did you discover your...preferences?" he 
asked Skinner's back as the older man stood pouring coffee 
into one of the mugs. He saw Skinner's muscles tighten up 
immediately. Oh oh. Wrong thing to say. Skinner didn't respond. 
Instead he refilled the second cup and then replaced the pot on 
the burner. Finally he returned to the table and placed Mulder's 
cup in front of him. After he sat down again with his own cup, 
he spoke.
"Does this come under your earlier remark regarding how we're 
both just men...or is this professional curiosity? I mean I know 
you're a psychologist..." Skinner began a bit testily.
"Gee...and I thought we were going to be pals now. We were on 
such good terms a minute ago. Now I see we're back to 
Spooky Mulder and AD 'I eat wayward agents for breakfast' 
Skinner..." Mulder countered, annoyance in his voice.
Skinner sighed, running his hands up under his glasses and 
rubbing at his eyes.
"All right...I'm sorry. It's just...I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about 
this yet. It's...it's definitely not an easy subject to tackle."
Mulder looked into Skinner's face and saw the fatigue there. 
Right now he looked every bit of his 47 years...maybe more. 
Mulder stopped to consider just what he had been doing over 
the last week or so. He nodded and spoke again.
"Ok. Good point. And look...when was the last time you slept, 
sir? Or ate a whole non-liquid meal?"
Skinner gave him a resigned shrug.
"You don't really want to know," he replied, his tone of voice 
indicating that he wasn't going to tell him either.
"Fine. Well my point is...it's probably not a subject that should be 
discussed on little or no sleep or food and half a hangover," 
Mulder replied archly.
Skinner's lips twitched into a beleaguered smile.
"Yeah...I could use to lose this hangover big time. Uh...can we 
table this until morning then? I'm not going back on my intent to 
uh...break the 'men don't spill their guts' rule here...but I guess I 
am kind of whacked," Skinner replied honestly.
Mulder nodded sympathetically.
"Sounds like a plan. Get some rest," he replied. Skinner nodded 
and pushed away from the table.
"I think the couch bed is made up already but if it's not the linen 
closet is the door next to the bathroom. You'll need to get the 
pillows out of there anyway," Skinner volunteered as he took his 
coffee cup to the sink. Mulder watched him pour the coffee 
down the drain.
"No problem. And, I'll take care of the coffeemaker," he 
interjected.
"Ok. Thanks. Good night, Mulder," Skinner replied, turning and 
tipping his chin up in acknowledgment of Mulder's reply.
"Good night," Mulder replied as Skinner exited the kitchen.
Mulder poured his coffee out as well and then dumped the filter 
and grounds from the coffeemaker into the garbage can under 
the sink. He turned off the lights in the kitchen and went back 
out into the living room. As he approached the couch he heard 
the toilet flush and glanced down the hallway towards the
bathroom and bedroom. Skinner emerged from the bathroom, 
his step heavy and rather stiff again. He didn't look back at 
Mulder, didn't even notice him really. Instead he walked into the 
bedroom and shut the door behind him. Mulder's brow furrowed 
slightly. Man, if I got hangovers that bad I'd never drink again, 
Mulder thought. Well...Skinner has said he was through with the 
booze for the duration. It was a good thing. Mulder turned his 
attention to the couch.
After he shoved the coffee table to the side he opened the fold-
out bed and discovered that yes, it was made up and the sheets 
smelled fairly fresh. He went down to the linen closet to retrieve 
two pillows. He tossed the pillows to the end of the bed and then 
proceeded to undress. His gun, wallet, ID, keys, money and 
watch all went on the coffee table. His outer clothes went over 
the overstuffed chair across from the one his garment bag was 
on. He placed his shoes and socks under the chair and stood 
there in his T-shirt and boxer briefs staring at the pile of Mulder 
accessories on the coffee table. As an afterthought he crossed 
to the other chair and fished his cell phone out of his trench coat 
pocket.
Mulder debated calling Scully but there was probably no point 
yet. He'd wait until he saw how things went tomorrow and then 
update her. Scully was still a little mistrustful of Skinner despite 
knowing for sure now who had compromised him and partly 
why. But she was willing to play a wait and see attitude. She 
was also a compassionate person and couldn't quite bring 
herself to disrespect him or not show some concern over his 
well-being. So, Mulder knew she'd appreciate knowing what 
was going on in Maine. He'd tell her as soon as he knew more 
about Skinner's mental state. If he had to get her involved due 
to Skinner's condition not improving, he would. The other issue 
though...the one they'd tabled until tomorrow...well that was one 
he'd definitely have to play by ear. If Skinner wasn't sure how 
he was going to deal with talking to Mulder about it, Mulder was 
even less sure how he was going to talk to Scully about it. He 
sighed and tossed the phone onto the table next to his gun.
