A Taste of Life II - The Day After

Author: Jvantheterrible
Date: January 20th, 2000
Rating: NC-17, for graphic M/M sexual relations
Summary: Scully has been killed in the line of duty, and Mulder and 
Skinner are left to try and piece themselves back together.
Continuation
of "A Taste of Life". Angst, angst, and angst.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. The story is. No money is
being 
made from the existence or posting of this story. Thanks to Chris
Carter 
and entourage for bringing us The X-Files. 
Author's Notes: It's taken me a while to decide whether or not to
continue
this story, as it is dark. I do find, however, that in my attempt to
write
from Skinner's POV, I undoubtedly resort to angst and emotional
discord. If you don't like the idea of Skinner and Mulder being
together, 
please read elsewhere. If you liked the first part or haven't read
it yet, 
please surf on over to my site (OR Walter Torture, OR 'Down in the 
Basement') at www.angelfire.com/oh3/SkinnerSanctum to read Part 1.
Thanks to Amokeh for excellent beta-ing and encouragement, as always,
and to all the other authors out there who will keep the X-Files (or
at least
its characters) alive long after Chris Carter has finished with them.
Feedback: Appreciated at Rllnslvr@aol.com OR Jvantheterrible@yahoo.com

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

I find myself apprehensive about opening my eyes. We buried Scully
yesterday. 
I never thought I'd hear myself say those words. We. Buried. Scully.
Dear God,
what was I thinking, taking her out into the field and away from the
safety 
of her partner? Of course, that's a question that I'll ask myself
for the rest of my 
days now.I know the answer, too. I was trying to make a difference;
trying to show my 
good intentions at getting them both back out in the field, and
eventually back on 
the X-Files. Yes, Walter, what a noble act you carried out, 'eh? You
took Scully out into 
the field for the first time in weeks, and you got her killed. I
know I can and never will 
forgive myself but the big question now is, will Mulder forgive me?
Fox Mulder. Last night 
we became lovers and now I'm afraid to open my eyes for fear that
he, too, has left me. 
I don't want to be alone. Not now. Hell, I've never wanted to be
alone; who does? I don't 
think I could bear it if he's not here. What choice do I have BUT to
accept it if 
he's gone?  

The hell with it. It won't do me any good to lie here and wonder if
he's still next to me. 
I open my eyes and look up at the ceiling, blinking a few times to
clear the initial
blurriness and bleariness that is my morning vision. I look over,
and there he is. Whoa.
There he is indeed. He's wrapped up in the sheets and blanket up to
his waist, his 
smooth and nearly hairless chest slowly rising and falling with his
deep sleeping breaths.
He looks so untroubled in sleep, like nothing bad has happened.
There are no worry lines
in his forehead, no crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He looks
peaceful. I lever myself
carefully up on one elbow so I can watch the enigma that is Fox
Mulder as he sleeps, and 
I begin to think that maybe, just maybe, things will work out
alright. Premature of me, I 
know, but how can I help thinking that while this beautiful man
slumbers at my side? He stirs 
slightly, and I find myself holding my breath for fear of waking
him. He needs his rest, and 
I will not be the one to deprive him of THAT much. I watch him until
he finally wakes up, 
about half an hour later.

His eyes flutter against the daylight struggling to come in through
the blinds in my 
bedroom, and he looks around as if in a daze. I wonder if he even
remembers last night.
My question is answered, but not exactly in the way that I was hoping.

"Good morning, sir," Mulder mumbles, pulling the covers up over his
chest a little, 
refusing to meet my eyes directly. This is not a good sign as far as
I'm concerned.

"Good morning, Mulder. Did you sleep well?" I wish he wouldn't call
me sir while we're
in bed together. Of course, it's not like there is any precedent for
this.

