by Kassandra
kassxf@aol.com

website: http://home.earthlink.net/~harsesis/kassandra.htm
 

"God, it's good to get out of there." Mulder craned his head around to look back at the hospital, then settled back in the passenger seat.
Skinner looked sidelong at him, smiled faintly. With a list of medical prohibitions, but still out of the hospital.
"It's going to be beyond weird to have my mother at the house." Mulder sighed and let his head tilt back on the headrest, turning to regard him.
Skinner privately agreed with this. If he was going to have to face having a mother in law, he rather preferred Sharon's mother. Mrs. Mulder's manipulations appalled him, and he doubted he was going to ever be comfortable around the woman who had been a part of the conspiracy that had formed Mulder into an obsessive hunter. "She's your mother, we'll do fine."
"At least she's going home after Sam and the kids get typed." Mulder sighed. "Are you pissed at me for inviting her?"
Startled, Skinner looked at him before changing lanes. "God, no. She's your mother." He was saying that a lot lately. "Hey, it was inevitable, really, we both have families."
Mulder sighed again. "You're a nice guy, Walt."
His mouth curved slightly. "Yeah, I get that a lot." Ironic tone.
"No, I'm serious." A fingertip brushed the curve of his ear. "Hard enough to put up with me, but now you have to put up with my mother. I know she's difficult."
"But she's still your mother." Skinner let his mouth quirk. "Listen, you, if I can put up with your ties, I can certainly put up with your mother."
"I think the ties are easier." Mulder brooded, sighed yet again. "At least she won't be here long."
"True." Skinner reached out, patted Mulder's thigh, let his hand rest there. In fact, Mulder wasn't looking ahead, his mother was quite likely to be back for a very long time, depending on treatment. And despite his instinctive distrust and dislike of her, he had to admit that she genuinely loved her son. In her own dysfunctional way. He could tolerate her for that, even if he couldn't forgive her for jerking Mulder around. "Don't worry about it. After all, you'll have to put up with my brother and sister one of these days. Vicki wants to meet you."
Mulder's intake of breath was audible. "You told your sister?"
"I told both of them. You're a part of my life, and I couldn't think of a good way to pass you off as the gardener."
Mulder's laughter was soft. "Houseboy." More laughter. "Hey, you know what I want to do first when we get home? I want us to take a long, hot bath together, with the jets on." His voice was dreamy. "And then fuck like maniacs. Or maybe fuck like maniacs and then take the bath. And then start over again."
Skinner laughed softly. "You know what Ferraud said." He glanced sidelong, saw Mulder's grimace. "As long as we fuck like gentle maniacs, something could probably be arranged."
"Hey, if I have to go back to the hospital in ten days, I want to live it up while I'm out," Mulder warned. "I still have my gun, don't disappoint me."
"Willful brat," Skinner retorted, before his mind caught up with his mouth.
Mulder began to laugh, harder and harder until he was holding his sides. "Grouch," he finally gasped.
Skinner squeezed his thigh gently. "True," he sighed. "I'm getting to be an old curmudgeon."
"Yeah, but you're my curmudgeon." Mulder's laughter tapered off to chuckles slowly.
His curmudgeon. Skinner slanted another look sidelong and smiled. Good. That was a step forward, certainly. He squeezed Mulder's thigh again, had to move his hand as Mulder leaned forward, beaming.
"There's the house!" Delighted tone.
"Yup, hasn't moved." That got him a raised middle finger, which made him laugh as he slowed for the driveway.
"Cat's in the front window." Mulder sighed happily.
"He usually is."
Scarcely had he turned the key in the ignition and Mulder was out the door. Waving him on, Skinner chuckled, got out and retrieved the bags from the trunk, followed him in to find Mulder sitting cross-legged on the floor, crooning to a demented Cat who was trying to climb him, purring loud enough to wake the dead and emitting piteous cries of ecstasy over having Mulder rub his ears.
"Now I know who rates in this household," Skinner teased and went past him, carried the bags upstairs, pausing only to disarm the security system.
The phone rang as he came back downstairs, he picked it up in the livingroom, standing where he could see Mulder playing pounce and attack with the delirious cat. Smiling, he snatched it up. "Skinner."
"Hi, it's me. Listen, Mrs. Mulder and I were talking, and I think it would be a good idea if we do some shopping, groceries included."
He smiled, looked back into the livingroom. "Well, we are getting low, I haven't taken the time--think you can keep her busy for a few hours?"
"I think so." Laughter rode under her voice. "In fact, I think that's a marvelous idea."
"I'll recommend you for a commendation."
She hung up laughing and Skinner turned toward the kitchen door, freezing as he saw the bloody scratches on Mulder's forearm. Long strides into the kitchen and, "Stop that!" Barking it.
Mulder looked up startled. He leaned down and grabbed Mulder's arm, freeing the cat who leapt away and settled down in front of the back door, serenely licking one hind foot.
"What the fuck--" Mulder's brows drew together, a sign of temper hovering on the verge of being loosed.
"Scratches, Mulder," he barked and levered Mulder up.
Mulder tried to jerk away from him, brows angling downward. "So I'll wash 'em, Walt, relax."
Three rather long scratches, two bloody, one just a scrape of surface skin.
"That's not good enough." He turned on the tap, set it to run hot. Grabbed the disinfectant soap and handed to Mulder. "Listen, Fox, think how fast you got sick from that damned incision. Where the hell does that cat walk? In the litter box. Damn, damn, damn, I wish I'd thought, I'd have clipped his claws or had him declawed."
Mulder had gone a little pale. "I didn't think of it."
"Neither did I. Wash up, I'm going to get some ointment for them." Leaving Mulder at the sink, he took the stairs two at a time, rummaged ruthlessly in the bathroom for hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic ointment, gauze pads and adhesive tape.
Down the stairs again to find Mulder cursing under his breath at the sting of the soap and hot water.
He used the peroxide liberally, watched the scratches foam up in a way that alarmed him. Waited a moment. Mulder was silent, holding his forearm over the sink. He poured again, waited while the scratches turned white.
"Don't get him declawed," Mulder finally said, his voice very soft. "Please? He won't be able to go outside, he won't be able to defend himself. He won't have any freedom. We can just clip his claws, and I'll be careful." Not looking at him, as if he was afraid to argue.
Skinner looked at him a moment, sighed and poured more peroxide into the scratches. "I can clip his claws, I don't want you doing it."
Heard the brief sound of relief. One more time and this time there was very little bubbling. He used a sterile pad to pat Mulder's arm dry, opened and folded pads ruthlessly to form a makeshift dressing and used the adhesive tape to finish up.
Mulder sighed. "This looks ridiculous."
"Better that than you get sick again like that. I don't think my heart will stand it." Leaning in, Skinner kissed the spot just under Mulder's earlobe. "Okay?"
Brief flicker of a smile. "Okay." Mulder turned his head, brushed his mouth over Skinner's. "Only for you." Humorously, but there was something in his gaze that was....serious.
"Thanks." He smiled into those eyes. "Come on, we've got a few hours before Scully drags your mother and sister over."
Brief glint of mischief. "I know what I want to do."
"Mmm, I vaguely remember you mentioning a plan."
Another grin and Mulder was on his way up the stairs, ahead of Skinner. Locking up, Skinner activated the security system and followed.
He found Mulder sprawled on the bed happily. "God, this is nice. I never thought I'd get attached to a bed, Walt."
Skinner chuckled, stretched out beside him. "I really have corrupted you."
"We've corrupted each other," Mulder told him sunnily and then hooked a finger through the belt loop of Skinner's jeans. "Okay, big guy, out of those clothes. I want the real thing. Quickies in the shower just don't cut it for long."
"I see." Skinner slid an arm over Mulder's waist, drew him closer. "Come here, then." Bent his head and claimed Mulder's mouth, kissing him deeply, relearning him, stroking his tongue against Mulder's until they were both breathing hard. Mulder's shirt came off first and Skinner stroked the hair on his chest, thumbed both nipples to hard pebbles.
"You're wearing too much." A little breathlessly, and Mulder was trying to get his jeans unfastened.
"You're so impatient," Skinner muttered and let his weight press Mulder into the mattress, began kissing a line from the corner of Mulder's jaw down his chest. Teasing each nipple to a stiff point, nipping gently at Mulder's belly. He put his tongue into the cup of Mulder's navel, sucked at it gently and got a thoroughly satisfying moan.
"Walt, don't make me wait."
"I'm not making you wait," Skinner told him reasonably, "I'm doing exactly what you want." His fingers undid the buttons of Mulder's jeans. "Lift up."
Mulder lifted, sighed as his thickening sex was freed, Skinner licked at the tip, slid denim and shorts down. Kissed the insides of Mulder's thighs, nipping gently while his fingers gently rolled Mulder's balls. Then back down again, taking Mulder's cock in his mouth. Just the head at first, and then, slowly, Mulder's length.
Mulder was speaking in tongues again, his private language of ecstasy, making those sounds again that drove Skinner harder and harder. His cock throbbed against the denim of his own jeans, cramped and held captive.
With my body I thee worship, he thought, an old memory from his wedding to Sharon. What an odd phrase that had seemed then, even with Sharon, and God knew, he'd loved her in his own way. As much as he'd been capable of it then. But he'd never understood that phrase until now. Drew back and gently lipped the swollen head of Mulder's shaft, sighed at the sight of Mulder's expression, taut and pleasured and distant from all care.
More kisses on the flat plane of Mulder's belly, his nipples and Mulder's hands clutched at his shoulders. "Please!" Almost piteous in tone. "Oh, God, Walt, please. I want you inside me."
"Yes," he agreed huskily and kissed Mulder's mouth, took it hard and deep. Released Mulder to slide down between Mulder's knees. Leaned back and peeled off his shirt, tossed it aside unheeding. His eyes on the man in front of him.
Beautiful man. So fucking beautiful. His jeans and underwear followed his shirt, he reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out the small bottle of lube and a condom.
Mulder saw it, frowned a little. "We don't need that."
"No chances with you," he told Mulder hoarsely. Christ, there was so much he didn't know, and frankly was embarrassed to ask Ferraud. He'd have to skulk around and find his answers elsewhere. Anonymously. But he wasn't taking any chances.
Squeezing lube onto his fingers, he warmed it. Stroked it across the ring of muscle and felt Mulder shiver. "Oh, God, yes."
More lube. One finger inside of Mulder, flesh gripped him tightly. Mulder pushed into the pressure of his finger. More lube, and Mulder's flesh welcomed him, he leaned down and licked Mulder's shaft.
More lube, another finger, so fucking carefully, he bent his head and kissed the soft skin at the top of Mulder's thigh, the seam that joined thigh to torso.
"Walt," Breathlessly, "Dammit, hurry up."
More lube until he was satisfied, his erection was flagging, he concentrated on Mulder again for a few moments until he reckoned he could get the condom on.
And God, he was so fucking beautiful. So incredible, so goddamned stubborn and lovely and he guided himself, eased in slowly.
Mulder's legs hooked around him, trying to pull him in faster, but he held his ground, slid his hand up to tweak a nipple and got a thoroughly satisfactory reaction, grasped Mulder's cock and stroked upward with slippery fingers and Mulder cried out, arching into him. "Oh, thank Christ, Walt, do it, please." Panting.
Now he let those legs tighten around him, moved his hips carefully, slowly. Christ, Mulder was tight, hot. Thank Christ was right, it was incredible. He took Mulder's mouth, trapped Mulder's cock between their bodies, pressing down on it.
Mulder moaned into his mouth, pushed up into his slow thrust. "You're driving me crazy!"
"We've got three hours," Skinner murmured and moved across Mulder's jaw, licking, nipping gently, down his throat and Mulder arched again, whimpering.
Slow and steady until he thought the pleasure was going to kill him. Kill Mulder, who was speaking in tongues again, begging him with those incredible sounds, the voice of his lost angel, and it built and built and built and still he held back, waited until Mulder screamed and tightened down on him, hot and almost painfully tight, pumping him hard, milking him and he heard a leonine roar escape his throat, felt it, and somehow managed not to simply pound into Mulder's body.
Finally sagged down, felt Mulder's rapid heartbeat, the rise and fall of Mulder's chest, the warm sticky wetness between them.
He rubbed his chin on Mulder's chest, leaned up to kiss his mouth again, found Mulder kissing him back fiercely. A long kiss that turned into many.
And then Mulder pulled away, sighed. "You bastard." No heat, just humour. "I thought I was going to have a heart attack."
"No, that's my age group." Skinner smiled. Pushed himself up carefully and eased out, disposed of the condom with a sigh. Then, suddenly, turned to look at Mulder, frowning. "Not seriously."
"You're going to make me nuts if you keep doing this."
Relieved, Skinner chuckled. "Well, I had to think about it at least."
Mulder raised a foot and planted it on Skinner's chest. "Don't do that to me," he said seriously, "If you start jumping every time I sneeze, I won't be able to handle it."
Abruptly, his throat was tight. "I can't promise I won't. I can promise I'll try to be sane about it."
Mulder sighed. "I guess that will have to do." Suddenly smiled, impishly. "Since I've gotten too addicted to get rid of you."
Leaning over, Skinner kissed him again. Lingeringly. "how about that bath?"
Mulder grinned. "The gods invented hot water."
Skinner glanced at the clock. "We've still got time to turn you into a prune. Besides, if you're into baths those hospital showers just don't cut it at all.
"Jesus, are you sure? You took forever." Rolling his eyes, Mulder laughed when Skinner pretended to scowl. "not that I'm really complaining. God, I was beginning to think I'd never get it that good again. Shower jobs just aren't the same as a long, leisurely fuck."
"Then quit complaining about my timing." Reaching out, Skinner took one hand, pulled Mulder up. "One hot and luxurious bath coming up."
Mulder's arms went around his neck. "I could get used to this kind of treatment," he chuckled. "I really like being spoiled."
Skinner sobered. "You deserve it." He rose. "I'll start the water, grab us something seemly to wear for when they get here."
"Gotcha." Mulder regarded him with the happily unkempt look of a schoolboy. Despite the illness, he looked....delicious. Flushed and sticky and entirely sensual.
Another kiss, and Skinner headed for the bathroom. Lighthearted. It couldn't last under these circumstances. But he was going to enjoy it while it did.
