Part 2

Mulder ate some breakfast, then headed out for the warehouse where the gang met. There was a delivery to unpack, and some rounds to be made before they returned to the warehouse for a long afternoon playing cards, and squabbling. Mulder had never been good at male bonding rituals, but he played his part as well as he could, entering into the spirit of camaraderie the gang had – a camaraderie which he knew was all on the surface. These guys would think nothing of putting a bullet through his head if they thought he’d betrayed them, or if it was expedient for them to do so. He was also becoming worried about his cover story. If they didn’t get a lead soon, then someone might get word to Morgan, who would undoubtedly be very interested in finding out more about his long lost nephew. Mulder didn’t even want to contemplate the outcome of that particular meeting.

Shortly before midnight, Skinner showed up. Mulder gave him a questioning glance, which was met by an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Mulder sighed and turned back to the long queue of “clients” that they were dealing with. A few minutes later, he noticed a man slip into the warehouse, go up to Skinner, and pass him an envelope. Mulder watched as Skinner opened it. The change in the big man’s body language was almost immediate. He screwed up something in his big fist and stood there for a moment, his shoulders frozen. Mulder itched to go and find out what had happened, but Skinner suddenly took off before he had a chance.

It took all of Mulder’s willpower not to follow the other man, but they had already acted out a low-level antipathy towards each other for the benefit of the gang, and it would be stupid to show any concern for the big man. Instead, he continued wise-cracking with Frank, and standing menacingly with one hand on his gun as Cassidy dispensed drugs to his clients.

Mulder returned to the apartment as soon as he could get away. He wasn’t sure Skinner would even be there, so he was relieved when he saw the big man sitting on the mattress, his head back against the wall, his eyes closed.

“Sir?” Mulder shrugged his jacket off and went over to the mattress…then stopped. Skinner was holding something clenched tightly in his hand, but Mulder couldn’t see what it was. “Sir, are you okay?” Mulder knelt down beside the big man, and gently touched his arm. Skinner didn’t open his eyes – instead, he opened his fist. Mulder stared wordlessly at the set of dog tags held clenched there. He took them, already knowing who they belonged to.

“Jamie,” he murmured.

“Yeah.” Skinner’s voice sounded hoarse, broken. “He, uh…he always used to wear them. It was a kind of weird thing he had going. If…if…” Skinner’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat and started again. “This is proof that he’s dead, Mulder. He wouldn’t let anyone take these off him if he wasn’t.”

“Who gave them to you?” Mulder asked softly.

“I’ve been putting the word around for weeks. This was what came back,” Skinner shrugged. “I guess I know he’s dead now. I’ve been in denial since last December, but I suppose, deep down, I always knew that I was looking for a corpse.”

“I’m sorry,” Mulder whispered. “I mean, really sorry. I know what he meant to you.”

“He was my last link with them.” Skinner opened his eyes, and they were dark and lost. “Now I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Mulder put a sympathetic hand on Skinner’s arm, but the other man just shrugged it off.

“Don’t fucking patronize me, Mulder,” he growled, getting up and going to stand by his usual place at the window, gazing moodily at the street below. Mulder stared at him for a moment, and then, acting totally on impulse, he went and stood behind Skinner, and put his arms around his waist.

“I meant it,” he whispered into the big man’s ear. Skinner stiffened beneath his embrace. Mulder’s hands worked gently up Skinner’s arms, stroking them, and he leaned forward and kissed the other man’s neck. “Anything you need from me, you take it,” he urged.

At first, Skinner’s body remained tense beneath the caress, then he let out a roar of inarticulate pain, and turned, thrusting Mulder up against the wall, and slamming him into it, hard.

“Don’t fucking tease…don’t…fucking pity me,” Skinner hissed.

Mulder grabbed Skinner’s hips in a firm grasp, taking control. “Let it out,” he said. “If it helps, let it out on me. I don’t mind.”

“I don’t…Fuck you. Fuck the whole fucking world.” Skinner’s voice was low, filled with barely contained misery. “I…” The anger and pain spasmed through his body. “I fucking loved him,” he said in a strangled tone, his brown eyes dark with unexpressed grief.

“I know,” Mulder nodded, placing one hand around the other man’s waist, and drawing him close.

Skinner thumped a fist into the wall, his body suffused with tears that wouldn’t fall after a lifetime of being too big, too strong, and too damn self-contained to be able to cry freely. He slammed his head down over Mulder’s shoulder, crashing it onto the wall behind him, and then smashed it back again, once, twice…Mulder caught the other man’s face between his hands on the third go.

“That’s all you get,” he whispered, needing to reach the big man, to stop him hurting himself even more. Skinner already had a small gash over one eye. “Come on. Come here.” Mulder folded his arms around his boss, and held him tight, planting several kisses on Skinner’s bare scalp. “Cry if you want to, if you need to. You loved him, he was all that connected you to the past, to a time that formed your life, your personality – a time that was important to you. No wonder you’re hurting. You’re allowed to hurt, Walter. Come on, cry for me.”

Skinner struggled for a moment in Mulder’s arms, but Mulder held him fast, and finally the big man’s resistance broke. His body was suffused by a series of racking spasms, his arms came up around Mulder, and he held on like a drowning man clinging to a rock.

Mulder stood there, wordlessly stroking the other man’s back while Skinner poured out a torrent of inarticulate grief. When the big man’s body started to relax, Mulder pushed him back.

“Okay?” he asked.

Skinner nodded, his dark eyes full of some intent that made Mulder shiver in fear: Skinner wasn’t himself. Mulder barely recognized the man standing in front of him. He had never seen Skinner this out of control before. Mulder felt the big hands tighten around his waist, and those dark eyes were suddenly too close as Skinner’s face closed in, and his mouth angled down, claiming Mulder with a hard, biting kiss.

“Whoa.” Mulder pushed him back.

Skinner stopped, and retreated as if stung. “Get the hell out, then,” Skinner growled. “Just fucking well get out of here, Mulder, or I might do something we both regret.”

“I doubt that,” Mulder smiled. He pulled Skinner back. “I told you to let it out on me, and you can. I trust you. Just allow me to breathe, okay?”

He spoke the words forcefully, and somehow they penetrated the other man’s consciousness. Skinner nodded, his fingers shaking as they unbuttoned Mulder’s shirt. Mulder ran his hands over the big man’s head, and gasped as Skinner thrust him up against the wall, his mouth finding Mulder’s nipples, his hands urgently seeking the zip on Mulder’s pants, tugging it down. Skinner stripped Mulder of his pants, then pressed his body frantically against the younger man’s, his mouth and hands everywhere.

Mulder managed to slow the torrent of passion for a moment, and reached between them to free Skinner’s own cock; then Skinner grabbed him again, slammed him back against the wall, and pinned him there, trapping their cocks between them. Mulder was helpless in the savage embrace, and just tried to keep breathing as Skinner devoured him with hands and tongue. The big man rubbed himself frantically against Mulder in a frenzy of fevered need that ended abruptly when he came a few seconds later. With Skinner’s release came an end to his aggression. He stood there for a moment, his breath coming in heaving gasps, his body resting against Mulder as if all the life had been sucked out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No need. I offered,” Mulder smiled, holding Skinner in his arms, and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“Christ, what a fucking awful first lay,” Skinner mumbled. Mulder laughed.

“Hey, it was necessary.” He pushed the other man back so he could look at him, but Skinner’s dark eyes were too ashamed to meet his. “Come on.” Mulder lifted Skinner’s head up, and gently kissed his lips. “That was just the first round. Come here. It’s my turn now.”

