From: KassXF Date: 21 Mar 1999 03:45:30 GMT Subject: Walking the Wire 1/3 M/Sk - R Disclaimer: not mine Category: M/Sk Summary: Post Talk is Cheap Walking the Wire 1/3 by KassXF@aol.com It was most definitely Krycek, Mulder thought, staring at the manipulated graphics file. Long hair and fake beard had been stripped away, leaving the bare bones of the man who had betrayed him, who had arranged the abduction of his partner, who had killed his father and tried to play mind games with him in the face of alien colonization. He'd been pretty sure that it was Krycek, that blue sense that he'd brought with him from VCS had told him, the stance had told him, the aura of evil had told him. The question was, how to get Skinner to admit that it was Krycek, and to tell him what the fuck Krycek hoped to gain. The fact was, Skinner had nearly died. Had died. Had flatlined, according to the medical records that Scully had finally obtained for him. He'd had to finally come clean with her that he was still investigating it, she didn't approve, had arched one eyebrow to convey that disapproval. But she was his partner and she'd gotten him what he needed. He felt guilty about that, felt guilty about not coming totally clean with her, but it wasn't just his career, it was Skinner's. It wasn't just his secret, it was Skinner's. He'd find a way, but that wasn't the crucial point at the moment. The point was that he'd gotten word from some of his contacts that suggested--merely suggested, mind you--that Krycek was back in DC. A series of murders, men known to be in the arms trade, small time dealers of weapons and small arms, and he was sure those deaths could be linked back to Krycek. He just had to hunt carefully. Very carefully. Since the deaths in the hangar, he wasn't sure what the power dynamics were, he wasn't sure what Krycek's agenda might be. Beyond survival and the acquisition of power, anyway. He wasn't going to let Krycek use Skinner to acquire so much as a cold. At least not without dying first. It brought an entire new meaning to 'over my dead body', he told himself grimly and shut down the computer. It was Friday, he had plans to spend the weekend with Skinner at Skinner's place, and he still had to go home first to pick up his clothes and feed his fish. He'd have to think hard about how to pry Skinner open on the matter. Or maybe not. Not when the time they had to spend together was limited and precious. There was always Monday. And brooding wasn't getting him there any more quickly. Rising, he shrugged back into his suit jacket and checked for his keys. There was always Monday, he repeated and turned off the computer. Whistled on his way down to the elevator, already smiling..... ******************************************** Skinner had hoped against hope that Alex Krycek was dead. The shadow in the back seat of his car crushed that frail hope the moment he got close enough to see it through the rear window. His heart began a slow, steady thud and he kept his expression bland, unmoved, with an effort as he got in. Sat looking through the windshield at the dirty concrete wall of the parking garage. "What do you want now?" "Does it matter?" Careless tone, almost amused. "Whatever I want, you're going to do it, you know you don't have a choice." That much was probably true. "No, but if you don't tell me, I can't very well do a damned thing, can I?" Irritably. No sense in letting Krycek have complete control. Not if he wanted to keep one iota of self-respect. "True enough." Unfazed, untroubled. "Two things, Skinner. The first is this: there's an investigation into the arms trade going on. I want copies of the files." Skinner turned his head slightly. "I don't have access to those, it's not my division." Growled it. "That's not my problem, that's your problem." Amusement gone. "I want them by tomorrow evening. I'll meet you here again, you can give them to me then. Second thing: you tell Mulder tonight that it's over." Malice and pleasure underlying the cool tone. He went cold at that, felt the cold like stone in the pit of his belly. