Title: Involution Author: Philiater Category: SSR , Mulder Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: See the first story. No season 8 or 9. No pregnancy. Total denial. Archive: SIS Disclaimer: Characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 et al. Feedback: philiater1@yahoo.com This is the sequel to Anhedonia. You should probably read that first. Thanks to all who sent the lovely feedback. Thanks to Western Rose for her great support that gave me the courage to get started in the first place. Involution --.1 a (1): the act or an instance of enfolding or entangling: INVOLVEMENT (From The Merriam-Webster Dictionary) Part I: Thursday morning It is early morning when I wake to the sound of wind playing in the trees. I watch the shadows of leaves as they dance across my bedroom wall, causing light to shimmer and reflect in the room. A strangely peaceful lassitude insinuates itself upon me while I laze in bed. An unfamiliar sensation not unlike happiness lurks in those shadows. Normally I did not notice such things. When the alarm went off I rose, showered, had a Spartan breakfast, and fought traffic all the way to work. But not today. Today a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt lays sprawled across my belly; its fingers curled possessively around my waist. A great hairy arm holds me close to a massive chest that rises and falls with quiet breathing. Today I had a man in my bed, and that was more remarkable than any missed alarms or the pondering of shadows. Even more remarkable is the identity of the man, and though he surrounds me with his body, I am having difficulty believing he is here. Here in my bed, without a stitch of clothing between us. I think I hear ice cracking the doors to hell. When I turn he is looking at me; watching me, watch the shadows play. His brown eyes are dark as he bends to kiss me and I hold my breath in anticipation of the gentle contact. We dispensed with words long ago, using tactile expression instead. I know him now, his touch, his lips, his eyes. Anticipating him becomes a pleasurable game. Last night we made love slowly, gradually learning the nuances of the other’s desires. I have learned for example, that he likes it when I stroke the fine hair just below his bellybutton. He knows I find his hands fascinating, constantly admiring the contrast between his skin and mine. He likes to touch my hair, weaving his fingers through the red strands and cradling my head next to his chest. I like the feel of him wrapped around me. It’s the smallest of things that carry the most weight. A moan escapes from me when his mouth travels down and latches onto a nipple. He blends just the right amount of suction with the tender scrape of his tongue. There is a rush of wetness between my legs at the unbearable sweetness of this intimate contact. Everything I feel is reflected in my unguarded face. He loves to watch me, knowing his ministrations are responsible for what he sees there. It doesn’t occur to me to hide it. I don’t really want to. The persistent ringing of a cell phone stops us short; reality intruding into the fragile world we had created. “Yours or mine?” I ask with pained irritation. “Mine.” He disengages himself from me and pulls his pants on. As he walks into the living room he becomes The Assistant Director in a three short strides; spine straight, shoulders back, authority in every graceful move. “Skinner.” He barks I hear him murmur into the phone, his voice too low for me to understand clearly. A cold sensation creeps into my chest as I feel him separate from me both physically and emotionally. It is too soon for this. It is too soon to feel this bad again. When he returns, he finds me buried under layers of blankets. My weight shifts slightly when he sits down. He remains perfectly still, contemplating my blanketed form. This is how he found me yesterday, encased in self pity. Scully.” He makes no move to touch me, and I wait for him to say more. “Scully I have to go. I’m sorry.” His voice is softly coaxing, trying to penetrate the barriers I’ve erected in his absence. This time I pull the blankets down and stare at him, feeling guilty for being so miserable. The wire rims are back, placing another wall between us. I don’t want to share him with anyone, even those at work. He is mine. I want him here. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will…. His hand softly caresses my cheek, and the tears fall hot against his fingers. I’m going to crack to pieces when he leaves like a marble statue under pressure. A mournful expression clouds his face, and I know he feels as devastated about this interruption as I do. But duty calls. The FBI is his first mistress and I will always come second. Just like Mulder and his quest. I pull out of his grasp and roll on my side away from him. “Then go.” It is a spiteful thing to say and Skinner doesn’t deserve it. “I want you to come with me.” I turn back frowning. “Why?” “Because I’m not leaving you here.” The obstinacy in his words warns an argument would be futile. I dare to hope I won’t be ditched by him. “Why?” Is he still worried I’ll lie in bed all day? He snorts at the second ‘why’ in a row, and sets his lips in a thin line. “Because….you need to go