"Um, yeah I did. Thanks." He's looking around at my room, not
wanting to look directly at me,
and that's what I was afraid of most. He catches me watching him,
and he blushes slightly. 
Christ, this is not how I had envisioned things. I don't know what I
expected, but Mulder
playing the proverbial blushing bride was the last thing on my mind.
I break the uncomfortable 
silence with the only thing I can think of, "Would you like some
coffee?"

He looks up at me shyly and nods his head, and I proceed to toss the
covers off myself and 
get out of bed. I can see him staring at me out of the corner of my
eye, and his eyes widen 
when he realizes that yes, we are both naked, and yes, we did sleep
together. I try not to let
my disappointment show on my face, busying myself instead with
finding something to put
on. I find us both sweats and tee shirts, and I toss his on the bed.
"You can join me 
downstairs after you get dressed." My voice is rough; partly from
sleep, but mostly 
because I can't hide all my emotions at once. He's obviously
embarassed, and it kills me 
inside. I can feel the knife twisting just a little bit more. I
should never have brought 
him here, but hindsight is always 20/20 and it's a little too late
for that now. Literally and 
figuratively, I've made my bed, and now I get to lie in it. Fuck.

I head downstairs, pulling on my wirerims so I can see where I'm
going and what I'm doing.
What I'm doing is prolonging the inevitable; trying to stall what is
almost surely going to 
be the end of Fox Mulder's and my relationship, business or
otherwise. I'm not ready to lose
him just yet, thank you very much. So, coffee it is. I hear him pad
into the kitchen about ten
minutes later, and the coffee is almost finished brewing as I turn
to greet him with as close 
to a smile as I can get; I imagine it looks more like a smirk at
this point, but how can I 
smile at him when he's so clearly ashamed of what happened between
us last night? Is he? I am 
going to have my nervous breakdown now, I can just feel it. I'm
teetering on the brink of 
sanity with a horrible feeling that I'm about to be flung over the
edge any moment now.

"Coffee smells good, sir," he says, attempting to smile back at me.
It looks to me like his 
lips are stuck on his teeth. He's trying, though; I give him credit
for that much at least.

"Mulder, you don't need to call me sir in my home. Walter is fine."
He's blushing again, and I
could just kick myself. I can only imagine that he's going to be
even more uneasy now because
it probably felt more normal calling me 'sir'. He's never called me
Walter. Not ever. Of course, 
we've never slept together before, and then there's the whole issue
that Scully's never been 
dead before, either. Oh sweet Jesus just let me get through the next
twenty minutes without 
screaming and I'll be fine, I swear. 

"Um, okay, Walter," Mulder says, pulling out a chair and sitting at
my kitchen table while
I pour us each a mug of coffee, "but I still want you to call me
Mulder, okay?" I nearly 
drop the coffee pot, catching it in time but not before spilling a
liberal amount of java 
across the marble countertop. I look back at him and he's smiling
slightly, more in his eyes 
than anywhere else. I wonder if perhaps I was mistaken about his
feelings towards me and this 
entire situation. I wouldn't know how he feels, because we didn't do
a hell of a lot of talking
last night, and I've been way too wrapped up in my own mind this
morning to bother asking him. 
Perhaps now would be a good time.

"Mulder, do you - " he cuts me off in mid-sentence. Whew. That was
easy.

"No, I like it black, thanks." Dammit. He just continues to watch me
as I head towards the
table with two cups of coffee, meeting his gaze, wondering what is
going to happen next. 
I suddenly realize that I can hardly wait to find out. I'm looking
forward to this, even if it
just turns out to be coffee with Mulder and nothing more. Okay,
that's not true. I do want more.
A lot more. I have to ask him. I'm going to go nuts waiting. I think
he knows it, too. Maybe 
he's just waiting me out. Maybe he's just using that psychoanalytic
brain of his to deconstruct
me and fuck with me a little bit before he kills me off mentally
and/or emotionally, perhaps 
even physically. Good God Walter, get a fucking grip here.