The GQ magazine sat there as well but instead of picking it up 
his head swiveled towards the TV set. The remote sat on top of 
it. Mulder smiled a little. Why break a pattern. Patterns were 
helpful in times of stress. We're all creatures of habit. And 
here's one creature who really likes his 'creature features'. 
Yeah, he remembered seeing that 'Bride of Frankenstein' was 
showing on American Movie Classics tonight. Excellent. He 
strode over to the TV to snag the remote.
xXx
He didn't remember when he'd fallen asleep but something 
woke him. Mulder opened his eyes and saw as well as heard 
Elsa Lancaster as 'The Bride' hissing at her erstwhile groom, the 
Frankenstein monster. For some reason the extraneous bit of 
trivia that the bride in the horror film's title wasn't really 
Frankenstein's bride but instead the monster's intended flitted 
through his mind before Mulder realized that it wasn't Ms. 
Lancaster's catlike hissing that had awakened him. He grabbed 
the remote and shut the TV off, plunging the room into darkness 
since he'd turned off the lamps before he'd climbed into the 
couch bed. He listened and then he heard it...a second soft 
thud. He cocked his head and listened again, not sure of the 
noise's origin. He reached over and turned on the lamp on the 
end table. The soft thud was followed by a slightly louder one.
Mulder sat up quietly and then swung his legs off the couch 
planting his feet silently on the floor. He reached across to the 
coffee table and slipped his gun out of his holster. Flipping the 
safety off, the agent stood up. That's when he heard the low 
moan. It was Skinner. Mulder left the couch and headed down 
to the bedroom, his gun held down at his side. He flipped the 
overhead light on in the hall to give himself better visibility. 
When he got to the bedroom door a sudden loud scream 
startled him and he grabbed the door and threw it open without 
hesitation. He crouched low in the doorway his gun up, staring 
at the bed before him. The room was dark but there was 
enough light from the hall that he could see the sight ahead.
Skinner was in the bed, dressed in his T-shirt and briefs, the 
covers twisted around his waist. He cried out again and the 
sound made the hair at the back of Mulder's neck stand on end.
"NOOOOOOOO!" Skinner shouted, arching his back up off the 
bed. He thrashed and screamed, his arms flailing and hitting the 
headboard as he stretched them up over his head.
Mulder flipped the safety back on his weapon and hurried over 
to the bed. He placed his gun down on the night stand and 
grabbed at Skinner's hands.
"Sir...Hey, wake up..." he insisted, trying to still the frantic man's 
writhing. Skinner was strong however and Mulder quickly lost 
his grip. Skinner twisted further and the covers finally fell back 
off his hips, his legs kicked out and Mulder had to dodge them.
"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" Skinner bellowed and Mulder 
cringed at the depth of anger, disgust and fear in Skinner's 
voice.
In desperation, Mulder lunged forward again and pinned 
Skinner's shoulders to the bed, making one more try to rouse 
him. The AD's T-shirt rode up high over his hard pectoral 
muscles and then up around his neck. Mulder looked in shock 
at the AD's chest. He gritted his teeth and shook Skinner hard.
"Sir, it's Mulder...come on...it's ok...I'm here. Wake up," he 
called out loudly.
Skinner bucked up one more time and then his eyes flew open. 
For an instant Mulder wasn't sure he saw him but then his eyes 
focused and he cried out again.
"Don't touch me!" he shouted, "God...please...not...not now," he 
added in near panic.
"Shhh...it's all right...it's ok," Mulder murmured as Skinner sunk 
back flat onto the bed. His body was soaked in sweat, as were 
his clothes. Mulder glanced down, he couldn't help himself as 
he looked between Skinner's legs to check out his package. He 
shook his head in disgust as Skinner threw an arm over his 
face.
"Get out," he hissed as Mulder pulled back and sat on the edge 
of the bed.
"No fucking way. Who did that to your chest?" Mulder 
demanded to know, his voice shaking.
Skinner's nipples were each neatly surrounded with what looked 
like week old human bite marks. 'Bitten around the areola nipple 
complex' - Scully's voice played through his mind like an 
autopsy report. He shuddered and felt sick. The bites were still a 
little red and sore looking. Skinner's rib cage had several long 
bruises crisscrossing it.
Skinner wouldn't answer him. Mulder stood up angrily.
"All right, fine...have it your way. But could you try to keep the 
God damn noise down, sir. I was trying to watch 'The Bride of 
Frankenstein' on American Movie Classics and your screaming 
was making it really difficult to hear Colin Clive," he snarled 
sarcastically.
There was silence for a second and then Skinner mumbled a 
reply, his arm still over his eyes.
