AFTER THE SMOKE CLEARS

As the smoke clears" A birthday story for Ursula

followed by

"Aftershocks" A birthday story for Mrs. Fish

As the night fell swiftly over the surrounding hills, a dark canopy streaked by the red-burgundy of the dying sun, it felt eerily as though they were being enfolded within a blood-splattered robe and perhaps that was why they shivered despite the crackling heat of the burning cornfield.

"So what now?" Mulder asked tiredly, turning his back on the dying circle of flames and regarding his companion with an expression that spoke of defeat and vulnerability rather than the triumph Skinner had expected.

Under the circumstances, a triumphant smirk on Mulder's face would have been valid but its absence softened Skinner's spine a little and allowed him to reply in a tone far softer than he'd used of late to the younger man.. 

"We walk until we find signs of civilization?" Skinner suggested mildly.

"That's a given," Mulder replied and chuckled wearily to remove any suggestion of sarcasm from his words. "I meant what next?"

Skinner shrugged, the movement accentuating the exhausted slump of his shoulders, but his eyes softened with sympathy.

"I don't know. I made some plans for the future, for what I'd do if it was ever over, but the truth is that I never expected to live long enough to enact them."

Mulder emitted a hoarse choking bark of laughter and, although the sound was too bitter for mirth, a small flame seemed to spark back to life in his previously banked eyes.

"Me neither," he admitted, and laughed again as he watched Skinner's frown of bemusement gradually transform into a wry grin.

"Now you tell me," he chuckled. 

Although he couldn't even remember when he had last felt at ease with the older man, Mulder couldn't prevent himself from meeting Skinner's unexpected grin with one of his own. "Well, I figured the rest of you were cynical enough, Sir. One of us had to at least *seem* to believe we had a chance of winning."

"And we did," Skinner agreed. "Not that anyone would think so from looking at us." He reached into his pocket, retrieved a slightly tattered handkerchief and reached over to wipe a smear of soot and dried blood off Mulder's left cheek. It was an oddly tender gesture that suggested more intimacy in their relationship than had existed for four years.

"Yeah," Mulder agreed, shivering slightly under the older man's touch as it woke the lingering ghosts of past dreams and current regrets.

"So why doesn't it feel good?" Skinner demanded.

"Shock, maybe," Mulder suggested. "It'll take time for everything to sink in. Right now, all I feel is tired."

"I could sleep for a week," Skinner agreed, and yawned widely.

"I'm aiming for two," Mulder admitted, with a yawn of his own.

"Typical," Skinner teased. "You always have to go one better than anyone else, don't you?" 

He threw his right arm over Mulder's shoulder and Mulder had to abruptly remind himself that the gesture was as unconscious and natural as the embrace of any soldier for a companion and that it didn't *mean* anything. How could it under the circumstances? he asked himself and was both surprised and ashamed of the resultant wave of bitterness that filled him. 

They both began to limp slowly down the road, until the burning stubble left in the wake of the ship's departure was just a faint hazy glow behind them.

"I don't get it," Mulder confessed as they walked "Why us, Sir? Why did the rebels bother to rescue us before they left?"

Skinner's arm tightened slightly around the younger man's shoulders and his fingers clasped a thin shoulder with both comfort and affection although his expression was so distant that it was clear he was seeing with his memory rather than his eyes.

"Old promises made and kept, Mulder," he whispered.

Mulder twisted in his embrace and met saddened brown eyes with confusion.

"I don't understand," he admitted. "But then again I never *did* understand you," he added under his breath.

Skinner stiffened a little, then relaxed and chose not to pursue the whispered comment.

"It's late, we're both tired and unless I'm much mistaken that's a motel sign just up the road. I suggest we get ourselves booked in, phone base to let them know we're still alive and then get some sleep. We can talk in the morning."

~#~#~#~

Their temporary truce didn't last past the securing of a motel room. 

Knowing that Mulder was too tired to even think about eating, Skinner took the hint as soon as Mulder made a performance of raiding the candy machine in the motel lobby. 

So he walked to their room alone and was saddened but unsurprised that he had time to make a lengthy phone call before Mulder joined him.

"Everything okay?" Mulder asked, with studied casualness, as though it weren't evident that his only concern was with the survival of *one* person at the end of that phone line.

"Fine," Skinner replied with equal coolness. "Okay if I take the first shower?"

"Sure," Mulder agreed, his eyes sliding towards the phone with a combination of hunger and dread.

Skinner opened his mouth to reassure him that Scully was okay, that she was waiting by the phone for his call, then abruptly snapped his jaw tight and stalked into the bathroom without speaking. There was no point, he told himself, as he angrily slammed the door shut to give them both the privacy they needed. His failure to mention her had, in itself, reassured Mulder that she was alive and the fact that Mulder had been willing to wait for that reassurance simply to avoid witnessing Skinner's own call proved the depth of the rift that Skinner's relationship had created between them. 

Skinner's only defense was that he hadn't known the truth. He hadn't realized how Mulder truly felt. He hadn't identified the depth of passion that lurked beneath Mulder's façade. If he had, he might not have stepped onto the path that had caused four years of animosity between them. It would have been a poor defense, except that Mulder obviously hadn't known how he felt either until it was too late.

Now it was possibly too late for any of them. As the smoke cleared and they all struggled to form new lives in the wake of the attempted invasion, it was impossible to predict which relationships would be strengthened and which would be crushed by the fall out. He had a few ideas, a few plans and dreams that might finally be realized. A lot of those plans depended on Mulder. 

All of them depended on Scully.

She was the conundrum still unsolved, the wild card whose effect couldn't be predicted.

~#~#~#~

When Skinner emerged from the bathroom, the white towel slung around his hips a vivid contrast to the multicolored bruises that mottled him like a pinto pony, Mulder was staring out of the darkened window into the parking lot. Despite the shrill buzz of the disconnect tone he seemed to have forgotten the presence of the phone handset that was still clutched between his whitened knuckles.

"Scully okay?" Skinner asked, as though he didn't already know the answer.

"Huh?" Mulder asked, swinging around to look at him and then glancing down in momentary confusion at the phone in his hand before resetting it in its cradle. "Yeah. She's fine. Now she knows we're both safe, she's on her way to collect William."

Skinner stared at him carefully, noting the faint trembling of his hands and the paleness of the skin beneath its layer of soot, grime and dried blood. He didn't *look* like a man who was planning to call a cab to the nearest airport to join the mother of his child.

The huge wave of relief that flooded him at that realization was so intense that he was almost ashamed in the face of Mulder's obvious despondency.