Mulder took hold of Skinner’s hand, and led him mutely to the mattress.

“Not exactly the most romantic place in the world, but it’ll do,” Mulder smiled. Skinner didn’t say a word, just stood there, exhausted both by his sexual frenzy and his grief, as Mulder undressed him and got rid of the remainder of his own clothing. Then he pulled the big man into an embrace, holding him again, kissing him on the lips, pushing inside the other man’s passive mouth and exploring him. Skinner hung limply in his arms, unresisting, as Mulder claimed him for several long minutes, pouring every ounce of his love, desire, and reassurance into that kiss. Finally he released the big man, and nuzzled against first one broad, muscled shoulder, and then the other.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered. “Damn, I’ve wanted to get into your pants for so long.”

“You have?” That roused Skinner from his shocked trance, and he looked into Mulder’s amused hazel eyes.

“You bet.” Mulder smiled, and ran a thumb over Skinner’s mouth, and down the side of his face. “Okay, I was in denial for a long time, but I sure as hell didn’t follow you here out of some misguided Boy Scout notion of honor and service. Also, realistically, I didn’t think I stood a chance until…”

“Until you found out about Jamie,” Skinner supplied, arching his back as Mulder’s fingers pushed between his buttocks and rubbed him there, rhythmically.

Mulder nodded. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Walter?”

“Thirty years.” Skinner gave the wryest of smiles. “Nobody could accuse me of not being patient.”

“No other man could ever live up to Jamie?” Mulder asked, pressing his hard cock against Skinner’s now flaccid one.

“Jamie was a one off,” Skinner shrugged, his body shaking with the memories.

“Come here.” Mulder pulled Skinner hard against his body, so they were hip to hip. Skinner came, without demur, and allowed Mulder to kiss his eyelids, his nose, his lips, his cheeks, his chin, and finally his broad forehead. “Lie down on the bed. I’m going to take good care of you tonight,” Mulder commanded. “Go on,” Mulder urged, taking Skinner’s face between his hands. “Trust me,” he whispered.

Skinner nodded, and sat down on the bed, still trapped in a numb world of pain. Mulder hoped he could reach him there, and distract him from his grief, even if only for one night.

“Lie back.” Mulder slid down on the mattress next to Skinner, and held the big man, running one foot along Skinner’s leg, and gently toying with his nipples. “You’re so damn sexy,” Mulder murmured, his mouth roving over his new lover’s body, gently, sensuously, pausing here and there to suck and nibble. Skinner started to respond, losing himself in the caress as Mulder had both hoped and intended. Skinner’s hands found Mulder’s buttocks, rubbed them in slow circles, kneading the flesh.

“Let me do all the work.” Mulder laid another kiss on the big man’s lips, and then turned Skinner onto his front. “I’m kind of a bossy bastard in bed, but I know some good moves,” he grinned.

He knelt astride the other man, and began to firmly massage his shoulders and back, then moved down to cup his buttocks, before parting them and inserting his tongue in the cleft between them. Skinner groaned and bucked up into the embrace, and Mulder stroked him sensuously as he licked, calming him. The tension flowed out of Skinner’s body under Mulder’s ministrations, and he started to make little noises of appreciation. Finally Mulder stopped, the aching in his own cock too intense to be ignored any longer.

“Do you want me inside you?” he asked. He had no problem being penetrated, but he knew that for some men it was a deep expression of trust.

“Please.” Skinner’s eyes still held the desperation of a drowning man.

“I don’t have a condom,” Mulder said softly.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m clean. I trust you,” Skinner whispered, the need outweighing everything else.

“Good. Hold on, I’ll find something to use.”

Mulder disappeared and reappeared a few seconds later with some butter.

“Undercover hide-outs aren’t as well equipped as they should be,” he observed with a grin, then stopped short. Skinner had turned onto his back again, and was lying on the bed, his heavy cock hanging between his legs, and his body stretched out. His tanned flesh was stretched taut over powerful muscles, and he was so fantastically handsome, so damn masculine that Mulder felt as if someone had quite literally taken his breath away.

“What?” Skinner looked at him.

“You.” Mulder shook his head. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

Skinner flushed, and buried his head under one arm. “Don’t be stupid,” he muttered.

Mulder could have laughed out loud. “Fucking gorgeous, and too fucking modest,” he said, kneeling between the other man’s legs. “I’d like to do this with you on your back,” he told his boss, in a low voice full of sexual desire. “I want to look into your eyes. Is that okay with you?”

Skinner nodded, but Mulder could see that the big man was holding his breath, nervous about what would come next.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” Mulder whispered, stroking Skinner’s cock and feeling the faintest stirring of it against his palm. “Nobody’s taken care of you for such a long time, have they?” Skinner shook his head, his eyes transfixed by Mulder’s, and the younger man leaned forward, and kissed him slowly and gently on the lips. “Now that’s going to change. Lie back for me. Just relax. This will be good, I promise.”

Skinner did as he was told, and Mulder spread the butter on his fingers, and then gently parted the other man’s legs, inserting one finger inside his anus, slowly, stretching him. Skinner was tight and tense, but he soon relaxed under the expert probing. Mulder inserted two fingers, and was gratified when Skinner lifted his hips to facilitate him.

“Did Jamie do this?” he asked. “Do you want to talk about how it was between you? I wouldn’t want to screw up and do something you’re not familiar with.”

“Jamie wasn’t a great romantic. At first, we just used to blow each other, you know?” Skinner told Mulder, groaning slightly as Mulder inserted another finger, and continued that long, stroking caress with nimble fingers.

“Would you like to do that to me?” Mulder asked. “Do you want to feel my cock in your mouth?”

“Yeah,” Skinner smiled, almost shyly, and Mulder grinned, completely captivated by seeing this intensely private man so unguarded. He removed his fingers, and sat astride the big man’s chest. He fed his cock into Skinner’s mouth slowly, rocking back and forth as Skinner sucked on him, playing with the big man’s ears the whole time. Skinner knew what he was doing – thirty years without practice or not. Mulder guessed there were some skills you never forgot. After several minutes he withdrew.

“Time?” he asked, and he was rewarded with another nod.

Mulder kissed Skinner’s lips again, confirming the new bond of trust between them, then returned to his former place between Skinner’s legs.

“Lift them for me.” He tapped Skinner’s thighs, and the big man placed his legs on Mulder’s shoulders. Mulder pushed up close to him and put his hands on Skinner’s buttocks, eased them apart, and snubbed his cock inside. He kept his eyes fixed on Skinner’s face the whole time, to make sure he wasn’t hurting the other man, then rocked his hips forward and slid inside. He pushed slowly, inch by inch, until he was completely swallowed up in the other man’s body, then began to thrust.

Skinner arched his back, and made a series of little moaning sounds. Mulder adjusted his position, his hands running down Skinner’s thighs caressing him, and then he started to move more quickly.

“Feel good?” he asked, thrusting in and out, then back again, over and over. Skinner nodded, his dark eyes still locked with Mulder’s hazel ones.

“Oh god, yeah,” the big man groaned as Mulder’s cock found his prostate, rubbing him into a frenzy.