Of course, they had to have the goddamned bubbles in the bath. Skinner thought it was funny, overall, he'd have poured champagne into the damned tub if Mulder had wanted it, that's how far gone he was at this point.
Mulder sank back against his chest with a sigh, arms over his, body fitted against his. "This is...." Another sigh as his voice trailed off. "It sounds so fucking stupid, it's like a dream. A good dream."
Turning his hands palm upward, Skinner linked their hands. "Don't let your X files experience confuse reality, this is real."
"Those weren't dreams, they were somebody's nightmare. Invariably." Another sigh. "Sometimes mine. Jesus, I can't believe you told your brother and sister."
" I guess I should have thought of a way to convince them you were just my roommate, of whom I'm exceptionally fond." Drily.
And Mulder hooted with laughter. "You could have told them it was a charitable work."
"Keep that arm out of the water," Skinner advised and nipped at an exposed earlobe. "Charitable, my ass."
"No, my ass." But Mulder sounded pleased anyway. "You said Jack didn't want to talk about it."
"He's a little startled. I'm his big brother, the ex-Marine, married to Sharon for nearly eighteen years. He was going on about that and I got tired of it and said, 'Jack, can you say bi-sexual? I knew you could.' And he managed to stop." He squeezed Mulder's fingers gently. "He just needs some time to adjust. We're still brothers, don't worry about it."
A slow nod and Mulder slid his head into the hollow of Skinner's shoulder, turned to look up at him. "And your sister?"
Skinner grinned. "Very politically correct. No, that's not fair, Vicki doesn't give a rat's ass. She and Sharon didn't get along, and she says if I'm happy, she's happy."
Mulder was quiet for a long moment. "How do you think your parents would have handled it?" Very quietly.
Skinner sighed. "I think we probably would have fought it out. Dad would have--come unglued, no doubt, and Mom? God, I don't know. They would have had a hard time with it, but they'd have been there anyway. At least that's what I think."
"I didn't expect my mother to find out. And if she did, I didn't expect her to be so..." Mulder sighed. "BlasÈ about it."
It was probably best he not say anything, Skinner thought. "You're her son, she's not going to stop loving you."
Short bark of laughter, tinged with bitterness. "What I wanna know is when she started."
There wasn't any answer to that. Skinner kissed his temple instead of attempting one.
"I'm still leaving the Bureau, Walt." Warning tone. "No matter what she pulls. I can't forget that she's at least in contact with those bastards." Hard voice, unforgiving.
Sighing inwardly, Skinner looked up at the ceiling. "Maybe....maybe they were trying to upset her deliberately, Fox. Maybe they were hoping to cause a rift, maybe she's got knowledge they're worried about and they want her occupied with this instead."
Mulder frowned, let his head loll on Skinner's shoulder. "Yeah, I suppose that's possible. Christ, she should have knowledge, but whenever I've asked her, she tells me she doesn't remember, or doesn't know."
"Maybe she's hoping to protect you." It seemed a reasonable enough answer, except that Skinner had it figured differently. Maybe to protect Samantha. All along. The child not taken had been abandoned, as far as he could see, and the child taken....well, it was unfair for him to make guesses, Mulder didn't tell him all that much about his childhood. The revelations in the hospital had been unexpected. Valuable.
Appalling.
Mulder was going to be in the hospital this Christmas. The thought made his throat ache. "Next year," he said roughly, "I'm taking you someplace for Christmas. We could go to England, you could show me Oxford. Or--you ever been to Hawaii? I'll take you to Maui, you can lie on the black sand and sun yourself like that damned cat."
Mulder's mouth curved briefly, then Mulder eased himself up, turned to look at him, expression grave and tender at the same time. "Walt, we have to face it. My chances aren't all that great. I might not be here...."
He put two fingers over Mulder's mouth. "We aren't going to face anything," he growled, "I won't allow it. You're going to make it, you've got the courage, the toughness and the sheer effrontery to make it." Harshly, more harshly than he'd intended.
Mulder gazed at him. Kissed his fingers and shook his head. "I know I'm going to try my damnedest," he sighed and leaned back again, nestling against Skinner. "These jets feel great."
"They do." Skinner agreed and tilted his head back. "That was pretty damned incredible."
A soft chuckle. "In-fucking-credible. In the literal sense."
"Uh huh." He let go of Mulder's fingers, let his hand rest at the base of Mulder's belly, cupping Mulder's sex. "Definitely. Are you sore?"
"Not even." Mulder chuckled again, sounding drowsy. "Christ, are you kidding? You drove me out of my mind." Satisfied sound. "I was beginning to think I was never going to get lucky again."
"Never happen." Skinner nuzzled him again. "Come on, the water's starting to cool. Let's get out before it goes cold."
"I suppose." Mulder yawned. Pushed himself up languidly and turned to watch Skinner stand up behind him. "Ummm, nice look."
Skinner looked down at himself, chuckled. "Down, boy, it's going to take this old man a while to recover."
Mulder reached up, squeezed his cock affectionately. "Oh, I'll wait, believe me." Mischievous glint.
He got out, got bathsheets and wrapped Mulder in one as he stepped out of the tub. Rubbed him down, to Mulder's amusement.
And then himself. Pulled on the clean clothes Mulder had brought, underwear and jeans, sweatshirt and socks. While Mulder pulled on his shorts and white socks and then sauntered back to the bedroom, carrying the rest of his clothes and looking like an invitation to frolic.
Instead, Skinner gathered up the towels and hung them carefully before following. Yanked down the bedclothes and rolled a slightly somnolent Mulder under them before lying down next to him, atop the blankets. "You need to rest," he murmured, pulled Mulder close, face to face.
"I'm getting lazy," Mulder sighed. "All that lying around at the hospital."
"It's good for you." Skinner touched the tip of his nose. Smiled. "All your sleepless nights, all your running around, you're due a little laziness, don't you think?"
"Nope." But Mulder smiled anyway, drowsily. "What are you going to do?"
"As soon as you're asleep, I'm going to clean up the bathroom." Skinner kissed him gently. "And clip Cat's claws so you guys can play. And probably debate what to have for dinner with your mother and Scully."
"'D rather have you here," Mulder told him and yawned again.
"As soon as I do all that, I'll come up and keep you company." They were speaking softly, as if afraid someone would hear, Skinner realized. "That's a promise."
"I can count on your promises," Mulder murmured, serious again, and leaned forward the finger's breadth distance between them, kissed Skinner's mouth.
His throat hurt again. "Damned straight." Gruffly. And he held Mulder very close. "Go to sleep."
"Don't have a lot of choice." But Mulder's mouth curved. And soon, while Skinner's fingers gently rubbed his back, he closed his eyes, his breathing slowing, becoming regular.
Sleeping. Leaning close, Skinner whispered in Mulder's ear, rolled up out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, his throat tight, vision blurred.
Damned straight Mulder could count on his promises. Even if he died trying to keep them. He only wished something that dramatic was called for.
The helplessness was going to drive him insane.

Mulder was dreaming, dreaming of a Christmas tree on fire. He stood and watched in fascination, wearing a boy's flannel pajamas and robe, holding on to Samantha's hand. Only somehow, she was grown and he was still a boy. "Fox," she said, only her voice was wrong...
"Fox," softly and he opened his eyes with a start, found Skinner gently rubbing his shoulder. Big smile for him and he sighed in relief. Just holiday shit, his subconscious processing a lot of garbage without rhyme or reason.
"Hi." Rustily. Turning his head to see what time it was. "Jesus, how long did I sleep?"
"Not all that long," Skinner murmured. "Just four hours. Big day." And Skinner's mouth curved.
He grinned back, still drowsy, became aware of savory aromas. "Something smells good."
"Your mother's cooking." Skinner's voice was dry. "I hope you really do like pot roast."
"Sure. It's one of the few things she can cook well." Mulder leaned up, took the kiss that Skinner offered. Nuzzled Skinner's throat. "Mmm, that's nice."
"I'd have to agree." Skinner kissed the corner of his jaw. "I've got your clothes here."
"Wanna dress me?"
Skinner grinned, just visible in the light from the hall. "Sure. But I'd rather undress you."
A delighted chuckle escaped and Mulder pushed himself up. "God, it's good to be home." Weird to have this kind of feeling about a place. About another human being. "Is she driving you crazy?"
"No, Scully's got her pretty well in hand." Skinner laughed softly. "And your sister is here, she's been pretty easy to get along with. I see what your mother means about the little guy, your mother showed me the baby pictures. Scully's right, you were a cute kid."
Mulder grimaced. "Walt, that's so nauseating. All kids are cute, it's like puppies and kittens."
"I admit, I hadn't thought about that perspective." Skinner's voice was amused. "I've got your jeans and a shirt here for you, if you want to come down."
He sighed, stretched again, discovering muscles that were pleasantly stiff. "Come here."
Skinner came, enveloped him. He pressed his face against Skinner's throat. "Mmmm, it's tempting to stay up here," he muttered, "But you'll have to go down and entertain, won't you."
"Well, it does seem to be the hostly thing to do," Skinner sighed and slid his hands under the bedclothes to stroke Mulder's back. "At least for a while."
Mulder rubbed his face on whisker stubble, smiled against warm skin. "I'll come down." And got a kiss for reward. "God," he said, as Skinner released him. "It's good to be at home again." Weird to say that. Weird to feel that for any place. Weirder to feel that for anyone.
"I'll second that emotion," Skinner told him and rolled away, got up from the bed. "Close your eyes, I'll get the lamp."
Obediently, Mulder squinted, the light made him squint more and he fumbled with the henley Skinner handed him. Kicked off the blankets and scooted to the edge of the bed, put his legs into his jeans and pulled them up, yawning again.
Skinner's fingers moved through his hair, Skinner laughed softly. "Bed hair."
Mulder grinned, tipped his head back and took another kiss. "I can live with it."
"So can I."
Deciding against shoes, Mulder pushed himself up, followed Skinner out and downstairs.
At the foot of the stairs, modified chaos greeted him. The livingroom floor was...not strewn precisely, but certainly there were infant toys spread across an alarmingly large area. And the infant in question, Jonathan, was cruising along the couch, eyeing Cat with dangerous intent.
"Be soft to the kitty, Jon," Samantha's voice came from the diningroom.
"Soft," Jonathan agreed and held out his hand, straining to reach Cat, who moved prudently to the back of the couch.
"I'll get him," Kelly raced from the diningroom to the couch, nearly knocking her little brother over.
Mulder winced, hesitating, but Cat knew danger when he saw it and leapt from the back of the couch, made his way to the mantel, using the bookshelves. Perched atop it and regarded the children with clear disapproval.
Skinner's mouth was quirked wryly.
"Hi, kids," Mulder said faintly and felt himself nudged forward.
"Hi, Uncle Fox," Kelly told him shyly. "The kitty won't play with us."
"He's kind of anti-social," Mulder told her.
Jonathan looked up at him and sidled away, smiling around the finger in his mouth.
"Fox!" Samantha's expression was curiously diffident, she came toward him and hugged him stiffly. "You look great."
"Thanks, I think." He grinned. "You were expecting me to look worse?"
Samantha blushed. "Well, from what Mom said," she began and laughed, embarrassed.
"Fox!" His mother's voice came from the kitchen door, she beamed at him. "Did you have a good nap?"
"I take naps," Kelly piped up.
"Hush, Kelly, Nana's talking," Samantha scolded.
Jonathan chose that moment to crow in delight at the cat.
Scully came in from the diningroom. Smiled at him. "Hi, Mulder." Brushed at her hair. "Your hair is standing on end."
He felt beset, looked helplessly at Skinner.
"Give him a chance to wake up, folks," Skinner told everyone, although there was an edge under the pleasant tone.
Scully arched an eyebrow and went into the kitchen.
Moving toward the couch, Mulder stopped when his mother came up, touched his cheek and smiled. "No fever this time."
"No," he agreed, "they wouldn't have let me out if I was still sick, Mom." Patiently.
She kissed his cheek and followed Scully into the kitchen.
Samantha had gone over to her small son and appeared to be checking his diaper.
Kelly smiled up at him. "Hi." A little shyly.
"Hi, Kelly," he told her and continued moving toward the couch. Sat down a little shakily. Samantha lifted her head and smiled and Jonathan took his finger back out of his mouth and crowed again, pointing at him. "Hi, Jonathan."
Another crow and the toddler sidled toward him.
"Mom's right," Samantha said, sounding fascinated. "He does look like you. Even now, he looks like you."
A wet baby finger touched Mulder's hand. "Don't wish that on the poor kid," he told his sister, half-seriously. "He sure doesn't deserve it."
She grinned suddenly. "There's nothing wrong with the way you look," she told him and went to prevent Kelly from climbing on a chair to reach the cat.
Regarding that with a jaundiced eye, Mulder sighed, looked down when Jonathan made an interrogative sound. What did one say to babies, anyway, he'd had enough trouble trying to think of something with Emily, and Emily had been three. Which was a terribly morbid thought, considering all things, and he wasn't going to think about that.
"Deh," Jonathan told him happily.
Whatever the hell that meant. He reached out, touched the silky hair. Impossibly soft, like down and Jonathan grinned at him, patted small hands on the fabric of the couch. "Kitty," he suggested happily.
"I don't think the kitty wants to play," Mulder told him, amused in spite of himself.
"I be soft and soft to Kitty," Jonathan told him earnestly and petted Mulder's hand. "Soft, like dat."
Mulder's mouth quirked, he glanced up at Cat, staring disdainfully down at Kelly, who was protesting to her mother. "I think he's a little nervous about kids, Jonathan."
Hazel eyes met his own, small angled brows. "I be good to kitty," Jonathan insisted.
Startled, Mulder glanced up at Skinner, currently sitting on the arm of the couch. Skinner smiled at him faintly. "Yeah, he talks about as much as you, too." Lightly and a hand ruffled his hair.
He looked back at Jonathan as Samantha swooped in again, lifted the baby up. "He does talk a lot," Samantha said and smoothed down the rebelliously silky dark hair on the top of Jonathan's head. "Mom says that's a lot like you, too, that you talked early and often." Brief grin, a kind of complicity in the moment, sharing the knowledge that mothers are often odd.
"Did he walk early?" Mulder leaned into Skinner's hip.