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." "Mulder isn't yours." Coolly again. "Besides, have you considered that the nanocytes may be transmissible through bodily fluids?" Malice again, and it was undisguised. Skinner felt a jolt of terror that nearly unmanned him. Took a deep, calming breath. "Are you telling me that they are?" "I think you could probably face your own death," Krycek mused. "But how do you feel about Mulder's?" He fought for calm. But his memory insisted on replaying with brutal detail the fact that the first time they'd been together, there had been no safety involved. He hadn't thought of it, had been too hungry, and they were both required to have physicals once a year, and hell if he'd even cared that first time. But now, he wondered. If they had given this to him through simple touch...... "Tell him goodbye." Krycek's tone was falsely cheerful. "Unless you want him dead." Acid rose in the back of his throat. "You kill him, you kill me." "Not necessarily." Krycek leaned forward, smiling, he could see it in his peripheral vision. "You see, that's the key, the nanocytes are programmed. It's a simple matter of reprogramming--" "All right, I'll do it." Pulse pounding in his ears. "Now get out of my car before someone sees you." "Tomorrow night, Skinner. You work on Saturdays anyway, it shouldn't be that difficult." The click of the car door opening, he turned his face back to the front, not wanting to see Krycek. "Cheer up," Krycek told him, "It could be worse. I could have just killed him." He didn't answer. Waited, muscles rigid, until the car door closed, quiet click of metal against metal again. Waited out the footsteps that grew more distant rapidly and then put his hands on the steering wheel, leaned over it. Anguished. For more than his own loss. But what choice was there? ************************************************* Mulder arrived to find Skinner somber, distant. "Hey, I'm not that late," he joked, studying his lover's face. "Am I?" "I think you'd better sit down, we need to talk." Very distant. He sat, feeling the first faint edge of unease. "What's the matter?" He was morally certain he'd been following procedures at work, if for no other reason than to avoid having their two lives clash. So it couldn't be him, could it? Skinner was standing the livingroom, nearly the same posture he'd taken the first night they'd been together. It would have been amusing if not for the fact that Skinner wore the face of a stranger at the moment. "I've been thinking. We can't do this any more." Brutal tone. "I'm sorry. I don't want to see you any more." Mulder swallowed hard. "What?" Unable to believe he'd heard correctly. "What? What have I done? We haven't had any--has someone been talking?" He was bleeding, he thought distantly, oh, Christ, this was why he didn't get involved, because it always hurt so badly when it ended. "Don't." Skinner turned to face him directly. "Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be. I'm sorry, I know how difficult it must be, but it's over." Sitting there stupidly with his duffel on the floor by his feet, Mulder opened his mouth, closed it. Felt painful tension gathering behind his eyes, the start of a ferocious headache. "What the fuck is this all about?" Getting up, taking two short strides to face Skinner, as close as they'd been the first time they'd kissed. "What the hell is going on? You decided this sometime between this morning and now?" Stony expression. "Yes, I did. I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say. Better to tell you outright, Mulder, I owe you that." Anger and hurt flared, he felt his stomach do a lazy roll. "You bastard." Almost disbelieving. But wasn't that always the way? You opened up to someone and they ripped your heart out and used it for soccer practice. "Christ, the least you could have done was fucking called me, kept me from coming over here." Raging uselessly, and he knew it, turned and picked up his bag. Walked to the door, face aflame, humiliation and anguish and the acid of loss eating away at his gut. "Thanks for the good times," he gibed and went out the door, slamming it behind him. End part 1 Walking the Wire 2/3 by KassXF@aol.com Somehow, Mulder drove home on automatic. Stopped once at a liquor store to pick up a bottle of bourbon and took it home with him. He'd been insane, he told himself, and went hot again, humiliated. Rejected. Which was itself insane, he wasn't a kid any more, he was an adult, relationships ended all the time. But he opened the bourbon when he got home anyway. Found a glass, threw some ice cubes into it and poured three finger's worth, drained it. Filled it again and drank half of it, surveyed the glass bitterly and laughed out loud. Filled it again and froze when the cold touch of metal brushed the nape of his neck. "Hey, Mulder." Krycek. He stiffened. "Make yourself at home, why don't you." With more coolness than he was feeling. "I did, thanks." Krycek's voice was very close, he could feel the warm breath against his skin, shivered. Remembered the kiss, not quite on his mouth, that Krycek had given him when