From: cassandraxf@my-dejanews.com
Date: Sun, 03 Jan 1999 23:23:24 GMT
Subject: Post Triangle 1: Home from the Sea, M/Sk R

Disclaimer:  They have more fun with me, anyway.  Thanks to MJ for the
inspiring photograph, to Te and JiM for being my readers.  All errors, typos
are mine in spite of them.

Rating:  R
Notes:  Post Triangle


Home from the Sea

by cassandraxf@yahoo.com

He wasn't Fox Mulder's supervisor any more, Skinner told himself, and paused
outside the door.  He'd been not so subtly warned that associating with
Mulder was going to ruin his career.  What there was left of it.

Did he care?  Not really.

Damn the man for getting himself into trouble the minute anyone took their
eyes off him.  Either Kersh was unaware of the fact that Mulder's sudden
requests for leave were usually a prelude to disaster, or he didn't care. 
Raising his hand, he knocked sharply, heard a muffled voice from inside
answer.

After a few moments, a bleary, rumpled Mulder answered the door.  He looked
terrible, the aftermath of near drowning, broken ribs, and exposure, dark
crescents adding to the haggard look.  "Oh. Hello."  Blink, as if Mulder were
still dazed.  "Come in, sir."

Skinner shifted the grocery sack.  "I brought you some provisions," he told
Mulder, keeping his tone dry.  "Scully said you tend to pay very little
attention to such niceties as food."

Mulder blinked again, shifted and let him go past.

He heard the door close behind him, didn't look over his shoulder as he
carried the bag to the kitchen.  Convalescent for a week already, Mulder
really did look better than he had any right to look.  Like one of the damned
punching bag dolls of Skinner's childhood, you knock the damn thing over and
it pops back up.

That was Mulder.

Definitely feline, but how many lives had he already used up?  Skinner did
look over then, saw the other man leaning against the doorjamb.  "Have you
eaten anything?"

Blink again.  Then, rustily, "I had some pizza last night.  These
pills....they kinda upset my stomach."

Skinner arched a questioning eyebrow.  "Antibiotics?  Yeah, well, you had a
good couple of lungfuls of water and pneumonia sucks.  Go sit down, I'll fix
you some soup."

Puzzled expression, but it was evident that Mulder was too tired to argue. 
For once.  Smiling, he turned back to the sack and began putting groceries
away.


The soup went down without any protest, plain chicken and rice with hard rolls
heated in Mulder's antediluvian oven.   Mulder was dozing on the couch,
semi-sprawled when Skinner emerged from the kitchen with it, sat up abruptly,
hand going out to the coffee table--for a non-existent gun, Skinner suspected.

More blinking and Mulder shifted, put his feet on the floor.  "Um, thank you,
sir."  Still baffled.

Well, so was he.  Perhaps not as baffled.  Scully's words had forced him to
recognize what he'd been trying to deny for months.  Maybe for years.  Who
knew.  "You're welcome." Gruffly.  And he went back into the kitchen to pour
himself a cup of coffee, came back to find Mulder eating.

Sat in the armchair and pretended to watch a dated crime thriller while Mulder
worked his way through the soup and rolls, then suggested Mulder take the
antibiotics with food in his stomach.

Got a faint, shaky grin.  "You detailed to look after me?"

"I volunteered."  Drily.

Mulder blinked again, and suddenly flushed.  Looked away.  "I'm, ah, sorry it
turned into such a disaster."

"You can't be blamed for the weather, Mulder, much as you might think it's
your fault.  Storms at sea happen."  He said it gently, without the customary
bite. "Aside from that, it would just have been another vacation adventure."

Mulder still didn't look at him.  "If it makes any difference, Scully already
reamed me."

"You had her worried."  Scully's words again, echoing in the back of his
brain--how the fuck had she guessed what he hadn't admitted to himself?   "You
had me worried," he finally added, damning himself for a fool.

Mulder flushed again, glanced back at him.  "I didn't thank you for coming to
see me in the hospital."  One corner of his mouth lifted.  "Or the flowers."

"I couldn't very well kick your tail while you were in a hospital bed,
Mulder."  Kindly.

Brief narrow look.  "Is that why you're here?"

He smiled.  "No, I thought better of it.  Besides, your partner already did
it, if I'm not mistaken."

Mulder smiled faintly.  "Oh, yeah."

He spread his hands.  "See, my job is done."  Lightly.

It got him an almost shy smile, soft laughter.  "Yeah, she's pretty tough."