Mulder had a strange sensation of leaving his body. He could see himself, rhythmically thrusting into this stunning man beneath him, could see them both lying on an old stained mattress in a rundown apartment block, with peeling paint, and dirty walls, and it felt almost surreal, and strangely right. It was as if his whole life had been leading up to this one moment, when he joined together with someone he could love more than his quest, more than his own life. He had no doubt about his own feelings. This was what he had been born for – this moment, in this time and place. With a shout, Mulder came, and he felt Skinner’s body spasm underneath him, clenching him hard, milking him. They remained in that position for a long time. Mulder’s cock softened, but he was reluctant to leave the warmth of his lover’s body, and to break the eye contact between them. Finally, Skinner reached up, and gently flicked a lock of hair away from Mulder’s sweaty forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I should be the one doing the thanking. That was pretty damn hot.” Mulder withdrew, and lay down beside his lover, pulling him into another embrace. Skinner rested his head on Mulder’s shoulder.

“Jamie – we only got together in the hospital. I was down one day, really down I mean, out of my head with pain, and so damn depressed. Jamie got into bed beside me, and next thing I knew he was under the sheets sucking me off. It kind of went from there,” Skinner shrugged. “It never felt wrong. Seeing him, kissing him, and holding him, fucking him – and having him fuck me – was the only thing that kept me going for a while, back then.”

“How did it end?” Mulder asked, licking an earlobe.

“We drifted apart. There weren’t any bad feelings. I guess the relationship had just run its course. The intensity had gone. We still loved each other, I don’t think that could ever change, but it was less of a need, more of a friendship. How about you?”

“You’re asking about men, right?” Mulder stopped nibbling at Skinner’s ear.

“Yeah,” Skinner nodded.

“Well, there’s been more than one,” Mulder admitted after an initial hesitation. “But none of them like Jamie was to you. None of them special.” Until now, a voice inside him said.

It was nearly noon when Mulder woke. He looked around blearily, and then remembered the events of the previous night with a degree of satisfaction. He heard movement in the kitchen and Skinner emerged, already dressed. Mulder had a moment’s dislocation from reality. This Skinner, the one who hid behind his wire-rims, who was self-sufficient, and guarded, was so different from the man who had lain naked and vulnerable in his arms last night, and showed him something of the soul beneath the mask. Mulder knew he wanted them both: the authoritative man of action, and the introspective, acquiescent lover.

“Hey.” Mulder wondered what his reception would be, feared that Skinner would be in denial mode.

“Hey,” Skinner nodded back, handing Mulder a cup of coffee.

“You’re dressed.”

“Yeah. I need to take off and…”

“Take off where?” Mulder demanded, wondering if Skinner viewed last night as just a sympathy fuck to help him through his grief, because that sure as hell wasn’t the way Mulder viewed it.

“To find whoever sent me these.” Skinner held up the dog tags.

“Oh shit.” Mulder pushed his tousled hair out of his eyes. “There’s no chance that you might give this up now that you know Jamie’s dead, is there?”

Skinner raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. I need to find who killed him.”

“And do what?” Mulder questioned keenly. “Kill him in turn?”

“Maybe.” Skinner shifted uneasily, and the hard muscles in his arms tightened, as if in anticipation. Mulder thought about his cat analogy with a wry internal sigh. Yes, the cat had allowed his tummy to be tickled last night, but today his claws were out again, and he needed to go hunting.

“Walter, you’ve done your duty by Jamie. Can’t you let it go?” Mulder laid a hand on the other man’s arm. He wanted to add: You’ve got me now. Don’t throw last night away by chasing ghosts, but he knew that kind of emotional blackmail wouldn’t work on Skinner.

“Could you?” Skinner said gruffly, removing Mulder’s hand. Mulder shook his head. His new lover knew him too well. Nothing and nobody had ever deflected Mulder in one of his quests – there was no reason why Skinner should be any different.

Skinner got up, put his gun in its holster, and slipped his knife through his belt. Mulder watched the movements, feeling curiously naked beside this fully armed and very dangerous man. What the hell had he been thinking last night? Skinner was a loner: he didn’t belong in cozy fireside relationships. Hell, neither of them did.

“Who was she?” he found himself asking.

“Who?” Skinner turned, looking surprised.

“You told me that you’d been in love three times in your life. I’m guessing the first time was Jamie, and the second was Sharon. I’m just wondering who the third was.”

Skinner’s dark eyes flashed angrily. “That’s none of your damn business, Mulder,” he hissed. He strode towards the door, then hesitated, and glanced back. Something in Mulder’s expression must have caught his attention, because he came back, crouched down beside the mattress, and cupped Mulder’s face in his hands.

“I’ll see you later? At the warehouse?” He seemed unsure. “Or do you want to do go back to the Bureau? I can finish up here alone. I don’t have the right to ask anything of you…”

“Not the right, no, but if you think you’ll get rid of me that damn easily, then the sex must have addled your brain. Sir. I’m not some sordid little one-night stand, and I’m not going away. Deal with it.”

Skinner gave a wry chuckle, then deposited a kiss on Mulder’s mouth. “Fine,” he said. “We will talk about this. After…” he promised.

“Yeah,” Mulder nodded, watching as Skinner got up and left the apartment. He felt more alone than he’d ever felt in his life. Damn typical. To finally find someone he could love, and then to have to share him with a damn ghost. Only his love life could turn into an X File.

Mulder waited at the warehouse for Skinner to return. He was starting to loathe Frank’s crude jokes, and Scar’s habit of picking under his nails with his knife. Cassidy had always been an irritating little flea, but Mulder yearned to squash him even more today. His nerves were on edge, and he tried to concentrate on the inevitable long card game, but his eyes kept flitting over towards the door. Sometime later that evening, Cassidy got a call on his cell phone and left to meet with someone higher up the food chain. Mulder sighed and glanced at his watch again, worried about Skinner. Damn, this must be how Scully and Skinner felt whenever they watched him being consumed by one of his quests. It wasn’t easy being the bystander. Mulder breathed a sigh of relief as Skinner joined them just before 10:00 p.m. The big man looked as grim faced as ever, but there was something about his body language that alerted Mulder. Mulder departed to use the john a few seconds later, and waited there for Skinner to join him.

“Good news?” he asked.

“Could be. Apparently Morgan has a big job lined up for us. Cassidy’s won his trust, and he’s going to give him a shot at some deal he’s working on. If we hang on in here for long enough, we might just get a free ride to the inside of Morgan’s operation.” Skinner spoke rapidly in a low voice.

“Fine.” Mulder nodded.

“Don’t do anything to blow our cover, Mulder,” Skinner warned. “We’re so close now, we must be more careful than ever.”

Mulder gave him a thumbs-up sign, and returned to the warehouse.

Cassidy returned a few minutes later, his body full of hyped-up aggression.

“So nice of you to join us,” he growled at the big man.

“I had some business to take care of,” Skinner snapped.

“Well, now I have some business to take care of.” Cassidy clicked his fingers, and they all gathered around, exchanging apprehensive glances. It was clear that something big had gone down, and Cassidy was furious about whatever it was. “I’ve just been talking to a friend, and he tells me that we have a cop among us,” Cassidy snarled, circling his gang. Mulder’s hand went absently to his gun, and he saw Skinner do the same.

“Who?” Scar asked, leaning forward, his eyes narrowed, and dangerous. He glanced around at his companions suspiciously. Mulder bit on his lip, feeling the tension rise in the pit of his stomach. Cop. Singular. Not plural. Was it him or Skinner they’d discovered? He could tell that Skinner was thinking the same thing, and their eyes met, just briefly, speaking volumes.

“Him.” Cassidy stopped behind Skinner, a gun in his hand – pointed directly at the big man’s head. “His real name is Walter Skinner, and he’s a fed.”