last they'd met face to face. Wondered what the rat bastard wanted, and his fingers tightened on the glass. "What can I do for you?" he asked, conversational tone. "Got another phantom you want me to chase?" The cold metal went away. "Hey, can't I just drop in to see my old partner?" Jocular tone, amused. "I missed you." He opened his mouth, closed it. Telling Krycek to fuck off probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. And his internal alarms were clanging loudly. Very loudly. Warm breath touched his nape. "I just thought I'd stop and say hello." "Consider it said." He risked shifting and Krycek moved back, giving him space. "I don't have any vodka, care for some bourbon?" "Why not?" Careless tone, he turned in time to see Krycek holster the gun. "So, what's new?" Those alarms were deafening him now. He stared at Krycek, his unconscious doing the math and providing his consciousness with the answers before he quite realized there was an equation here: Skinner dumping him, Krycek showing up. Or, Krycek showing up in town, Skinner dumping him, Krycek arriving in his apartment. He didn't know the reasons behind the reasons, but his mouth went dry in comprehension. Krycek accepted the glass Mulder handed him, quartz green eyes over the rim as he sipped. "Shall we sit down?" Feral smile and a lift of the chin toward the livingroom. "If you insist." Mulder shrugged, led the way, sat down in the armchair to watch Krycek settle on the couch. "What brings you back to the city, Krcyek? You wouldn't have anything to do with the arms trade shakeup, would you?" A coy smile, a shrug and Krycek sipped again. "A man has to keep busy." Obliquely. In the pit of his stomach, a coal of rage began to burn. He smiled to cover it, brought one ankle up to rest on his other knee. "Is that a yes?" Krycek's gaze was as guileless as a child's. That angelically boyish look that had lulled Mulder into semi-trust no longer worked, but he had to admit it was....compelling. "What do you want?" he asked, putting his right hand over his ankle, feeling the small holster there underneath the denim. Krycek's expression became sorrowful. "Don't do that, Mulder." It was his turn for a guileless look. "Don't do what?" Long suffering look and Krycek took out what appeared to be a Palm Pilot. "Don't fuck with me, Mulder." Wicked grin. "At least not that way." "That's the only way I would," he retorted and leaned back. Put his hand back on the arm of the chair. Held the glass with the other hand, sipped at his drink. "I repeat, what do you want. A shrug. "Just thought I'd drop in and say hello. Maybe pass on some information for you. Things have changed somewhat, you know." Mulder nodded. Pretended to sip again. Regretting what he'd already swallowed. "So?" Faint smile and Krycek glanced around the apartment. "We don't have to be enemies, you know." stared at him. "You've been on the run too long," he told Krycek brutally. "You killed my father, what else can we be?" Krycek shook his head, made a clicking sound. "Honestly, Mulder, don't you find that a little too redolent of Euripides? All that melodrama? Your father was a bastard, a coward. Not man enough to expose them all, not man enough to throw in with them." He'd had time to absorb those half truths, but it didn't mean he wanted to hear them from Krycek. Bad enough he'd heard them from that smoking bastard to begin with, if truths they were. He forced himself to take a deep breath. "Krycek, I've had a long week and I'm tired. If you don't have anything useful to tell me, would you mind getting the fuck out of my apartment?" Krycek's smile was feral again. "You mean you aren't going to try and arrest me?" "Why bother. Your own people will take you down, you're too independent for them to put up with once the dust settles." Baldly. "Unless you want to go back to being an errand boy." Ah, that hit home, Krycek's mouth thinned, he took another sip of bourbon. "I'll have that information for you tomorrow night. The parking garage across from the Hoover." Thin smile. "Care to meet me there? Sevenish?" He let his eyes narrow, studied Krycek. Not trying to put the puzzle together, letting his mind pick up the pieces for later assembly. "Sure." Acidly. "Making a date isn't like you, Krycek." Krycek set the glass aside, rose and came to stand before him, almost too close for comfort, that goddamned viperish smile on his face again. "I don't think you'll regret it," he murmured and bent over Mulder. On the mouth this time, tasting of bourbon and he kept himself stubbornly passive. Unrewarding. Krycek drew back, chuckled. "Have