Summary: This is the twelfth in a series of stories about the complicated
relationship between Mulder, Skinner, and Scully. Little Star takes place
after Monday. Would that be Tuesday? No, make it Wednesday. No, make
it Wednesday of the week after.
Disclaimer: FOX. 1013. Chris Carter. Not me.
In my own little X-Files universe, Diana is Mulder's ex-wife, which
explains the wedding ring in Travellers and Unusual Suspects.
Although the titles for the series come from Madonna's _Ray of Light_,
these
aren't songfics. Feedback to jacquez+@andrew.cmu.edu or laurav@stones.com
----
Excerpts from the journal of Walter S. Skinner
Jay Kersh and I had dinner after work. He's behind me all the way, which
I expected, and behind Mulder and Scully, which I'd hoped for. Although
after Monday of last week, I'm not sure that Mulder isn't slipping into
his fast-and-loose ways again.
But then, maybe he's not. He behaved almost all of last week, except
for Monday. That's a longer stretch of good behavior than I've gotten
out of him in a long time.
He's waiting. We're all waiting. We're not sure for what, but Diana Fowley
was not among the dead at the hangar, and sometimes I see the pain of
that betrayal in his eyes. And sometimes I think he knows the waiting
is
over, and is simply sparing us the bad news.
So Jay and I were eating and talking, and suddenly he went very quiet.
I stopped and stared at him.
He sighed. "Walt."
"Yes?"
"About Mulder."
"Yes?"
"How long have you been sleeping with him?"
I frowned. "What makes you think I am?"
"Come on, Walt! I've known you more than twenty years. You've always
been...appreciative of men. And the way you look at him--well." He
shrugged. "So. How long?"
"A while. Not regularly."
"Oh. Scully too?"
"Once."
"What's she like?"
"Fuck you. That's inappropriate."
"The way I hear it, I'm the only one you're not fucking."
"Lucky you."
He grinned at me and went back to his dinner. I was relieved to let the
subject drop.
After dinner, I sat in my car for almost an hour, debating.
Finally I headed over to Mulder's apartment. We've been seeing each
other about twice a week since he and Scully were reassigned to the
X-Files. Sleeping together, almost exclusively at my place.
Not regularly, Jay, not until recently. Like I'd tell him that. He
won't use it against us, but I think Mulder's paranoia has begun to rub
off on me.
Mulder opened the door as though he'd been expecting me, which he
shouldn't have been. "Walter. Come on in."
I stepped inside. "Kersh knows."
He crossed his arms and looked at me. "Oh?"
"He asked. I told him."
"You trust him?"
"I trust him enough to tell him you've been an occasional partner."
"That's no big deal, Walter. Christ, half the field agents in the
Bureau have freaked on a case and gone running to their partner or
their ASAC or whatever. Kersh knows that."
"I know. I just thought you should."
He shrugged. "Want something to drink? Scotch?"
"Water's fine."
He turned and headed into the kitchen. I prowled the living room and
noticed the long boxes propped against the wall. When he came back,
I asked about them.
"Oh. My waterbed sprung a leak. I...guess I got used to having a bed.
So I got a new one and have to put it together."
"You didn't have the delivery folks do it for you?"
"I like doing things myself. You want to help?" I frowned, and he
punched me lightly on the shoulder. "If you help me put it up, you
can help me break it in. Come on--I'm sick of sleeping on the couch."
"You could just sleep at my place."
"Scully panicks enough when she can't reach me here two nights a week,
Walter."
"She knows where you are."
"She's jealous. We're going to need a hammer."
He disappeared in search of tools. I took one of the boxes and started
dragging it towards the bedroom.
It took us almost an hour, partially because we needed three people and
partially because Fox kept stopping to kiss me. I finally threatened
to duct-tape his mouth shut if he didn't stop. "Motherfucker," he
responded amiably.
When we'd finally wrestled the mattress and box springs into place and
made the bed, he flopped down on it. "Try it."
I lay down next to him. "It's certainly more tasteful than your last
bed."
"Those sheets were *not* my fault."
"Still. Grey and navy blue are much nicer."
"Want to try them out?"
"Not really."
"C'mon." He turned on his side and began stroking my body, and I became
aware of how many clothes I'd shed in the past hour. I was down to my
undershirt and pants--suit jacket, shirt, tie, socks and shoes gone.
Even my belt. The intimacy of it was startling and erotic. He took
my glasses off and put them on the bedside table. "Your eyes get soft
when I do that. Unfocussed. I love it." He leaned down and kissed my
eyes, his mouth gentle on my skin. "I love it when you breathe out like
that when I touch you, like it's such a relief to have me with you."
"It is."
"I think you're in love with me, Walter."
"Dammit, Fox--"
He laughed and slid his hand down my body, cupped my penis through my
pants and squeezed. "You are, admit it."
"I've admitted it before. The first time."
"So you did." He undid the button on my pants and unzipped them slowly.
"What are we going to do about Scully?"
"Kidnap her and spank some sense into her?"
"I love the way you think, Walter. Now, would you mind thinking with
your other head for a while?"
I flipped over and pinned him to the bed, then grabbed his shoulders and
bounced his upper body against the mattress. "Gladly."
"Watch it with the rough stuff, lover. We want to break it in, not
break it."
I bounced his shoulders again. "Did you just call me lover?"
"Yes." He bucked under me, trying to flip me. "Watcha gonna do about
it?"
In answer I stripped off my shirt, then his. "What do you think I'm
going to do about it, Fox?"
---