An assortment of weapons had appeared in the other men’s hands as if by magic, and Mulder found that he, also, was holding a gun loosely pointed at his boss. Skinner stood quite still, unmoving, and his last words to Mulder echoed through the younger man’s head. Don’t do anything to blow our cover…But his cover was already blown. Even so, there was no way the two of them would be able to shoot their way out of this one.

Mulder watched nervously as Cassidy removed Skinner’s gun, and knife, and waved him into the center of the room. Skinner raised his hands, and stood there, quietly. There was clearly no point in refuting the accusations.

“So what now, do we waste him?” Scar asked, raising his gun.

“No.” Cassidy shook his head. “I’m on strict instructions from Morgan. He doesn’t want Skinner dead – he wants him warned off.”

“What?” Frank frowned. “He knows all about our fucking operation, Cassidy. You’re just going to send him back home with his tail between his legs?”

“No, I’m going to send him back home with his face smashed in,” Cassidy snapped. “This operation doesn’t matter any more. Morgan’s closing us down, moving us onto something bigger, and better.”

The men glanced at each other, unsure about this, but Cassidy was in charge, and he seemed to know what he was doing.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” Scar moved towards Skinner, flexing his arms, and Mulder wanted to say something, to somehow stop what was about to happen, but a look from Skinner made him bite his lip.

“Your zeal is commendable, Scar,” Cassidy commented ironically. “But we’ve never given Spooky here his initiation rite, have we? Don’t you think it’s about time?”

Mulder felt all eyes turned on him. His mouth went dry.

“Initiation?” he questioned.

“Yeah.” Cassidy gave him an almost malicious smile. “We’ve all been through it. Even the cop.” He looked at Skinner with a sneer. “He knows the score, don’t you?” he asked. Skinner looked straight at Mulder.

“Yeah. I know the score,” he replied.

“He’s all yours.” Cassidy swung his head in Skinner’s direction, and Mulder glanced around at the assembled men. It was quite clear what he was supposed to do.

“I’ve not…uh, that is,” he began, playing for time.

Frank grinned. “Well, you did say you wanted to get your hands dirty,” he taunted, pushing Mulder forward.

Scar went up to Skinner and grabbed hold of his arms, pulling them behind his back.

“First one’s free,” he said.

There was silence for a moment, and time stretched out into eternity as Mulder walked towards his lover. He stopped in front of Skinner, and looked into the other man’s eyes, searching for a cue. Skinner looked back, his expression unchanging.

“Do it,” he urged.

Mulder hesitated. I can’t, I’m sorry, his mind gibbered, but Skinner’s face was calm, unchanging, solid. If Mulder had been the rock he clung to last night, then today their situations were reversed.

“Come on, Spooky. DO IT,” Skinner roared. Mulder knew what his lover was asking him to do, and why, but his fists rebelled.

“What’s the matter?” Skinner leaned forward. “Are you chicken, Spooky?” he hissed. They locked eyes. Everything in the big man’s expression spoke of a deep, unshakable trust. He trusted Mulder to do this; he needed Mulder to stay undercover now that his own cover had been blown. If Mulder was discovered then their last chance of finding out what had happened to the big man’s lost comrade was gone, and if anybody was going to hurt him, he wanted it to be Mulder. Skinner was beseeching Mulder, practically begging him with his eyes. Do this for me, if last night meant anything to you. Do it!

Mulder raised his fist, and landed a punch deep into the other man’s gut. Skinner grunted and doubled over. Mulder slammed another blow to his lover’s stomach before he could recover, followed by an uppercut to his jaw, and Skinner staggered, and fell against him. Mulder caught his arms, and felt the warm caress of the other man’s breath on the side of his face.

“Sorry,” Mulder whispered.

Skinner shook his head, and gripped Mulder’s arms in his hands as he went down onto his knees, his big body buckling from the blows he had received.

“More,” he replied, his voice carrying no further than Mulder’s ears. “Make it convincing.”

Mulder took a deep breath, then kicked the side of Skinner’s face hard, his breathing coming in panting gasps. Hands that last night had gently stroked, now hit out, offering blow after blow to Skinner’s bruised and swelling face. Fingers that had caressed, now punched. This body, that last night he had treated with such tenderness, tonight he kicked, and stamped on, until his lover lay at his feet, bloody and bruised. Mulder hated himself, hated the feeling of flesh under his fists, hated hurting the one person in the world he had found he could love.

Skinner’s eyes continually sought Mulder’s as each punch landed, and each kick connected, urging him to continue. Those brown eyes, so trusting last night, when they had made love, were trusting again today, as the big man endured this ordeal. Mulder hesitated, unable to go on, but Skinner’s eyes were insistent. He wished the other man would fight back, but Skinner offered no resistance.

“What’s the matter, Spooky? Had enough already?” Skinner taunted from blood-stained lips. There was a fire in his expression, and a strength that he sent straight to his lover’s resolve. Mulder stamped down hard on his own weakness. Skinner needed him to do this, and do it well.

Mulder lifted Skinner’s face with his hand, and sank his fist deep into the other man’s jaw, longing to send him to an oblivion where he couldn’t be hurt, but Skinner was as strong as the proverbial ox. Despite Mulder’s best shot, he went down, but not out, lying on the floor, his hands over his head to ward off any more blows.

“I think he’s done,” Mulder said, drawing back, and examining his bruised knuckles nonchalantly. “What now? Want me to dump him somewhere?” He needed to get Skinner to a hospital, and he wanted to make sure he hadn’t caused the big man any permanent injury. He’d been careful with his punches, but even so, he was worried.

“Yeah,” Cassidy grinned. “Dump him back outside the FBI,” he laughed. Mulder nodded. It had a kind of ghoulishly theatrical appeal, and suited Cassidy’s sense of melodrama.

“Need a hand?” Frank stepped forward as Mulder pulled Skinner to his feet, and slung one of his arms over his shoulder.

“I can manage,” Mulder snapped, almost buckling under his lover’s weight.

He half-walked, half-carried Skinner to the car, and pushed him inside.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Walter?” He reached over with one hand, driving crazily with the other.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” Skinner murmured.

“For what? Beating you to a fucking pulp?” Mulder commented savagely.

“You had no choice,” Skinner shrugged, then winced. He tried to straighten his battered body, glancing out as the car sped along the streets. “You’re going the wrong way,” Skinner muttered.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Mulder told him.

“No,” Skinner snapped.

Mulder’s head swung around in surprise. “Walter – don’t be fucking crazy. I have to.”

“No,” Skinner snapped again. “They might be following you. Take me to the Hoover building, like he told you, then go straight back. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Please, Mulder.” His eyes were beseeching.

“Walter,” Mulder hesitated. “Fuck this, Walter. You’re hurt!”

“I’ll be fine. You never were very good with your fists.”

“Bastard. Don’t damn well joke at a time like this,” Mulder fumed.

“I wasn’t.” Skinner raised an eyebrow, then winced. That was too much for Mulder. He pulled the car over, turned the light on, and examined the other man’s injuries.

“Mulder, we don’t have time for this,” Skinner protested weakly.

“Shut up. If I’m going to just dump you, then I need to know you’re okay first.” Mulder pulled open his lover’s shirt, and checked for injuries. There was some bruising on his ribcage, but as far as Mulder could tell, nothing seemed broken.

“It’s just cuts and bruises,” Skinner rasped.

Mulder turned the light off again and then took a deep breath, burying his face in his hands for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Skinner said. “I don’t have any right to ask you to go back there.”

“Of course I’ll damn well go back,” Mulder snapped. “If you just promise me you’ll go to the hospital as soon as I leave you,” Mulder turned in his seat and took hold of Skinner’s face between his hands. “I know what an obstinate bastard you can be. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Skinner said. “Shit, I can see you’re going to be a demanding boyfriend to have around.”