it your way. Tomorrow night, sevenish. Level 4. Got that?" "I can handle it." Mulder looked up, kept his expression bland. "Lock the door on your way out, would you?" A chuckle and Krycek's hand came out, tugged at his hair. "I've missed you, Mulder. Your charm, your social skills..." Another grin and he was gone, moving like a shadow toward the door. He sat, the back of his neck prickling until the door had closed. Took in a breath and let it out shakily. He had some calls to make. Some things to do. And sitting here puzzling over things wasn't going to get them done, he was going to let his brain ride on automatic and let him know what had to happen. Let him know what had to be done. And what it was telling him now was to get off his ass and get moving. So he did. ************************************************* "I can't be certain how long it will take," said the slender, bespectacled young man. Mulder swallowed hard, glanced at Frohike. "Okay. But what's your best estimate?" A distressed look from Frohike. "His best estimate is better than most people's facts, Mulder." He ignored this. Frohike could be said to have a certain family pride in this young man, his sister's eldest son. Howard. Dr. Howard Frohike, who was doing research in nano-robotics. Who had taken a puzzle given to him by his uncle a few months before and turned it into a possible cure, a possible weapon. Howard frowned up at Mulder--lack of height evidently was a Frohike genetic trait, he thought distantly--and rubbed his chin. "Well, I'm not a medical doctor, Mr. Mulder. I don't know how long it will take to circulate. The thing is, as quickly as they appear to have reproduced, I'd expect that within 24 hours all of them should be neutralized. It's not quite like a poison or a germ, you know. The cure for the bad nanocytes is the new nanocytes with a different program." Thoughtful look at the vial in his hand. "Of course, if I've actually programmed them correctly, he'll probably live longer, too. Hopefully, they'll take care of some of the processes that cause us to age as rapidly as we do." Under ordinary circumstances, he would have found that fascinating. "What do they do, exactly?" "Well, the first thing they do is reproduce rapidly." The younger Frohike's face became more animated. "And in the tests, they destroyed the other nanocytes from the blood sample you brought me. I used test animals." Regretful look, "But I've been achieving 100% success in the last week. Not to mention reducing harmful oxidants..." "Will it work, Howie?" Frohike interrupted this. "Will it destroy the others?" Patient tone. Howard looked startled. "Oh, yes, Uncle Melvin. It will." "Will it cause any harmful effects," Frohike asked, still patient. Howard shook his head. "No, no, of course not. In the test animals, they reproduced and destroyed the other nanocytes and then seemed to more or less go dormant until needed." Mulder shifted impatiently. "So what will they do in humans and how quickly do they reproduce?" Howard beamed. "They have a slightly higher reproduction rate than the other nanoncytes. But I'm not sure about how long it will take to destroy the others, it depends on what the saturation level is." Mulder glanced at Frohike. "If it's low? Low enough to be barely detectable?" Another thoughtful look. "Certainly within eight hours." Exhilaration made Mulder's knees feel wobbly. "What's the dosage?" Howard looked at his uncle again, then back at Mulder. "Mr. Mulder, this isn't a medication. These are constructs." Reprovingly. "I expect the contents of this vial would be enough to speed up the process. Ingestion would be faster, but it could be absorbed through the skin, too" "What's the medium," Frohike asked gently. A big smile. "Deionized, purified water, Uncle Melvin." Frohike took the vial. "Thanks, Howie. You've done good work." Another big smile. "I'll have that article done for you in no time, Uncle Melvin." "You'd better," Frohike agreed and patted his shoulder. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." Howard saw them to the door. Mulder heard the sound of multiple bolts being engaged behind them and fought the lunatic urge to laughter. "Chip off the old block, Frohike?" "He's very talented," Frohike said, with pardonable pride. "Do you need any help, do you think?" Mulder considered it. "No, I'd rather not." Mentally cringing at the thought of bringing any of the Lone Gunmen into his private life. "I'll be fine." A brisk nod. "I'll drop you at your car then." Walking the Wire 3/3 by KassXF@aol.com Skinner stood on his balcony, staring out at the city lights. He'd had a few drinks, but he wasn't drunk. Not by a long shot. Although it would have been less painful to be drunk. He'd realized a few hours ago that he'd been a fool, worse than a fool. He couldn't leave Mulder out there with a sword suspended over his head, he couldn't take the chance. But since then, he'd been calling, getting the machine, and when he'd driven over, Mulder's car had been gone. He fought the paranoia, the instinctive fear that Krycek had already acted. He didn't have the same ability to put patterns together, not like Mulder, but he had a damned good rational mind, and it had stood him in good stead throughout his career. And what it was telling him was that Krycek's threats were real, but that Krycek's own agenda left him some leverage. It only remained to tell the bastard so. And hope his rational mind was still working correctly. Lifting the phone in his hand, he punched in the number of Mulder's cellphone. Still out of service. Punched in Mulder's home phone. Got the machine again. "Come on, dammit," he told the city night. "Goddammit, Mulder, be all right, go home, goddammit." It was nearly two am, where the hell could Mulder be? Although knowing his insomniac lover--former lover, his rational mind provided helpfully--Mulder could be anywhere. The last place he expected him was his door. So naturally, when the knock came at his door, he got his gun, expecting Krycek, opened it up with his weapon leveled. Mulder stood then, stone-faced. "Expecting somebody?" Sardonic tone. His knees went weak with relief. "Where the fuck have you been?" Snarled. "Out." An almost quizzical smile. "You were looking for me?" He reached out and yanked Mulder in bodily, slammed the door shut. "I have, yes. Look, there was something I didn't tell you. Something I should have told you." "Krycek was the man who poisoned you and he's back in town." Not quite smugly. He narrowed his eyes. Well, Mulder had been one of the best and the brightest profilers in Patterson's stable. "Right." Flatly. "And he's threatening you." This time, there was a glimmer of smugness behind the bland expression. He kept his temper. He didn't really deserve to lose it. "Exactly." Mulder eyed him. "Is that why you dumped me?" Softly. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Counted to ten. "Krycek's orders." And then, because he needed to get some of his own back after six hours of worry, "Any idea why?" "Not entirely." Mulder glanced away. "I had a visitor earlier." Dry tone. "Bastard." Skinner turned away, walked back toward the livingroom. "Look, he said something--you may be at risk. The nanocytes. He's got a little--looks like one of those damned Palm Pilots, I think it's possible that you're--" "Walter, will you shut up for a minute?" Exasperated tone. When he turned around, temper flaring, he saw Mulder held a vial. "What?" Holding anger in check. "These are good nanocytes," Mulder told him, eyeing the vial with a whimsical expression. "They will eat up all the bad nanocytes." He took in a breath, counted to ten again silently. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" Not quite a snarl. "Honestly, Walter, that's what this is." Mulder held the vial up. "You can't see them," he added. "They're suspended in deionized, purified water." He sounded, Skinner realized, like he was quoting from a brochure. "You have lost your mind." Wearily. "Jesus, Mulder." "No, no, they've been tested." Mulder offered him a wry smile. "Just not on humans. I figured if you were open to experimentation, you could tell Krycek to fuck off. For good." Just not on humans, Skinner thought, suddenly lightheaded. "Good nanocytes," he repeated and took a step closer, took the vial and held it in his palm. "I think you'd better use them, Mulder. You may very well be infected." Mulder's eyebrows rose. "What?" "Body fluids." Drily. And he swallowed hard, thinking of the agony in the hospital, thinking of Mulder enduring that. "Hell, for all I know, kissing you could have infected you." Instead of horror or shock, Mulder laughed suddenly. "You know, I have to wonder how much of this shit Krycek does for his own amusement." Bright eyes. "Come on, Walter, let's split it." He stared, watched Mulder walk to the kitchen and re-emerge with two highball glasses. Engaging grin and Mulder sat on the couch, held up his hand for the vial. It took a moment for his brain to engage that far, he sat next to Mulder, handed it off. Less than a quarter inch in the bottom of each glass and Mulder handed him one, lifted the other himself. "To your health, Walter." Serious voice. He had to blink