"Are *you* okay?" he asked, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

Mulder shrugged and sighed. "Yeah. I guess it's all still sinking in. We lost a lot of people this time."

Skinner frowned slightly, wanting to demand that Mulder explained why his call to Scully had left him so evidently shaken. Instead he bit his tongue, accepting Mulder's evasion as being its own admission that the wild card had fallen on barren soil, and all he said was, "I know, but it's the last time. It's over."

"I know," Mulder agreed, though his eyes remained so lost and bewildered that Skinner dared to step forward and wrap his arms around the younger man.

"It's over," he repeated.

For a heartbeat, Mulder remained tense and unyielding in his arms then, with a heavy sigh, Mulder relaxed into the embrace and accepted the offer of comfort.

"So many deaths," he whispered. "Such a pointless loss of life."

"How can it be pointless if we won?" Skinner demanded, his tone a little affronted.

"I meant the whole damn thing, not just this last battle. All the good people sacrificed on the alter of a few cowards' ambition. Scully said that over half the Senate are 'missing'. How the hell could the corruption have run so deep?"

"There's an old adage about power corrupting," Skinner replied sadly. "Though I suspect that whatever it is that drives a man to seek power in the first place is a character flaw in itself."

As he pressed against the older man, with nothing separating their hips except a thin layer of dirty denim and a towel, it occurred to Mulder that the brutal honesty of male bodies was as much a curse as a benefit. It was impossible for him to ignore the hard evidence that Skinner was as aroused as he was. It was equally impossible to imagine that Skinner would even acknowledge his desire, let alone act upon it.

A wisp of both relief and regret shivered down Mulder's spine and he trembled in Skinner's arms, torn between the urge to flee and the need to stay.

"It's okay. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a typical survival reaction," Skinner rumbled quietly, as though reading Mulder's mind.

Mulder accepted the truth of the comment with an honest sigh of regret and an even more honest plea.

"Sleep with me tonight?" As Skinner stiffened against him, he quickly added, "Just sleep. I didn't mean anything else. I just…just don't want to be alone tonight."

"It's not a night for anyone to sleep alone," Skinner agreed easily, but his eyes were troubled and distant as though he was mentally picturing another lonely man who needed the comfort of his presence.

Mulder swallowed heavily and mentally slammed a wall over the surge of jealousy that threatened to engulf him. He knew it was too late for regrets. He'd closed and locked that door years before and trying to open it now would not only be foolish but, given the other player in the game, possibly fatal.

But he had to at least ask the question.

"If…If I'd…um…I mean…um…could we have…"

"No," Skinner interrupted firmly, though his eyes were so painfully kind that Mulder winced in his arms and dropped his now flaming face in embarrassment.

A large careful hand forced his chin upwards.

"No," Skinner repeated more gently, a sad smile hovering beneath wise dark eyes. "Not even if we'd wanted to. The choice was never ours to make. We played the roles we had to, Mulder. Mine was to kick your ass and yours was to fight me every step of the way. Anything else and…well, I doubt we'd be here to discuss it."

"I hate this," Mulder snarled. "I hate the way they played us. The way *he* played us."

"It worked and we won," Skinner pointed out. "At the end of the day, nothing else matters."

"You sound like *him*," Mulder accused.

"Yes, I suppose I do," Skinner replied unapologetically.

"Is that why?"

"You tell me, Mulder. Is he *your* reason for asking me to stay with you tonight?"

"NO. Of course not," Mulder denied vehemently, then flushed with self-doubt. "Maybe," he whispered, then tore at his lower lip anxiously.

"Stop that," Skinner admonished, pressing a finger against the plump mouth.

Mulder froze, eyes wide, heart pounding as Skinner's head bent towards him and captured his lips with a firm but chaste kiss.

"It's late, we're both tired. We can talk in the morning," Skinner murmured, his eyes shuttered and opaque.

Mulder shuddered, torn between relief and regret, and he nodded slow acceptance. He was too tired to deal with this, he decided. Too bone-weary to cope with his own contrary emotions, too heart-shattered to understand his own motivations, too raw to defend himself against the unexpected desire that raced through his blood or the bitter jealousy that both repelled and embraced that desire. He felt lost and bewildered, as though he were staggering through an unknown and treacherous landscape.

"I don't know who I am anymore," he whispered.

"None of us do," Skinner replied kindly. "A time of endings is also a time of new beginnings. It's hard to give up a quest, to lay down your sword and take that first step out into the unknown. You want to cling on to what's familiar."

"Is that what this is?" 

Skinner kissed him again, a mere glide of lips. "Let the past go, Mulder."

Mulder stared at him in bemusement, wondering *which* past Skinner was referring to, not knowing whether it was an admonishment to let *Skinner* go or a promise that Skinner was planning to let his own past go. And if it were the latter, the question then was what he himself wanted. Or who.

And so he forced himself to ask the question.

"Is he okay?"

"Isn't he always?" Skinner replied mildly, and Mulder couldn't prevent himself from acknowledging that truth with a wry smile. 

"Is he coming?" he asked, although again he already knew the answer.

"Yes."

The simple admission hung between them for a moment as Mulder nestled inside Skinner's embrace.

"Tonight?" he whispered.

"No. There's too much to sort out at base. He'll come tomorrow as soon as he can get away."

"Well, I expect it's busy work being a hero," Mulder retorted, his tone bitter. "I bet he's lapping up the attention."

"Then you lose," Skinner replied, more gently than Mulder knew he deserved. "He'll only stay long enough to make sure everyone who survived touches base. He'll arrange for them to be safely picked up and then he'll slip away without any fanfares."

"Like a thief in the night?" Mulder suggested nastily.

"Why does it matter? However he does it, you'll find fault with him," Skinner retorted. 

"I don't understand him," Mulder admitted.

Skinner shrugged again, sending a ripple of movement through his muscular back that felt too much like a choked sob to the younger man who was pressed against him.

"You never did," Skinner said, his voice sorrowful yet kind. "You're a good man, Mulder. Too good, perhaps. You see everything in black and white, and life's never like that."

"It should be," Mulder retorted. "I don't want to live in a world of grey compromise."

"You don't," Skinner assured him, with a weary chuckle. "You shine above and beyond the people around you, no matter how grey they are. Over the last few years the only light I saw in the darkness was your sword of stubborn righteousness. It kept me fighting even when victory seemed impossible. It kept *all* of us fighting. You might not live in the real world, Mulder, but you remind us of the ideals we *want* to believe we were fighting for."