I slide a mug over to him, and pull out a chair to sit facing him.
We both look down at our 
coffee for several moments, both of us unsure as to what to say in
one of those typical
"morning after" moments. Well, typical for someone, anyway. Not me.
Not Mulder either, I'm 
pretty sure. But if we were to have one of those moments, I think it
would be just like this. 
Christ, I'm rambling in my own head; can't wait to start trying to
verbalize. Luckily, I don't 
have to start. Mulder does it for me.

"Walter, I just wanted to thank you for everything you did
yesterday. I mean, taking me 
to the service with you, and taking care of me afterwards. That
really was above and beyond
the call of duty. I didn't expect you to, you know," he stops and
takes a sip of his coffee, 
allowing me to attempt to finish his sentence. Which I do. Miserably.

"Fuck you?" I ask him pointedly, straight-faced as always. He spits
liquid across the table
at my words, and his eyes begin to water. He's not happy, and I
can't say that I blame him. 
My self-pity has reared up and bitten me on my own ass. Goddammit,
this is going about as well 
as my talks with Sharon used to go. Worse, if that's in any way
possible.

He just looks at me for a moment as he wipes the coffee off of his
chin with the back of his
hand; he looks like I just slapped him across the face. I feel like
I did slap him, and I 
suddenly want to jump up and run to him and take him in my arms and
tell him how sorry 
I am, that I didn't mean to say it, I never meant it like that. Too
late; the damage is done.

A single tear falls from each of his eyes and he speaks again, "I
was going to say that I 
didn't expect my feelings towards you to be returned, but yeah, I am
surprised about 
that, also." More tears slide down his face as I try to figure out
how to fix what I've 
just broken, but I can't think of a single thing to say. He picks up
his mug and pushes his 
chair back, stands, and walks to the sink to set it down. I watch
him as he places his hands on 
the counter and hangs his head, utterly defeated now. He was trying
so hard to make this 
easier on both of us; he was trying to tell me how he felt, and I
shot him down before he even 
got a chance to start. Goddammit to hell. "You know," he starts
again, and I push my chair 
back as I listen to him, ready to get up and take him in my arms at
a second's notice; his 
voice is choking with emotion, and I've never seen him like this. I
don't want to see him like 
this again, that's for damn sure, "I've lost everything, Walter. Ev-
er-y-thing," he says slowly, 
enunciating each syllable, "I've lost my sister, my father, I've
lost the X-Files, I've lost 
Scully, and now it seems that I've lost you and your respect. In
fact," he continues, turning 
to look at me, tears flowing freely, arms folded defensively across
his chest, "I don't know if
I ever had your respect, but I'd like to think that I did.
Technically, I have nothing left to 
live for. Do you know how that feels, Walter?"

Oh my God do I ever. After 'Nam and Sharon, and now Scully; I want
to tell him the whole story, 
but I can't. I'm glued to my seat, unable to move, unable to do
anything but watch the man I'm 
pretty sure that I love sob in front of me because of me. The knife
that I thought I felt in my 
heart upstairs was nothing compared to what is going on at this
moment. It's twisting in my 
heart, my guts, my whole insides feel like they're going to shrivel
up and die. Oh Fox. My poor
Fox, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, please pleasepleaseplease. I
stand up so quickly that I 
knock my chair over in my haste; I have Mulder in my arms before the
metal makes contact with 
the tiled kitchen floor, silently begging him to forgive me. Words
have left me now; ironic 
that the only thing I have said so far is 'fuck you', and I didn't
even do that properly. 
Not verbally this morning, and not how I wanted to do it, last
night. Stop the fucking world, 
I want to get off.