"Did you know Colin Clive was gay?" he replied in a tight voice. 
"So 'Hollywood Babylon' would have us believe," Mulder replied 
quietly.
"Hollywood Babylon?" Skinner asked still not looking at Mulder. 
"A book on Hollywood gossip. Sir...who..." Mulder began.
"Krycek," Skinner replied, barely audibly. He removed his arm 
from his eyes. They were red rimmed where he had tried to 
stop himself from crying.
"Krycek did that to you?" Mulder asked, his voice heavy with 
bitterness.
"Yeah," Skinner replied with a sigh. He sat up, straightening his 
T-shirt and propped himself against the headboard.
Oh right - for the greater good I suppose, Mulder thought. And 
Skinner took it? Mulder noticed Skinner moved a little gingerly 
and he felt an inner fury the likes of which he hadn't felt since 
Scully was stung by the bee and abducted for the second time.
"Sir...what else did..."
"Mulder...could you get me a towel and glass of water? I'd really 
like to wipe off this sweat and...uh...I'm as thirsty as hell," 
Skinner interrupted, his voice somewhat remote. He was going 
to a lot of trouble not to look at Mulder and the agent reddened a 
bit when he realized he was sitting here in his briefs and T-shirt 
as well and the effect that must be having on the AD on top of 
everything else. 
"Ok, sure," Mulder replied, getting off the bed. He figured 
Skinner could use a few minutes to compose himself anyway. 
He also wanted to go pull on his dress slacks. He got up and 
exited the bedroom quickly.
When he returned, dressed in his slacks again with a towel and 
glass of water from the kitchen, Skinner was standing with his 
back to the door, naked. Mulder stopped in shock - not because 
he was naked and he was getting a look at probably the most 
fantastic ass he'd ever seen in his life on man or woman - but 
rather because of what stretched above that ass...Skinner's 
back and what it looked like.
"Son of a bitch," Mulder hissed as he stared. No wonder 
Skinner had been walking stiffly. It wasn't just from the 
hangover. Skinner's entire back from neck to waist was 
crisscrossed with bruises and several long stripe-like cuts as 
well. One of the marks, the one in the center of his back looked 
like it had opened up again from his thrashing around earlier. 
Skinner turned and sat back down heavily onto the bed without 
saying a word. Mulder threw him the towel and averted his eyes 
as Skinner started to wipe himself down.
"Where do you have your underwear?" Mulder asked, setting 
the glass of water down on the dresser by the door. He didn't 
want to look at the AD as Skinner ran the towel over his sweaty 
body so he figured he'd get him clean skivvies to change into.
"In the closet. In my duffel bag," Skinner replied, his delivery 
terse.
Mulder headed over to the closet and rummaged around until 
he found a clean pair of briefs as well as a T-shirt. He brought 
them back over to the bed when a quick glance told him 
Skinner had draped the towel over his lap.
"Here," he said, handing Skinner the clothing.
Skinner nodded his thanks.
"I'll get the water," Mulder mumbled and moved away.
He walked over silently and retrieved the glass. When he came 
back Skinner was trying to flinch into his clean white T-shirt.
"Uh, sir...one of the cuts on your back is bleeding...you might 
want to..."
Skinner sighed and pulled the shirt off again.
"There was one I couldn't quite clean up earlier. I expect that's 
the one that opened up again," he surmised, coughing a little. 
He laid the T-shirt over the clean briefs on the bed next to him.
"Is there anything in the bathroom to uh...I could clean it for 
you," Mulder offered, his voice tight. He felt anger barely held in 
check threatening to overcome him. He pushed it down in order 
to remain calm. Still, he felt his hands shaking a little.
"Alcohol and some gauze, yeah," Skinner replied, running a 
hand over his scalp.
"Ok, take this, I'll be right back." Mulder replied, handing 
Skinner the glass of water.
The AD put it to his lips and as he started to drink, Mulder left 
his side and exited the bedroom. In the bathroom he found 
alcohol and the gauze. Both were recent purchases, the price 
stickers still on the bottle and box. Skinner must have had to 
buy them after...after Krycek had what? Mulder put the obvious 
thought out of his mind. The idea that Krycek and Skinner had 
something else going on besides palm pilots and nanocytes and 
it got out of hand. He shoved that disturbing thought to the back 
of his mind for the moment while he collected the gauze and 
alcohol and left the bathroom.
When he got back into the bedroom, Skinner was just pulling on 
his briefs. Mulder glanced away for a second as the AD worked 
them up over his cock and balls. He didn't let himself think 
about the brief peek he'd gotten of what the AD had to offer 
there. Nope. Cancel that glimpse. He instead noticed the empty 
glass of water sitting on the night stand next to Skinner's 
glasses, gun and cell phone. The damp black T-shirt, white 
briefs and towel draped over the back of a nearby straight 
backed chair. When he heard Skinner clear his throat he looked 
back.