"In other words, you're calling me an idealistic fool," Mulder retorted wryly, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

"Maybe I am, in a way," Skinner retorted, and smiled as a pair of hazel eyes flared with doubt and some offence. "Just wait until William asks you to perform a miracle for him, Mulder, and you'll understand what I mean. It's hard to stand in the face of the expectations of a child and not at least *try* to achieve the impossible. No one can bear to see innocence crushed by reality."

"I'm not a child," Mulder growled.

"I'm not calling you a child or, god forbid, suggesting you're an innocent, but you *do* have the same way of making other people at least *try* to be something better than they really are. You may not have been the official leader of the Resistance, but everyone agrees that you were its heart."

Mulder shook his head slightly, never having been comfortable with the almost religious status he'd achieved with the Resistance over the proceeding few years. 

"They didn't follow *me*. I was just a voice crying out in the wilderness while the rest of them plotted among themselves. I might have inspired them, but I never had what it took to lead them."

"No, you didn't," Skinner agreed solemnly. "War's like chess. You have to be prepared to sacrifice your pawns in defence of your queen. The Resistance needed a leader who accepted that some people were expendable but, by the same token, your inability to be that man reminded the rest of us *why* the human race was worth saving. You *were* the Resistance, Mulder. You more than fulfilled the expectations laid at your feet."

"I pissed the hell out of our allies though," Mulder pointed out mulishly. "*They* were disappointed in me. That's why I don't understand why they bothered to rescue me. The grays were already fleeing and the battle was over. It made no difference at that point that you and I had been captured and were being taken away as a consolation prize. All they had to do was blow the Mothership out of the sky with us on board. Instead, they pulled us out of there and brought us home. I mean, I can understand them saving *you*, but why *me*? Or did I just get lucky because I was stood at your side when the transporter beam hit you?"

"I suspect it was the other way around," Skinner replied wryly. "For all their differences, the rebels had a strangely human sense of honor. They once struck a deal that they would always do their best to ensure your safety and they kept their word even when they no longer had anything to gain by doing so."
.
"Struck a deal with whom?" Mulder demanded.

"Believe me, you'd rather not know," Skinner muttered.

"Who made the deal?" Mulder demanded fiercely.

Skinner sighed heavily, "Alex."

"*Krycek*?" Mulder demanded incredulously.

Skinner just nodded, his eyes guarded.

"Krycek made a deal for *my* life? Why? What deal? Why the fuck would Krycek…"

"I told you you'd rather not know," Skinner snapped. "Drop it, Mulder. You never did understand that Alex only ever did what he had to do. He protected you from the beginning."

"And I'm supposed to be grateful?" Mulder pouted.

"I doubt you even know the meaning of the word," Skinner growled.

Mulder gave a bitter laugh. "I'm not a fool, Skinner. I *know* Krycek was working for the Resistance before we even met him. I *know* he was always one of the 'good guys'. I understand *everything* he did now and can see *why* he did it. But you know something? It doesn't help. It doesn't stop the way I *feel* about him."

"You're either lying or you're lucky," Skinner snapped. "Because it sure as hell has changed the way *I* feel about him, and I'm the one who has to live daily with the memory of murdering him and walking away without even looking back."

"Our illustrious Leader is remarkably healthy for a dead man," Mulder sniped. 

"I told you to drop it," Skinner snarled back. "You don't even *want* to understand him. It's perfectly obvious how you feel about him and I've given up trying to mediate between the pair of you but, just for once, can you at least respect *my* feelings? If you can't say anything good about him, either change the subject or shut the fuck up."

Mulder flushed slightly and chewed his lower lip uncertainly.

"Are you…um…are you and he…"

"I told you," Skinner replied tiredly. "I made plans for the future and, yes, he's a major part of them."

"Oh," Mulder replied flatly.

It was the opening Skinner had been waiting for and he swooped in to take it.

"What about you? Are you and Scully."

"No," Mulder interrupted quickly. "She said if it ever was over, she'd go collect William and then, well, she's got this idea of settling down in some sleepy town as a medical doctor. She wants the whole picket fence and station wagon deal."

"That's not the Scully I know."

"It's the Scully she *wants* to be," Mulder replied sadly. "Hell, she's earned some peace and quiet in her life. She's stuck with me through things no-one should ever have to go through and she's finally had enough."

"But you're not going to join her?" Skinner asked carefully.

"I can't be what she wants me to be," Mulder admitted, "and she knows that, so she hasn't even suggested I should move in with them. She deserves better, anyway."

"I hate it when you…"

"I didn't mean it like that," Mulder interrupted. "I'm *not* putting myself down. Well, not in the way you think. I'm not saying I'm not good enough for her. Though I'm not. I mean she deserves a different kind of man than me."

"One who'll share her bed?" Skinner suggested.

Mulder flinched visibly. 

"How long have you known?" he asked quietly.

"Not long," Skinner admitted. "I've suspected for years but I didn't know for sure until Alex told me."

"How the fuck did he know?" 

"Why don't you tell me?" Skinner snapped back. 

Mulder sniffed. "I guess his gaydar is pretty damned accurate. I mean who the hell else would have pegged *you* as a bum bandit?"

Skinner flushed with anger, his face stilling into a dangerous mask.

"I don't expect you to understand our relationship, and I long ago gave up even hoping you might treat him with respect but I'm sure as hell not going to stand here and let you disrespect *me* for loving him."

"He killed you, Skinner. You killed *him*. Excuse me if I find that an unlikely form of courtship."

"I don't know. At least we have something in common."

"How the hell can you joke about it?"

"It's what normal people do. You deal with things. You get past them and move on. You grow up. Maybe you should give it a try yourself."

"I don't want to talk about this. You want to fuck Alex Krycek then fine, but don't ask me to stand on the sidelines and cheer you along," Mulder snarled.

Skinner sighed heavily and shook his head sadly. "You really have a problem with our relationship, don't you?"

"No shit."

"So tell me, just for the record, which one of us *do* you jerk off to?"

"WHAT?"

"Alex says it's me," Skinner continued conversationally, ignoring Mulder's spluttering, red-faced denial. "He says it's the only explanation for your unrelenting hostility towards him. Once the rebel aliens told you the truth and you discovered he was leading the resistance, you should have put the past behind you. I had far more reason to hate him than you did, so if the truth was good enough for me it should have been more than good enough for you too. So Alex reckons the reason you still hiss and spit at him like an affronted cat is the fact that he's sharing my bed. 

"Personally, although I was never certain where Scully fitted into the picture, I've always been pretty damned sure it's Alex you want. I think you always did. It's the only explanation for the depth of hatred he inspired in you. I think you fell in love with him when you were partners. *That's* why you took his seeming betrayal so badly. Then, when you finally discovered that he'd always been on your side you couldn't bear the fact that he chose *me* instead of you."

