From: the Basement archive Date: Mon, 03 Jun 2002 07:16:28 GMT Subject: 0/1.PG-13.Strange Haven Source: atxc Title: Strange Haven Author: Rose Campion Feedback Email: rosecampion@earthlink.net Author's Website: Category: UST, Vignette Pairings: Skinner/Doggett M/SK UST Rating: PG-13 Archive at Gossamer: Yes Gossamer Category: Vignette Gossamer Sub-category: UST Gossamer Keywords: Slash Summary: What Skinner really was thinking when Mulder called him a "Big, bald, beautiful man." Strange Haven by Rose Campion Part 1 Please see part 0 (template) for warnings and summary. Spoilers: The Truth Archive: Wherever, just keep my name on it Warning: Perhaps a little too much schmoop for some. Disclaimers: You know, if you play fast and loose with the rules this kind of falls under the category of fair use, but we know CC and company don't want us to think that. Me, make money off this? Ha, ha. Good one. Strange Haven Skinner waited patiently until the pair in front of him were finished kissing their hellos. It was not quite tonsil hockey, but there was a lot of enthusiasm there, perhaps just a passion borne of desperation. Two people clinging to each other like a raft in a storm-torn icy waters. Mulder seemed...better this time. Not the walking zombie he'd been last time they visited. Finally, Scully and Mulder were finished and Mulder turned to Skinner. There was a grin, something approaching the old Mulder smile, the one he'd had before all of this went up shit creek, paddle not included. The grin was genuine. It went all the way into Mulder's eyes, not just his mouth. A second later, Mulder spoke, "Walter! C'mere you big, bald, beautiful man!" He seemed ready to pounce on Skinner, given even the slightest chance, even given how he'd been kissing Scully just before, even though they were in this prison, with the guards not far away, with Mulder about to go on trial for the supposed murder of a man who couldn't be killed. Skinner did the only thing he could. He panicked. This was all just too complicated. There had been a time once where if Mulder had said those words and, then pounced, Skinner would have opened his arms, let himself be tackled, given in to the mercurial desires of his once favorite, now former agent. He'd once wanted just that, just those words, so badly. So badly. But not now. It was just too complicated. Too much water under that bridge, too much unsaid, unresolved and unrequited. Too many other hearts aside from Mulder's and his own . Hearts that, like all hearts, were fragile and could be broken. Scully's was just one of them. Then just as quickly, Skinner recovered. He didn't get to be an Assistant Director of the FBI by letting himself be derailed by suddenly changing situations or difficult moments. He could cope. He thought that he managed to wipe the dumbstruck, love-stricken expression off his face before it even had a chance to be seen, much less settle in. Okay. Best AD heavy guy look. Best AD voice. On. "Mulder, the only thing you're going to be kissing is your ass goodbye." There. He'd said it. And it was true. Those words nailed the lid shut on the coffin that held any hope of something between them. Skinner could tell that from the briefest flicker of unhappiness across Mulder's face. Later that night, much later, Skinner finally found his way to bed. All nights had been late nights recently and it didn't look as if there'd be any letting up on the shitstorm any time soon. But as Skinner hoped, but hadn't been expecting, there was someone waiting for him in bed. To much too do, too many reasons for them to be kept apart, but that made that presence all that more precious when it was granted to him. This someone was medicine for his breaking heart and hope for his sore eyes. A bedside table was still on, casting warm light and gray shadows around the room and the other occupant of his bed was still awake, back turned towards him, reading. The occupant looked up over his shoulder, smiled a half smile at him and looked at him with blue eyes that sparkled to see Skinner. This look was reserved for him alone, Skinner thought. Almost no one else ever got to see this man as anything but a tough guy. "Hey. How was Mulder this time?" The accent was distinctive, Mulder prounounced almost as Muldah. The voice was husky, rough and so goddamn sexy. "There's hope. I think." Skinner said, cautiously. "You'll never believe what he said to me." "What?" "He said, 'C'mere you big, bald, beautiful man.' Beautiful. Me. In the same sentence. That is an X-file if I ever heard one," Skinner said. In that instant, Doggett was out of bed, book abandoned. He came around the bed quickly and stood next to Skinner. They were quite the pair. Mutt and Jeff, Skinner sometimes thought. The other man was wiry, hard, skinny, to Skinner's expansive, impressive muscled form. But Doggett could hold his own, no doubt there. No, no doubt at all. Doggett put his hands on Skinner's shoulders, then looked at him. Up and down, from head to toe, from Florsheim Imperials to now somewhat wilted white dress shirt to bald head. Doggett's gaze was intense. It was the examination of a trained investigator who would miss nothing, no little thread, no single hair. Skinner flushed to be the object of such direct scrutiny. "One thing I've learned is that Mulder is almost never wrong and he's right about this," Doggett said. "Exceptin' one thing." "What's that?" "He didn't know that you're -my- big, bald, beautiful man," Doggett said, possessively. Then he tackled Skinner, pushed the big man backwards onto the bed and followed after. In the morning, they would suit up again. Go out, face the struggle. Try and rescue a man who finally, it seemed, would take the fall that he'd been risking all along, for years. But for now, they had the shelter of each others arms. Skinner could rest in Doggett's strength, knowing that he offered the same back to Doggett. It was a strange haven, this relationship, but if it meant that he now had what it took to get up each morning, to go out and face the battle again, then nothing else mattered. Skinner's heart sang, only now hearing for the first time, though it had been said before. My. Mine. My big, bald, beautiful man. John Doggett, his lover, his comrade in arms truly thought that. A strange, strange haven indeed, but a most welcome one. ### The End ###