"Why don't you lie down on your stomach and I'll swab off the 
blood," Mulder suggested as Skinner stared at him.
Without his glasses Skinner looked less closed off, a lot more 
vulnerable. But...he was nevertheless a striking looking man. 
Mulder contemplated his strong features. The AD wasn't 
exactly handsome in a conventional sense. Not handsome that 
is by the standards that the media and some people set - but his 
face was attractive in a rugged way.
Right now his face was showing his discomfort and he wasn't 
really able to mask it anymore. It was clear that he was in 
immense emotional pain if not some physical pain as well. 
Mulder felt his heart filling with sympathy for his boss. No one 
should have to undergo this type of humiliation and distress. 
Well he could think of someone...fucking one-armed bandit. 
He'd like to... Skinner shifted, picking up the T-shirt and tossing 
it onto the pillow next to him. He pulled his legs up onto the bed 
and Mulder let the thoughts of beating the hell out of Krycek fall 
by the wayside. Skinner lay down on his stomach silently, his 
head lying to the side on the other pillow.
Mulder approached the bed and set the gauze and alcohol on 
the night stand.
"Can you scoot over a little?" he asked, tapping Skinner's thigh. 
Skinner moved his body over and Mulder sat down and went 
about uncapping the alcohol.
He hesitated for a moment and his brows knitted together. 
Whoa. Here was something he didn't consider he thought as he 
gazed at the drops of blood on Skinner's back. The nanocytes. 
Could they be transmitted just by physical contract with 
Skinner's bodily fluids? If so...did Krycek risk himself when he 
beat and bit Skinner? Mulder looked into Skinner's one eye that 
watched him from the pillow.
"Sir...uh...I'm going to be touching your blood. I'm clean so that 
shouldn't concern you but..." Mulder began quietly.
Skinner's head shifted a little on the pillow and he shut his eyes.
"I took that into consideration...I'm clean...the nanocytes 
notwithstanding. But...the machines...don't...don't work that 
way. According to Krycek they somehow...bond with your blood 
and tissue type when they're inside you. Once they're in 
you...they are you...they can't survive in anyone else," Skinner 
explained haltingly.
"Like an organ transplant...they're not compatible?" Mulder 
asked, interested despite his disgust at the whole scenario.
"Essentially," Skinner replied, opening his eyes.
"I see," Mulder replied, nodding and uncapping the alcohol.
Christ, trust Krycek to explain the mechanism of your death to 
you so clinically. Mulder felt like his teeth were going to grind 
together for a moment. He stilled his mind to try to calm 
himself. 
"I'm sorry you had to see this," Skinner mumbled, looking up at 
Mulder out of the corner of his eye.
"I'm fucking sorry you had to go through this," Mulder answered 
intensely.
"How...how can you defend him when he'd do something like 
this to you..."
"Mulder...I wasn't defending Krycek...I was merely stating his 
side of the argument earlier. Don't underestimate him. I was 
serious when I said he was a zealot."
"Well no shit, sir. I mean this is one overzealous working over if 
you ask me," Mulder grated out as he dampened a gauze with 
the alcohol.
"I can't disagree...OW!" Skinner hissed as Mulder touched the 
wet gauze to his back.
"Shit...sorry," Mulder replied. Good job, Mulder...let's hurt him 
further by not warning him before applying the alcohol. "When 
did he do this to you?"
Skinner nodded a little in acknowledgment and then answered 
the question.
"A little over a week ago," Skinner replied quietly, shutting his 
eyes as Mulder blotted at the cut with the gauze.
"Just a little social call, hey? Is the bastard coming back?" 
Mulder asked, between clenched teeth.
"No...he's...I got the impression he's going to Russia. We won't 
be seeing him again for a while."
"He'd better not come back here...I'll put a bullet in his fucking 
head if he does," Mulder hissed.
Skinner opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows at Mulder. 
Something passed over his face. A speculative look but it was 
quickly replaced by one of agreement.
"At this point, you'd have to get in line," Skinner replied with a 
sigh. Then he shut his eyes again for a moment. Mulder 
pressed the gauze to the cut and held it there.
"We could flip for it," Mulder replied with a tight smile.
Skinner opened his eyes and looked at Mulder again. Then he 
huffed a chuckle as Mulder pulled the gauze away from his 
back and tossed it into the trash can that sat next to the night 
stand.
"I think I've got the bleeding stopped now. If you want to put on 
your T-shirt you could probably risk it," Mulder commented, 
getting up from the bed. He recapped the alcohol as Skinner sat 
up. The AD reached for his T-shirt as Mulder stood by. He drew 
it gingerly over his head and then down, pulling on the end to 
adjust it over his back better.