"I'll say.  She tried to take on Kersh, Spender and me, all in the space of
twenty minutes."  Solemnly.

Another wave of color and Mulder looked away to ride it out.  "I didn't thank
you for that, either."  Quietly.

"Believe me, it was my pleasure.  Like I said, you had *me* worried, too."

Quick glance, checking him.  And Mulder somehow relaxed again, sighed and sank
back on the couch.  "That was good, thanks."

"You need to take better care of yourself.  How are the ribs?"

A shrug.  "Better.  Just cracked, anyway.  I was lucky."

"Very."  Skinner sighed.  "Are you allowed to have a beer?"

"Not with antibiotics."  Brief amused look.  "You brought me beer?"

Skinner allowed himself another smile.  "I did.  But I'll wait until you can
have one."

There was a spark of light in Mulder's for a moment.  "Deal."

It made something in his chest loosen.	"Good."  He finished the cooling
coffee and got up.  "You aren't to go into the office for the rest of the
week.  Don't make Scully call me in as muscle."

This time it was a real grin.  "I think I've been outflanked."

"You have," Skinner agreed mildly and took the cup to the kitchen.  Came back
and got his jacket, put it on, eyeing Mulder, who studied him, traces of
bafflement still in his expression.  "You take care of yourself.  I'll stop by
again."  His voice easier than his gut.

Mulder started to get up, Skinner took a step and put a hand on his shoulder,
smiled down at him.  "Stand down, Mulder."  Squeezed it gently.  "And get some
rest.  You look like hell."

Those eyes, searching his.  He tried not to guard his own.....to take a small
chance, to let Mulder see the genuine affection, if nothing else.

His heart thumped when Mulder's fingers grazed his own.  "Thank you, sir."
Muted.

He reminded himself of cracked ribs and exposure and nodded, took his leave.

Those eyes.

They haunted him down into sleep.


The next day was Friday.  Scully mentioned to him on the phone that she was
stopping over to see Mulder that evening, to make sure he was following
doctor's orders.  So he let that go, quelled his desire to go anyway.

Waited until Saturday afternoon, picked up a few more items at the grocery
store, and a decadent pizza at the pizzeria on the way.

His stomach was in knots all the way there, he had to keep reminding himself
that no action was necessary, no declarations required, he just wanted to see
that Mulder was all right.

It didn't soothe his nerves.

The smile he surprised out of Mulder did.  "Oh, hi."  Tentative smile, almost
shy.  "Come on in, sir."

"I should have called, I suppose," Skinner told him, trying for lightness.  He
wasn't a naturally light person.  It didn't feel right, but Mulder chuckled.

"Right, my social calendar is such a whirl of activity."  Brief, self-mocking
grin.

It caught at his heart.  "Lucky for me."  Almost gruffly.  "You allowed a beer
yet?"

"Probably not, but what the hell."  Mulder followed him into the kitchen. 
"That smells tantalizing."

It was Skinner's turn to flush.  "Well, I obviously didn't know what you
liked, so I got one with everything."

"I'm easy to please."  And unaccountably, Mulder turned scarlet, turned toward
the refrigerator muttering about beer.

It made his heart thump briefly.  He quelled that, grinned to himself and put
the additional groceries away.

Mulder put two beers on the counter, got out two plates and rummaged for paper
napkins.  "Not the fanciest," he told Skinner, clearly still embarrassed.

"I wasn't expecting the best china," Skinner told him, amused.  "What the hell
do you think I eat off?"

Brief grin.  "The kitchen floor?"

Mock frown.  "Go sit down."

Eyes widened in protest.  "I'm fine, honestly.  Ribs in decent shape, I feel
fine."

"Good, that's because you're listening to your doctor."

"Only because she carries a gun."

It made him laugh, he let Mulder carry the plates and napkins, got the beers
and the pizza box, carried it back into the livingroom.

They sat side by side on the couch, eating pizza and watching the sorriest
football game it had been his displeasure to see in many years, aimiably
arguing over the merits of different teams.  After a bit, Mulder went and got
them each another beer, which Skinner eyed, askance.  "You sure you're
allowed?"

Brief grin.  "Two won't kill me."

"Let's hope not."  Although if mysterious retroviruses hadn't, Mulder was
probably right.  He finally settled back, before he ate too much, and sipped
slowly at his second beer, watching Mulder nibble, gesture and listening to
him hector the losing team.

Relaxed in that setting, amazed at himself.   Sure, even when Mulder drove him
crazy, that mind was fascinating, multi-tasking, following a dozen different
tracks at once.  It was what had made Mulder such a valuable profiler.  What
made his intuitive leaps valuable, even when his underlying theories were out
there.  And when the sense of humour wasn't being used for self-mockery or to
deflect, it was a delight.