He tries to shove me away, but I'm stronger than he is. I hold him
to me with the force of a 
man drowning, holding onto him for dear life. If he leaves me now, I
am going to drown. I am 
suddenly as sure of that as I am of my next breath. I have to do
some major damage control, 
and it has to start NOW. Right this fucking minute. I find my voice;
it's not much louder 
than a whisper, but it's there, and I know he hears me because his
arms come around my body as 
I speak quietly into his ear. "I am so sorry, Mulder. So fucking
sorry. Please, please forgive 
me. I'm so lost; I feel so guilty, so useless. I need you, please
don't leave me. We need each 
other, now more than ever." Whoa. Sharon would be so proud of me. I
haven't had an outburst of 
affection like that since our honeymoon, over seventeen years ago.
"You're not alone, Fox," he 
flinches at my use of his first name but he stays with me, "I do
respect you. I respect the 
HELL out of you. I feel so responsible for Scully's death, and I'm
so afraid that you'll hate 
me for it, because you might have been able to stop it; you've been
with her on hundreds of 
occasions and you always kept her safe. I lost her, Mulder. It's my
fault, and you should hate 
me for it," I'm crying now too, and if we aren't a sight; standing
in my kitchen, our arms 
wrapped around one another, both of us clinging to the shreds of
life that we have left while 
we cry our hearts out to each other. 

We stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's embrace.
Our crying winds down into
hitched breathing, and from that into exhausted deep breaths. He
pulls back a little from me 
first, and looks up at me; I get lost in his hazel depths, removing
my right arm from around 
him so I can wipe the remnants of tears away from his eyes one at a
time. He smiles a little at
me, and for the first time, I feel my heart begin to flutter just
from looking at him. He 
reaches up and does the same for me, and I lower my lips to his,
pressing against him with 
everything I feel at this moment. I want to pour my heart into him,
and I'm doing the best I 
can with the tools at my disposal, namely my lips, tongue, hands,
and body. I run my hands 
through and through his hair, pulling him closer to me as I claim
him with my tongue. He grants
me entrance to his mouth and immediately returns the favor, running
his tongue into my mouth 
as far as he can reach. We clutch at each other desperately, my
hands running down his slim 
body, reaching around him to cup his buttocks and grind myself
against him. He responds to me 
in kind, kneading me gently as I try to get us closer and closer
together. If you can be one 
without being physically joined, then we are that right now.
Everything I am is Fox Mulder. 
Everything I am and everything I want to be and everywhere I want to
go from now on is in my 
arms, and I'm not going to let him go. Ever.

He releases my buttocks and his arms close around my neck so that
we're in a very intimate hug,
our tongues vying for victory, both of us panting with need. Right
here, in my kitchen. I 
attempt to pull back from him a little, both to catch my breath and
to suggest that we take 
this upstairs, but Mulder is quite insistent that we stay right
where we are; he drops to his
knees in front of me and I close my eyes and tilt my head back as he
undoes the drawstring of 
my sweats and pulls them down to my ankles. He allows me a bit of
space to step out of them, 
which I do, and then he gently takes my balls in his left hand while
he reaches around me with 
his right and pulls me forwards, my cock sliding easily and fully
into his eagerly waiting 
mouth. "Fffffuck," is all I can manage to moan as his tongue winds
around and around my 
erection, using his lips to follow the trail his tongue is blazing.
I want to lie down, to take
him into my arms, but he won't have any of that. He is bound and
determined to make me come 
first, and it hardly takes any time at all. I try to tell him that
I'm coming, that he should 
let me go, but he refuses to release me, sucking on me harder the
more I try to pull away. The 
sweet suction of his mouth is too much for me to bear, and I cry out
his name as I thrust once 
and shoot down his throat. He swallows all of me, not pausing until
I am finished, and even 
then he doesn't stop until he's licked me clean of every last drop.