"Thanks, this is fine," he commented, looking back up at 
Mulder. 
"Did he...uh...expect to get information or what?" Mulder asked 
quietly as Skinner captured his eyes. The AD held them as he 
answered.
"No...he expected to get off. He did," Skinner replied through 
clenched teeth.
Mulder winced as he ran his hand through his hair.
"I...I'm sorry," he answered, looking down at the floor. Oh yeah 
right...like he'd even have had to ask what Krycek had been 
doing after seeing the bite marks.
Skinner leaned back against the headboard and drew his knees 
up. He placed his forearms over them and stared straight 
ahead.
"Mulder...one of the things the Consortium used against me 
from the beginning was my sexual preference. They knew what 
divulging it could do to my career. It had ruined my marriage 
already of course and they had a hand in that as well because 
they told Sharon. Showed her photos of me with men before we 
were married. I never cheated on her. But, they convinced her I 
did that too. Marrying Sharon was a mistake I regretted a great 
deal. I can't blame her for what she did with the divorce. The 
marriage was on the rocks anyway because I couldn't fool 
either of us any longer and not admit I wanted a man all along. 
She deserved better than to be used as a potential cure for my 
homosexuality. At any rate, what the Consortium knew...Krycek 
knew as well..." he let his voice trail off.
"So he came here...looking for what...a sexual favor this time?" 
"More or less...although he did pose the usual questions about 
what you and Scully were doing in connection with the artifacts. 
I don't know if the uh...rest of it was an afterthought or what," 
Skinner answered, looking at Mulder. The agent sat down again 
on the end of the bed, facing Skinner.
"I take it you resisted his advances," Mulder commented, 
gesturing at Skinner's chest.
"Actually...no. I mean...he has the damn palm pilot. It was a 
very compelling reason to do what he asked at the time."
"Christ. Then why the..."
Skinner shrugged.
"Beating and bites?" he asked his voice resigned to telling it all 
now.
"Yeah," Mulder replied watching his face.
Skinner's eyes flicked down to his forearms when he answered.
"I couldn't get it up. I guess...it bothered him," he replied, his 
voice soft.
Mulder didn't want the AD to tell him anymore. The toll it was 
taking on him was too much. He looked like he was just about 
at his wit's end and reliving what happened to him was too 
much right now after the nightmare and Mulder discovering his 
injuries. It would be better to discuss it in the morning when both 
of them had rested more. If they could rest, Mulder thought 
dismally. He wasn't sure he could at all.
"Sir...you should seek medical attention then. You need...I mean 
if he..." Mulder started to reply.
"No...no medical treatment. There can't be any records of 
this...assault, Mulder. It...it would make matters worse," Skinner 
shook his head emphatically.
Mulder ran his hand over his eyes and pressed them into his 
skull for a moment. He realized of course that Krycek must 
have raped Skinner. Jesus wept. He removed his hand and 
looked into Skinner's tense face.
"You...at the very least you should seek rape counseling," he 
whispered. It was a big chance to suggest it. He knew Skinner 
could shut him out again. But as a psychologist he had to 
recommend it. People in Skinner's position needed it after this 
type of attack. 
Skinner's jaw jumped but he held Mulder's eyes.
"I'll take it under advisement, Mulder," he answered quietly but 
not without sincerity. "But right now...I'd like to try to get some 
sleep," he added with a sigh, taking his arms off his knees.
Mulder nodded and reaching forward slapped him gently on the 
knee. 
"All right. Rest. I'll talk to you in the morning," Mulder replied, 
moving away then and getting off the bed. He picked up his gun 
and took it along with him.
"Thanks, Mulder," Skinner replied, his voice suddenly rough 
with emotion as Mulder walked towards the door. Mulder turned 
back and addressed him.
"No problem. Later," he replied with a tentative smile. Skinner 
returned it with a smile of his own and Mulder walked out of the 
bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
xXx
Saturday, December 4, 1999. 7:17 AM. A beach house near 
Crossroads, Maine
Mulder woke to the smell of coffee brewing. He opened his 
eyes and took in his surroundings. He immediately saw Skinner 
standing in the kitchen. The AD was gazing out the window over 
the sink, his back to him. His tall, sweatsuit clad, muscular body 
was accented in a nimbus of light from the sun. The rays 
accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Mulder let his 
eyes travel down to his ass and swallowed hard before he 
ripped his eyes away. Christ. Here he was lusting for the guy 
and he'd just been raped for crying out loud. He felt a healthy 
dose of self-disgust as he rolled over and groped on the coffee 
table for his watch. He held it close to his face and saw that it 
was a little after 7 AM. Not as bad as he thought. He hadn't 
checked the time last night after Skinner's nightmare until he 
got back out to the couch. It had been twelve fifteen. So, even 
with the nightmare he'd gotten some sleep. He could only hope 
Skinner had as well. Mulder slipped the watch on his wrist, 
grabbed his pants and pulled them on. Then he padded barefoot 
into the kitchen.