"This is bullshit. I hate Krycek because he killed my father."

Skinner sighed with exasperation. "Will you cut the crap, Mulder? I'm not buying it anymore. Isn't it finally time for a little honesty between us? Bill Mulder wasn't your father. Besides which, he earned that bullet a thousand times over. He was directly involved with the conspiracy. Every member of the consortium we've taken down has been *someone's* father. If one of *their* sons came and confronted you now would you feel they had the right to abuse you for simply doing your job?"

"I know," Mulder admitted reluctantly. "I've told myself the same thing a thousand times, but it doesn't change the way I *feel* when I see him."

"You hate him," Skinner agreed. "But the question is *why* do you hate him?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Isn't it you who always demanded people sought the truth, no matter how painful?"

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"The truth."

"No you don't. Believe me, you don't."

"Try me."

"Why? What the hell's the point? You want me to admit I've had a hard-on for *your* boyfriend since the first day I saw him?"

"Have you?"

Mulder bit his lower lip, dropped his eyes and then shook himself visibly before raising his head to glare defiantly as he nodded his agreement. He expected Skinner to hit him for the admission. Instead the older man smiled.

"I can understand that," Skinner agreed amiably. "I felt the same way. Not that I'd ever have acted on my attraction under the circumstances but I can't pretend it wasn't there right from the first time I laid eyes on him. It tore me apart when I believed he was dirty and it almost shattered me to discover that I *still* retained that attraction despite the things he did to me. It made me react to him with inappropriate anger. The night you brought him to my apartment and I punched him and handcuffed him outside is still one of my most shameful memories, Mulder. Of course it pales next to the memory of shooting him, but neither sits easily on my conscience. I understand the concept of love becoming the fuel for hatred."

"I didn't say I *loved* him," Mulder protested weakly.

"You don't have to. You're not a sexually-driven man, Mulder. If all you felt for Alex had been lust you'd have gotten past it years ago."

"So, okay, I'm in love with your boyfriend. I admit it. You satisfied now or do you want to rub my nose in it a bit more?"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"You've been doing it for four fucking years," Mulder accused. "How the fuck do you think I felt? I thought he was *dead*. I was *glad* he was dead. And then I found out he was alive and *why* the rebels brought him back to life. All those years of wanting him and *hating* him and hating myself for wanting him, and suddenly it turned out he was working for the Resistance all along. I…I…shit, I didn't even pack a fucking suitcase, I just jumped in my car and broke the landspeed record to get to him. I…I thought…I thought he'd…"

"Be waiting for you with open arms?" Skinner asked quietly.

"Well, I sure as hell didn't expect to find him in *your* bed," Mulder snarled. 

"And that's why you went back to hating him?"

"I didn't hate him," Mulder corrected, "I just hated *you*."

He laughed bitterly at Skinner's look of astonishment.

"It was…oh shit, it was like Samantha all over again. For three days, as I drove across country to reach the base camp, I was so damned sure I was going to get him back that I could *taste* him. The rebels dangled him in front of me like a carrot, and I jumped at the bait like a fucking lab rat only for him to turn into a mirage in front of my eyes because you'd gotten there first and stolen him from me."

"At the time I didn't even know you were…"

"Gay?" Mulder interrupted. "Well snap, Sir. You sure surprised the hell out of me too."

"Why didn't you say anything to me? Why did you punish Alex if it was me you hated? Why didn't you tell him how you felt and give him the choice?"

Mulder gave a half-shrug.

"What was the point? The two of you were fucking like rabbits and it was clear he thought the sun shone out of your butt. And you…hell, you were so *different* with him. I didn't know you. You'd always been a tight-ass in a suit just sitting on the fence and suddenly you'd thrown everything away to follow him and you were achieving more against the invasion every day than I'd managed in years. You were making a difference, Skinner. The two of you, together, were fucking unstoppable. Even if I'd *thought* I stood a chance of fighting you for him, I couldn't do it. I couldn't take the risk that he'd choose me and you'd leave. The resistance needed you."

"That sounds very noble, Mulder, the idea of you sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of the Resistance, except that it doesn't explain why the hell you've treated Alex like shit for the last four years," Skinner challenged.

"The day I arrived, and the two of you walked into the room still stinking of sex, I went crazy."

"I remember," Skinner agreed drolly.

"And you and everyone else assumed my problem was that I still hated Alex."

"So you just let us carry on believing that?"

"It was either that or tell the truth because there was no way I was ever going to handle seeing you both together without reacting badly," Mulder admitted quietly. "It was easier that way."

"Not on you," Skinner pointed out. "And not on Alex."

"Alex is Teflon-coated," Mulder snarled. "He doesn't give a shit about anyone's opinion, least of all mine."

"Alex loves you."

"What?"

"Don't pretend to be stupid. It doesn't suit you. Alex is in love with you. He has been from the beginning. He never made a deal for his own life. He never even negotiated for *my* safety but he sold his soul and more for *you*.

"Who do you think brought Scully back? Who do you think pulled Spender's fangs? Who took you to Tunguska and ensured you were given the immunity to the oiliens? Every time he jerked your chain to further the Resistance's plans he also ensured your survival. Do you really believe you were brought back from the dead by a simple course of anti-virals? You have no conception of the deals and compromises he made to keep you alive, Mulder, and it wasn't just because of your value to the Resistance. It was personal."

"Why are you telling me this? Why now?" Mulder demanded, his eyes pained.

"The war's finally over. Things are different now. Alex couldn't take the risk before. The truth is the rebels wouldn't even allow him to try. You were both too necessary to the Resistance. It hasn't been easy for us to all work around the cold hostility you've shown him over the last few years but it was preferable to the idea of you returning to a passionate hatred if you attempted a relationship together and failed."

An expression of hopeful disbelief crept over Mulder's features. "I don't understand what you're saying here. Are you offering to walk away if I want him?"

Skinner dashed his hopes with a firm shake of his head.

"No. I might have walked away four years ago if I'd known how you felt but I didn't. I thought that it was Scully whom you wanted. If I'd had any idea about how you and Alex felt about each other I never would have approached him myself. But it's too late now. I love him and I won't give him up for you or anyone. 

"As soon as he arrives tomorrow, Alex and I are going away together. We've done our part and have no intention of hanging around like vultures picking over the bones of what's left. There's a lot of empty seats in the Senate and there's going to be a lot of chaos and power-grabbing as people try to wrestle for positions in the new Government. Neither of us want to hang around for that. Between my investments and pension and the money Alex has put away we've got enough to disappear for a long time. Maybe forever."