I finally look down at him, my breath fast and hard, and he's got
that smile in his eyes again.
It hasn't reached his face, but he looks pleased with himself, and I
am shivering where I 
stand; both with need for him, and a certain amount of shock at what
has just transpired. I 
can't believe that this is happening. Just yesterday, things seemed
so bleak, so final. And 
now, here, Fox Mulder is kneeling before me, looking up at me as
though I'm some sort of deity 
or something. My only response now is to drop to my knees as well;
it looks like we're going to 
christen every room in my condo before we actually make it to the
bed. I could care less, 
actually. I pull him to me and kiss him harshly, tasting myself on
his lips and his tongue. 
It's an odd feeling; I've never tasted myself before, but mixed with
the flavor of Mulder, it's
a delicacy, one I hope to taste quite frequently from now on. 

It hasn't escaped me that Mulder is suffering from an extreme lack
of attention, either; his 
cock is jutting out from his body at a most uncomfortable angle,
seemingly reaching towards me.
I look down to take the sight of him in, and the smile finally
reaches his face as I look back 
at him. I smile wolfishly myself, and take a loose hold of his
erection while I begin kissing 
him in earnest once again. I begin to stroke him gently but firmly,
up and down his shaft, all 
while I'm devouring his mouth with my tongue, lips, and teeth. He
groans into my mouth, and I 
decide that he's waited long enough. I push him back so that he's
lying on the cold tile floor,
and before he can even begin to get a chill, I've sucked his cock
into my mouth until his pubic
hair grazes my nose. I moan slightly while he's in my mouth, and
this seems to drive him crazy;
he begins to pump into my mouth, and I take him, stroke for stroke,
continuing to moan against 
his sensitized skin. The vibration on his cock, in addition to the
magic that my tongue is 
working on him, is causing him to pant quite loudly. I can only hear
something that sounds 
vaguely like, "Wal - uh - ohhhhh -  yeah - uhhhhh," and I do hear a
distinct, "od," and then a,
"Fuck." I feel his balls start to pull taut in my hand, and I make
my strokes harder, faster, 
and longer. He is completely fucking my face now, and I don't care;
I just want him to feel 
good. I want to make him come harder than he's ever come before, and
as I steal a glance at
his face, he is well on his way if his expression is any indication.
Euphoria would be a good
description. Not to toot my own horn, but I am an accomplished cock-
sucker, and I want Fox
to understand that I mean business. I do believe he knows that now,
if he didn't before. He 
reaches out to me with both of his hands, and I understand that he
wants me to take his hands 
in mine before he shoots. I release his balls and take his hands in
mine, allowing him to pull 
me a bit further up his body before I stop, standing my ground,
mouth firmly suctioned onto his 
swollen cock, fingers clasped tightly around his.

"FFFFUUUUCKKKKK!!!" He literally screams, and I briefly hope that my
neighbors don't think
that I am killing someone here in my condo. That thought is soon
replaced by several others, 
none of them having a goddamn thing to do with anyone or anything
other than Mulder and his 
body. "Walter," he gasps, "That was fucking incredible. Pun
intended," he assures me as I smile
up at him. He looks beautiful in post-coital bliss; beads of sweat
across his forehead and 
cheeks, his hair dampened, and his chest glistening. Now HE looks
like the deity, and I'm 
amazed as I gaze up at him. "Come here, you," he tells me as I crawl
up his body and we take 
each other in our arms again. Jesus, the floor is cold!

"Mulder, do you mind if we move this up to the bedroom? This floor
is fucking freezing," I 
grumble at him, and he laughs a little at that, nodding his
agreement. I get up and take his 
outstretched hand to pull him to his feet. We kiss once again before
heading back upstairs. I 
guess breakfast is going to be brunch after all; we're both spent,
and ready for a nap.

"Walt, do you mind if we take a rinse first?" Mulder asks me, and I
chuckle at that because we 
were both so thorough in our ministrations, but I ultimately give in
and run a hot shower.

"You can go first, Mulder. There's towels in the closet over there,
washcloths, whatever you 
need," I tell him, and he just stands there with his hands on his
hips, shaking his head.

"What?" I ask him innocently, and he crooks a finger at me and
motions for me to come to him.

