Spoilers: various, up to One Son
Note: I wrote this story before I heard about the Italian rape verdict
about women wearing jeans. Walter is wearing snug jeans in this one, but
his jeans are not meant to be indicative of everyone's jeans. Just because
he needs to help Fox take his jeans off doesn't mean that, for example,
he would need Scully's help to get her jeans off. In fact, she's so much
smaller than he is that he could probably hold her with one hand and take
her jeans off with the other. Hmmm...there's a thought.
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Excerpts from the journal of Walter S. Skinner
I went to Fox's last night, to check on him. It was late, I'd had to deal
with--fuck, with so much. Processing Spender's resignation. I hadn't
even finished that when they found his body.
"Suicide?" Kersh asked me when I called him.
"I doubt it," I answered. "I want Agent Scully to see the body."
The four of us--Kersh, Fox, Dana, me--met in Spender's office. God.
Dana inspected the body quickly and professionally. "Not suicide," she
said.
"He had his hand up defensively, and he tried to cover the wound before
whoever shot him put this gun in his hand. See? There's blood on his palm,
and powder burns on his fingers--right here." She looked up at us.
"There aren't many people with enough access to do this."
"I can think of two," Fox said, his voice bland. "His father, and Diana."
"Diana Fowley's pulled an Alex Krycek on us," I said. "She didn't show
for work, and her phone's disconnected."
"Fuck," Kersh said.
Not that I blame him. It took me a hell of a long time to adjust to the
simple fact that Fox Mulder wasn't crazier than a rabid dog. If I ever
adjusted to it.
So I spent the rest of the day getting the mess cleaned up and the
paperwork cleaned up and working with Kersh to get Dana and Fox back with
the X-Files and...God, it was just too much. Although having Jay Kersh
as an ally almost made it worth it. That man is a bulldog. Loyal.
Tenacious. And much cleaner than I am, which helps. No skeletons in
his closet.
I'm rambling.
So I went to Fox's. Not entirely on my own; Dana called me and asked me
to check on him. Which I did.
He opened the door angry. "Goddammit, Walter!"
"What?" I was surprised and shocked. He turned and stalked back into
the apartment. I followed.
He sat on the couch and stared at me, his eyes a maddingly gold, burning
into me. Reading my sins. Come and see the man who told me all I ever
did...
"You. And Scully. Fuck you both."
"What?"
"She called you, didn't she? She left here an hour ago, you know. I
had to threaten to call the police to get her to leave." His jaw worked
slowly, the bone and muscle making the skin ripple. "She thinks I
can't take care of myself. She thinks I'm fragile and love-starved."
I held still, waiting for him to continue.
"And you think the same thing, Walter. Fuck you." I opened my mouth to
deny it and found myself pressed back against the wall, his hand over
my mouth. "Don't bother to deny it. You're a damn liar if you do."
He let me go and returned to his seat on the couch, as lightening-quick
in retreat as he'd been in striking. "So I didn't have the perfect
childhood. No one does. So I'm a bit strange, and too fucking smart
for my own good, and so my father was involved in the strangest of
conspiracies. So what? No one ever thought Spender was incompetent
because of his missing father and lunatic mother, oh no, just Spooky
Mulder." He leaned forward and I frowned, wondering if he was going to
come at me again. "You know, that nickname was originally
complimentary. 'It's spooky how quickly he picks things up. It's
spooky how accurate his profiles are. It's spooky.' And then when
I got the X-Files, they figured 'Hell, another brilliant profiler
cracked under the strain, and isn't it funny what they've got him doing
now, poor bastard.' Spooky for a different reason."
He was studying me again. "What they couldn't figure was why I kept
working the nasty profiles. If it had broken me, how could I continue?
Wasn't that weird? Wasn't that spooky all over again? Motherfuckers."