"You're going away," Mulder whispered, his face draining of its remaining color. "Yeah. Of course you are. Everyone leaves me. It's the story of my life."

"We're not leaving *you*," Skinner corrected firmly. "We're just leaving."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is that if you're serious about not wanting to stay with Scully you're welcome to come away with me and Alex."

Mulder snorted in disbelief. 

"And what's Alex going to say about this?"

Skinner shrugged. 

"I imagine he'll be as dubious as you at first but we can work out the details with him tomorrow."

"It's a crazy idea."

"Then you'll feel right at home, won't you?" Skinner replied dryly.

He chuckled at the stunned look on Mulder's face. "Alex and I love one another. Alex and you *could* love one another if you gave each other a chance. You could make him happy and I love Alex enough to want him to have as much happiness as he can get. Besides, I admit I'd rather like the opportunity to get to know you a lot better myself."

Mulder blinked furiously and gnawed his lower lip, glancing down in surprise as though noticing for the first time that he'd been standing in the embrace of Skinner's arms since their discussion began.

"Are you…um… coming on to me, Sir?"

Skinner laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his belly. "My name's Walter and the answer is yes."

"I'm…um…flattered," Mulder replied honestly, "You're one hell of a sexy guy. I've always thought so. Even though I *thought* you were straight before you hooked up with Alex. Maybe that's even why I took your relationship so badly. I would have been pissed as hell to find Alex in *anyone's* bed, but the fact that it was yours knocked me sideward."

"You never gave me any indication you were interested in me," Skinner pointed out quietly.

"How could I? You were my boss, and you were straight and…" Mulder's voice trailed off at the look of polite disbelief on Skinner's face. "Shit," he mumbled to himself.

"What?"

"I don't know how to say it."

"That's a first for you," Skinner laughed.

Mulder glared at him, his cheeks flushing with combined anger and embarrassment. "You don't understand."

"How could I? You've just given me two perfectly plausible lies and I'm still waiting for you to tell me the truth," Skinner pointed out reasonably.

"You're an attractive man, but you're not my type," Mulder whispered.

He felt a sudden chill as Skinner dropped his arms to his sides, releasing Mulder from his embrace, and it was that action that evidenced Skinner's sudden self-doubt more than the expressionless mask that slipped down over the previously animated face.

"I'm sorry," Skinner muttered. "I thought…" He shook his head angrily. "It doesn't matter *what* I thought. I've made a mistake. I'm sorry. I had no right to assume you felt the same way about me as I do about you."

"Stop it," Mulder interrupted quickly. "Did I *say* I didn't want you?" He gestured down at the still prominent bulge in his jeans. "Does *this* look like I don't want you?"

"But you said I wasn't your type," Skinner reminded him, his eyes dark with confused hurt.

"I just…oh fuck this is hard… I just meant that I'm… well, I'm not really the…um…passive sort in bed," Mulder explained, blushing furiously.

To his surprise, Skinner greeted his admission with a bray of laughter.

"What's funny?" Mulder demanded furiously.

"I'm surprised you even remember *what* you prefer in bed, Mulder," Walter chuckled. Then, before Mulder could make an angry retort, he continued in a gentler voice. "What makes you think that Alex is 'passive' either?"

"Oh," Mulder mumbled then, as understanding dawned, his eyes widened with disbelief. "OH."

Skinner smiled.

"The truth of the matter is that you and Alex aren't really compatible, Mulder. For all the excuses you've both made over the years to justify your constant aggression with each other, the simple truth I suspect is that you both subconsciously sense the alpha male in each other. You're both so busy trying to dominate each other *outside* of bed that you've got next to no chance of ever getting into one together."

"You're telling me you bottom to Alex?" Mulder squeaked.

"Not all the time," Skinner replied easily, "but certainly *most* of the time."

"But…but…you're so…so…." Mulder stammered.

"I'll tell you what I am, Mulder. I'm big enough and ugly enough to be able to admit what I prefer in bed without worrying what other people think about my preferences."

"Oh," Mulder sighed happily.

"So, I'll repeat my earlier offer. Would you like to come away with me and Alex?"

"I…I don't…I mean I…I…yeah."

"Yeah?" Walter repeated questioningly.

"Yeah," Mulder nodded.

"Good. I'm glad that's settled," Walter sighed. "I was beginning to wonder whether we'd ever get any sleep tonight." He held his hand out, "Shall we go to bed?"

"I need a shower."

"It'll wait 'til morning. Come to bed."

"We're just going to *sleep* together, right?"

Skinner chuckled. "Believe me, Mulder. The minute my head touches that pillow I'll be out like a light."

"It's not that I don't *want* to," Mulder explained hurriedly. "It's just that…"

"We have to talk to Alex first?"

"Yeah."

"Of course we do," Skinner agreed.

"Are you sure he'll agree?"

"Agree?" Skinner laughed. "Hell, he's going to think he's received a lifetime worth of birthdays wrapped in Mulder giftwrap."

"Fox," Mulder mumbled.

"What?

"My name's Fox."

"I know," Skinner replied dryly, "But I thought you hated the name."

Mulder smiled shyly and blushed.

"Nah. Actually I always thought it was kind of cool. I just…well, I hated the familiarity of it. After Samantha it always *hurt* when other people called me Fox. It was like they were trying to take her place. Telling people to call me 'Mulder' was like hanging a 'no vacancy' sign up over my heart. It was a way of saying no one else was welcome inside. I think maybe it's time to take that sign down."

"It's way past time, Fox," Skinner corrected gently, his eyes glistening suspiciously. "Come to bed."

And Mulder stripped off his smoke-stained jeans and slipped under the cool, clean sheets wearing nothing except the unfamiliar clothing of a hopeful smile.

~#~#~#~

"Aftershocks" by Mort

As she packed her car, her small body tense with the effort of lifting the heavy cases, he marveled at both her strength and efficiency.  He could see anger in the stiffness of her spine, no doubt directed at himself for the way he was indolently draped over the bottom steps of the stairwell while she struggled with the heavy boxes, but her face was a polite mask of indifference whenever he caught her eye and she pointedly refused to ask him for help.

So he deliberately lit another cigarette and took a long drag before expelling a perfect smoke ring. He watched it float upwards, like a white halo in the dimly lit garage, its form and substance growing and warping before it finally dissipated into the frigid night air.

"That will kill you, you know," a voice announced from the stairs above.

He grinned into the darkness and shifted slightly to allow Monica to descend and sit next to him, her long black-clad legs sprawling out next to his. She hissed slightly as the chill of the concrete step bit against her ass and she leant against him, stealing some of his warmth as she reached inside her own jacket .