"Six months." Samantha rolled her eyes. "And he's learned his ABCs. Sort of. He can say them, he just hasn't learned to recognize all of them yet."
"Really?" Mulder was amused, glanced at Kelly. Sighed. She was leaning on the arm of the chair across the room, looking up wistfully. "Is Cat safe for me," he asked Skinner drily, looking up.
Skinner nodded. "All safely clipped."
Pushing himself to his feet, Mulder padded across the livingroom to the mantel and retrieved Cat, sat down in the chair Kelly was leaning on. "You can pet him very gently," he told her and scratched behind Cat's ears. "Like that. You wanna do that?"
She smiled shyly at him, extending one small hand, trying to imitate his motion. Cat, settled in his arms, seemed reasonably content to allow this until his mother came back into the room and announced, "Kelly, come with Nana, we need to wash up for dinner."
Samantha nodded at Kelly, who obediently went into the kitchen with his mother. Sighing, Mulder rose, still carrying the cat, moved to stand near Samantha, guided the delighted Jonathan to touch the softness of Cat's fur.
Jonathan was, as he had asserted, very "soft" with Cat. Very serious. Small sober face, but delighted smile, small hand moving very lightly over Cat's ears. Tilting his head back, Cat sniffed at the baby's fingers, licked them, and Jonathan chortled happily. "He kiss me, Mama."
"Yes, he did," Samantha agreed and offered Mulder a wry smile. "Don't tell Mom. Come on, Jon, let's get you in to dinner."
As she moved toward the diningroom, Mulder let Cat down to the floor, moved to Skinner and just leaned in, felt Skinner's arms go around him. "God, they're noisy." His voice was a whisper.
"There are three women and two children in this house, of course they're noisy." Skinner's voice was equally quiet, and his grin was....comforting and hilarious in equal amounts.
"Brace yourself, dinner ought to be a treat." Mulder sighed. Drew back and put both hands in the small of his back. "You want to hear something weird. Even though I know it's nuts, I feel like the bone aches."
"Doesn't sound weird, sounds like they drilled a hole in it." Skinner stood up, hooked an arm around Mulder's shoulders and led him to the diningroom.
Samantha had attached a portable chair to the diningroom table and Jonathan appeared to be precariously suspended from it. Untroubled, he was diving into the buttered roll he held, or rather into the butter.
"He also has his uncle's taste for real butter, I see," Skinner muttered and Mulder grinned, let Skinner guide him to the place across from Jonathan.
Jonathan grinned at him around the roll and Scully appeared in the diningroom with two large vegetable bowls. Leaning up, Mulder saw carrots in one and potatoes in the other. He grimaced at his partner. "Lose the carrots, Scully."
Her mouth quirked. "Carrots are good for you," lightly, teasing him. Samantha grinned and went back out, returned carrying a platter with the pot roast nicely arranged. "Mom's bringing the gravy and the salad, and we're ready."
Skinner made a noncommittal sound, and leaned across the table, reached for the pitcher of iced tea and poured Mulder some. Scully handed her glass up and Skinner filled it as his mother came in.
Sighing, Mulder helped himself to potatoes and handed the bowl to Scully, starting it around. Pot roast. At least it wasn't anything she could ruin. He preferred Skinner's cooking to his own, his own to his mothers. Well, Scully's fit in there somewhere, he supposed, although he'd only ever eaten hers once, a lasagna that had gone to waste because of a case that kept them out late, canceling her date, and she'd handed him the pan in a fit of irritation, shoving him out her door.
He passed the carrots without taking them, it was his house, he wasn't going to eat what he didn't like. Skinner served himself salad and handed him the bowl, he served himself and handed it on, feeling vaguely as if he'd been trapped in some surreal farce. With Skinner and his partner.
Family dinner. It was enough to make him want a beer, although Ferraud had cautioned against alcohol.
Skinner's hand rested briefly on his thigh, Skinner's mouth curved fractionally, sharing the absurdity with him, It eased the growing tightness in his gut. The roast made the round of the table, along with the gravy, he ended up with roast, potatoes, and a lot of salad--clearly Skinner had made the salad, it was one of Skinner's usual, with arcane and lovely ingredients, the most outrageous greens, none of that iceberg shit for Skinner. He smiled at that, poured the dressing over it and dug in, catching his mother's disapproving glance at his plate as he took the first bite.
"Come on, sweetie, you like gravy." Samantha poured it on Kelly's potatoes and turned back to stop Jonathan from tipping his plate over as he tried to scoop up a bite of roast.
"Here, he didn't get any carrots," His mother slid her chair closer to Jonathan's perch, dished up a spoonful of the vegetable in question.
"He doesn't like carrots, Mom," Samantha told her absently, cutting up Kelly's meat.
"Nonsense, carrots are good for him." His mother smiled complacently and turned back to her own meal. "Did you sleep well, Fox?"
Mulder looked up, nodded. "Yeah. It's good to be home." Quick glance at Skinner and he caught the edge of Skinner's smile. Shared it. "I hate hospitals anyway. I have to admit, though, the staff in oncology is great." He glanced around the table, saw his sister surreptitiously taking a few of the carrots off Jonathan's plate. "I mean, really great. They left me alone when they could, they were straight with me. I think that's why I like Ferraud so much. Hey," he turned to Scully, "Tell me, how are things going with you and Ferraud?"
Scully turned scarlet. "Mulder!" And then began to laugh. "God, you're impossible. Yes, we had dinner on Saturday night."
"Hey, unfair, I'm stuck in the hospital and you and the good doctor are out enjoying the night." Mulder grinned, glanced at Skinner. Saw him shaking his head, chuckling. "I mean, we're stuck watching MST3K and you're out in your best. So, is all that Gallic charm for real?"
"Mulder, count on it, I'll hurt you if you keep this up." Scully looked up from underneath her eyebrows and took a bite of salad. Eyed him as she chewed.
Laughing softly, he went back to his own meal.
"Dr. Ferraud seems very nice," Samantha said hesitantly. "We talked with him this afternoon, when we went in."
"I got an ow," Kelly added. "Mommy says it's to help you, Uncle Fox. That you're sick. You don't look sick."
He took a sip of his tea. "Well, it's sort of inside my bones," he told Kelly seriously. "Where all the blood cells get made."
"How did you get sick?" Kelly asked. "Did you hurt your bones?"
Mulder shook his head. "No, I don't know how I got sick."
Scully sighed. "I still have my suspicions about that virus, Mulder."
Skinner murmured agreement.
His mother stared at Scully. "You think the virus had something to do with it? When he was sick this summer?"
Scully colored a little. "I think it's possible, Mrs. Mulder. It was...a very unusual virus."
His mother's lips tightened. She glanced at Samantha, who was watching Scully, a small line forming between her brows. "What happened."
Mulder looked at Scully, shrugged. "Somebody infected me deliberately with some really nasty sh--stuff. It was pretty hairy for a while."
His mother's mouth was still a thin line. "Well, I don't think we need to discuss this at the dinner table."
A brief flare of irritation tightened his stomach. Let it go, he told himself and felt Skinner's hand on his leg again, comforting. Managed a smile. "Sure, Mom."
"There, you see, Samantha, he ate the carrots." His mother had turned toward Jonathan.
"No, he didn't, Mom, I took them." Samantha was still frowning at Scully, her tone absent.
"Now, Samantha, you just have to be firm with children. Their palates have to be trained." His mother put more carrots on Jonathan's plate.
Samantha watched this, her expression odd, uncomfortable. Mulder's stomach knotted again. "Mom, give it a rest, I'm not eating any carrots, don't force him to eat them."
His mother barely glanced at him. Jonathan looked up. "That's icky, Nana."
"Nonsense, Jon, you'll like them. Look, Nana's put a little butter on them, you like butter." Scooping up a spoonful of carrot, she tried to coax Jonathan to open his mouth.
It brought back too many memories, none of them good, memories he didn't realize he'd repressed until now. Of being small. Of being forced to gag on food he found repellent. Even when he was older, of Samantha's face, subdued and worried, as he had to obey.
"Mom, he really doesn't like carrots," Samantha told her gently.
"Mom," Mulder began helplessly, trying to think of an approach. "C'mon, if Sam says he doesn't like carrots, don't you think she's got good reason?"
"He doesn't know what's good for him." Ignoring this, his mother pushed a bit into Jonathan's mouth.
Too much. From nowhere, anger flooded him. He tried to contain it. "Mom," he began, "Maybe you don't know what's good for him. He's not your child."
His mother's expression was annoyed. "Don't be ridiculous, Fox, I raised two--"
"You raised one," he snapped back, "Remember? You only had Sam for eight years. And while we're on about what's good for other people, let me point out that I am leaving the Bureau, like it or not, that I don't need you to tell me what's good for me."
There was a frozen silence for a heartbeat.
Jonathan made a distressed sound and turned his face away from the spoon. "That's icky, Nana."
"It's okay, Fox," Samantha told him hastily, "It's not going to kill him to have a bite of carrot."
"Screw that," he said, still enough in control of his temper to remember the children, to remember Kelly. Kept his voice level, even though his muscles were bunched with sudden rage. "Screw that, Sam." Skinner's hand rested briefly on his shoulder, he shook it off. "Don't you dare let your kid be abused."
The spoon clattered to the table. "Fox William Mulder," his mother's voice was deadly. "How dare you suggest that I'm abusing my own grandchild."
He felt heady, suddenly. "Why not, Mom? How would you describe what you and Dad did to us?"
He heard Samantha's sharp intake of breath, saw his mother's face go flushed.
"Mulder," Scully began, attempting to mediate.
Turning on her, he snapped, "Stay out of it, Scully, you don't know what the fuck is going on here."
His mother raised a hand to her throat, the beginning of tears. "Fox, I can't--" her voice trembled.
Almost euphoric with fury, he shook his head, smiled ferally. "Oh, don't go there, Mom, don't start that shit. Everytime, every goddamned time--I want to know who the hell told you about me resigning from the Bureau, Mom, and tears aren't going to cut it. I want to know who the hell told you about me and Walt!"
Jonathan was whimpering. Kelly's glass of milk went over with a thump and he looked that way, saw Kelly cringe back in her chair when he looked at her.
They reached him when no one else might have, when nothing else might have. Too many goddamned memories and he felt shaky suddenly, sank back into his chair, just then realizing that he had been standing, hectoring his mother from across the table.
Oh, Christ. Like his father. So much like his father.
"It's okay, Kelly." The words tasted like ashes in his mouth. He didn't want to look at Jonathan. At Samantha or Scully or Skinner. And especially not at his mother.
He scrubbed his face with both hands. "I'm tired. I'm going to go back to bed." Colorlessly. It wasn't entirely a lie, he was shaking. And if he looked at his mother's face again, he was going to either go nuclear or burst into tears.
Pushed his chair away from the table and rose on rubbery legs, managed to get behind and past Skinner, managed to get out of the dining room.
Like his father. Christ, he'd turned into his father. That was worse
than dying, somehow. By a long shot.

"Why was Uncle Fox so mad?" Kelly's voice was small.
Skinner stood up abruptly, so angry himself that it was hard to keep silent. "He wasn't mad at you, Kelly," he told the child gently. "Or at Mommy. He and your grandmother have some things to work out, sometimes that happens." One searing look at Mulder's mother and he picked up Mulder's abandoned dinner and tea. "I'm going to make sure he eats something, that's really key." Gruffly.
"Uncle Fox is sick, and he's very tired," Scully said firmly, before anyone else could answer. "And sometimes, when you're sick, it's easy to get mad without meaning to."
Samantha's expression was grateful. "Especially when you've had to be in the hospital away from your own home," she told her daughter softly.
Mulder's mother was staring at the two other women. Silently. Her hand still at her throat.
"I'll be back in a while," Skinner muttered and stalked out.
Mulder was in bed, jeans heedlessly thrown on the floor, propped against the pillows, channel surfing. His eyes were reddened slightly, but no sign of....no sign of tears or sorrow. Which doubtless meant that he was busily flagellating himself over his outburst.
He hesitated at the door, sighed inwardly and went in, moved to sit on Mulder's side of the bed. "You didn't eat," he told Mulder quietly. "You've got to eat, Fox."
Mulder's mouth tightened. "Yeah, right."
He put his hand on Mulder's knee through the blanket. Rubbed it gently. "Putting yourself to bed without supper is not an option."
Mulder's gaze finally met his. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking," Skinner told him soberly. "Look, I'm not sure what to say. I'm walking a line here, I don't want you to feel like I'm attacking your mom, but I don't feel like you were completely unjustified in getting angry."
Glancing away, Mulder frowned, mouth tightening again. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Fair enough." Skinner rubbed his knee again. "But I want you to eat, okay?"
Rapid blinking for a moment before Mulder accepted the plate from him. "Okay." Wearily. Shaky voice. But Mulder rested the plate on his lap and began to eat again, slowly.
Picking up the abandoned remote, Skinner turned, idly pressed the button a few times. Found a channel that looked likely. "Scoot over," he told Mulder, turning back. Got a long, blank look before Mulder shifted over, making room for him. Settled himself beside Mulder, who ducked his head, took a bite.
They sat in silence, watching the television, the only sound the occasional scrape of the fork against stoneware.
The scene on the screen was tropical. "You've never been to Hawaii, have you?" Skinner asked, his voice deceptively idle. "No? I didn't think so. I want to take you to Maui, show you the black sand beaches and the volcano. I saw the big island when I came back from 'Nam, but I didn't get to Maui until about five years after that, before I was married. I'd just graduated from college, cut loose like a wild man for about a month." His mouth curved, remembering. "You wouldn't have known me." A glance sidelong. "Aside from that fact that I had more hair."
Mulder glanced up, his mouth twitching a little. "That's hard to believe." Rustily.
Skinner grinned, shrugged. "My one major debauch in life. But you'd love it. Even with the development, it's a beautiful place, really amazing. And the volcano....I'll tell you, I'd already figured out that civilization is pretty thin, after the war, but that brought home to me how much power nature has. Standing there peering at that volcano, and feeling the heat as far as we were from it. Just fucking amazing. So as soon as this treatment is done, I'm taking you there." Mulder's head came up again. Brief quizzical glance. "And you can take me to Oxford, show me your old haunts. I haven't been to the UK in years."
