RATING: Slash, R for adult themes SPOILERS: None SUMMARY: Humour. Mulder/Skinner. Love hurts, love scars. DISCLAIMER: The X-Files are owned by Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. MORE FIC: http://members.tripod.com/~prillalar/fic/fic.html Hail Eris, full of grace. You've come back to me. November 1999 My dear, my darling Walter Torturers -- I love you all. HURT/COMFORT by Halrloprillalar Mulder got a call from Marita. At first he thought she wanted to have phone sex again. But she said no, she had a message for him. Skinner was in trouble. Mulder wrote down the address and hung up without saying goodbye. On the way downstairs, he faced a dilemma: should he take his car or get a cab? It might take too long to find a cab, but what if he drove and then he couldn't find parking? The perfect solution would be to call Scully and have her drive, but she was out of town visiting her brother Bill and his family. Finally, he flipped a coin. Heads. He drove. When he got to the office building, sure enough, there was nowhere to park. So he pulled into a fire lane. If he got a ticket, he'd just send it to Marita. She must have a "diplomatic immunity" stamp or something. He rushed up the stairs to the fourth floor and broke open the door. There was Skinner, slumped on the floor, battered and bruised. He was holding one arm close to his chest and his glasses were smashed and crumpled on the floor. Mulder went over and tried to pick him up. He was unsuccessful. "Mulder..." Skinner whispered, "I can walk. Just help me." So Mulder helped Skinner up and they walked out, Skinner leaning heavily on Mulder, Mulder staggering slightly. They took the elevator down. There was no ticket on the car. "Yes!" said Mulder, and punched the air. They got in and Mulder pulled out. "So, sir," he said, "where can I drop you?" "Not the hospital..." Skinner croaked. "Not safe." "Your place then?" "That's...where they..." Great, Skinner was determined to cadge an invitation. Mulder thought about playing dumb, but he was up for a performance review in a few weeks. "I'll take you back to my place. You'll be safe there." So Mulder took Skinner home and got him tucked up on the couch. He washed off the blood and rubbed tiger balm on the bruises and wrapped a tensor bandage around Skinner's arm. Skinner lay back, eyes closed, and let Mulder tend to him. OK, so he'd got Skinner cleaned up. Now what? Food, he supposed. Mulder rummaged in his kitchen. He could offer beer soup, which was basically beer heated up. And three crackers. He called for pizza. After they finished eating, Mulder sat down on a chair in the living room. It was kind of awkward. Plus, he always felt weird when someone else had the couch. It was his favourite spot. "So," Mulder said, making conversation, "how did you come to get beaten up?" "It's not important." "Oh, OK." Mulder wondered what to talk about next. Skinner looked right at Mulder. "Dammit, Mulder, I'll tell you. It was for you. They said if I didn't go with them, they'd have you audited by the IRS." "For me?" Mulder looked right back at Skinner, new respect springing up within him. Mulder had never noticed before what nice eyes Skinner had, dark, deep pools that shimmered with pain. A man could drown in those eyes. They were pulling him down and down and down. Like a man hypnotised he went over to the couch and knelt by Skinner. His hand stroked Skinner's brow, the skin warm and soft beneath his palm. "How can I ever repay you?" Skinner didn't speak, just gazed at Mulder, his honest soul shining in his eyes. Slowly, Mulder leaned in and kissed him, gently, softly. Then they had vigorous sex. They were careful of Skinner's arm, though. In the morning, just after ten AM, Mulder woke up. He was alone on the couch, a little cramped, but feeling good, like he'd just gotten laid. Then he remembered that he had. Yes! He punched the air again. But when he looked around the apartment, he realised that Skinner had gone. Mulder was a little worried. What if Skinner had been kidnapped again? So he called the Assistant Director's apartment. Skinner was there. "Can I help you with something, Agent Mulder?" "I just wanted to make sure you're OK." "I'm fine. Anything else?" Skinner sounded terse, brusque, curt. "No, just..." But Skinner hung up. This was really puzzling! Mulder had figured they were in love now. But Skinner was acting like they hadn't shared those tender moments together, humping like animals on Mulder's couch. At work on Monday, he thought about asking Scully's advice, but he was still hoping to get into her pants someday and he didn't want to hurt his chances so he just kept quiet. But he ached inside. Two weeks passed in a blur of inexplicable phenomena, murders, and paperwork. Then on Saturday night, a note was slipped under his door. Skinner was in trouble again. Scully was out of town, this time at a medical convention, so Mulder went out alone. He found Skinner locked in the trunk of a car, drugged nearly senseless, glasses smashed. And all to prevent Mulder from getting fined for littering. Mulder took him home, made him coffee, and gave him two blowjobs. Skinner was sweet and loving. This time, Mulder thought, things would be different. But they were exactly the same. In the morning, Skinner was gone. And it was like it had never happened. But the next weekend, Mulder got an anonymous email, telling him to look for Skinner in the reptile house at the zoo. Scully was away on a cruise, but Mulder coped, binding Skinner's wounds and fucking him senseless. They settled into a pattern. Mulder picked up the "Reader's Digest Guide to Medical Cures & Treatments" and "The Joy of Gay Sex." He took a course in industrial first aid. Skinner had thirty pairs of glasses sent over to Mulder's apartment. They had a standing order for pizza. One day, when Mulder and Scully were out on a case, some random law enforcement officer was remotely strangled by a perp with telekinetic powers. Scully gave him CPR but he died. Mulder was confused. "Scully," he said, "aren't you supposed to give CPR for more than forty-five seconds? In my class--" "Who's the doctor here, Mulder, you or me?" Oops, he'd made her angry. But by now, he didn't really want to sleep with her anymore anyway, not unless things didn't work out with Skinner. After six months, Mulder figured it was time to get serious. He had a bouquet of poison ivy delivered to Skinner's office, then went up to rub isopropyl alcohol on the Assistant Director's inflamed skin. Skinner kissed Mulder. Mulder proposed. Skinner accepted. Scully was out of town at another medical convention. Mulder hoped they would review CPR. On the big day, the Lone Gunmen abducted Skinner and worked him over for hours with a cattle prod and cigarettes, then got him into his tuxedo and over to the church. The wedding was beautiful. Krycek couldn't be there, but he sent a lovely gift, a Palm Pilot. Scully couldn't be there either, since she was lecturing at a university. Or maybe she was at confession. Or visiting Charlie. The guests threw rice as the happy couple went out to the car, Mulder pushing Skinner in a wheelchair. The honeymoon was perfect. When she got back and found out, Scully was pretty pissed off about it all. Then she got a phone call from Marita. They had phone sex. Scully felt better. F I N I S What wedding gift are you sending? Pressies and feedback to prillalar@yahoo.com