to work and….” “And?” I arch an eyebrow. What he says next will be important. More important than anything he may have said to me before. “…and I need you…. I need you to be with me.” I release the breath I was holding as he says the right thing. I know it cost him a lot to say it. Such honesty must be rewarded. I give him my sweetest smile and sit up to kiss him. Our lips meet to seal the bargain. The contact is tentative at first, re-establishing the fragile bonds so recently forged. As it deepens I feel such longing to be with him, in him, woven into the fabric of his soul that I feel physical pain when he breaks from me. “Scully, you’re still killing me.” He laughs with a tremor in his voice. Then more quietly, “I don’t want to go.” He rests his chin on top of my head. “Then don’t.” But I know before the words are out of my mouth that he can’t stay. He couldn’t shirk duty any more than I could turn my back on the X-files. “I’m sorry,” I say and mean it. “Go ahead without me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Pulling back, he gives me a skeptical look. “Will you?” I purse my lips and push at his solid chest to get him off the bed. Rising up and shoving away the covers I head for the bathroom. I walk with deliberate and upright determination. “I’ll beat you there.” I fling over my shoulder and shut the door. I lean back against it, my false bravado quickly evaporating. My heart beats fast, wanting him to open the door but terrified he will. When did he become so important to me? What will I do now that he is? I sink into a sitting position, cold tile meeting a place on my bare bottom that he had caressed. My heart pounds as I listen, waiting to hear him to leave. When the front door finally opens and shuts, it sounds like the lid closing on my coffin. Part II The basement is lit when I arrive and Mulder is sitting at his desk rifling through a stack of files. I didn’t expect him to be here, he usually calls as soon as he’s back in town. He looks disheveled and vaguely distracted. He doesn’t even see me when I come in. “Mulder?” He looks up with surprise on his face. “Scully, where‘ve you been?” I’ve been screwing the boss Mulder. Is that worse than showing up with a tattoo? Out loud I say “I got up late. I didn’t think you’d be here. When did you get back?” More papers rustle as he returns to his search. “This morning. Have you seen the Anderson file?” Why is he looking for the Anderson file? We closed that case months ago. A clear dead end and not even an X-file when all was said and done. As I walk closer I see how red his eyes are, and how agitated he is. I feel real fear for the first time that my partner is beginning to crack. I speak to him softly, trying to make my voice gentle and soothing to quiet his jangled nerves. “Mulder, the Anderson file was retired a long time ago. That case is closed. Why are you looking for it?” “Because we missed something, something important. I just didn’t realize it until now.” He goes to a cabinet and pulls at files in a hap hazard fashion, leaving them out and the drawers open. “Mulder.” I touch his arm to stay his motion, and he pulls away from me as if I burned him. “Don’t” He yells. I gasp in surprise at his reaction. Mulder never treats me this way, even in the worst of times. The pain I feel is reflected in my eyes and voice when I speak. “What’s wrong Mulder? Why won’t you tell me?” His frantic movements stop, and I think he sees me for the first time; sees the pain and bewilderment I feel. He sinks into his desk chair like a puppet with the strings cut. Hanging his head forward, he buries his face in his hands. “It hurts Scully. It hurts so much.” Is he speaking of emotion or physical pain? With Mulder the line is often as blurred and distorted as a fun house mirror. Before I can think, my arms are around him, giving him the comfort he so desperately needs. His face is buried in me now. His arms hold me with a vice-like grip. It’s happened so often before that I do it automatically; giving Mulder support even as my own world crumbles around me. “Tell me what’s wrong.” I say. I know he wants to keep holding me while he confesses, but Skinner could walk in and see us. I’ve never worried about that before, or even cared who sees us together. I’m worried now, and I don’t seem to mind that I am. My phone rings to save me from a terribly awkward moment. I extricate myself from Mulder to answer it. “Agent Scully.” “Scully you’re here.” Skinner’s deep voice startles me and I feel like the bad girlfriend caught cheating with his best friend. “Yes Sir, I am.” So cool there is ice in my voice. I feel hesitation on the other end. He may not have expected me to answer, or the cold reception. After a moment he speaks. “Mulder’s there.” A statement not a question. “Yes Sir.” “Let me speak to him.” Raw authority infuses the words. This time I hesitate. “That may not be wise at the moment Sir.” Mulder is twitching in his chair, one leg bouncing in perpetual motion. “Unwise for whom Agent Scully?” I should have known he would see through me, has always seen through me when it comes to Mulder. Wordlessly I hand the phone to him, and Mulder shoots me a surprised look. I try not to see the betrayal in his eyes. I’m not going to