“You bet,” Mulder smiled, then carefully touched his lips to the other man’s bruised face, before slamming the car into gear and speeding off again amid the sound of screeching tires.

“And remind me never to let you borrow my car, either,” Skinner murmured.

“Only if you remind me never to get involved with my pig-headed, stubborn, macho boss, whose idea of a good night out is to get me to beat him up in front of witnesses,” Mulder retorted

“You didn’t like that? After all the trouble I went to to set it up, as well,” Skinner rasped.

Mulder sighed and gave up. It was obvious who was going to get the last word on this one, and it wasn’t going to be him.

He drew up outside the Hoover building, and slowed outside the entrance.

“Can you walk?” Mulder asked.

“I don’t think so. I was lying about your fists. It feels like they knew what they were doing.”

The corner of Skinner’s mouth turned up in a wry grin, and he opened the door, and half-staggered, half-fell onto the sidewalk. It took all of Mulder’s resolve, and a stern look from his boss, to make him pull the door shut and speed off again. Even so, he couldn’t resist looking back. Skinner was lying on the ground, but someone from the FBI building had run out and was helping him up. Mulder breathed a sigh of relief, and set off for the warehouse.

The gang was still there when he returned. Mulder walked in breezily, and grinned at them.

“All done,” he announced.

“Good,” Cassidy said, getting up and placing his gun against Mulder’s temple. “That’s Fed number one taken care of. Now it’s time for number two.” Mulder closed his eyes, and a few seconds later something cold and metallic made painful contact with the back of his head, and he passed out.

Mulder awoke with a splitting headache. He was lying on a hard leather couch, in a library. He blinked. A library? He sat up, too fast, and someone laughed.

“There’s a glass of water on the table,” a voice said. Mulder looked up, his vision coming into focus, and frowned when he saw the owner of the voice. The man was wearing some kind of ski mask, made of thin black silk. “You’re wondering about my mask,” the man stated, accurately.

“Not really,” Mulder shrugged. “Presumably, you don’t want me to know who you are.”

“Presumably.” The other man inclined his head. “Although not necessarily. I could have blindfolded you, if that were the case.”

“Presumably,” Mulder echoed. “Why am I here, and where is here, incidentally?”

“Here is my house. And you are here because you won’t go away.”

“On the contrary. I’d be happy to,” Mulder said with a wry wince as he took a sip of water. “Just show me the door and I’ll go.”

“Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple,” the masked man smiled. “I have to assume that Assistant Director Skinner is still pursuing this, as he sent you back?”

Mulder hesitated.

“Come now,” the masked man said. “The Assistant Director is very persistent. I’ve been aware of his activities for several weeks now.”

“Weeks?” Mulder looked confused. “Then why didn’t you act before now?”

“I did,” the masked man shrugged. “I tried to warn him off twice, before this evening – once with a bullet, and once with the dog tags. I had hoped that a bloody nose might work, but it’s clear that he’s not getting the message. What does he want, Mr. Mulder?”

“What he’s always wanted – to find the man who killed his friend.”

“And you think that’s me?” the stranger asked.

“If you’re Morgan, then yes,” Mulder answered.

“You don’t recognize your own uncle?” the masked man inquired. Mulder gave an ironic bark of laughter. “I am Morgan, but I didn’t kill Skinner’s friend,” Morgan told him. “I was fond of Jamie but he wasn’t…stable. He was a dabbler, Mr. Mulder. He died of an overdose, and we disposed of his body. Skinner can stop looking. There’s no great mystery.”

“Then why not report the death?” Mulder asked.

“I didn’t want any questions being asked,” Morgan shrugged. “Now, will you return to Skinner and tell him this?”

“You’re letting me go?” Mulder was surprised.

“Of course. You don’t know where you are. You’re no danger to me, Mulder. I don’t want a war with the FBI. I’m not sure I could win, and I don’t like to fight battles unless I’m certain of victory.” Morgan gestured with his hand, and a man stepped out of the shadows. “Go back to your boss, Mr. Mulder. Tell him to drop this.”

“I’ll tell him,” Mulder shrugged, walking unsteadily to the door.

“Mulder.”

He stopped, and turned. Morgan sighed. “You sound uncertain. Can I guess that you think the Assistant Director will continue to pursue this?”

“He cared about his friend a great deal,” Mulder said carefully, “and he’s an obstinate man. I think it will be hard to persuade him to drop it.” Although I’m damn well going to try.

“I see.”

Much to Mulder’s surprise, the other man raised his hand, and took off his mask. Mulder took a deep intake of breath. Morgan was badly scarred – the whole of one side of his face looked as if it had been shot off, or melted.

“Sometimes people wear masks because they grow weary of being stared at – and of seeing their own ugliness reflected back in other people’s eyes,” Morgan told him.

“Forgive me, but I would imagine that your line of work is fairly hazardous. It’s hard to feel much sympathy when the rewards are in proportion to the risk.” Mulder gestured with his head to their plush surroundings, and Morgan laughed.

“You’re right, of course.” He looked almost pensive for a moment. When he looked up, his one good eye shone with a kind of sincerity. “Tell the Assistant Director that Jamie is dead, Mr. Mulder,” he said firmly. “Tell him to stop looking. Make him believe. For his sake.”

“I’ll do my best,” Mulder shrugged.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mulder.”

Mulder gave in to the indignity of having a wad of cloth soaked in chloroform placed over his face. When he woke up he was back in his car outside the warehouse. It was just getting dark.

“Great,” he muttered. “Somewhere along the way I lost a whole day, and you know what?” he asked nobody in particular. “I’m damn well starving.”

He glanced around to see if he was being watched, but he couldn’t see anybody. With a sigh, he started the car.

“Never get involved with someone with more demons than you have,” he grumbled to himself as he drove. In fact, he was dreading telling Skinner the news. He knew the other man well enough to doubt whether this would be enough to stop him, and he was certain that Morgan would think nothing of killing his boss if he didn’t give this up. This game had been quietly escalating as it went on, and as far as Mulder could see, Skinner was losing badly. He didn’t want his new lover to pay the ultimate price. Mulder got out his cell phone and called Skinner’s office to find out what hospital the Assistant Director had been taken to, only to be informed that the other man had refused medical treatment, and gone home. With a curse, Mulder swung the car around and set off for Crystal City.

“I thought I told you to go to the hospital,” Mulder snapped when Skinner answered the door. He pushed past the other man, and walked into the living room.

“You did. I didn’t.”

“If only you were as good at taking orders as you are at handing them out,” Mulder fumed.

“Ditto to you,” Skinner commented wryly, shutting the door behind his guest.

Mulder stopped short, a contrite expression on his face. “I’m sorry. It hasn’t been a very good day. How are you?” He looked at his lover anxiously. Skinner had a split lip, and the side of his face was purple with bruises. There was a makeshift bandage around his wrist.

“Considering my boyfriend beat me up? Not bad,” Skinner grinned. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tee shirt – loose comfortable clothing, Mulder thought. “More to the point – how are you?”

“Lousy. I’ve been knocked out and drugged, transported fuck knows where and I have a feeling that everybody knows a hell of a lot more about what’s going on around here than I do. I feel like I’m trapped in a game of cat and mouse, and I don’t know whether I’m the cat, the mouse, or the goddamn piece of cheese luring the mouse as bait.”

“Mulder – slow down. What’s happened?” Skinner walked over to his lover and put a hand on each of his shoulders.