hard. "To yours," he said, his voice tight, and drank. It tasted like--like water. Like freedom. He hoped. "So, it destroys the others?" "Eats them right up." Mulder put the glass back down, leaned back on the couch, eyeing him. "You wanna tell me what he wanted from you?" "Not particularly." He took off his glasses, rubbed his face with both hands. "But I will. The files from Jenrette's investigation." Somber look. "And to tell you it was over." "How perverse of him." But Mulder looked unsettled. "Why the fuck does he care?" "For his own amusement?" Skinner shrugged, put his glasses back on. "So, do I start bleeding green or anything?" "I will if you will." Mulder's tone was absent. "Presumably, nothing happens when he plays with his Palm Pilot." A sigh. "There's something going on here that I'm not seeing." He couldn't help it. He leaned back and started to laugh, laughed until tears stung his eyes. "You're not seeing," he finally wheezed. "Since you got all this on your own, forgive me if I don't accept that's a problem." Brief annoyance and then a diffident smile. "Okay." Taking off his glasses, he wiped at his eyes with his fingertips, managed to settle down to the occasional riff of laughter. "Jesus, Mulder." Affectionately. Diffidence again. "Well, you need to get some rest. Let your new little tenants do their stuff." Mulder rose suddenly. "I'll, ah--you weren't meeting him in the parking garage tomorrow night by any chance?" "I was." Feral grin. "Maybe we should still be there. He invited me, too." Skinner's stomach did a lazy roll. "What the fuck--" Mulder shrugged. "With Krycek, you can never be sure. Layers upon layers and he never does anything for just one reason." Skinner looked up. Studied Mulder's expression. "What the hell is he playing at?" Softly. "Well, tonight? Setting you up, making you nervous." Mulder shrugged. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he was checking me out...." Another shrug, this one nervous. "Anyway, get some rest, I am." A hesitation, and he picked up the glasses, stepped over Skinner's legs on his way to the kitchen. After a judicious moment of thought, Skinner followed him, stood in the kitchen doorway, blocking it. "Mulder--" Tentatively. Embarrassed. Pained. "If you want to stay--" Mulder looked away. "I, uh, I think we both need some sleep." Rustily. Not looking at him. A slow flush coloring his face. Skinner moved aside. The answer was clear enough, he thought distantly, and the hell of it was, he couldn't blame Mulder at all. Not given--well, not given the evening's events. Mulder's shoulders hunched briefly, he nodded in answer to the unspoken question, still not meeting Skinner's eyes. Walked out of the kitchen and toward the front door. Skinner followed, put a hand on the door, stopped him from opening it. "For what it's worth," he told Mulder, his voice low, "I didn't do it because he told me to. I did it because I wasn't at all certain he wouldn't kill you." One beat and he stood back, letting Mulder go. Mulder stood there for a moment. Nodded again and rested his forehead against the door. "I'm lousy at relationships, Walter." Conversational tone. He swallowed hard. "So am I." Admitting it it was easy. Doing something about it was entirely different. So he let Mulder walk out, locked the door behind him. And then rested his own forehead in the same spot for a very long while. ***************************************** Mulder woke from a confused dream that reminded him, more than anything else, of his fascination with Pacman back in the bad old days of his youth, woke to find Alex Krycek's gun pressed against his temple. He swallowed hard. "No offense, but this is getting old, Krycek." Risked a sidelong glance to see no humour in the other man's face. "Couldn't you just knock?" "What did you do?" Krycek's voice was as cold as stone. "And how did you do it?" He blinked. "Beg pardon?" Krycek leaned back, said something in disgusted Russian. It was a pity he hadn't done more modern languages at Oxford, he decided and risked sitting up. It was still grey outside, still early; his VCR clock, working for once, told him it was 4:45. He squinted at Krycek. "I think I'm going to get my locks changed." "If you think I do this for my own pleasure, think again." Harshly. "This is a war, Mulder. And I do what I have to do." "Including assassinating people?" Not the smartest thing to say. Krycek smoldered at him in the half light, but it wasn't a good kind of smoldering and the gun came back up. "You have no idea of what you've done. Now that they know--whoever developed those for you had