Mulder's mouth twitched again, the ghost of a smile, not much body to it. "You'd better go down and eat, too." Very quietly.
"I'll go down and get my plate," Skinner told him, after a moment of consideration. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Leaning, he kissed Mulder's temple, curved his hand around the back of Mulder's neck. "Eat," he whispered and drew back, leaving the remote on the bed beside Mulder when he got up. Thought about making a joke, and decided against it. Mulder's eyes were too shadowed to appreciate it. Maybe he was learning, but it didn't seem wise to even try, not in this frame of mind.
So he just went back downstairs.

Scully watched Skinner leave the diningroom, his anger almost palpable. Not anger at Mulder, she'd seen his face when Mulder had gotten up. Although Mulder hadn't.
Although she'd first been inclined to snap at Mulder, after his behavior, but his eyes, God, his eyes had been so unhappy. And she wasn't oblivious to Mrs. Mulder's manipulation of him. God, the woman was incredible.
She found herself growing angrier as Mrs. Mulder made conversation with her daughter as if nothing had happened, although she couldn't resist being amused at the expression on Samantha's face. Cautious shock, as though Samantha had expected something more.
She wondered what that something more would have been.
Skinner came back down about twenty minutes later, came into the dining room and stood there, hands on his hips. Wearing his AD face.
It was ridiculous, but her stomach tightened in response, she waited and was unsurprised when he came forward, leaned on the table. "I think there are a few things that need to be addressed." Brusquely. The AD in action. "I appreciate your coming down, Mrs. Mulder, but Fox is at a shaky spot right now. If you're going to be here, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on one thing. You don't lie to him. If you can't give him the truth, then tell him so."
Scully approved, turned her head to see Mrs. Mulder's face grow stony. "I beg your pardon, I haven't lied to Fox--"
"And you haven't answered any of his questions, either, Mrs. Mulder." Bluntly and Skinner straightened, folded his arms. "His office and this house were riddled with listening devices. I've taken measures here. I'm not sure what Bureau security thinks about his office. This is the only place of safety I can offer him right now, and I'm not going to have it compromised because you haven't the honesty or courage to tell him truth. Someone told you about our relationship. Someone told you about his resignation. And you came down here to put the screws to him."
Samantha, Scully noted, was looking a bit startled, she turned her head toward her mother, opened her mouth and closed it again, her face flushed. Busied herself with Jonathan.
"I do not have to put up with this." Mrs. Mulder's tone was icy. "He's my son."
"Yes," Skinner agreed, his tone very, very dry. "Yes, he is. Maybe you could remember that. If you're going to be here for him, be here for him. Otherwise, I'll be happy to drive you to the airport again." Flatly. Without pity or regret.
For a moment, she thought Mrs. Mulder was going to take him up on the latter. But Samantha reached across Jonathan and put a hand on her mother's wrist. "Mom." Very quietly. "Please. He needs us."
Mrs. Mulder's face was still--stony. Still expressionless. After a moment, she nodded. Put her napkin back in her lap.
Skinner eyed her for a moment before picking up his own plate and glass, turned an almost apologetic look on Scully.
She shook her head minutely and glanced up at the ceiling, a faint smile curving her mouth.
His relief was apparent. Long strides again and he was gone. Back upstairs, she could hear his steps, quick and light for such a big man.
"Well," she said brightly, "Samantha, would you pass me the salad, please?"
Samantha did, gave her a long complicitous look.
Which left her thinking hard through the rest of dinner.

~~~
 

By the time Skinner reached the bedroom, Mulder had clearly eaten everything he felt in favor of eating, the plate was on the nightstand along with the tea. Mulder himself, lying back against the pillows, gazed moodily at the television.
"Just when you thought it was safe," Skinner told him and settled again beside him. Allowed himself to touch the dark hair, finger combing it. "You want anything else?"
"No." Very quietly. Then, "Thanks."
"De nada." He let his fingers stay a moment. Tried to think of something comforting to say and could find nothing. Drew his hand back and began to attend to his own dinner. A not quite comfortable silence as he ate, but he rather thought Mulder moved nearer.
"Is my mother still upset?" Soft voice.
"Not with you," Skinner told him, almost reluctantly. "I, ah, had a few words with her downstairs."
An unhappy sound. "What did she say?"
"I started it. She didn't say much. I just said that if she wanted to be here, she was going to have to be honest with you and stop evading your questions."
Mulder lifted his head, frowning. "What the hell did that have to do with what happened downstairs?"
Skinner shrugged. "It needed to be said." And nearly held his breath. Walking that tightrope.
Mulder scowled a moment more. "Jesus, that'll be the day." And his head hit the pillow again, the blankets tightened as Mulder pulled them in.
Skinner took in another breath. Better than he'd expected. "Your sister seemed to have things under control." Another risk. He could only see the gleam of Mulder's eyes through dark lashes.
"Really? That's interesting." Wearily, but with a trace of curiosity.
"And Scully hasn't shot your mother yet."
A sigh. "Maybe she should just shoot me, get it over with."
Skinner set the plate aside, suddenly angry, tugged at a lock of Mulder's hair. "Don't pull that on me. You might have lost your temper, but you were goddamned well provoked. If I hadn't been afraid you'd go for my throat, I'd have put a stop to it earlier.
Wide eyes. "Walt--" Cut off when Skinner kissed him hard. Not lushly, just a hard melding of their mouths.
Drawing back, Skinner studied Mulder's expression, decided bluntness had been smarter than pussyfooting around. "Okay?"
Audible swallow. "No. Yes. Hell, I don't know." This time, he folded against Skinner's legs. "Hell."
Moderately relieved, Skinner rubbed the back of Mulder's neck. "Yeah. Families. It's amazing we survive 'em."
"Yeah, yours sounds normal."
"I wouldn't go that far, but it does seem to have been much less, ah, fraught than yours."
"I'll bet." Drily. But Mulder pressed his face against the denim of Skinner's jeans. "I really am tired."
His hand found the silky, short hair at Mulder's nape. Brushed over it. "I'm not surprised," he murmured. "Scully brought you some dessert, want me to get it?"
"Not hungry." Mulder sighed again. "But thanks." Less taut. Less morose. But with that hint of sadness that tugged at Skinner's chest.
If having Mulder's mother around brought that on, he thought grimly, he'd have to think of a way to keep her out. And he knew just the person to help him. Scully was being far more of a partner now than she had been in months--and he rather thought it would provide Scully with the opportunity to vent some spleen. God knew, if it was Mulder's father, a good right cross would give him a lot of pleasure.
Dark hair under his fingertips and Mulder sighed, less unhappily. Looking down, Skinner saw Mulder's eyelids at half-mast. "Go to sleep," he suggested and swallowed hard. If Mulder's father were alive, there would be more than a right cross involved.
Especially if he'd understood tonight's little comedy at all.
Mulder's eyes closed. And the trust shown by that made Skinner's throat ache. Made him that much more determined to provide a safe place while they were fighting this enemy.
Even if Mulder didn't approve his methods.
But since his methods weren't yet in force, he wasn't completely surprised to see Samantha in the doorway, some twenty or thirty minutes later.
Hesitant tap, tentative smile. "Hi," she said softly, "I just wanted to say goodnight to Fox. Dana's getting ready to take us to the hotel."
Mulder's head came up with startling swiftness, Skinner had thought he was dozing. He pushed himself upright and stared at his sister, clearly horrified, looked at Skinner helplessly.
Skinner's mouth twitched. "I'll give you two a minute," he said aloud, and swung his legs off the bed, stood up and moved toward the door. "Don't upset him," he warned her, his voice very low, and went past her, heading for the stairs. The least he could do was find out if Mulder's mother was still planning on staying in the guest room, after leaving Scully to deal with her for most of dinner.
But he looked back at his bedroom door to see Samantha going into the bedroom. If she did upset him....well, he'd deal with that later.

Her brother's face was decidedly unrevealing, Samantha decided and moved into the room anyway. At least he wasn't angry any more. Although the scene in the diningroom had brought back less pleasant memories, things that had been buried for a long, long time.
Things that reminded her of the bond she had once had with her brother, this stranger. This near stranger. "Hi," she told him and sat down on the very edge of the bed.
He glanced back and forth, then shoved himself back against the headboard, evidently deciding not to get up. "Hi." Rustily.
"I just wanted to say goodnight," she told him softly and reached out. He didn't quite flinch away, but it was clear that he wasn't altogether comfortable. She took his hand anyway. "And to thank you for....I don't know, I guess for keeping Mom from driving me crazy and upsetting Jonathan. It made me remember some things." She grimaced, rolled her eyes. "Not quite as much fun as some of the things I've remembered up until now."
Some of the tension in his face eased slightly. "Yeah. I can imagine."
"Anyway," she said and sighed, "I just wanted to make sure you weren't still upset. With yourself, I mean."
His eyes widened just a fraction. "I scared the hell out of
your kids."
She grimaced again. "Oh, please, like they've never seen adults angry. Jonathan was more upset about Mom and the carrots than you. And Kelly knows you're...shall we say, a little under the weather." She invited him to smile, her mouth quirking just enough.
He almost took the invitation, his mouth twitched a little, but he looked away. "I'm sorry, Sam." Very quietly.
"No, don't be." The words came out more forcefully than she intended. "God, don't be. I remembered--don't ever be sorry, Fox. You took the brunt of it all. I remember. And Jonathan....he's just a baby. I should have been facing her down, but I guess I was playing too nice. Not wanting to make her mad. I let you do it instead." Abruptly, her eyes stung. "Like old times, don't you think?"
He looked back, blinking hard. "Oh, God, Sam, don't." Hoarsely.
Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. Like a Judas. The memory of what she had done made her sick now, she would always wonder, despite Scully's theory, if she'd given them the opportunity to make him sick.
"I want you to rest," she told him firmly and grinned suddenly. "I used to boss you around something fierce when we were kids, didn't I? Well, consider this new bossing."
It won a small smile this time. "Okay. You and Walt, I swear. I was taking care of myself for years before, I'm not an idiot."
"That's just because he loves you." Samantha grinned at the look on his face. At the color he turned. "I admit, it was a surprise, but I like him. I'm not sure he likes *us*, but after tonight, I can't really blame him."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally shrugged. "I don't think he's crazy about Mom."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, he's probably seen her at her worst, if tonight was any indication. Was she awful when you were in the hospital?"
He seemed to consider that, rubbed his upper lip with his finger. "Ah, I think she was just Mom, not particularly awful."
"I guess I'm not sure I remember what all that means," she sighed and leaned forward, rested her cheek against his. "I'm going to get out of your hair. I'll try and keep you safe until noon at least, will that work?"
It surprised a chuckle out of him. "Sure."
She smiled again, bitter sweet. Guilt tasting like iron on her tongue. Judas. She'd betrayed him once. Maybe she could make it up a little. "It's the least I can do," she told him softly. "My turn, big brother."
His eyes went very bright. She kissed his cheek again and met Walter Skinner coming back into the bedroom, met his narrow look with a smile. "I don't think I upset him," she whispered, "But I'm going to try and keep Mom away tomorrow morning."
Skinner's eyes widened a bit, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "That would be great." He paused, eyed her. "Thanks."
"My pleasure." If only she wasn't conscious of guilt, it would have been--pleasant. Pleasurable. Righteous. Instead, it just felt like reparation.
Sighing, she turned toward the stairs. Maybe she could talk to her father, maybe he'd found out why they'd wanted her to drug her brother and get her mother out of the way.
And maybe then she could sleep at night without wondering what she'd done. To someone she loved.

Skinner slept later than his wont and woke to find the alarm clock showing 8:42 and the other side of the bed empty.
He could smell coffee faintly, but it didn't ease his disgruntlement at finding himself alone in bed.
Pulling on jeans, he went down stairs, still barefoot and barechested, found Mulder at his computer desk, wearing sweats and with his hair damp from a shower.
Fear sent a frisson of cold up his spine. "You haven't been running, have you?"
Mulder turned, peered at him over his glasses. "No." In a tone that suggested that he was crazy. "Ferraud told me absolutely no running. He did say I could swim, if I didn't swim too long. So I'm going down to the gym this afternoon. "
Skinner opened his mouth, closed it. He couldn't wrap Mulder in cotton wool, never mind he wanted it.
Mulder gazed at him a moment longer. "I let you sleep," he said, "Because you said you had today off. But I'm feeling pretty good, Walt, why don't you go to work."
Skinner glanced away, ran his tongue around his mouth. "I took a lot of time out."
Mulder blinked at him. "How much time?" More curious than anything.
"A couple of months. Preparatory to retirement." Skinner considered Mulder's expression and walked into the kitchen. Found a mug and poured himself some coffee. It didn't surprise him to find Mulder in the kitchen door when he turned.
"Retirement? I thought I was the one who was going to retire." Light voice. But underneath was something else.
Skinner sipped at his coffee. Shrugged. "Well, we both can. It's just something I decided when you were so sick."
Mulder's brows angled downward. "Just like that? When were you planning to tell me?"
Skinner eyed him. "I was planning on telling you once we were home. Which I am. Right now."
That silenced Mulder. For a moment.
Still standing the kitchen doorway, he took off his glasses, stared at them as if he'd forgotten what they were. "Walt, that's a pretty major decision to make on the spur of the moment."
Resisting the urge to laugh, Skinner moved toward him. "It's not exactly spur of the moment. We've both been thinking about it for a while. We both happened to make the same decision."
Mulder wouldn't look at him. "Walt...you know, I want to think positive, too. I want to believe that I'm going to make it." Haltingly. "But I know the odds. And I don't want you blowing your life apart..." His voice trailed off.
Anger flared. Skinner forced it back down. Took another sip of coffee, gave himself time to think. "Listen....c'mon, let's go in and sit down. Let's talk about this." His voice was rougher edged than he would have liked, but Mulder nodded, still not looking at him.
Putting a hand on Mulder's shoulder, he guided him to the couch. Sat down beside him.
"Listen," he began. Paused and rubbed his face with one hand. "Jesus. I know we have to face the possibility, but it's so fucking hard to think of losing you. It's hard to look at it straight." A confession. He couldn't look at Mulder when he made it, it smacked of cowardice.