"No, what I need is for you to wash my back. I'll return the favor,
honest." He gives me the
equivalent of the Scout's Honor, which I quickly remind him he is
not capable of doing 
correctly, seeing as how he never was an Eagle Scout. He just
chuckles and takes my hand 
and leads me into the shower. We do a nice job of soaping each other
up and rinsing each other 
off, spending what might be considered an unusually large amount of
time making sure our cracks
and crevices are all squeaky clean. Fifteen minutes later we're
clean, dry, and snuggling into 
bed together. I spoon myself around Mulder, and he presses his back
against my chest as far as 
he can, digging his buttocks into my groin.That earns him a slight
growl, and he shakes a 
little with an internal giggle that I feel more than hear. I don't
drop off until I feel him 
breathing slowly and evenly against me; I just have this need to
make sure he is alright before
I allow myself to sleep. If this morning's activity is any
indication, maybe Mulder will be 
alright after all. Maybe we both will. I drift into sleep with
Mulder in my arms, and 
a smile on my face and a lightness in my heart that hasn't resided
in either place for years.

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

Sometime later, I'm awakened by a blood-curdling scream. I reach
instinctively for my gun in 
the nightstand drawer, looking around the room frantically for an
intruder. I see nothing upon 
my brief inspection, and Mulder is thrashing around next to me in
the bed; he is completely 
tangled in the bedsheets, and sweating heavier than he was earlier
this morning. His face is 
screwed up tight, and tears are running down the sides of his face.
"SCULLLLLYYYYYYYY," he 
screams again, and instantly I gather him up in my arms and hold him
close. "NOOOO," he shouts, 
fighting me with every ounce of his strength; I narrowly miss being
punched in the cheek by 
his flailing fist. 

"Mulder," I say loudly and authoritatively, hoping that will snap
him out of his nightmare, 
"Wake up, Mulder, I'm here. Come on, Mulder," I soothe, but he
continues to fight some unseen 
nemsis, deaf to my words of comfort.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED SCULLY," Mulder screams, and my blood
runs cold at his words. Is he
having a nightmare about me? Oh God, no. I know it's too soon to
hope for normalcy, but I 
thought we were making the tiniest bit of progress. My heart sinks
as I try to keep Mulder from
hurting himself (or me) in his restlessness. "SCULLLLYYYYYYYYYY," he
screams again, and this 
time I have no choice but to slap him across the face; I'm a little
concerned because he simply
won't wake up. His eyes open immediately after I strike him, and the
tears continue to run down
his cheeks. In a hoarse and choked voice he looks at me and says, "I
have to go now." He pushes
me away, oblivious to my hurt expression, and gets out of the bed.

"Mulder," I say, swallowing down the giant, suffocating lump that is
forming in my throat, 
"What happened? What did you dream? Mulder, please," I can't believe
how my voice is betraying 
my cool exterior right now. That came out as some sort of whine, for
God's sake.

"No, I have to go. I have to go now. Right now. Scully needs me." My
breath catches in my
chest at that statement, and I do believe I am losing the battle
with my decorum. He must
still be asleep. Perhaps he's sleepwalking?

"Mulder come on, come back to bed." He shakes his head vigorously as
he sits down on the bed to
pull on the sweatpants I gave him earlier. He ties them and bends to
retrieve the tee shirt as 
well.

"NO," he shouts at me, and I can't believe how deep that voice cuts
into my very soul. His 
voice is full of anger, as is his face, and it's all directed at me.
How? After this morning, 
and last night, how can he do this now? Maybe it's some kind of Post-
Traumatic Stress Disorder
thing. Shit, that's what Scully would think. Christ. 

"Mulder, Scully's gone. She's gone, Mulder." All authority has left
my voice now; I sound
like the defeated man that came back to DC from Maryland last week,
all over again.