"Here," he said quietly, interrupting the search of her trembling fingers by proffering his own packet in her direction.

She waited until he'd offered her a light and she'd taken a deep drag before murmuring "Thanks."

He just shrugged and continued to watch the small red-head as she struggled with her cases.

"So she's really going and she's obviously not planning on coming back," Monica said, her eyes narrowing as she mentally inventoried the growing contents of Scully's car. "You really going to let her take *all* that stuff?"

Alex shrugged again. "Why not?" he asked tiredly. "It's going to be tough out there for a while. There'll be food shortages for months until things settle down. I said she could take all the food and medicines she could fit in her car."

"Looks like she's taking half the arsenal too," Monica sniffed.

"No point taking the food if she can't look after herself," Alex pointed out. "A lone woman and child are going to look like easy pickings."

"So it's true about Mulder not joining her?"

Alex stiffened slightly but didn't reply.

"Weird, isn't it?" Monica murmured. "The base is full of people running around slapping each other on the back and celebrating our victory, and yet all the people who *really* made it possible, people like you and Scully, are just creeping off into the darkness alone as though you're running to hide from a guilty secret."

"We are," Alex replied huskily. "We're dirty, Reyes. All of us, in one way or another, have been tainted by this war. We've all done things were ashamed of, things we could live with in the heat of the battle but that will haunt us forever now the war is over. We're all staggering around like Lady Macbeth, wringing our bloodstained hands in despair and wondering how the hell we made the choices we did."

"We all just did what we had to do. We saved the planet, Alex. Every human life that was sacrificed saved a thousand others. I know the cost was high, but we had no choice. In this case the ends *did* justify the means."

"You're stealing my lines," Alex chuckled, a little bitterly.

"Because you *were* right all along. It took us all a long time to understand you were right but, one by one, we all joined you. It's a little late for you to sit there and feel sorry for yourself, Alex. I understand that you want to put this all behind you, that you *need* to take some time to forget some of the things you did. That's okay, but stop beating yourself up and looking for forgiveness. You don't need it because there's nothing to forgive."

"Tell that to Mulder," Alex snorted.

"Forget Mulder," she snapped, a little harshly. "It doesn't matter what *he* thinks about you, Alex. He has tunnel vision as far as you're concerned. Forget Scully and Mulder. Come back inside. Everyone's waiting for you. Join the party and see yourself through *our* eyes for a change. You're our hero, Alex. Don't you think you've dealt with enough shit over the years to have earned the right to enjoy tonight instead of sitting here freezing your nuts off?"

"It is cold," he agreed, "but I want to sit here a while longer." 

Monica sighed and rose to her feet. "Don't be long, okay? There's a lot of people who want to shake your hand before you set off tomorrow to collect Walter."  

He turned his head and gave her a sad smile. "Thanks, Monica."

She frowned suspiciously. "You *are* coming in, aren't you?" she demanded.

"I'm just waiting here until Scully gets away safely," he replied softly.

It wasn't until an hour later, when she went searching for him and found his car missing, that she realized his answer had meant 'no'.

~#~#~#~

As the car eagerly ate up miles of deserted road, Alex finally allowed himself to cry. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself the luxury of embracing his emotions rather than savagely suppressing them that, at first, he didn't even identify the physical sensation of pain in his chest as being sorrow.  It began as a pressure above his solar-plexus that sharpened to a burn in his breast-bone and as he gasped for breath against suddenly tight lungs his immediate thought was that his body was punishing him for giving in to his craving for a cigarette.

He hadn't smoked for over ten years, partly because of his association of the habit with Spender and mainly because there had been enough other people trying to kill him without him doing the job for them. But, somehow, revisiting a vice he'd enjoyed in his younger, more innocent days, had felt like a form of catharsis. It had, in a way, been a way of acknowledging that he was finally out of the game and free to destroy his body himself instead of looking over his shoulder for bullets and knives.

When he felt the pain, he assumed it was the protesting of his lungs over the earlier abuse and, instead of slamming his normal walls up against the sensation, he allowed himself to accept and almost enjoy it. He told himself it was finally okay to admit to physical pain. He no longer had to pretend he was some virtually unbreakable machine. He'd never again have to bear bruises and broken ribs and severed arms with an expression of cold indifference. He'd no longer have to bite down on his cries of pain or smother the screams of his nightmares into his pillow.   

So he was caught unprepared and unguarded when the tears began to gather behind his eyes and then force a stinging, burning path down his cheekbones. It took a second or two for him to understand the unfamiliar sensation and then he was shocked by their alien presence as they dripped down his face.

"I'm crying," he told himself aloud, his tone bewildered, and then, as though his acknowledgement opened a flood gate, the pain in his chest erupted into a series of deep, wracking sobs that forced him to pull the car to a halt.

Momentarily panicked by the shaking tremors of his own body, he fought desperately for a return of his self-control and then, as the pressure continued to well inside him alone and unobserved on a deserted road, Alex Krycek finally allowed himself to give vent to ten years of pain, regret and loneliness with a loud wail of misery.

~#~#~#~

Mulder woke from the first deep and nightmare-free sleep he'd experienced in years to find his face snuffling happily against the solid warmth of someone's chest and his stiff cock nuzzled happily between someone's thighs. He stifled his immediate gasp of fear, freezing stiffly against the body he had apparently clambered on top of while he was sleeping. A male body, he swiftly concluded as he felt the unmistakable presence of someone else's cock trapped under his stomach.

Memory flooded back, and with it came recognition of his human mattress.

"You awake, Sir....Walter?" he whispered cautiously.

Walter's only reply was a soft snore and the chest beneath Mulder's face continued to rise and fall with the steady rhythm of sleep. He wondered whether it was possible to extricate himself from the older man's body without a) waking him up and/or b) dragging his stiff cock from its comfortable hiding place without the friction of Walter's thighs stimulating a messy and somewhat embarrassing eruption. 

"God, it's been far too damn long," he muttered to himself quietly. Too long since he'd felt the comforting press of another body against his own, too long since he'd woken up in a situation where he couldn't just grab himself and relieve the pressure of a morning erection with his own sadly too-experienced fingers. He was so primed for explosion that he doubted there was *any* way he could get off Walter without humiliating himself. He was pathetic, he decided angrily, wondering whether there was even any point contemplating a physical relationship with either Walter *or* Alex if he couldn't control the hair-trigger his cock had developed over the last few years. Just one touch and it would be over before it was even started. Fox Mulder, fastest fuck in the West.