Skinner turned when he heard his approach. He was holding a 
coffee mug in his hand.
"Good morning," he rumbled taking in Mulder's disheveled 
appearance and sleep-spiked hair with a small smile.
"Morning," Mulder responded with a return grin. "Smelled the 
coffee. Thanks," he added, moving to pick up the second mug 
sitting on the counter. As he crossed to the coffeemaker he 
glanced down at Skinner's feet. He had on sneakers.
"You going for a run?" he asked quizzically as he reached for 
the coffeepot.
Skinner placed his mug in the sink.
"Yeah. I...I think it'd help to clear my head. You want to join 
me?" he replied, raising his eyebrow.
"Sure...as soon as I consume my regular dose of caffeine," 
Mulder quipped, filling his mug. "Can you wait a few minutes for 
that and until I change?"
"No problem," Skinner replied, leaning against the counter. "We 
can rustle up something to eat afterwards," he added, obviously 
pleased at Mulder's acceptance. Mulder nodded in agreement.
"Where do you run around here?" Mulder asked as he put the 
pot back down on the burner. He turned to lean against the 
counter on his side, facing Skinner. "And if you don't mind me 
asking...how did you find this place? It is a great 'weekender'," 
he added, taking a sip of his coffee. Yeah, and remote but not 
remote enough to prevent Krycek as well as Mulder from 
finding Skinner, the agent thought glumly.
"The dirt road leading down here is about three miles back to 
the main highway so I usually run there. Three miles out, three 
miles back works pretty well. It's soft footing. Not too hard on 
the joints. As for how I found this place...it's my sister's 
husband's fishing shack as he calls it. I'd been here a few times 
in the past. Roger let me borrow it for...well for as long as I 
wanted I guess. He very seldom comes down here in the 
winter. I...I hadn't spoken to him in a while so I'm glad he gave 
me permission to come up here."
"Ah," Mulder replied, nodding. He took a swig of his coffee and 
Skinner turned to look out the window again.
"It's warmer. The sun feels good," he observed casually. Mulder 
took a few steps to look out the window. There was a 
thermometer nailed to the side of the house.
"Yeah. Fifty. That's almost balmy," Mulder replied looking into 
Skinner's profile.
Skinner's head turned slowly and he pinned Mulder's eyes. 
Mulder looked and saw the desire for him plainly written in the 
brown depths of Skinner's eyes. Even behind the spectacles he 
could see it flame up. Flame up and tamp down, regret and a 
certain amount of fear replacing it.
"I...uh...I'll go change," Mulder mumbled. Skinner dropped his 
eyes and cleared his throat.
"Ok. I'll catch you here and we'll go out through the back door. 
I'll wash the cups," Skinner replied, his voice gravelly.
"Right," Mulder agreed, turning and leaving his side.
Why the hell didn't I...what? Kiss him? No...why the fuck didn't I 
say something? he chided himself as he reentered the living 
room. Because Skinner looked scared shitless at the end there 
he guessed. But he'd have to say something soon, Mulder 
thought. He's got to know where I'm coming from too. Mulder 
decided to broach the subject after their run if at all possible. He 
went to his garment bag to pull out his sweats and sneakers.
xXx
Their feet thudded dully on the dirt road as Mulder and Skinner 
jogged side by side, the wind at their backs. Mulder had insisted 
on an easy jog at least for the outgoing laps being mindful of 
Skinner's injuries. The AD didn't seem to be having any trouble 
keeping up however. Mulder marveled at how smoothly his legs 
carried him along. Almost effortlessly. He knew Skinner boxed 
and lifted weights of course. He didn't realize he ran as well. He 
figured with a body like his he must work out a lot. Obviously he 
took good care of himself. It made what Krycek had done to 
him with the nanocytes an even greater injustice.
The morning air was refreshing. The sun did seem warm and 
their sweats and sneakers were more than adequate to keep 
them warm as they ran on. The brisk wind from the day before 
had died down to a pale semblance of its former fury, and the 
only clouds were some wispy stratus high up in the blue sky. 
Mulder looked to the side and saw first the beach, smooth sand 
dotted with a few rocks...and then the ocean, calm and blue - 
and then darker blue stretching out endlessly to the horizon on 
his left. A few seagulls floated over the surface, their raucous 
cries reaching his ears. He turned his head right and watched 
Skinner run on against the backdrop of sand and water on that 
side, his face intent and focused on just the experience of 
feeling his body work. Mulder focused on his own body's 
response and pressed on as well.