“Morgan happened,” Mulder told him. “They knew, Walter. They knew we were both with the FBI. It was all a set up. They’ve been onto us for weeks.” Mulder quickly filled Skinner in on the details of his conversation with Morgan, watching his lover’s dark eyes take it all in. “Walter – I think he’s right. Give this up – hand over all you’ve found out to Raven. Let Narcotics deal with this from here.”

“Morgan told you Jamie died of an overdose?” Skinner walked stiffly over to the couch and sat down with a wince, grabbing his ribs.

“Yes – and I believe him.” Mulder perched himself on the coffee table in front of Skinner, and took hold of the other man’s face between his hands. “Please, Walter. You’ve done your duty by Jamie. Give this up.”

Skinner nodded, his eyes drinking in his lover’s concern. He reached out and caressed Mulder’s neck.

“Thanks. I appreciate what you’ve done for me.” His fingers combed through his lover’s hair and found the small lump on the back of his head. Mulder flinched.

“I told you – today hasn’t been a good day.” Mulder gave a wry smile. “I’m starving hungry, and my head’s killing me.”

“I’ll get you some painkillers.” Skinner tried to get up, but Mulder pushed him back down.

“That can wait. First, I want to get re-acquainted with you.” He pressed his lips gently against Skinner’s mouth, and was rewarded by the other man opening up under him, letting him in, eagerly.

“You missed me then?” Mulder asked, smiling.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Skinner growled, in a low, throaty, sexy tone that went straight to Mulder’s cock.

Mulder pulled his lover’s tee shirt over his head and carefully examined his torso for damage. Skinner had some nasty bruising on his ribs, and he winced as Mulder’s fingers gently traced over the damage.

“I’m so sorry, Walter.” Mulder kissed each bruise, and Skinner ran his hands down his back, stroking him.

“My fault. I got us both into this,” Skinner said, but his tone was so weary and dejected that it was almost painful to hear it.

“There were never any prizes for anybody in all this, Walter,” Mulder said softly. “It was never going to be a happy ending. You knew that Jamie was probably dead, and you were pretty sure you knew how he died.”

“The lack of surprises doesn’t take away the hurt, all the same,” Skinner whispered.

Mulder pressed his head against the other man’s brow. “If I could take it away, I would,” he promised.

“In some ways, you have.” Skinner laced his fingers through Mulder’s. “I was looking for an old love, and found a new one, instead.”

“I knew it. You’re a closet romantic,” Mulder teased.

“My dark secret’s out,” Skinner shrugged, then winced.

“Hey.” Mulder pressed in for another kiss, then gently undid the drawstring on his lover’s sweatpants. “No underwear? Another surprise. My lover likes going commando.”

“To be honest, it just hurt to have too many layers around my midriff, but hey, if it works for you…” Skinner trailed off as Mulder’s mouth wrapped itself around his cock, sucking hard. “Shit, that’s good…” Skinner stroked his lover’s hair, as Mulder gave his cock some expert attention. He tried to pull away when he was on the brink of coming, but Mulder put his hands on his thighs, and held him tight, his eyes showing Skinner that he wanted to taste him. With a little smile, Skinner nodded, and a few seconds later, his hips bucked up and he came deep inside Mulder’s throat.

“That was good,” Mulder told him.

“Well, you said you were hungry,” Skinner commented, deadpan. Mulder did a double take.

“I’m never going to get used to this whole sense of humor thing. Who are you, and what did you do with my boss?”

“You’ll see him again, at work. Here, though, alone with you, I’m just me. Walter.” Skinner ran his fingers lovingly along Mulder’s cheek. “Talking of hungry – I’m not sure semen is good for you on an empty stomach. Why don’t you go and make yourself something in the kitchen. Then maybe I can return the favor.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively in the direction of Mulder’s groin, and Mulder laughed.

“I’d need to take a shower first,” he grinned.

“Make it so,” Skinner nodded, leaning back, and closing his eyes wearily.

Mulder made himself a sandwich and devoured it while he turned on the shower. It felt good to let the warm water wash away all the sweat of the past few days, and it felt really good to have clean hair again. He toweled his hair dry, and then pulled on one of Skinner’s robes, wrapping it tightly around his body before padding out barefoot into the lounge. He made himself another sandwich, carrying on a conversation with his tired lover in the other room.

“When you’ve, uh, returned that favor you were talking about,” Mulder grinned to himself, “then we should call Raven. I have some information about Morgan that might be useful to him.”

“Uh-huh,” Skinner had taken to saying this every time Mulder stopped for breath.

“Yeah – it was weird, the guy was wearing this mask, and then he just took it off.” Mulder took a bite of his sandwich. “I haven’t worked out why. Why wear it if he was going to show me his face anyway?”

“What did he look like?” Skinner asked.

“Ugly,” Mulder called into the other room. “He’d been in some kind of accident. The whole of one side of his face was blown away. He was pretty smart, though. Let’s face it, he was one step ahead of us all the way through this.”

He poured himself a drink, and returned to the living room still munching his sandwich to find that Skinner was no longer on the couch.

“Walter?” He noticed the door to the balcony was open, and walked over. “Walter?”

Skinner was standing on the balcony, looking down on the traffic below, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You okay?” Mulder put his drink down, and slid his arms around his lover.

“I’m fine,” Skinner murmured. He turned and enveloped Mulder in his arms, taking a deep inhalation of the other man’s newly washed hair. “Did I ever tell you about my kinky streak, Mulder?”

Mulder looked down to see the pair of handcuffs dangling from Skinner’s hand.

“Uh, no. We have only just started dating.” He coughed nervously.

“So the idea of doing it out here, in the open, in handcuffs, doesn’t appeal to you?” Skinner smiled seductively, and gently nipped the side of Mulder’s neck with his teeth.

“I didn’t say that.” Mulder returned the smile. “To be honest, doing it with you anywhere appeals.” He held up his wrist, and allowed Skinner to snap the cuff shut around it, then to fasten it onto the balcony rails. Skinner crouched down beside him, and caressed his face. “I’m sorry, Fox,” he murmured.

“Walter?” Mulder looked up in alarm as Skinner got up, and went to the door.

“You’ll be okay,” Skinner told him. “It’s a warm night. I’ll leave a message for Scully to come and rescue you in the morning. I’m sorry to have to do this but I don’t need you along on this one, Mulder,” he smiled, sadly. “I know how you hate taking ‘no’ for an answer and I really don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Where the hell are you going?” Mulder pulled angrily on the cuff.

“Unfinished business,” Skinner murmured.

“Walter! At least leave me a gun,” Mulder protested. “I’m defenseless out here.”

“I don’t think that anybody will be breaking in,” Skinner replied, “but if you insist.”

He went back into the other room and returned with a gun, placing it just at the edge of Mulder’s reach, clearly not trusting the other man not to wing him in order to stop him leaving.

“Walter! Fuck you, Skinner. Come back here,” Mulder growled fruitlessly, as his lover walked stiffly towards the door. He grabbed his jacket on the way out, and checked the pocket for his gun.

“Walter – for god’s sake. You can hardly even stand!” Mulder protested. His lover just gave him a brief look of regret, before leaving the apartment. “Damn!” Mulder kicked his foot pointlessly against the bars of the balcony, then leaned over and looked down. He saw Skinner leave the apartment block far below, moving slowly, his arm hanging awkwardly at his side. The big man crossed the road, and glanced up at the balcony, as if trying to spot Mulder, before disappearing in the direction of the Metro.