He groaned softly, the sound somewhere between despair and arousal, and turned his head slightly in the hope that he could convince his cock that its real immediate need was actually to take a piss.   He opened his eyes, looked over towards the bathroom door and his cock didn't just soften; it immediately shriveled and attempted to follow the example of his frantically withdrawing balls.

Mulder had looked death in the face numerous times but, as he stared into the cold, unblinking green eyes of the expressionless man sitting in an easy chair next to the slightly open window and then glanced down at the silencer-fitted pistol Alex was tapping with apparent casualness against a black-leather-clad thigh, he decided he'd never been so goddamned scared in his life. His heart surged into such a frantic stampede against his chest that it was barely credible that its panicked beating didn't kick Walter awake.  He waited for the usual anger to flood through him, the anger that always swamped his fear and allowed him to face Alex down regardless of whether that anger was fair or justified.

It didn't come. Perhaps it was still-born in the face of Walter's revelations the night before or simply too shamed to show its face while he was lying naked on top of Alex's equally naked lover. More worryingly, his cock was slowly stirring back to half-life between the heat of Walter's thighs and Mulder had a sudden image of it bobbing hungrily in Alex's face when he was hauled off the bed to certain death.

What had seemed reasonable the night before, that Alex might welcome the addition of Mulder into his and Walter's life and bed, suddenly seemed ludicrous. Particularly given that Alex's introduction to the idea had been to find the two of them in bed together. Mulder doubted Alex would believe they had only 'slept' together, even if he gave them the opportunity to explain themselves.

Mulder's personal terror faded beneath his sudden worry for Walter.  What if Alex killed *both* of them? What if he killed Walter for this apparent betrayal? There was no point trying to convince Alex that he and Walter hadn't had sex together. The best he could hope for was to accept all the blame himself, to make out that he'd seduced Walter. That way *one* of them would hopefully survive.

"It's my fault," he rasped quietly, praying that Walter wouldn't wake up until he'd convinced Alex of his sole culpability. "I begged him to spend the night with me."

Alex's face remained expressionless but an eyebrow lifted in apparent disbelief and a dark shadow flickered through emerald eyes before they swung away from Mulder's face and up towards the head of the bed to Walter's sleeping face.

Except, since Walter greeted the glance with a greeting, he evidently *wasn't* asleep after all.

"Alex," Walter said softly, lovingly, and Mulder jerked in surprise as he felt the word rumble through Walter's chest. He rolled off the older man, hauling one of the bed sheets up to cover their nakedness as he scrambled backwards until his spine hit the headboard.

"Walter," Alex replied calmly and if there were question or accusation in his voice Mulder couldn't hear it any more than he could see any emotion on Alex's face. And, just like Alex's lack of expression, the lack of inflection in that dark honey voice struck fresh dread in Mulder's heart.

But apparently not in Walter's.

"What time did you arrive?" Walter asked steadily, as though he were both unsurprised and unfazed to find Alex in their room.

"A couple of hours ago," Alex said, then his mouth twitched slightly as he nodded at the open window and added, "I let myself in."

Walter chuckled slightly then frowned.

"You look tired. Why didn't you come to bed?"

Alex's eyes flickered towards Mulder pointedly, but then he shrugged one-shoulder and tapped the window with his pistol.

"A loaded car's too much of a temptation," he said. "I wanted to keep my eye on it."

Mulder let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding at the clear implication that the silenced weapon in Alex's hand was for the benefit of would be car-thieves rather than the easy dispatch of a betraying lover and his partner-in-crime.

"Did you pack everything?" Walter asked calmly.

"Our clothes and the supplies that Scully left behind," Alex replied, with an attempt at a smile. "I stupidly said she could take whatever supplies she could fit in her new station wagon. I underestimated the ability of an efficient woman to defy the laws of physics."

Walter laughed, good-naturedly. "I can imagine," he replied. "The question is whether you packed enough supplies for the three of us."

Alex blinked rapidly but, rather than erupting into the fury Mulder expected, a little of the rigid tension fled his body and his twisted excuse for a smile blossomed into the real thing.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I reckon so."

"Good," Walter replied, with a gentle smile of his own.

Mulder stared between the two of them in complete bewilderment.

"How about you find us a change of clothes?" Walter suggested quietly. 

Alex's eyes flickered briefly towards Mulder.

"Fox needs a shower. In case you hadn't realized, his hair is the primary source of the overpowering stench of smoke in here." 

Alex's eyes flared with surprise at the name 'Fox'. He opened his mouth, then closed it again before nodding stiffly and striding out of the room.

"Shit," Mulder groaned. "I feel sick."

"Go take your shower, Fox," Walter replied calmly.

"But he..."

"Go."

Looking at Walter's calm but unbreachable expression, Mulder climbed out of bed and walked silently to the bathroom before he gave in to the impulse to check Walter's neck for an implant.

He decided he was *definitely* going to check Alex's though.

~#~#~#~

Trust me.

That's what Walter had said to him four years ago. "Trust me", as though the concept was one that Alex could understand, as though Walter, whose cold face had been the last vision he'd seen before his head had exploded into unimaginable pain, was someone worthy of that trust. As though Alex was capable of trusting *anyone*.

Yet Alex had tried. 

At first it had been little more than a pretence of trust. He'd worn the behavior like an ill-fitting jacket, stumbling frequently because of his unfamiliarity with the concept, failing frequently to play the role convincingly and seeing the dark, unspoken hurt in Walter's chocolate eyes every time he tripped up and blurted some wild, unfounded suspicion in Walter's face.

Yet, as time had passed, as the trust he so cautiously offered never brought the pain of betrayal and the gut-twisting fear of possible humiliation began to fade into no more than the occasional twinge of uncertainty, Alex had found that the ill-fitting garment began to mould itself around him until it fitted with the comfort of an old well-worn pair of boots.

The professional trust had come first. The faith shared between brothers-in-arms. The knowledge that Walter would always protect his back in a fight, would always lay down covering fire, would always be there at his side when danger surrounded them. The personal trust had come much later. For almost six months he had refused to believe their sharing of a bed was more than hot rutting sex. He clung to the sensations without accepting the emotions that should have accompanied them. He and Walter fought together and fucked together. That was all.

And he thought nothing of the fact that *only* Walter shared his bed, and he ignored the fact that he began to find it impossible to sleep if a mission meant that Walter *wasn't* in his bed. He refused to consider *why* he began to loathe any mission that separated them. He acknowledged the fact that he soon didn't 'trust' anyone else to cover his back so well and the fact that he was never tempted to share comfort and body heat with any other partner, but he didn't consider *why* that was the truth.

Until the day that Mulder arrived at base camp.