"I'm not just retiring because of you. When we talked about it that first time, when I told you that my career was stalemated...that's pretty much true. They want me to stay, sure, but they want me right where I am."
He risked a glance, saw Mulder gazing at him, his expression grave. "And I'm questioning just how much I want to stay there. Christ, Fox, before...I don't want to turn into some pensioner there. I want to find something else, something vital."
After a moment, Mulder sighed, nodded. "Okay." But he still didn't look happy about it.
"And yeah, I want to be with you while you're fighting this, I don't want to have to fucking worry about who is going to see me in your hospital room, what it's going to do to our careers."
Skinner raised a hand, risked touching Mulder's cheek.
Mulder frowned slightly. "I'm still in the Bureau. Well, I imagine I'll be on a medical disability." His face shifted. "Jesus, I guess I'm lucky I hadn't quit." Comically appalled expression. "Think of the medical bills, Walt."
Skinner started to laugh. "We'd sell the house or something. But don't worry, we'll get it taken care of somehow."
"Christ, insurance isn't going to cover it." Mulder raked a hand through his hair. Suddenly looked at Skinner and smiled, almost shyly. "I want you there."
"I want to be there," Skinner told him soberly. "Even when you're throwing up your toenails."
Mulder grimaced. Sighed. "Okay, but you can't hang around the house and drive me nuts. I've heard about retirees."
Skinner stared at him, cracked up. "Asshole." Affectionately.
"I mean it, Walt." Mulder eyed him wisely. "Learn to play golf or something."
Skinner shook his head, still laughing. "How about if I get a job, once we're through this."
"Get a job now. You can't hang around my bedside 7 by 24." Mulder's expression was serious. "Do some consulting work or something, okay?"
Skinner's laughter stilled. "All right." He sighed. "All right. I don't want to drive you crazy. But dammit...." He looked at Mulder. "You know I..you..I don't know how to tell you what you mean to me." Roughly and in a hurry, getting the words out.
Mulder glanced away briefly. Reached out and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "Well, I'm learning."
Equally roughly and suddenly Skinner chuckled. "God, testosterone. Sharon was right."
Mulder's mouth quirked. "What?"
Still chuckling, Skinner shook his head. "Never mind. I'm going to take a shower and leave you in peace. What are you working on."
Mulder's eyes moved to the computer, widened. "Oh, not much, just doing some research." Almost too casual a tone.
Skinner eyed him. Looked back at the computer. Resisting the urge to get up and check. "Okay," he finally said easily. Squeezed Mulder's hand before releasing it.
Rising, he looked down at Mulder. Smiled. "Don't work too hard."
Mulder's smile was like the sun. "I won't."
And that was all. He forced himself to go to the stairs, to stay away from the computer.
Mulder wasn't a child, wasn't an idiot. And despite this lunatic urge to protect him, Skinner knew very well that Mulder was quite capable of protecting himself.
It was what he did when driving himself that had Skinner worried.

Backing Skinner's car out of the driveway, Mulder lifted a hand to the man standing in the front window. With the cat curled on the back of the couch in front of him.
His mouth curved slightly. Skinner clearly was chewing nails about letting him out on his own and was trying to be honourable about it by biting back his own objections.
He couldn't entirely blame Skinner, but he was fine today. No fever, no headache, nothing out of the ordinary at all. And he had errands he wanted to run without Skinner standing beside him. Which thought curved his mouth again.
It would probably be the smart thing to do his errands before swimming, given his general level of stamina, although the notion of the swim was enticing.
And his hair was driving him nuts. He had to get it cut before it made him completely insane. Being sick and having it lank and oily had been a background irritant that had gone unrelieved until he'd finally been allowed to shower.
So, the first stop was to attend to that.....whistling tunelessly, he adjusted the seat slightly--Skinner's legs were just a touch longer than his--and pulled into the street.
Still smiling senselessly at the sense of freedom.

Skinner was sitting down at the computer when the telephone rang. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearly eleven, sighed and rose again, picked up the handset. "Skinner." Growling it.
"I'd like to speak to my son." Mrs. Mulder's voice, brusque and cold.
"He's not here at the moment. He wanted to do some errands and go for a swim." It was almost a pleasure to respond equally brusquely. The woman was like sandpaper on raw flesh, especially when he was already tense.
"You let him go alone?" Her voice rose.
"Fox is thirty-seven, I think he can be trusted to run his own errands. I'm not his keeper." Venting his own nerves on her, and he regretted it immediately. "Mrs. Mulder," gentling his tone, "We have to let him live as normally as he can, okay?"
"He shouldn't be out at all, he's risking infection." Her own voice lost the harshness and became that of a worried mother.
"I know. But I'd have had to put handcuffs on him to keep him here and I won't do that." Trying to ease her. "He won't be gone that long, he said he wanted a haircut and then a swim and he'd come home."
A brief silence. "All right." As if she'd let a breath out. "All right. I'll check back later, I'm going to take Samantha and the children out for a while."
He considered that. "What time is she leaving?"
"She's staying one more night, she spoke with her husband." Brief note of disapproval, by which he understood that said husband had not behaved according to Mrs. Mulder's standards. Hard to say what those were.
It was like chewing broken glass, but he said it anyway. "You'll both join us for dinner, I hope." Actually, he hoped the opposite, but just when he wanted to loathe her, he remembered she was Mulder's mother, that despite everything, she feared for him, loved him.
Jesus, growing up in that atmosphere...it was a wonder Mulder was sane, that the only apparent damage was his obsessiveness and cat skittery nature in relating to others.
There was another brief silence as if she, too, were thinking about the debacle of the previous evening. "I think perhaps we'll skip that, Mr. Skinner. It does seem to tire him." The understatement of the century, Skinner reflected. "But perhaps we'll come by before dinner, later this afternoon."
"That would be nice," he agreed, thinking privately that it would be anything but. Except that Samantha had impressed him, against his will.
She said goodbye and hung up, and he returned to the computer. Only by occupying himself in something was he going to be able to stop his own round of worrying and let Mulder be, just as he'd lectured Mulder's mother.
It was going to have to be something absorbing.

His head felt strange, Mulder reflected, post swim, looking at himself in the mirror. Not quite a crew cut, he'd gotten one of those short nineties GQ cuts, just easing himself into the transition. The only good thing about losing his hair to chemo was going to be the fact that it wouldn't get lank and drive him nuts. And this was one way to ease into it, he rather thought.
He'd nearly just gone buzz cut, but the thought of Skinner's expression had halted him short of that. His stylist had been moderately horrified, but she'd done a great job.
Now he only looked like a moderately healthy AIDS victim.
"Hey, Mulder, I thought you were in the hospital?"
The voice made him turn, he saw Jerry Falconer, one of the agents he'd worked with in VCS long ago. "Hi, Jerry. They let me out for good behavior." He grimaced. "A short respite before they start the nasty shit."
Falconer, wearing a sweaty t-shirt and running shorts, leaned on the tile wall. "No offense, Mulder, but you look like shit."
Mulder grinned crookedly. "Hey, I feel terrific, comparatively speaking." Falconer's eyes were clearly curious, clearly speculative. He debated whether or not to discuss things further, but he was reluctant.
"Scully said you were going to be in a while." Falconer's voice dropped slightly, but he grinned. "She's a dynamo, she's out whipping up lists of donors. Says they're pumping you full of blood."
So. Scully had been busy. It bothered him a little that she'd revealed that much, but there was no denying the warmth over her concern. He managed another grin. "That figures. Ever the MD. Never have an MD as a partner, Jerry. They'll drive you nuts."
"Sounds like she's on target this time." Almost kindly. "Heard you were sick as a dog, now I believe it."
"I'm fine now. Well, mostly fine." He really, really didn't want to talk about this, he decided and toweled his hair dry, enveloping himself in folds of terrycloth.
"Hey, you hear about Skinner? Scuttlebutt is that he decided to retire, the brass talked him into taking leave for a while to think it over."
Emerging from the towel, Mulder stared at him. "No shit?" Hoping his voice held the proper amount of surprise.
"Yeah." Falconer headed to the bin, grabbed a clean towel. "No offense, Mulder, and I don't want you thinking I'm running my mouth about your partner, but the human grapevine has been humming about her and Skinner for a while. The latest is that he's retiring to pursue that." Falconer's mouth quirked and he rolled his eyes. "Gossip." Dismissively.
It was all he could do to keep his jaw from falling. "Scully and Skinner?"
"Yeah." Falconer's grin was rueful. "I didn't say I believed it, just that it was the prevailing opinion."
It was too much, Mulder whooped, leaned back against the tile wall and simply broke up, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. "Jerry, you're killing me," he gasped.
Falconer was laughing, too. "You know how people talk. Kaufman figures that's why the old man hasn't been reaming you as hard, he doesn't want to ruin a good thing."
Christ, he was going to have a stroke, laughing over this. "Don't, don't," helplessly. He stuffed the corner of the towel against his mouth. It wouldn't do to find it too hilarious, that would raise questions. Letting go of the towel, he tilted his head back. "She comes about up to his navel, Falconer."
"Don't be an idiot," Falconer told him, still laughing. "Everyone's even horizontally."
The laughter in him died suddenly. "No," he said and wiped his eyes. Grinned. "She's had her share of hot dates, but I think I'd have figured out if any of them were with the AD." Brief urge to chuckle again. "Jesus, people are idiots. Did it ever occur to them that maybe he believes in our work? Or that he at least thinks we do good work?" Shook his head, too vividly remembering Scully's accusations. "God. Agents of the Bureau and we all gossip worse than a bunch of old women."
Falconer's grin was rueful. "My wife says men are worse than women."
Mulder grinned. "Yeah, but we do it differently."
"Like everything else." Falconer moved toward him, extended a hand. "You'd better get back home, you're looking a little ragged."
Mulder took it, let the leverage help him up. "Yeah. But thanks, I needed a good laugh."
"I can imagine." Easy voice, matter of fact. Falconer let go of his hand and proceeded back to the lockers, leaving Mulder alone.
Scully and Skinner. He wondered if Scully had misinterpreted the evidence. Wondered if he should tell her and shook his head, still wryly amused. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell Skinner, Skinner would be livid that his actions were allegedly dictated by his dick.
It was time to get home and he was tired. Still smiling crookedly, he padded back to his locker and put on his shoes.

It was nearly three when he pulled back into the garage. Skinner, he reflected, with mordant amusement, was probably thinking of roasting him over a slow fire. Gathering his packages, he got out of the car, pressed the button and ducked under the closing garage door, took the back steps at a rush.
The door opened as he got there. He saw Skinner's expression shift from irritation and worry to a classic double take that made him grin. "Too radical? I figured it was all going to go anyway, I'd get used to it in stages."
Skinner's mouth opened and closed again, Skinner stepped back to let him in. "It's.....different." Stunned voice. "It makes you look about half your age."
"Flattery," Mulder scoffed. "You don't think it's too extreme, do you?" Suddenly a little nervous about it.
"No." Skinner eyed him. "No, it's just a lot different, but I like it." A nod, his mouth curving. "I like it." Warmly and the curve became a grin. "It was just a shock." Glint of humour.
Mulder's throat tightened slightly. Foolishly, absurdly, and a fatuous grin bloomed. Just because Skinner had stepped back from that worry and irritation, had chosen to let it go. Dropping his bags, he went into Skinner's embrace, found himself hugged fiercely, kissed lovingly. Drawing back, he sighed, happily. "Sorry I was late. Did my mom call?"
"Yeah, they're going to be here in about an hour. She declined to share dinner with us."
Rolling his eyes, Mulder broke free, bent to pick up his sacks. "I think I'm going to rest up for that. C'mon, I got you some...presents." Quick glance back, suddenly shy.
"Presents?" Skinner's expression suggested bewilderment. "Why? It's not my birthday or Christmas?"
"I shouldn't have to have a reason," Mulder chided, laughing. Holding out a hand he tugged Skinner with him. "Besides, at Christmas, I'll probably be too sick to give you anything. Unless you want my lunch recycled."
"That's disgusting," Skinner told him firmly, but spoiled the effect by laughing.
"Come on!" Mulder tugged him up the stairs, feeling giddy again, euphoric. Not really well, but not sick either. Somewhere in between where it was okay to be tired, and still feel good.
He sprawled across the bed when they hit the bedroom, spread the packages across the edge of the bed. "Okay, pick one." Nervous again. Hell, maybe, he didn't know Skinner as well as he thought he did, and it was ridiculous to feel as if this was something important.
"Jesus, you went a little overboard, didn't you?" But Skinner's eyes were warm, pleasure and amusement combined. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "You pick one," he told Mulder and rubbed his chin.
"All right." Mulder pushed himself up to sit cross legged. Chose one and tapped the plastic sack.
Skinner eyed him, smiling, then took it, pulled out the dark grey dress shirt and laughed. "Picking my clothes?"
Flushing, Mulder shook his head, laughing. "I just figured that you'd need something a little less buttoned down bureaucrat if you were going to do something else?"
"I could be doing something just as buttoned down," Skinner told him, but examined the shirt. "Very nice," he approved. Grinned. "Doing your research, you got the right size."
"Yeah, we can get it tailored." Mulder winked. "Show off that chest."
More laughter. "The way I've been eating lately, we'll have to let it out."
"Hah." Mulder tapped another bag. "Just for fun."
Leaning forward, Skinner put fingers in his hair, tipped his head back for a kiss. "You're being remarkably silly."
Mulder savored the kiss. "Open this one."
Skinner put a hand in the middle of his chest, tipped him back. "You rest." And he picked up the designated bag. Pulled out the first book, a history of the Celts. "Oh ho, you know what I like." Genuinely broad smile and Skinner opened it, read the introduction, oblivious of the remaining contents of the sack.
Something close to laughter built in Mulder's chest, but it was too private for laughter, too dear. He reached out, rubbed the worn denim over Skinner's knee. "Good choice, huh?"
"Excellent choice," Skinner told him, almost absently. "This is one of the good ones, you've got good taste."
That ridiculously fatuous smile bloomed under his nose again. He inched closer, tapped the sack again, making it rustle. "There's more," he urged and reclaimed the book from Skinner's hands. "It's not going to run away."