On the top of the key, when they reached the main highway, 
both men turned around without stopping and headed back to 
the house.
"You want to pick up the pace?" Mulder asked, huffing just 
slightly.
"Sure," Skinner huffed a little in return.
Mulder nodded and kicked it, his feet thumping harder as he 
pulled ahead. In a few strides, Skinner was next to him and as 
the breeze blew into their faces he caught a grin playing about 
Skinner's mouth. In a few moments the AD had picked up the 
pace again and Mulder knew he was in for a race. He grinned 
and forged ahead. Soon they were pounding along the road, 
Skinner out in front one moment, Mulder the next. Mulder was 
amazed that Skinner could keep up the speed. He was really 
tearing up the ground Mulder thought as he labored to keep up 
with the older man. When he pulled up next to him again he 
looked into his face with the intent to tell him to slow down a little 
but the look on Skinner's face stopped him from uttering a 
word.
He was running like a man possessed...or being chased by the 
devil. His face was a grimace of something caught between the 
enjoyment of taking himself almost to the limit of what his body 
could endure and the idea that he had to run for his life or die. 
Mulder's guts clenched and he almost stumbled from the 
sudden swell of feelings that rolled through him. He didn't know 
what to think or feel...but he knew...he knew he wanted to help 
this man shake off whatever demons were haunting him. 
Skinner pulled ahead again and Mulder dashed off after him.
Finally they drew within sight of the house at the end of the 
peninsula. By this time, Mulder was ahead. He'd out-distanced 
Skinner but he figured it had more to do with Skinner's injuries 
than either age or condition. The AD was still coming on strong, 
he just didn't have quite enough left to beat Mulder. Mulder ran 
down the slope into the sand and shore-grass filled front yard of 
the 'weekender' and gradually slowed to a walk as Skinner 
reached the top of the slope. Mulder cooled down a little further 
and then stood and waited as Skinner loped down the gentle 
incline.
"Just goes to show what an extra 8 years will do," Skinner 
remarked archly as he slowed to a walk at the bottom of the hill. 
He walked around a little, breathing deeply as Mulder stood 
watching him.
"Oh yeah, right. You just about killed me...Ironman," Mulder 
answered, chuckling.
Skinner looked over at him and chuckled as well.
"Ironman...I like that," he replied sauntering over to Mulder. 
"Appropriate as well," he added sardonically. Mulder gave him a 
raised eyebrow. "Sorry...that was a little...uh..." Skinner added, 
frowning.
"Macabre?" Mulder suggested without any discomfort in his 
voice. 
"Yeah," Skinner replied.
Mulder shrugged.
"Ah, skip it. I...I've said a lot of things more outrageous...more 
'bent' in the past," he replied, blowing off the veiled reference to 
the nanocytes.
Skinner nodded and ran his hand over the fringe of hair at the 
back of his head, smoothing it down a little.
"Look...how about a shower and then breakfast?" he proposed.
Mulder had to stop a moment before he realized Skinner hadn't 
meant they should shower together. Skinner picked up on his 
confused look but misinterpreted it.
"If you'd rather eat first..."
"Huh...oh...uh no...that's fine. But look...sir...I think we..." Mulder 
began. He couldn't take it any longer. He was going to have to 
say something.
"Mulder, it's not warm enough out here that our muscles aren't 
going to stiffen," Skinner interjected quietly.
"Oh...yeah. Right," Mulder agreed. Shit. Ok, he'd button his lip 
for now. But soon he'd let it out, he thought as Skinner moved 
off towards the front door, taking his keys out of his sweat pants 
pocket.
xXx
Mulder pulled on his jeans, zipped the fly up and buttoned the 
top. He'd brought his clothing into the bathroom after Skinner 
gave him first dibs on the shower. He'd showered, shaved, 
brushed, flossed, in short he'd made himself look eminently 
presentable. He was wearing a comfortable black cotton 
turtleneck that Scully had given him for Christmas a couple of 
years ago and he still wore because it was one of his favorite 
shirts. His Levi's jeans were comfortable and faded but not 
ripped or threadbare. He looked at his fresh pair of white athletic 
socks and frowned a little. One of them had a hole in it. His big 
toe was sticking out. He sighed. Time to go buy more socks he 
thought. It occurred to him that normally that wouldn't annoy 
him at all really. He considered why as he sat down on the 
closed toilet seat to put on his sneakers.