Mulder, who had been the star of all his sleeping and waking dreams for years. Mulder, whose name he had spoken so often in sessions of self-comfort that he had struggled for years not to blurt it out in the face of whichever meaningless stranger had been sharing his mattress. Mulder, whom he had loved with the sick, hopeless devotion of an unwanted mongrel from the moment he had offered his hand to be shaken and had seen nothing but mocking contempt in a pair of perfect hazel eyes.

And he'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't *still* wanted Mulder, if he claimed that his heart hadn't leapt into overdrive the moment he'd seen that familiar face twisted in its usual hatred and contempt, if he pretended that his cock hadn't leapt in salute even as his hands had curled into self-protective fists. 

But then Walter had pressed up behind him, covering his back, his stolid presence both protecting and supporting him, the scent of their recent sex still pervading their skin, an invisible but real link between them.

It was at that moment that he'd finally understood.

He loved Mulder. He always would.

But he *trusted* Walter.

He still did.

Even though it was hard. Even though his chest was aching again with the same burning pain that he had felt in his car, even though his eyes were stinging again with tears that stupidly imagined he might free them. The opportunistic bastards had seen the success of their predecessors, had witnessed his loss of control earlier, and were now clamoring for their own glorious escape down his cheeks. But they'd been trying to escape since the moment he'd climbed into the motel room and if they hadn't achieved it while he had been staggered by heat and fury and betrayal and fear, they hadn't got a chance in hell of breaking through just because he was feeling weak-kneed with relief.

Trust me.

The words had whispered endlessly through his head as he'd sat for two hours watching Mulder snuggle on top of *his* lover, as he'd tapped his pistol against his leg and prayed for some sad fucker to try and break into the car just so he'd have the excuse to blow *someone's* head off.

Trust me.

The words had shone from two sleepy chocolate eyes, when they had opened and shown pleasure in his presence rather than the guilty fear he might have expected.

Trust me.

And Alex had, even though he couldn't see how he *could* trust, even though there was no logical way he could see Mulder's presence in Walter's bed as anything other than his own dismissal.

Because *no-one* in their right mind would choose him over Mulder.

So, after the initial anger and hurt, both of which had flayed a heart already raw, he'd accepted the inevitable. He'd suspected for a long time that Mulder was in love with Walter. He hadn't even been angry about it, since he was perfectly aware that Walter deserved someone better than himself and there *wasn't* anyone better than Mulder in Alex's opinion. 

He hadn't even been surprised. As he'd sat there in the garage, watching Scully pack, he'd already known what he'd find at the motel. It was the only reason he could think of to explain Mulder's decision not to join her in her new life. Maybe that had even been his reason for arriving unexpectedly in the middle of the night. He'd known that catching Mulder and Walter in bed together would hurt but it would also make everything easier, wouldn't it?  No need for lies or painful goodbyes. Just the acknowledgement of the act and then the inevitable dismissal as Walter and Mulder took the car he had brought them and drove off together into their future.

Yet Walter's eyes had said 'trust me' and so he had trusted and, as always, his trust in Walter had been rewarded.

'The question is whether you packed enough supplies for the three of us,' Walter had said.

So now the only question in Alex's mind was why Mulder was agreeing to share.

~#~#~#~

"Those look like...they *are*, aren't they?" Walter demanded.

Alex flushed slightly and cocked his head towards the bathroom to check the shower was still running before he answered.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I brought Mulder's clothes too."

"That was thoughtful of you," Walter replied mildly, though his eyes narrowed slightly at the bashful expression on Alex's face. "I guess you figured he wouldn't want to have to return to base camp to collect them."

"Yeah," Alex mumbled.

"But under the circumstances it was fortuitous too, wasn't it?" Walter continued. 

Alex avoided his eyes.

"This *is* what you want, isn't it? The three of us staying together?"

Alex looked down at the carpet. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Walter rolled his eyes in exasperation and fought the urge to clip Alex across the back of his down-turned head as he asked himself how come he'd gotten himself entangled with the two most emotionally stunted men in the history of planet Earth. Didn't *either* of them ever look in the damned mirror?

"Shit, Alex. What the hell have I done? Poor Fox."

"Huh?" Alex asked, his head snapping upwards so that Walter saw the glint of banked tears in the puzzled green eyes.

"I thought you were in love with him, Alex," Walter explained, in a tone of intense apology. "I told the poor bastard that you *do* love him. That's why he agreed to come with us. I don't know what the hell he's going to think when he realizes you don't want him. He'll probably think I lied just to get him in *my* bed."

"Who *wouldn't*? " Alex sighed sadly, then looked startled by his own words and shook himself furiously like a wet dog. "You're saying it's *me* he wants?"

"Of course. I thought that would be obvious," Walter replied calmly. "Why else would he want to come with us if it isn't because he's in love with *you*?"

He saw Alex try the idea on for size, shuffling awkwardly under the weight of the unfamiliar concept and then relaxing as though finding that it fit him perfectly after all. 

"Well, sure," Alex replied, with an impressive impersonation of a casual shrug. "I knew that."

Walter coughed and covered his mouth to hide the smile he couldn't repress.

"You did, huh?" Mulder challenged, from the open bathroom door.

Alex spun to face him and attempted a cool sneer. The expression slipped with the ease of practice onto Alex's face only to then melt off again as his eyes took in the sight of a dripping wet Mulder, hand towel wrapped precariously around his hips, hot steam billowing behind his head like a plume of white smoke, bare feet sloshing in the rapidly growing puddle at his feet.

Walter watched as Alex choked, gasped, went slightly pale as he swayed on suddenly rubber-like legs, and then slammed his defenses back in place so quickly that Walter felt reality slip around him.

"Fuck you," Alex snarled, baring his teeth in Mulder's direction.

"In your dreams," Mulder hissed back, his eyes quickly reflecting Alex's angry green glare.

"Yeah?" Alex demanded, charging past Walter and slamming Mulder back against the doorjamb.

"Yeah," Mulder growled, shoving back until Alex's spine impacted against the door

Walter was still trying to decide whether to jump between them when either gravity or a deliberate wriggle of his hips (although Mulder later denied the latter most emphatically) caused the tiny towel to drop to the floor at Alex's feet. After that the 'fight' became a blur, with Walter's only significant action being to step hurriedly out of the way as Alex and Mulder barreled out of the bathroom and onto the bed.

He waited until he was reasonably certain that they'd decided kissing was a far more satisfying expression of passion than punching each other in the guts, then he quietly got dressed and walked out of the motel room in search of breakfast.

Walter had a feeling that he'd soon need all the energy he could get.

The End

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