Another brief kiss and Skinner pulled out the first volume of the French Revolution history. "Hey, this is the one--" Gave Mulder a narrow look, grinned. "Definitely doing research. And not even having to take notes, with that memory."
Mulder snickered. "The up side of an eidetic memory."
"I would think." Skinner eyed the book and sighed. Reached in and pulled out the last two books. "Eliot and Yeats. You'll civilize me yet, babe."
The endearment seemed odd, but Mulder kept a straight face. It had come out unconsciously, if he read it right, and laughing at it would doubtless be unkind. But it was funny anyway, he put his face against Skinner's thigh and bit his tongue on any one of ten humourous retorts. "Well, I figure we'll sort of rub off on each other." Wicked grin up at Skinner. "So to speak."
Skinner rolled his eyes. "God."
"This one, next." Stretching, Mulder snagged the second to last sack. "Here. And this is just for fun, too, because I like the way you look in a Henley, it shows off your pecs."
"My pecs," Skinner repeated, drily, "My pecs need some serious work."
"That's because you've been lollygagging around in the hospital with me," Mulder said comfortably, trying not to dig his chin into Skinner's leg.
Pale gold Henley and Skinner admired it, took off his sweatshirt and replaced it with the Henley, using the penknife on his keychain to cut the tags off. "There, how's that?"
Leaning back, Mulder considered it, grinned. "Nothin' wrong with those pecs."
"Flattery," Skinner told him, chuckling and accepted the last bag.
"Since you gave me yours," Mulder told him innocently and grinned when Skinner pulled out the bathrobe. "I figured you'd need one a little less worn-out, by the time I get through with it."
Skinner stared at the robe. "Jesus, this is Christmas," he said softly and set the robe aside. Stretched out over Mulder, and God, the weight felt welcome, felt great. He put his arms around Skinner's shoulders, opened his mouth for the kiss. He wasn't used to gifting people. Wasn't used to being that close to anyone.
But he'd done all right, obviously.
Skinner released his mouth, drew back. "You need to rest," he murmured. Kissed the tip of Mulder's nose. "Let me get my Christmas presents off the bed, I want you to try and sleep a little. God knows, those kids wear me out and I'm supposed to be in the best of health."
Mulder chuckled. "They're not so bad. Just kids. But I know what you mean. Jesus, I don't know how people do it."
"Neither do I. And for that matter," Skinner added, looking over his shoulder, "Neither does Cat. Get off me, mongrel, I need to get up."
Rough flick of a cat tongue on Mulder's fingertips and he laughed in delight, laughed again as Skinner removed the cat by simply rolling off him. Cat contrived to look offended and vigorously cleaned his back foot as if he'd intended the routine all along.
"Cats are hilarious," Mulder said and sighed, hauled himself off the bed long enough to shed his shoes and jeans, dutifully climbed under the bedclothes as Skinner pulled them back. "It seems somehow pointless to make the bed these days."
"Yeah, but my Marine training," Skinner intoned, rolling his eyes.
"Hey!" Folding his arms behind his head, Mulder grinned mischievously. "How about my hair, is that close enough? We can play drill sergeant and recruit."
"You're one sick puppy," Skinner told him and kissed him, straightened. "Although there is a certain twisted appeal to the notion. Go to sleep."
"Lie down with me," Mulder suggested, trying not to laugh."
"Not in your present frame of mind." Skinner's smile was crooked. "But I will stay up here and read, how's that?"
"I guess it will have to do," Mulder groused and inched closer as Skinner sat, opening the book on the Celts. Closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of Skinner, the faintest hint of laundry detergent, soap and cologne. Put his hand on the soft fabric of the Henley, over Skinner's belly and let himself slowly sink into sleep. Drifting, aware of Skinner's presence and ridiculously pleased to have him there.
To need him there.
Until sleep tugged him into deep water and he sank.

"We had a busy day," Samantha told Skinner, watching Mulder protect the cat from childish depredations. Her eyes flicked to her mother, also watching. "But it was pleasant. I'm almost sorry to have to leave so soon. You'll call when he has to go back, won't you?"
Skinner nodded. "Yeah. Ferraud said he should have about ten days out, but we'll see how he does. I hope he does that well. He wants to get out and around and I worry about him getting sick again."
"Maybe the blood transfusions will help. You should know soon about his biopsy, shouldn't you?" Quietly.
"Yeah, it's been more than a week. He's got an appointment tomorrow afternoon, a tank refill, he calls it." Skinner's mouth curved. "Your brother's pretty gutsy. He's not going to give in to this." But he kept thinking about those gifts and wondering. Hard not to wonder if Mulder would be here in May to give him any birthday presents, and the very thought gave him a pang. No, dammit, he wasn't going to accept that, wasn't going to think about that.
"He looks so thin with his hair cut like that." Samantha sighed and her mouth quirked. "I'm sorry about my mother. I'm not sure what to say, I don't know her well enough to explain the way she treats him."
Mulder's mother had been disapproving of his haircut and while she hadn't been vocal about it, it had been apparent enough that Mulder had gone subdued again. Not angry, but weary.
He wondered if that was Mulder's usual reaction, but he could only remember seeing Mulder with his mother once, at the hospital, when his mother had been the patient. When his mother had been in coma after the stroke. "I don't know her well enough, either," he agreed drily.
The conversation after that had been stilted. "Well, I promised I'd get her to the airport," Samantha said, equally drily. "And it's nearly time. I also promised Richard that I'd be back before nine."
"Thank you for coming down." The words came awkwardly. "I'm not sure your mother and I will ever have an easy time, but I think it was good for him to see you again."
"Even if it tires him." Samantha's smile was bittersweet. "Kids do that, I know. When I saw him in Connecticut, he seemed a little nervous around them."
"Probably just unfamiliarity." Skinner sighed. "Our job doesn't usually allow us much contact with children who aren't already traumatized."
That got a look he couldn't decipher. "I hadn't thought of that," she admitted softly. Sighed again. "Well, call me. I know the doctor will, but I want to do what I can. And we're only about two hours away."
"Thanks." Skinner rose with her.
"We'd better leave, Mom, to get through traffic." Samantha held out her arms and Jonathan ran to her, chortling merrily, having been permitted to "soft" Cat to his heart's content.
Skinner smiled faintly, winked at Mulder, who smiled and got up, placing Cat safely on the mantle.
"Tell Uncle Fox goodbye and we'll see him soon," Samantha told the children.
Kelly held her arms up to Mulder, who looked down, a bit disconcerted, then crouched and received his hug goodbye.
"See you soon," Jonathan caroled. When Samantha came to kiss her brother's cheek, Jonathan took his turn, much to Mulder's dismay.
With the small dark head on Mulder's shoulder, Skinner reflected that even their hair color was very similar, Jonathan's hair was much darker than his mother's. From his father, no doubt, Skinner told himself absently and moved to the hall closet, retrieved Mrs. Mulder's coat first and helped her into it.
"You'll call me as soon as you know anything?" Her voice was uncharacteristically tentative.
It tilted him back over from irritation to sympathy. "Of course. I'll keep you updated every step of the way, Mrs. Mulder." Gruffly.
She managed a wan smile. "Don't let him catch a cold."
He wondered what she thought he could do about that. "I'll do my best." Evenly. Turning, he retrieved small jackets and handed them to Samantha. Watched in amusement as Mulder helped wrestle Jonathan into his.
To his relief, he was not deemed enough of the family circle to be hugged, but Samantha paused as they went out the door, put her hand on his arm. "Hang in there, Walter." Softly, seriously.
It brought a smile. "What else?" Lightly.
A last long look and she was gone, herding her mother down the walk toward her car.
He waited to see they got off, felt Mulder's arms go around his waist, Mulder's chin rest on his shoulder.
"What did she say?"
"To keep you in line," Skinner told him, chuckling. "And hang in there."
"Great, even my sister thinks I can't be trusted." But Mulder snickered.
"No, really, she just said to call her if we needed her."
"I could deal with that easier than Mom, kids or not." Mulder sighed. "It's so weird to have her here. To have her grown up with kids of her own. It's like I keep thinking of her as this little kid, frozen in time."
The car pulled away and Skinner nudged him back, closed the door and turned to face him. "That's pretty natural. You missed all the years in between."
Mulder let himself be hugged. "Too weird," he said remotely and sighed. "I'm going back to bed. I'm way out of shape. Can we order pizza?" A little wistfully.
"Sure." Skinner released him reluctantly. "You hungry now?"
"Not even." Mulder moved slowly toward the stairs. Grinned crookedly. "Wanna come and make sure I keep breathing while I'm asleep?"
Skinner arched an eyebrow. "Are you making fun of me?"
Tilting his head slightly, Mulder looked as though he were considering that. "Perhaps just a very little bit," he finally said, holding his thumb and forefinger apart about an inch. "No more than this."
"That's what I thought." Skinner eyed him. "You'd better run up those stairs."
Mulder grinned, yelped as Skinner rushed him and they ended up tangled on the bed, both of them laughing like idiots.
"Okay, okay, I take it back," Mulder wriggled under him, laughing breathlessly. "You're pretty fast for an old man."
"Or pretty old for a fast man," Skinner growled and tickled him. Released him when Mulder yelped again and made a creditable effort to get him back. "Okay, that's enough, now you need to rest." Smiling wickedly.
Mulder's eyes narrowed. "Asshole. You'll get yours."
"I count on it," Skinner agreed beatifically. "Just name the time."
A slow grin. "As soon as I take a nap." Then, as if that were a confession he didn't want to make, Mulder added, "I'm too out of shape, no running, no swimming--I'm going to swim every day until they drag me back in. The stronger I am, the better."
Skinner's gut knotted. "I know that." Evenly. Even though it scared the hell out of him, seeing Mulder push limits that he'd always pushed. This is what needing someone did to you, he told himself wryly. You worried over things that wouldn't have made you think twice before.
Sighing, Mulder shed his jeans and climbed back into the disordered bed. Gave Skinner a crooked grin as he settled back with his book again. "You're such a sap." Affectionately.
"Someone has to make sure you keep breathing while you're asleep," Skinner told him mildly and opened the book.
The Celts would keep his mind from dwelling on how fragile Mulder really was at this point. Would help him keep his balance.
He hoped.

Her home in Connecticut had been a refuge. A haven from all that she had endured. Now, after spending time with her son, with her daughter and grandchildren, it seemed....too large and too empty.
Not empty enough.
A shadow in the livingroom shifted, set her heart racing, even when she realized what it was. Who it was. The small ember glowed red in the darkness, rose in midair and moved toward her.
The smoker stepped into the hall, smiled at her. "Tina."
"What do you want?" Brusquely, to hide her alarm. God, God, her call had been impulse, born of fear and anger over Fox, and she hadn't thought...."Samantha isn't here." A small jab in his direction.
"I know, I've spoken to Richard." Still a smile.
A man may smile and smile and be a villain, she thought distantly and turned toward the closet, took her coat off and found a hanger for it. "Presumably, you're here about my call." Shortly.
"It wasn't a wise thing to do," he told her coolly. "You know I'm not free of surveillance these days."
"Good." Spitefully. "Then they'll be paying attention, won't they. I want my son cured. You people gave him this, I want him cured."
He took another drag from the cigarette. "How is he?"
"He's dying." She closed the closet door. "And you know what I can do if you don't do something about it, don't you."
He arched an eyebrow at her, sardonic smile. "Are you threatening me?"
She knew better than to think him a fool. "No, I'm promising you. You're familiar with the concept of the dead man's switch." Offered him a thin smile. "I set one up years ago. You didn't realize that, did you. "Watched his eyes widen very slightly. "No, you didn't. Oh, no, Bill told me far more than was wise, you see. And I didn't trust you. Not after Sam. If you don't give my son what he needs to live, I will make sure that switch is activated, whether I'm dead or not. If my son dies....." Let it trail off.
"You're endangering yourself, my dear."
"A mother shouldn't outlive her children." Thinly. Letting him see that whichever way it went, she'd win this one. She'd set things up with such care. Even Bill hadn't known about it. Her one victory against them. Her revenge against them.
He smiled back finally. "I'll do what I can." Stubbed the cigarette out in the cutglass ashtray. "I can't promise anything."
"You had best hope that you're still in a position to do something," she told him icily. "I wonder how my daughter would feel if she knew the whole truth?"
"I wonder how your son would feel," he countered.
She laughed outright. "I'm not talking about us. I'm talking about all of it. The whole thing."
"You don't know the whole thing, Tina." Brutally.
"You might be surprised." They stared at each other, two old adversaries who had once been more.
After a long moment, he laughed shortly. "No doubt I would be. I'll be in touch."
She nodded. Let him walk past her. And when he'd gone out the door, she locked it, hands shaking, put on the chain. Please, God, let him do it.
After all the lies and the betrayals, it was the only thing she could offer her son.

~~~
 

It was nearly nine when Mulder woke up again, and that only because Skinner waved a piece of pizza under his nose.
"C'mon, babe, you need to eat." Very softly, and Skinner touched his cheek, watching the eyelids slowly flutter and open.
Mulder blinked at him, yawned and raised his head. "God, what time is it?"
"About ten to nine," Skinner told him and waved the plate under Mulder's nose again. "Hungry?"
"Starving." Mulder pushed himself up against the pillows, smiling drowsily. "Thirsty, though."
"Tea on your nighttable." Skinner lifted his chin. "And juice."
"Double header," Mulder joked and reached for the juice first, drank thirstily. Eyed the antibiotic capsule and took it, sighing. "I can take this with food, right?" Peering at the label. "Good. I didn't want to have to wait another hour."
"I'd have gotten you up an hour earlier." Skinner smiled, relinquished the plate and returned to his own.
Mulder lifted a piece, took a big bite, drawing out the hot cheese in threads. "Mmmm."
Skinner grinned. Mulder's enjoyment of simple things never failed to please him. Or make him want to provide Mulder with more simple pleasures.
They ate in comfortable silence, Mulder's eyes on the television. "God, it's what, Tuesday? Wednesday?"
"Tuesday." Skinner eyed him. "Why, you have a hot date?"
Wicked grin. "Only with you."
Skinner chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Eat your pizza."
"I'm trying." Mulder took another bite, laughing in his throat. Making little sounds of amusement and satisfaction.