"NO," he yells at me, "She's NOT gone. I WON'T believe it. I have to
go and see if she's
alright." He is frantically searching the room for something, and I
can't help but ask him,
"What are you looking for?"

"My cellphone. I have to call her and see if she's alright." Oh good
God. This dream has
completely fucked with his mind. I have no idea what to do now; he
is the psychologist,
after all.

"Mulder, please," I attempt weakly, but he stops me in mid-plea.

"Shut up, Skinner, just SHUT UP. I have to see - if - she's - " he
stops in the middle of the
room, a lost look on his face. No more words are forthcoming, and I
take this as a good time
to get out of bed and move slowly towards him. Perhaps he's still
caught up in his terror and
I can bring him out of it. 

"Don't come near me," he hisses, and I stop where I am, no more than
3 feet away from him.
He has the coldest look in his eyes, and it chills me to meet his
gaze. He is looking at me 
with pure unbridled hatred; I feel like my heart has fallen to my
toes. Not an hour ago, 
everything was going fine. What the hell happened?

"You son of a bitch," Mulder growls at me, "How dare you try to keep
me here when Scully
needs me. Did you drug me?" I'm at a loss now, and I just close my
eyes and shake my head.

"You're working for THEM, aren't you? I should've known better.
Scully never did trust you,
Skinner. I wanted to trust you. I tried to make Scully trust you,
and you got her killed, didn't
you? You're a fucking coward, that's what you are. A washed-up ex-
marine with no life outside 
of work, playing Dana and me like pawns in your fucking Consortium
game. You're a whore in a 
suit and tie, aren't you, SIR?" He laughs out loud, and I'm trying
to push the anger down, but 
it's coming up like the bile in my throat. He can't know what he's
saying. "You're THEIR whore,
Skinner, and it's all gone to shit, hasn't it? Don't you ever get
tired of being FUCKED, 
Skinner? I mean, SIR?"

That's it. The last straw. Emotions win over rationalization, and
bad dream or not, I can't
have him yelling this bullshit in my face. It's not true; everything
I've ever done with the 
Consortium has been for the good of Mulder and Scully. I don't
expect him to understand that in
his current state, but in my current state, the only thing that
makes sense is to whack him 
good one more time in hopes that it knocks some sense into him. God
forgive me for what I'm 
about to do - I pull my right fist back and throw, connecting
squarely with his jaw.

He falls directly down on his ass and grabs the left side of his
face, looking up at me in a 
daze. I'm shaking very badly, and my knuckles hurt. I can't believe
I just hit him, and I can't
believe that he was saying those things to me. I don't know what
hurts worse. Yes, I do; his 
accusations cut me to the bone more than any punch or jab or stab
ever could. But what hurts 
him worse? I'm about to find out, and it's not pretty.

I reach down to him, offering him a hand to help him up. He shrinks
away from me, refusing
to meet my eyes. "Mulder, take my hand. I want to help you through
this."

"Fuck you. You hit me," he cries, still clutching his jaw, and I
have no choice but to believe
that he did not know what he was saying before I did it. Wonderful.
This is just getting 
better and better as it unfolds.

"Fox, please," I say, exasperated, and his response is to get up and
inch towards the door,
not taking his eyes off of me as he does so.

"I'm going home now. Don't you dare touch me. Do you hear me,
Skinner?" Tears again, and
I feel like I'm going to throw up. I put my hands up in surrender,
trying to convince him that
I mean him no harm; I never have. 

He watches me as he backs out of my room, and I stay frozen in the
spot where I've been
standing since he told me not to come near him. He turns and runs
down the stairs, and I 
close my eyes as I hear him slam the front door behind him when he
leaves.  

I sink to the floor of my bedroom, my back against my bed. I pull my
knees up to my chest, 
cross my arms and rest them on top of my knees, and I bury my face
in my arms as I begin to 
cry. I sob until my chest hurts from the sheer force of it, and I
wonder to myself if I've lost
Mulder forever, too. 

THE END