I walked over to the couch and sat down next to him. He didn't seem
to notice--he kept staring at the place where I had been. "So Scully
thinks I've always been cracked, thinks my time in Violent Crimes
scarred me, thinks my father was a sonovabitch, thinks I'm in need of
constant care because once she was over here and I didn't have anything
in my fridge. So I hadn't been home in three weeks--we were out of
town, and I had a girlfriend at the time and was sleeping there--what
the hell did she expect? So sometimes I don't have anything to do on
weekends and I pester her. Big fucking deal, Walter. I'm thirty-seven;
I've lived on my own since my marriage broke up; I can fucking well take
care of myself. So you can go home and call Scully and tell her that
her damn mothering instinct has once again succeeded in pissing me off."
"You were married?"
His eyes snapped to my face, still golden and angry. "Who did you think
Diana was? My mother?"
"I knew she was your ex-girlfriend."
"Ex-wife." He smiled bitterly. "I wonder if she was under orders from
the smoker then or not."
I reached out to him. "Fox--"
"No, Walter." I froze, then let my hand drop. He watched me for a few
moments, and his eyes softened. "Sometimes, Walter, a case will mess me
up. That happens. It happens to everyone. Some people sit up all
night shaking. Some people cry. I go looking for comfort sex. It's
not unusual. It's not symptomatic of anything but a normal human
reaction. Sometimes I just want to reassure myself that I'm capable of
more than causing death or pain or--whatever. That I can still give
someone pleasure."
I couldn't meet his eyes. Was I comfort sex to him? Nothing more? I
looked down, away from him.
"But I don't need them to take care of me. I don't need to be kept in
bubblewrap." He sighed. "Scully tries to do that. She thinks I'm
insane half the time. She loves me, but she can't *see* me. You...I
thought you knew that I was OK. That I wouldn't break. Or did you suck
me off on the theory that it would keep me from falling apart?"
"Fox, I wouldn't--"
"No, I don't suppose you would." He placed his hands over mine.
"Sometimes, Walter, I get lucky and the person I love lets me love them.
And sometimes they love me enough not to be selfish."
I looked up in time to see him move in to kiss me.
God.
I had forgotten how good he tastes, how strong he is. I'm taller and
broader and stronger, but he has a swimmer's strong spare body. Which
I
had to touch. I slid my hands under his t-shirt, my fingers against his
skin, feeling the muscles gliding underneath.
He fumbled with the snap on my jeans, pulled his mouth away from mine
and laughed. "Fuck, Walter, did you weld this together?"
"It's a chastity belt. Keeps me safe from agents who try to get fresh."
"I was succeeding at getting fresh until this damn thing thwarted me."
He sat back and skinned off his shirt, then his pants.
He was wearing those damn alien boxers again. And he was taking my
turtleneck off, kissing my exposed skin, rubbing himself against me.
"Bed?" I asked.
"Mmm." He stood up and I followed him out of the room.
Into a very nice bedroom. "You know, Fox, some people swear you don't
have a bedroom."
"I didn't. I have no idea where this came from. Someone redecorated my
entire apartment. I sold most of the stuff, but kept this. Figured it
might come in handy if I wanted to screw my way back to the X-Files."
"Is that what you think of me?"
"No, I figured I'd screw you at your place. You have better beer. I
mean, last time I couldn't offer you anything to drink except--"
"Don't say it."
"You never let me have any fun."
"Liar."
"Pot. Kettle. Black."
"Fuck you."
"Please."
I unsnapped my jeans and took them off, then pushed him down on the bed.
His erection was warm through his boxers, warm against my stomach, and
he ran his fingers over my back and underneath my shorts.
I kissed him again and froze as something occurred to me.
"The nanotech in my blood, Fox--"
He lay very still for a minute. Then, "Condoms in the lower drawer. And
I'll top."
"Right."
And that was that. He moved under me, trembling, and I rolled off of
him and started to stroke him through his boxers. "I love you, Fox,"
I said.
He grinned wickedly. "Pulling out the big guns, hey Walter?"
"I'll big gun you," I growled, and knew I'd fallen for it when his hand
wrapped around my erection.
"Yes," he said, "you will."
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