better live very, very carefully." Or go very, very public, Mulder thought, hardly daring to breathe. "What the hell do you want from me, Krycek?" "You?" Contemptuous tone. "You're nothing more than leverage, Mulder, you apply pressure on the other side of the fence, you keep them guessing and off balance, and that's what I need. But I'd give a pretty penny to know why they don't want to kill you, Mulder. I really would." His ears all but came to a point. So, he thought, would I, and shifted again, froze as the barrel of the gun tracked him. "You've fucked me over pretty good, Mulder." Quiet voice, suddenly, almost musing. "I really ought to blow your head off right now." Offering advice seemed incautious, he kept his mouth shut tight. Breathing shallowly. "On the other hand," Krycek suddenly smiled, his teeth visible even in the dim light. "Leaving you alive does provide me with some amusement." Abruptly, he was kissed again, cold steel at the hollow of his throat, kissed briefly and savagely, a small flare of pain in his lower lip and Krycek drew back. Touching his mouth, he felt wetness, held his fingers out to see the darkness of blood, almost grey in the dimness. Glanced up again in time to see Krycek vanish into the shadows, heard the soft click of his door. He was definitely getting his locks changed. The sooner the better. *********************************************** Mulder's mouth was puffy, his lower lip swollen and bruised looking. He stood in Skinner's office, his gaze shadowed, jeans and that leather jacket. "Don't bother keeping your appointment," he told Skinner. Skinner leaned back in his desk chair. "What happened?" Quietly. "Let's just say I had another visit. I tried to, ah, let you know, your machine picked up." Glancing around the office, Skinner wondered how much surveillance equipment he would find if he had it swept by private security. "I was just leaving," he muttered. "Come on, you can talk while we walk." Curious look, but Mulder nodded. Once in the elevator, Skinner turned a critical eye on the puffy lip. "Did you get punched?" "Nope." Crooked, cautious smile. "He bit me." Jealousy and anger flared, he tamped it down again. He didn't have any right to feel either, and whatever Krycek's game was, he found it doubtful that focus on Mulder was the main point. Mulder was just a side issue, he thought, and felt a headache begin. "Bit you." "Yeah." Sardonic smile. "Surprised me. I was getting used to the other." He wasn't going to ask. He really wasn't going to ask. Right. "The other?" "Kissing me." The elevator doors opened, releasing them both. They walked out into the lobby, crossed it while Skinner brooded over that. He zipped his own leather jacket on the front steps. "Kissing you." Repeated it. "You have interesting enemies, Mulder." Drily. "Some of my friends are even more interesting." Antic smile. "Buy you a beer?" His spirits lifted, he cautioned himself against it. "Sure. Real beer, not that crap that passes for beer." That got him another antic smile. "A beer snob. I like that. I know a microbrewery that really does have the best--" "Lead on." He was feeling ridiculously hopeful. Mulder gave him a calm look. "We could pick some up, catch the game at your place this afternoon. Since you're leaving early." He paused, one step lower. Turned back to look at Mulder. "We could," he agreed. "Pick up some takeout, pick up some beer." Low voice. Mulder nodded, smiling crookedly again. "Sounds good to me. I'll get the beer, meet you there?" Diffident look about his eyes. He could always say no. There were still very practical reasons this was insane. But if he'd been sane, he wouldn't have let it go on past the first time, he wouldn't have come to welcome the presence of the other man in his life. Wouldn't have come to look forward to it. "If you're gone more than an hour," he told Mulder, "I'll have to call the Metro police. Don't make me do that." He wondered if anyone else would have seen the brief glint of merriment in Mulder's eyes before the sunglasses went on. "If it takes me more than an hour, I'll probably need the metro police." Cheerfully. Skinner grinned, turned away to hide it. "Given traffic, thirty minutes is probably optimistic." "You never know." Mulder took the steps like a kid, turned to look up at him, quick grin backward before heading off. Sometimes, you get second chances, Skinner told himself, watching. Sometimes, you get a chance to do the right thing. To tell the truth. Sometimes, you had to walk the wire, had to prove to yourself who you were. He didn't intend to let that self down again.