He wanted to look good for Skinner. Oh brother. This could not 
be happening at a worse possible time. He wanted to look good 
for Skinner because...he wanted Skinner. His libido was 
deciding to raise its little head in a big way and Mulder knew that 
the latent attraction he'd had for the AD was coming out to slap 
him in the face full force. Damn it. This made it even more 
important to talk to Skinner about the matter. He didn't know 
what they could work out here but under the circumstances a 
one night stand was the wrong choice completely. Mulder was 
determined not to hurt Skinner again for any reason right now. 
So, he decided that after Skinner's shower and over breakfast 
they were going to have the discussion they needed to get out 
of the way. He cleaned up the bathroom because it was 
spotless when he came in, and exited it to go in search of 
Skinner. 
The AD was in the living room, still dressed in his sweats of 
course. He was seated at the desk by the window. He must 
have opened the shutters while I was in the shower, Mulder 
thought. Sunlight streamed into the room from all the living 
room windows now. So Skinner was sitting there in a warm pool 
of light, just staring. The laptop was back but he wasn't typing 
on the keyboard at all. Mulder quietly walked over and stood at 
the window opposite the one the desk was in front of and looked 
out.
"I think this weather will hold up. The sky is really clear," Mulder 
observed quietly.
The AD spoke then but he didn't add to Mulder's observation.
"I...I'm writing a letter to my sister, Mulder. I...haven't spoken to 
my sister in six months...and then it was just a damn e-mail on 
her birthday..." he let his voice trail off and sat back in the chair, 
his hands resting on the desktop. Mulder crossed silently and 
stood in back of Skinner. He wanted to place his hands on 
Skinner's shoulders. Massage the tension out of his muscles. 
Turn the massaging movements to caresses. But he didn't. 
Instead he took another chance at getting himself into a 
different kind of trouble entirely. He reached around Skinner, 
used the track ball to save and then close the file and turned 
away.
"Come on...why don't you get your shower and I'll fix breakfast 
and then I think...I think we'd better talk further," Mulder 
suggested with compassion in his voice. He left Skinner's side 
hoping he wouldn't start to hear Skinner's anger over his 
forwardness and taking it for granted as well as hoping that the 
AD would head for the bathroom. He was gratified to hear the 
wooden chair push back from the desk and not bellowing 
behind him.
Over the remainders of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and 
coffee, Mulder put down his fork and ventured a question about 
the letter Skinner had been trying to write. It was an opening 
gambit. He was going to try to purvey it into a specific 
discussion about the gay issue. The AD put down his fork as 
well and Mulder watched as he carefully considered his words. 
When he spoke he looked up at Mulder and held his eyes.
"I need to tell both my sister and mother about my medical 
condition. They need to be informed in the event Krycek should 
really finish me off the next time he uses that palm pilot. My 
sister is executrix of my will. So, I'm trying to write that letter but 
I'm having a hell of a time explaining it. What do I say? How 
much do I tell them and how can I possibly explain the 
nanocytes? I'm trying...trying to avoid having it sound like I have 
AIDS quite frankly. This...this wouldn't be a long illness 
before...uh...well you get my point. I could be dead tomorrow 
and I need to convey that to them."
Mulder flinched at the words AIDS. He had been wondering if 
Krycek had used a condom. It seemed he had done so 
otherwise Mulder thought Skinner wouldn't have been trying to 
rule that possibility out. He knew Skinner practiced safe sex - at 
least he had with the prostitute. Mulder guessed that was one 
redeeming thing about Krycek then.
"They know you're gay then?" Mulder responded, shaking off 
thoughts of the Czech.
"Yes. All that came out with the divorce. It didn't go over well. 
Both my mother and sister liked Sharon. We...well things have 
been tense between us all since then. Roger...Sylvia's husband 
surprisingly has been kind of my go-between. The peacemaker. 
Hell of a note too. The guy's a fireman. Just an average guy but 
he's got...well he's a good man," Skinner replied, looking down 
at his plate.
"Why tell them at all, sir?" Mulder asked, looking at the top of 
Skinner's head. "If something was to happen...well Scully's your 
physician of record. She and I would explain to your family that 
you were killed in the line of duty. I'd...I'd see to it that they 
would be told that was the case, sir," Mulder added with 
conviction.
Skinner's head came up and he raised an eyebrow. There was 
a look of hope in his eyes but it was mixed with caution.
"You...you 'and' Scully would do that for me?" he asked 
carefully. 
"Yeah, we would," Mulder replied.
"I think you know better than to put words in Agent Scully's 
mouth, Mulder," he replied watching Mulder's face.
It was Mulder's turn to look down then. He knew he'd have to 
talk to Scully about it but he had a gut feeling she wouldn't 
object. But Skinner was right. It was unfair for Mulder to 
assume Scully would agree. He'd done it before in point of fact 
and had Scully tell him to get stuffed in so many words as well. 
So, he had to agree.