He didn't eat as much as Skinner would have liked, and he was finished before Skinner, which led to the amusement of having the dangerous and lovely length of his lover sprawled across his legs, head toward the television as he watched the rest of the program, some ultimately forgettable police drama that occasioned scurrilous comments on the antecedents of the producer.
Finally setting his plate aside, Skinner rubbed the back of Mulder's thighs, ran his hand along the faded yellowing area of the bruise that had first worried him. Feeling....feeling tired and wishing like hell he'd pushed harder. Earlier.
Mulder turned, looked over his shoulder. Grinned. "Finally," he complained. "I thought you were more interested in the pizza than me."
"That'll be the day, especially with such a splendid view." Skinner patted Mulder's ass. "Is this some modified version of the gym slut look? Henley, white socks and flannel boxers?"
"Something like that." Mulder shifted, coming up on his lap, knees to either side. Kissed him. Tasting slightly of pizza, slightly of tea and juice. And himself. Always himself.
Skinner ran his hands up under the Henley, feeling ribs that were more prominent than they had been even a few short weeks ago. Leaned into the kiss, pulling Mulder closer against his chest. Moved his hands down under the waistband of the shorts. "Mmmm, you're nice and warm," he murmured, as Mulder's mouth traveled to his jaw line, hissed in pleasure as Mulder's lips found what Mulder called the vampire spot, chuckled as Mulder pretended to bite. "Get your fangs sharpened."
"It's not your blood I want," Mulder muttered and leaned back, sighing. "Why is it you're always wearing more than I am?"
"I'm no fool, I like seeing you in less." Skinner let his mouth curve, saw the delight in Mulder's eyes, swiftly hidden by a self-deprecating grimace. "Idiot."
"The feeling is mutual." Mulder tugged the hem of his shirt up and Skinner obligingly raised his arms.
Ran his fingers through short dark hair as Mulder's mouth fastened on one nipple. His cock, trapped in jeans, by Mulder's weight, thickened, aching a little. He moved one hand around Mulder's hip, still inside flannel warmed by Mulder's skin, found the swelling shaft and stroked his thumb over the head, over the underside and heard a faint sound from Mulder's throat. Reached farther and cupped Mulder's balls, tugged Mulder away from his chest and bent to take his mouth hard, stroking his tongue in deeply, tugging the shorts down to free Mulder's sex.
Leaning forward, he tipped Mulder back and to the side, shifted to keep from bruising him and knelt over him, pushing Mulder's shirt up to find pebbled nipples. "I want you to fuck me," he told Mulder hoarsely, saw the hazel eyes widen slightly, saw the faintest touch of dismay.
"Um," Mulder began and gasped when Skinner's teeth worried his nipple very gently. "Oh, Jesus, Walt, I'd love to, but I'm not sure I'm quite up to that. I was kind of hoping to get laid tonight, but that takes a little more energy. I guess being out of shape and swimming today combined." His tone was almost absurdly apologetic.
Leaning back, Skinner eyed him. "God, you're such a slave driver, I'm an old man." Mock complaint, and he saw the dismay ease into amusement. "I'm not going to do all the work, even if you are tired." He backed up slightly, leaned down and kissed Mulder's belly, ran his tongue inside the small concavity of navel. Mulder's shaft brushed against his chest, he moved down and licked it. Felt it jump under his tongue, heard Mulder make one of those faint noises again. Lovely noises.
Mulder was right about one thing, he was wearing too much. Leaning back, he pulled Mulder's shorts the rest of the way off, slid off the bed and shucked the rest of his clothes.
Mulder lifted his head, surveyed him. "You aren't getting fat," he told him and rolled his eyes. "Trust me, if anything, you've lost weight."
"It's all the energy I burn watching you eat." Retrieving the lube, Skinner stretched out beside him, tossed the bottle on the bed. "You know, having you tire more easily could have an unexpected side benefit, you'll stop nagging me to hurry." He touched Mulder's cheek, traced the curve of smile. "That could work out well. I like taking my time."
"I like you taking your time, I'm just greedy." Mulder's tongue touched his thumb, warm lips closed around it, sucking gently.
He pulled his thumb out, replaced it with his mouth and sucked on Mulder's tongue, ran his hand down Mulder's chest and belly, pausing to give attention to each of Mulder's nipples before moving to his cock.
Arching his hips, Mulder thrust into his hand, put both arms around his shoulders and drank him in greedily.
Greedy, he thought distantly and pressed Mulder down on the bed, still kissing him. Stroking warm skin and letting his hand wander where it would. The warmth of Mulder's inner thighs, the tickling sensation of the hair as he smoothed it, the almost satiny skin of the seam between groin and thigh, the way Mulder's balls drew up as he toyed with them, rolled them gently between his fingers.
His cock pressed against the flat surface of Mulder's hip, impossibly hard, he sucked on Mulder's tongue, his lower lip and backed away, reached for the lube. He wanted to drive Mulder crazy, he wanted those noises, those crazed woodchuck sounds, he wanted to eat Mulder up, to grant Mulder anything in his power to grant, to give. Nipped Mulder's collarbone, licked and sucked warm skin.
The lube was cool on his fingers and he warmed it, stroked it along the crease of Mulder's ass, pressing in slightly until Mulder's flesh accepted him. Again and again and Mulder pushed into him, whimpering. "Walt, oh, God. Please."
Licked a nipple. Blew gently on it and watched it harden further. Suckled on it. Moved to the other, working a second finger in, very carefully. Repeated his actions. The curve of shoulder, the crease between Mulder's arm and ribcage, the inside of the elbow and Mulder's other hand curved on the back of Skinner's head. His fingers stroked upward, against the small, spongy area and he heard a gasp, a smothered moan.
Moved to Mulder's hip, running his tongue over skin that tasted faintly of salt. Nibbled on the shape of the bone, smoothed it with his free hand and bent, took Mulder's sex into his mouth, moved his head in a very small circle, letting his lips and tongue stroke the rim of the swollen glans.
Mulder's hips came up. He drew back, released Mulder and smiled slowly. Hotly. Saw Mulder's eyelids fall briefly, saw the dark lashes and couldn't wait any longer. Eased his fingers out carefully, wiped them on his abandoned underwear.
Eased into hot, tight flesh and caught his own breath. Watching Mulder's face as he moved, carefully reading for signs of discomfort, for signs of pleasure. Saw only the latter and pushed forward all the way, slowly and carefully, until he was fully sheathed in his lover's body. Leaning over Mulder, resting his weight on his arms. Kissed Mulder's mouth again, deeply, pulled back slightly and thrust gently. Relished the moan that he took in his mouth, kissing deeply, beginning a leisurely rhythm that gradually sped.
Leaning on one arm, he took Mulder's shaft with slippery fingers, teased it until Mulder tossed his head from side to side, fingers gripping almost hard enough to bruise. Then tightened his hand, let Mulder's cock slide through it again and again as he felt heat strike down his own spine, drawing his balls up tight until he couldn't breathe, only groan, the sounds tearing free of his throat. Felt the hot slippery proof of Mulder's pleasure spilling over his fingers, hit his chest, his belly, and Mulder's body tightened on him hard, milking him until he was sure, as impossible as it seemed, that he came again, loosing a hoarse cry, sagging down on Mulder's body....
Slow recovery, listening to the pounding of both their hearts, licking Mulder's throat and nibbling on one earlobe while Mulder rocked upward, whimpers dying down to small, sated sounds. To prayer or imprecation. "Jesusjesusjesusjesus." Deep ragged breath and Mulder's arms were around his neck, face turned toward to kiss again, deep and hard. "Christ, you know how to kiss."
"I like kissing," Skinner muttered and did it again. "And I'm especially attached to kissing you. You aren't so bad yourself." Another one and he drew back, smiled down at Mulder's face. "Was that up to your standards?"
"You keep exceeding them."
The dazed look was turning drowsy again. Skinner sighed and eased back, pulling out carefully. Leaned down and kissed Mulder's belly, sticky with evidence of orgasm. "I think I've just managed to achieve a near impossibility."
"What? Mulder sighed, rubbed his chest.
"Multiple orgasm." Getting off the bed, Skinner started toward the bathroom, turned back at Mulder's hoot of laughter. "I'm serious!"
Flinging his arms wide, Mulder laughed, belly-laughed. "Oh, God, we're stuck with each other, you're never going to let me leave now."
Arching one eyebrow, Skinner eyed him. "I wouldn't have before this," he growled, then turned back to the bathroom for a towel.
Wet a washcloth with warm water instead, snatched a towel off the rack and came back in, feeling....tender. And cleaned them both up.
Mulder was languid, after that, letting himself be chivvied into bed and folding himself neatly against Skinner's side, burrowed into pillows.
Mulder, Skinner reflected, did like pillows. He made a mental note to buy more before the week was out, made another note to take a few to the hospital. When Mulder was sick enough to wish he was dead, when radiation and chemo took their toll, the little comforts became very big indeed. He remembered that, remembered his father's gratitude for the small things.
And felt his throat tighten after the light was out.
He was dreading this. And if he was dreading it, how much more would Mulder dread it? The joke about the new haircut had been bravado. Hell, the haircut had been part bravado, part spitting in the face of sickness, of death.
Years before, he'd seen Mulder as reckless. Now he thought of Mulder as courageous beyond what most people ever dreamt of. Running his fingers through the short hair, he sighed. "I like it," he murmured. "I can pretend you're that kid at Oxford and I'm seducing you."
Mulder laughed sleepily. "I had long hair at Oxford."
"Well, how about the kid out of Quantico?" Skinner smiled in the dark, unseen.
The sound of a yawn. "Remind me tomorrow, we can try that one out." Blurrily. As Mulder sank down into sleep.
It was a helluva thing when the cure for insomnia was this, Skinner thought and closed his own eyes. This was the only safe place. The only safe space in time. He was going to cherish what there was of it.

 Skinner woke with a start as the grey of early morning gave way to the first hint of sunlight, leaking around the edges of the blinds into the bedroom. Lay still for a moment wondering what had awakened him and rolled onto one side to see Mulder, face down in the pillows, burrowed in as if for the winter.
Mulder's arm, that was what he'd been thinking about before he went to sleep. Damn, he'd forgotten to check those scratches, beyond packing more ointment in Mulder's gym bag. Which was silly, Mulder's skin felt normal, no fever heat, but he still couldn't prevent himself from gently prying the arm loose from the pillow to peer at the inside of Mulder's forearm.
Healing nicely. They'd been lucky, he thought and only then noticed a gimlet look coming from the one of Mulder's eyes he could see.
"Wharradoin?" Grumpily, even though he couldn't be but half awake.
"Admiring your body," Skinner told him, "Go back to sleep."
The eyelid closed, dark lashes against pale skin. Then opened and Mulder rolled on to his back, making a grumbling noise in his throat. "You gotta stop this."
Leaning back on his own pillows, Skinner arched an eyebrow. "Stop what?" Though he very well knew.
Mulder yawned, rubbed his face. "Wha' timizzit?"
Skinner looked. "Just a little after seven."
"God." Mulder's eyelids fluttered. "You gotta stop worrying so much before you drive me out of my mind."
Skinner's mouth twitched guiltily. "I'm trying," he said, a little defensively.
Mulder rolled onto his side. "I'm not mad, Walt." Another stifled yawn. "But I can't swear I'm not going to get mad." Quirky smile. "I mean, I know you're not pulling a Scully on me, not really. I know you're just worried, but sometimes, it makes my hackles rise."
Folding his arms behind his head, Skinner sighed. "It's not about you. It's....I should have seen it. I should have said something. I knew you weren't doing well, but I kept telling myself that you were. That damned bruise that wouldn't go away, and you were always so tired." Brusquely, almost angrily. "I knew there was something wrong, but I didn't want to admit it to myself."
Mulder's hand closed over his upper arm, gentle, kneading the muscle. "Walt, you aren't my keeper."
"I know." Skinner shifted, uneasily. "But I know when I feel like shit, I'll talk myself out of it. Until I can't any more." He looked at Mulder directly. "Like you have been. And I should have called you on it."
Mulder's brows drew together slightly, relaxed again. "Does that mean I call you on it when you're pushing the envelope?"
Skinner held his gaze. "Especially if I'm pushing the envelope." Bluntly. And he grinned suddenly. "Doesn't mean I won't be an asshole even if you're right."
But Mulder's grin faded. "Walt, even if you'd called me on it earlier, I'd still have leukemia. I'd still be sick."
Skinner lay quite still, closed his eyes. Wishing it wasn't true. Knowing it was illogical. "And not seeing that you were sick....you had a seizure." Softly. Knowing it was the only thing he could have done, that Mulder was right. It wouldn't have meant Mulder didn't have leukemia. Cancer of the blood.
Mulder's hand squeezed his arm gently. "Walt, I think you ought to find somebody you can talk and work through some of these things with, because it's not going to get any easier. It's only going to get harder."
"I know." Suddenly, his voice was hoarse. "Cancer killed my dad. We saw him through the chemo and radiation, but he wasn't.." A tremor and he stopped speaking, cleared his throat. "Well, he didn't handle it well, he wasn't a young man any more."
Mulder's expression shifted again. "Walt," gently, "You need to find someone to talk to about this. Not just for me, for yourself."
"We'll see." Noncommittally, and he smiled at Mulder. "I *am* trying. I just wanted to see for myself."
"Septic shock does a wonderful job of waking a man up," Mulder told him drily. "I am *not* doing that again."
"Glad to hear it." Reaching out, he ruffled the newly shorn hair. "Sorry I woke you up. Why don't you go back to sleep, I'll go downstairs and start some breakfast."
Sweet smile and Mulder nodded. "Okay, you talked me into it." Yawned again. "I'm telling you, you've gotta take up golf or something."
Leaning over him, Skinner nipped gently at the exposed earlobe. "I'm not retired yet," tartly and he got out of bed.
He didn't want to think about his father. And the only way to avoid it was to get busy with something.

 Two hours later and Mulder was still abed, luxuriously, lazily sprawled with the newspaper and the cat and the crumbs and debris of a lavish breakfast. Feeling decadent. And a bit stiff, though well rested. An appointment this afternoon for blood, and then he'd be feeling even better.