Mulder kicked the bars again, tugging at the handcuff and wondering what the hell was going on, and what he had missed. Finally, more for something to do than anything else, he lay on his stomach and inched over to the gun. He picked it up and sat with it in his lap, trying to work out the pieces of the puzzle, running over every single conversation he’d had with Skinner in the past few weeks through his mind.

The puzzle fell into place with a snap, and Mulder went berserk, tugging at the cuff again, frantic with worry for his missing lover. Skinner had told him he would leave a message for Scully to find him. That meant he didn’t plan on coming back. Mulder calmed down, his wrist aching, and tried to think of a way to prevent a tragedy unfolding. Through the open balcony door he could see the panic button by Skinner’s front door – a wise precaution in his lover’s profession. He knew that Skinner’s security system was state of the art. Mulder picked up the gun, and aimed. It was a long shot, and an awkward one, and it was dark, but it was worth a try. He fired once, and missed, then a second time. The bullet pinged off the wall next to the panic button but on the third try it hit home, and the button exploded, triggering off the alarm. A few minutes later, the apartment security team arrived.

It took Mulder some time to explain who he was, and what he was doing handcuffed to the Assistant Director’s balcony clad only in a bathrobe in the middle of the night. He fished out his ID and flashed that around, and after a few phone calls they were finally persuaded to let him go. Mulder pulled on his clothes and ran down the stairs, punching in Mark Raven’s number on his cell phone as he went. He asked the other man to meet him at the Hoover Building, and drove off.

Mulder ran from the parking garage to his office, logged into the FBI database, and started pulling up records.

“Shit, I’m so fucking stupid,” he berated himself, as he worked. He found a military file on James Gale, and pulled the record up. A picture of a young, fresh-faced corporal was attached to the file. Mulder looked at it, frowning. “No good. I need something later.”

He ran through the conversations he’d had with Skinner again, kicking himself mentally for not piecing it together sooner, and brought up another file, dated 1974 – Jamie’s records from the VA Psychiatric unit he had been detained in. “Shit.” Mulder looked at the photograph, and buried his face in his hands.

Mulder got up and paced around his office. It still didn’t make sense. Skinner didn’t know where Morgan lived, so how the hell was he going to…Mulder stopped pacing, the rest of the puzzle fitting together effortlessly in his mind.

“Oh shit,” he whispered.

It was well past midnight when Mulder pulled his car up beside the Lincoln Memorial. He ran down the pathway, past the Reflecting Pool. To his right, the moonlight skated over the silver bodies of the Korean War Memorial statues, bathing them in an eerie glow, making them seem almost real. Mulder moved quietly. As he got closer to the Vietnam Wall, he heard someone coughing. He stopped, and found a vantage point so that he could see what was going on before he was discovered. The memorial was well lit, and he could see Skinner standing with his back to the Wall. The harsh glow of the lights illuminated the bruises on his face and he looked tired, and ill, his whole body shaking with the effort of standing. For a moment, Mulder thought he had got there in time – then he saw the three men approaching from the shadows.

Mulder recognized Morgan immediately. He wasn’t wearing his mask, and the light illuminated his ruined face all too cruelly, highlighting the raw, savaged flesh. One side of his face was unblemished, and showed that he had clearly once been a handsome man. His thick silver hair contrasted with his vivid blue eyes, and his lips were full and sensual. The other two men were clearly his bodyguards.

“I thought you’d come alone,” Skinner said, his voice carrying on the breeze.

“Why? For old times sake? When did you get so sentimental, Walt?”

“I thought, as you’re going to have to kill me, that you’d at least have the guts to do it yourself,” Skinner replied. Mulder’s breath caught in his throat. Nobody was going to kill Skinner while he was around to prevent it.

“You should have given it up,” Morgan said softly.

“How could I? Forgive me for caring,” Skinner shrugged, and staggered slightly. Morgan put out an arm to catch him, and the two men stared at each other for a moment in silence.

“Can you do it, Jamie?” Skinner asked.

“Can you?” Morgan replied. He took Skinner’s own gun from him, and placed it on the ground between them.

“When did it happen?” Skinner asked.

“When did I become Morgan?” The other man shrugged. “A long time ago. Jamie’s been dead for years, Walter. He died back with the others in Vietnam, just as Walter Skinner did. You know that, deep inside. You weren’t the same man after ‘Nam, and neither was I.”

“Maybe I became a better one,” Skinner told him.

Morgan laughed. “The implication being that I became someone worse. Maybe. I became what they made me, though, Walter. My father told me that after World War Two he received a hero’s welcome. What did we get? We got brushed under the fucking carpet. We were treated as if we were an embarrassment. We deserved more than that.”

“So all those years when you showed up here…” Skinner looked into the other man’s face, searchingly.

“Yes. I was already Morgan. I told you – I killed off Jamie a long time ago. The only time I was ever him again was with you, once a year, out here.” Morgan raised his hand and gestured.

“Then what happened to you? Why didn’t you show up last year?” Skinner demanded, his tone low and angry. Mulder held his breath.

“I was in prison,” Morgan shrugged. “On minor drugs charges. They couldn’t pin anything big on me – my lawyers were too good. I’m a wealthy man, Walter, and I have you to thank for that.”

“Me?” Skinner shook his head, bemused.

“I used to watch you, year after year, making a success of your life, settling down, getting married, doing well in your career, earning good money, and I wanted that. You moved on, Walter, and I could have killed you for that. You moved on and left me behind.”

“It was that or go under,” Skinner told him despairingly.

“You always were stronger than me, Walter, stronger than anyone I ever knew.”

“I looked up to you. I hero-worshipped you.”

“Then you should beware of putting your faith in false idols.” Morgan gave a ghoulish laugh. “I wasn’t worth that amount of devotion. You inspired me though, Walter. You inspired me to put the past behind me. I’ve been clean for a long time. Now, I just sell the stuff. It was the industry I was the most intimately familiar with, after all. Where better to make my fortune?”

“I can’t believe…” Skinner struggled with the words.

“That you didn’t know me? Well, you never asked. Too busy climbing the greasy pole at the FBI. You didn’t really want to know what your old junkie comrade was up to, did you?”

“That’s not fair,” Skinner growled.

“Maybe not,” Morgan nodded. “There was another reason. I didn’t want to take Jamie from you, Walter,” he said softly. “Or the memory of him. I was him once, just as you were Corporal Skinner, wide-eyed and naïve, with that big crush on me.”

“It was more than a crush,” Skinner told him seriously.

Morgan nodded. “For a while.”

“Why didn’t you just come and tell me you were okay?” Skinner whispered. “Once you got out of prison?”

“I had no idea you’d care this much. By the time I did, you’d already started digging, Walter. You already knew too much. Can you honestly tell me you’d have left it alone?” Skinner hesitated, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, shaking his head. “Exactly. You’d have had me followed, or followed me yourself. You’d have found out the truth one way or the other and then, like the good cop you are, you’d have brought me in. I thought that convincing you that Jamie was dead would be best for both of us. And now…” Morgan glanced at the gun on the floor between them. “One of us has to kill, and one of us has to be killed,” he said. “You can’t let me go – and I can’t let you go. So, what’s it to be?”

Skinner looked down, then nudged the gun towards Morgan with his foot.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “I’m not full of surprises like you. I’m still the same old Walter. You do it. I can’t.” Morgan looked him in the eye for a long moment, and then nodded, reaching down to pick up the gun. “One thing, though.” Skinner put his foot on the gun, and Morgan looked up in surprise. “You do it. Don’t get one of them to do it.” He nodded his head in the direction of the bodyguards. “You owe me that much.”