Rangy shoulders, but lean body.  Not like his.	He found himself wondering
what it would be like to touch it.  What Mulder's skin felt like.  And
flushed at his own wandering mind, resolutely turned back to the game.

But those shoulders were hunched slightly, as Mulder leaned over the pizza,
and he slowly recognized the animated chat as a sign of nervousness.

"I don't bite," he told Mulder softly and reached out, put a hand between
Mulder's shoulder blades.  Felt the tension he suspected, felt it increase,
and then suddenly vanish.

Mulder was very still, but he turned his head slightly, quirky grin.  "Not
outside the office, anyway."

It startled him into laughter.  "Oh, please, where are your bite scars?"

Mock mournful gaze.  "Under my jeans."

He found himself laughing again.  "Mulder...." Shook his head.	Patted
Mulder's back in lieu of anything intelligent to say.

Mulder leaned back, their shoulders brushed.  Face flushed, but less tense.
Eyes still on the game.  "So, is your life easier now that you don't have us
as direct reports?"

Skinner sighed.  "Oh, sure, it's a treat to supervise that little prick
Spender.  And if you ever repeat that...."

"I'll have more bite scars, right?"  Bright eyes, soft laughter.

"Something like that."  Mildly.

"Well, trust me, my opinion of him is worse, so your secret is safe with me."

"They usually are."  Softly.  Taking another risk.

Mulder looked at him, eyes wide, a bit startled, lips slightly parted.

Temporary insanity, it couldn't be two beers, but he kissed those parted lips.

A moment of terror and those lips parted further.  He felt Mulder's
fingertips brush his face, trembling a little.	That lush mouth, and he
deepened the kiss, learning the shape of Mulder's mouth, the silky feel of
Mulder's tongue, the velvety texture of the hair at the nape of Mulder's
neck.  And then, reluctantly, he backed out of it, licked his way out of it,
if he was honest, nipping gently at Mulder's lower lip.

Dared look at the flushed face, found Mulder's eyes half-closed, half-opened,
completely stunned.

But not protesting, he reminded himself, freshly aroused by the shape of
Mulder's mouth.  He touched it, unable to resist, ran his thumb over it, and
Mulder's teeth grazed the tip of his thumb.  He was so hard he ached,
underneath the denim of his jeans, glanced down and saw Mulder wasn't
unmoved, either.

No protest.  He almost leaned in again, Mulder shifted up a little, shivered
and leaned toward him.

Another kiss, long and hot and he was losing his mind completely....

No more lying to himself, he told himself fiercely, one hand molded to the
back of Mulder's head, the other arm sliding around Mulder's ribs.....Christ,
Mulder's ribs, he let go suddenly and drew back, breathing hard.  "This isn't
a good idea."

Mulder's eyelids fluttered, Mulder's expression became outraged.  "What?"
Definitely outraged.

Hilarity took him.  "I mean at the moment."  Trying so hard not to laugh.
"You're barely out of the hospital."

Mulder pushed away slightly, glared at him.  "What?"

Still a little dazed.  Well, if the blood had rushed from his head as
efficiently as it had for Skinner.....he grinned.  Leaned in for another kiss.
"I mean going much farther is not a good idea, not with those ribs."

"Fuck the ribs!"  Oh, my, definitely some serious outrage.

He couldn't help it, he cracked up.  "No thanks, I'd rather have you."

Mulder went scarlet, caught between frustration and embarrassment and decided
on laughter.  "You *asshole*!"

"Yes," he agreed, belly laughing.  "Oh, Christ, yes, I am."  He tugged Mulder
gently back toward him, another kiss, not a chaste one, and an arm around
Mulder.  "Watch the game.  Think about taxes."

Mulder muttered something untelligible, but settled, head on his shoulder.
Then, "Is this really happening, or am I dreaming again?"  A touch of
uncertainty.

He chuckled.  Took Mulder's hand and bit the fingertips gently.  "There, bite
scars to prove it."

Felt Mulder relax.  "My ribs are fine, honestly."

"We'll see.  Jesus, Mulder, I've waited this long, a little longer won't kill
either of us."

"The hell."  But it wasn't sulky.

It warmed him.  He turned his head, grazed Mulder's temple with his mouth,
inhaled the scent of Mulder's hair.  "Soon."

"I'll hold you to that."

He laughed outright again.  "I'll count on it."