Skinner had gone to do some errands, leaving him alone. Blessedly, peacefully alone. Which gave him a twinge of guilt, but it was nice not to have someone worrying over him. Which also gave him a twinge of guilt, it wasn't completely fair, Skinner hadn't snapped at him over being gone most of the day yesterday, and had left him alone and unguarded without so much as a childproof gate to protect him.
His mouth quirked at that, he leaned down and looked at the cat. "I'm such an asshole," he told Cat and grinned. Skinner *was* trying, that was the hell of it, he could see that Skinner was trying.
It couldn't be the easiest thing in the world to have your father die of cancer and then find out your lover was dying, too.
He didn't feel like he was dying, that was the problem. And if he was, he wanted to live while he was still here, not protect himself in a cocoon. He just hoped he could get that through to Skinner in a visceral way. He wasn't such an insensitive bastard he didn't realize how much self-control Skinner was exerting, but he didn't want it to be a struggle. Wanted Skinner to feel it the way he did.
Maybe that wasn't possible.
Rousing himself, he padded into the bathroom, turned on the shower. The cat padded after him, watching him, but retreated when he opened the curtain and stepped in. Probably thought he was nuts, getting under the water.
It felt great, it felt like being alive, savoring the hot water, the sense that he'd actually taken back some of his own life. He showered and shaved, then went back to the bedroom to dress and straighten up. Made the bed, even, although probably not as crisply as Skinner did, and the thought made him grin.
Took the tray down, rinsed dishes and loaded them, started the dishwasher. And then, feeling virtuous, he sat down at his computer with the portable phone and dialed Scully.
"Hi, it's me," he said, when she answered.
"Who?" she asked, laughing a little. "Oh, Mulder, it's you."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine, be that way, I'm gone a week and you forget I work there with you."
"No, you may not come in and work. I know exactly what Jacques told you."
"Jacques?" Diverted, Mulder grinned. "Oooh, Scully, how are things going in that department. I know you're a good Catholic girl, but surely you've let him get to first base at least."
"Very funny, Mulder. You don't tell me about your love life and I'm not going to tell you about mine. I really feel that's one line we shouldn't cross." But she was laughing softly anyway.
"So, do I get like a finder's fee on this?" he asked, ragging her a little.
"Sure," she told him drily, "But you have to split it with Dr. Pearson."
"Damn the luck." Leaning back in his chair, Mulder reached out, clicked his computer on. "I need to know if I can coerce you into doing me a favor."
"Depends on what it is."
"My car's still at the Bureau. Can you come and get me on your lunch hour? Walt's out for a while and I have an appointment this afternoon to get my tank topped up."
"Are you buying me lunch?"
"How does a grilled chicken sandwich from McD's sound?"
"Like I'll come over early and get you and then get my own lunch."
"Deal." He chuckled. "Around eleven?"
"You've got two hours, Mulder. Rest while you're waiting."
"Hey, it's not my fault I'm up early, Scully."
"I don't want to know, Mulder. I'll see you around eleven."
Still smiling, he disconnected. With luck, he could pick up his car, get a few things from his office and find time for a swim before his appointment at 3:00. Without luck, he'd have to swim later. Either way, he still had two hours free to work.
Cat made an interrogative sound and he looked down, his smile turning hard. "If they gave me something to do this, maybe they have something that can undo it, Cat. And even if they don't, maybe I can nail them before they do it to anyone else." Softly. His tone deadly.
It was one thing to accept what had happened and fight for his life. It was entirely another to let the bastards get away with it.

 Glancing up from her perusal of files, Scully narrowed her eyes at the sight of the person coming through the door to the basement office. "Mulder, you are not supposed to be here."
He managed to look offended. "I just came to pick up some books, Scully. How is the process going?" He lifted his chin at the stack of folders on the desk.
"Well, it's going, slowly and surely." She eyed him a moment longer, tucked her hair back behind one ear. "What time is your appointment today?"
He rolled his eyes at her. "Three, Dr. Scully."
The folder she was holding went down. "Mulder, it is five minutes to four." Hands on her hips.
His eyes widened, he looked at his watch, glanced at the clock on the wall and swore. "Dammit."
Sighing, Scully reached for the phone. Handed it to him, mouth quirking.
Scowling, he leaned over, punched in numbers. Spoke briefly to Ferraud's assistant and hung up. "She's going to try and reschedule me." A little sheepishly. "My watch stopped, I guess I'd better pick up a new battery for it."
She couldn't help laughing a little. "As long as you didn't miss it on purpose, Mulder."
"Please, fresh blood is better than drugs." A trace of the irreverent Mulder, eyes glinting with amusement. "Hey, Scully, I forgot to tell you. Falconer told me that the scuttlebutt is that Skinner's retiring because of the affair the two of you are having."
She had picked up her cup, had taken a sip and nearly inhaled the hot liquid when the import of his words sank in. "What?" Coughing, waving her hand helplessly.
He pounded her helpfully on the back. "Jesus, Scully, I didn't think you'd take it this hard. I mean, you know, consider *my* feelings in the matter."
"Mulder!" Hoarsely and she coughed again. "Where did you--Falconer told you that?"
He grinned, completely unrepentant. "Yup. He doesn't believe it, but you know how people are."
>From the way her skin felt, her face was tomato red. "Oh, Jesus." Softly, and she put both hands over her face, re-interpreting remarks she had overheard.
Skinner. Oh, God.
"Yup," Mulder continued cheerfully. "They think the reason he's been so easy on me lately is to keep you from shooting him."
Oh, please, God, let her just melt into the paint on the wall.....Evaporate into thin air.....Shapeshift.
"Oh, Mulder." Prayerfully, hearing the mental echo of her strident voice accusing Skinner of favoritism in Mulder's favor. Telling Mulder that it was a matter of common speculation.
He tilted his head slightly, quizzically. "Yeah, Scully?" Eyes bright.
"Oh, Mulder." Another wave of heat over her face.
"I'm so sorry." Sorry wasn't quite the word for it. Mortification was the word for it. Total and complete mortification. She closed her eyes, remembering Sister Mary Claretta's quoting proverbs at them, pride goeth before a fall.
He patted her shoulder lightly. "Hey, don't take it so hard. I think it's hysterical. Really." And he was laughing softly, not unkindly.
It was more generosity than she'd shown him and it made her face burn again. "Oh, Mulder." Helplessly. Unable to think of any way she could ever apologize for what she'd said to him.
Still chuckling, he kissed her forehead. "Scully, you gotta love it. It's hilarious."
She raised her hands to her face, held them against her cheeks. "I'll never live this down," trying to see the humor in it.
Mulder chuckled, moved over to the desired books and started stacking them on one arm. "Scully, if you can live down Eddie Van Bluhndt, you can live this down."
She jerked her head around, stared at him. Her mouth curved slightly and she wadded up a sheet of paper, threw it hard, skills learned with two brothers, hit him in the back of the head.
Mulder began to laugh, turned to face her, eyes bright. "Listen, at least they think the two of you have good taste," he told her merrily.
"We do," she told him tartly, "We care about you, don't we?"
It was his turn to blush. "Scully," chidingly.
But she leaned back, folded her arms and smirked at him. "Go home, Mulder, or I'll tell on you."
He walked back over to her and bent to kiss her forehead again. "I am, I am. I'm a little tired, good swim, though."
Abruptly, her throat was tight. "You aren't supposed to overdo."
"I didn't, Ferraud said I could swim." He grinned moved back toward the door. "And stay away from my man."
She grinned, absurdly amused in spite of humiliation. "You, go home."

 Mulder drove home slowly, feeling regretful about his missed appointment. He'd asked Janine to call and leave a message on the number that belonged to both of them. He was pleasantly tired, really, not feeling dragged out, but the blood would have helped.
It was amazing how much those little red cells could do.
Skinner's car was in the garage, Mulder took the backsteps at a good pace, opened the door and came in to find Skinner scowling at him. "You missed your appointment."
Mulder nodded, closed the door. "My watch stopped, I called to reschedule." Trying not to be irritated. But it had been so good this afternoon simply to be. To have his car, to run his errands.
And Skinner's tone snapped him back to a world in which he was sick. Not quite an invalid.
"Yeah, I know, Janine called, they can't get you in until tomorrow after lunch." Sharp tone. Hard gaze.
And he sighed. "Look, Walt, my watch stopped, I called as soon as I realized it, what more do you want?"
"Where were you all afternoon?"
Skinner leaned back against the counter, arms folded. Scowling.
And that snapped his temper. "Down at the adult video, getting blown, where the hell do you think I was? I was doing research, I was swimming, I stopped in to pick up some of my books. Christ, I'm not a goddamned kid, I don't have a curfew, so get the fuck off my back, okay!" His voice had risen, he saw Skinner's eyes narrow. "I mean it, Walter. You can't fucking wrap me in cotton wool and treat me like I'm broken. I'm not dead yet, and I'm damned well not going to lie down and die."
Skinner's jaw hardened. "Even if it kills you," he said, his tone flat and harsh. "Is that it?"
"Walt, I missed one fucking appointment!"
Skinner's jaw flexed again. "Right. One." Through clenched teeth. "Fine. You want to do it yourself, I'll let it go. Just don't ask me to be happy about it." And with that, he stalked outside.
Standing in the kitchen, Mulder was conscious of faint bewilderment under his anger. What the fuck had just happened here?
And then swiveled on his heel, turned toward the upstairs, temper flaring again. Hell if he had to stand still for this, hell if he had to take all their fucking restrictions. Fucking hell if he had to put up with any of it. He'd done what he was told, but he was goddamned well going to do what he wanted, too.
And what he wanted right now, what he needed, was to go for a run and shake off some of this anger.
Before it blew up any worse. Skinner would have to find his own goddamned way to deal with it.

 Standing out in the backyard, Skinner stared at the elderly stone birdbath until his eyes watered. Knowing he had pushed too hard, that he'd been wrong. Trying to figure out how to back up a few steps.
To retrieve his cool. To let Mulder know he regretted it. To step back again.
It took several minutes to admit to himself that the way to step back was simply to go inside the house and admit that he'd been wrong.
He really, really hated that.
But if he'd learned anything from the failure of his marriage, he'd learned *that*.
Christ.
Cooler headed, he turned back toward the house, went through the kitchen, expecting to find Mulder in the livingroom.
No Mulder.
No Mulder upstairs, either, although from the look of it, Mulder had changed clothes.
Where the hell was he? Back downstairs again, he found the front door unlocked.
Considered the change of clothes and leaned his forehead against the door, eyes closed.
It was going to be even harder to keep his temper if Mulder had actually gone for a run. Although where else Mulder would be at this point....his gut felt like he'd been drinking battery acid.
Maybe Mulder was right. Maybe they were going to be in real trouble if he tried to deal with this on his own.
He hated that worse than apologizing.
So he went into the kitchen and got a beer. Fuck this noise. He wasn't supposed to worry about Mulder, he'd better find some way of diverting himself.
Sinking morosely back on the couch, he reached for the remote and turned on the television. It worked for Mulder. Despite past history, maybe it would work for him.

 Mulder managed a mile before having to slow to a walk. Christ, he was out of shape. Honesty compelled him to admit that some of it was exhaustion, the fucking illness, the missed appointment, but he was damned if he was going to give in to it. Instead, he walked. Stubbornly. Powerwalked until he could feel the last of his energy, turned back toward the house. Oddly, his feet ached, not the soles, but the top of each foot.
His stomach knotted as he drew near. The livingroom lights were on, but the blinds were closed. He chose to go in through the back, found a pot of chili on the stove. Only Cat graced the livingroom, curled on the couch.
Which combined to make him more nervous than ever. Unzipped his fleece vest, he started up the stairs, wincing, slowed slightly to each the pressure and reached the top of the stairs to see the bedroom light was also on.
He could see Skinner's legs on the bed. Stretched out. Not the posture of a man who was going to give you hell, he thought, but braced anyway when he went it.
Skinner glanced up briefly from what he was reading. "There's chili on the stove." Noncommittal tone.
Mulder paused warily. "Yeah, I saw." When nothing else was forthcoming, he moved to the dresser, glanced once over his shoulder to see that Skinner was drinking a beer. Frowned slightly and got clean clothes, went back past the bed. Paused in the doorway to note that Skinner was reading the book on the French Revolution. Swallowed. "Is it any good?"
Skinner lifted his head. "Yeah, it's very good." Mild tone. "Why don't you take your shower, we need to talk."
That put the knot back into his stomach. "About what?" A little truculently.
Skinner studied him. Sighed and took off his glasses. "I shouldn't have jumped you." His voice was rough. "It's not my damned business anyway, and I was out of line."
Mulder swallowed again. He'd been braced for more....well, fighting. More....he wasn't sure what to call it. Interference didn't quite work, meddling...Christ, it didn't matter, this was an apology. "Okay." Carefully. "But what I said this morning still goes. You need to work this out with someone else, I can't help you with it."
Skinner's mouth quirked. "I know that."
Still, he hesitated, standing in the doorway. Swallowed again. "I guess I lost my temper," hesitantly. The problem was, when you apologized, most people found a way to make sure they got their pound of flesh. He didn't think Skinner would. But he wasn't sure.
"You were provoked." Skinner put his glasses back on. Managed the ghost of a rueful smile. "Let's just leave it at that, okay?"
Mulder hesitated still. Nodded finally and headed for the shower. Wondering if it was that easy.
The reason his feet ached was immediately clear. Pressure bruises. Fucking hell. He stared at the livid flesh gloomily. Great, just great. He'd have to mention it to Ferraud after all. Damned if he was going to let Skinner see this. Socks to bed, for certain.
Sighing, he stripped off his sweats and turned on the shower, got in under the hot water a moment later. And just let it run, wishing it were as easy to sluice problems away.

Emerging from the bathroom in shorts, a shirt and his socks, he peered in, found Skinner's beer considerably depleted and Skinner still reading. "You eat yet?"
A quick glance up. "Yeah, I grabbed something earlier."
He nodded, lifted his chin. "You want another beer?"
"Sure." Faint smile. "Thanks."
He nodded. It wasn't quite that easy, he realized, they were both....unsettled. He thought about that on the way downstairs, wished he could see a way around it. Wished a lot of things, most notably that he wasn't sick, that nobody had shot a microscopic pellet into the back of his neck and infected him with whatever