“Of course.” Morgan picked up the gun and put his arm around Skinner, drawing him close, the gun pressing into the big man’s flesh.

Mulder found that he was running, shouting, and he saw Skinner look up in surprise, and Morgan turn. Morgan snapped the gun up, aiming at him now, instead of Skinner, and Skinner was galvanized into action, one hand coming down on Morgan’s arm, deflecting the shot. Mulder felt a dull thud in his stomach, a wave of pain, and his legs stopped working. He skidded to a halt, losing his footing, and then he was down.

“Mulder! No!” He heard Skinner’s voice from a long way off, and then the big man was next to him, cradling his head, his face crumpled in rage and grief. “Fuck you, Jamie. Fuck you.” Skinner pulled Mulder’s gun and turned, pointing it directly at his old lover. Morgan’s face registered a split second of surprise, and he raised his own gun towards Skinner, but the Assistant Director got there first, and the bullet slammed cleanly into the other man’s chest. Pandemonium broke out, as Raven’s men appeared from nowhere, and Morgan’s bodyguards dropped their weapons.

“Mulder…” Skinner’s hands were unbuttoning his shirt, trying to find the wound.

“S’alright,” Mulder said, pushing him away. “Kevlar.” He pointed at the bullet-proof vest under his shirt and Skinner sat back with a shaky laugh. “Raven insisted. Good thing.”

“I thought he’d killed you,” Skinner whispered, his hands shaking.

“I’m okay. You’re in shock, though.” Mulder could see how pale Skinner was, the bruises on his face seeming dark and livid in his white flesh.

“Jamie…” Skinner got up, and walked brokenly over to where the other man lay. Two of Raven’s men were working on him, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it was clearly useless. “I’m sorry, Jamie,” Skinner said, crouching down beside him, taking hold of the other man’s hand, and looking into his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jamie smiled. “Over with. Glad it was you though,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

Skinner looked up at Mulder, and the agent placed a hand on the back of his lover’s neck. Skinner sat there for a moment, still holding his friend’s lifeless hand.

“I’ve been an idiot,” he whispered.

“No.” Mulder didn’t give a damn about Raven’s people seeing them. He crouched down behind Skinner, and put his arms around his lover’s cold body, holding him close, keeping him warm. Skinner was already starting to shiver in shock. “None of this was your fault, Walter.” Mulder held him tight, his lips brushing the other man’s head. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known. If I’d helped him more after ‘Nam…if I’d only…” Skinner bowed his head.

“Ssh. Don’t,” Mulder said. He took off his own jacket and placed it around the big man’s shoulders. “It’s over, Walter,” he said. “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine. Come on. Time to let go.”

“Yeah,” Skinner nodded, then relinquished his hold on his dead friend’s hand. He tried to get up, and staggered, reaching out and finding Mulder’s arms, holding on as the world swayed around him.

“Walter, this time you really are going to the hospital, if I have to drive you there myself,” Mulder told him firmly.

“This time, Mulder, as you’re still alive to drive me, I’ll be happy to go,” Skinner replied with a ghost of a smile.

______

Vietnam War Memorial. Washington DC.

December, 2000.

Skinner got out of his car, and made his usual annual pilgrimage to the Wall. It felt different this year. He had spent the whole day wondering whether he’d even turn up. The blood stain on the paving was long gone, but he could still see it in his mind’s eye. Skinner shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and stared at the black granite silently. He found the names of his dead comrades and repeated them, like a litany, then he stood back, his head bowed. He felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn’t know what. Nobody was going to turn up this year, as they had on so many previous years. This was a ritual he was condemned to perform alone from now on.

A footstep caught his attention, and he looked up in surprise as a familiar figure came towards him.

“It’s today, isn’t it?” Mulder asked.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I read it in your private diary,” Mulder grinned. “I’m joking, Walter!” He put a hand on the other man’s arm as Skinner opened his mouth in outrage. “I knew it was sometime in December, so I made some inquiries. Besides, you’ve been acting strange all day. You didn’t even glare at me when I asked you to sign that patently absurd 302 this morning.”

“Was it? Patently absurd, I mean?” Skinner rubbed his hand over his eyes wearily, dislodging his glasses.

“Yeah,” Mulder grinned.

“I must have gotten so used to absurd 302’s that I’m unable to tell the difference between just plain absurd, and downright ridiculous, any more.” Skinner shook his head wryly.

They were silent for a long moment.

“I was thinking of going home,” Skinner murmured. “I wasn’t even sure I’d come in the first place.”

“I knew you’d come,” Mulder told him firmly.

“How?”

“Because I know you.”

“Can any of us really say that we know each other?” Skinner asked him.

“Yeah. We can.” Mulder looked him in the eye. “We can,” Mulder repeated insistently. Jamie’s ghost hung between them for a moment, then Skinner gave his lover a smile that made Mulder’s heart stand still.

Mulder opened up the bag he was carrying.

“I can’t say the words, Walter,” he said with a shrug. “You have to do that, this year. But I brought these.” He got out the candles. “One for each of them – including Jamie.” Skinner looked at them for a moment, then nodded.

“Thanks,” he murmured. Mulder took his time lighting the candles, and watched as Skinner slowly, painfully, formulated the words, remembering each of his lost comrades, and including Jamie in his homage.

When the ceremony was over, they sat in silence, watching the candles burn down.

“You know – one thing always kind of impressed me about you,” Mulder said as the candles began to flicker out.

“Just the one thing?” Skinner deadpanned.

“Yeah,” Mulder grinned. “You told me that you only got together with Jamie in the hospital. That’s after he got his face blown off by that land-mine.”

“Yes.” Skinner raised an eyebrow. “And that impresses you why?”

“Well, he looked a hell of a lot cuter before the accident,” Mulder said with an apologetic shrug.

“I never saw his face. I just saw him,” Skinner said.

“When he showed me his face – that was because he knew I’d tell you?”

“Yes. He knew I wasn’t going to give it up, and he had no intention of giving himself up, so we’d reached stalemate.”

“How did you know that he’d come here?”

“Sooner or later everything comes back to this.” Skinner looked at the Wall. Mulder nodded, his warm breath clouding the cold air. Skinner was sitting with his hands in his coat pocket, as frozen as a statue. There was nobody around, so Mulder risked putting his arm around the other man. Skinner was never the most demonstrative of lovers, but on this occasion he didn’t push Mulder away. In fact he seemed to draw comfort from the gesture, and leaned into the embrace. They didn’t speak for a long time after that.

“While we’re on the subject of remembrance,” Mulder began as daylight filtered through the darkness several hours later.

“Mmm?” Skinner looked at him.

“You never did tell me who that third person in your life was. You said you’d been in love three times?” he prompted.

Skinner sighed, and shook his head. “Don’t be an idiot, Mulder.”

Mulder looked into amused dark eyes, and realization flooded in. “Me? It’s me?”

“Yeah.” Skinner ducked his head, looking embarrassed. “Who the hell did you think it was?”

“I dunno. Scully, maybe,” Mulder shrugged.

“No. It was you. Always you,” Skinner said softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me that back then? When I asked?”

“Mulder, considering the circumstances, it didn’t seem wise. Telling someone they’re the love of your life after just one night might be enough to make the object of your affection run screaming for the hills.”

“Not me,” Mulder told him. “Love of your life?”

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

Mulder shook his head, and laughed out loud.

“It’s time to go.” Skinner stood up. “Same time, next year?” he asked his companion.

“Of course. Always,” Mulder replied, and they walked back to the car together.

-=The End=-