cover for you this time Mulder. I almost disappeared forever and you didn’t even notice. Skinner did. That’s why you’re on your own. With deliberation I turn and walk to sit at my desk. I make the pretense of working, but listen to every word. I am the bad girlfriend. “Yes Sir, I’m sorry Sir….I know I should have told you…but Sir… yes, but Sir…” I hear his voice trail off and the receiver click as it hits the cradle. “He wants to see me in his office. Right now. Without you.” I hear a mixture of surprise and disgust in Mulder’s voice. I do not rise to the bait. “Oh?” Skinner’s not the only one to get a cool response today. I am not going to run interference. They are big boys. They can work out this problem themselves. He stands in front of my desk daring me to look up, but I keep my head down shuffling papers across my desk. “What’s going on Scully?” He asks the question as if it has already been answered. The change in my behavior occurred with Skinner’s phone call and he’s finally noticed something’s going on that does not necessarily involve him. At last. I have two perceptive men in my life. “Why don’t you go and find out Mulder?” When I look at him the agitation has been replaced by anger. His frown says more than words ever could. He doesn’t like this sudden turn around. He wants the old Scully back, the one who wants to comfort him at her own expense. The one who would defy Skinner and march up there with him. He senses the subtle shift in allegiance, and is afraid. So am I. After a minute he turns and walks away. It’s all I can do to stay put and not run after him. Guilt settles on my heart like a giant weight. And then I see it. An object sitting on the corner of my desk that I missed coming in and again when I sat down. A rather large box of instant oatmeal is staring at me. Literally. The beatific smile of the Quaker man is unnerving, and I turn the box around. Skinner. Is he trying to be romantic or reminding me to eat? I wonder what I’ve begun. Part III I work like a demon to clear up files and paperwork that should have been done while I was ‘sick’. Anything to keep my mind off what’s going on upstairs. When an hour goes by and I still haven’t heard anything, I begin to worry. Most meetings with Skinner didn’t last more than an hour. If Mulder went off on tangents I could usually steer him back to the purpose of the meeting. One subject at a time would be discussed. His attention span with Skinner and without me is about fifteen minutes tops. That’s why I’m worried. As agitated as Mulder was this morning, I thought he would have stormed out and been back down here by now. My fingers itch to pick up my cell phone and call him on some pretext, but I couldn’t do that to Skinner. Whatever it is that he wanted with Mulder, it does not include me. He made that clear enough. When a second hour has passed I can stand it no longer. I justify going up stairs by telling myself Skinner might need me to calm Mulder down. It’s one of my few talents with him and has come in handy in the past. But I know I’m just deceiving myself to believe Skinner needs me. Skinner doesn’t really need anyone. It’s a shock to realize how much I do. His assistant is not at her desk in the outer office when I arrive. I listen for noise, but the thick paneled walls effectively mute any sound from within. I muse that some Consortium lackey is listening with a bug and getting an earful. I finally take a seat to wait it out. It is an uncomfortable wait. It gives me time to think about the last twenty-four hours and what I was doing for that time. On my wrist is a pale bruise to remind me of Skinner’s ruthless side. A mark on my belly reminds me of his passionate one. Both seem incompatible in one man, but in Skinner it is somehow appropriate. To know him is to dance along the jagged edge of emotional turmoil. The tenderness he gave me was sweeter than any other I have ever known. I hold it dearer because he does not give it often, if at all. It only serves to make me want him more, even as I sit there in the outer office while he does god-knows-what to my partner. Abruptly the door is opened causing my head to snap up. Skinner is coming through it with a look of anger mixed with concern on his face. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up on his white shirt to reveal his solid forearms. I stare them in spite of myself remembering how they felt when he held me close. When he sees me he stops in mid stride, and frank surprise replaces anger. “Scully.” I stand up reflexively. “Sir” is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “I just tried to call you.” He had been coming after me. He thought I had left. And he was angry about it. “Oh.” Is all I can think to say. I strain to see if Mulder is behind him, but the office is empty. “He’s not in there.” Skinner’s tone is flat, and so is his face. Is he disappointed that I looked past him so quickly for another man? “Where….” “Come with me.” He says cutting me off. As he moves forward he reaches behind me to grasp the opposite elbow and pull me to him. Tucking me into his muscular side he forcibly moves me to the outer door. I feel like a small dog that is being restrained by his master from tearing after a rabbit. I know he can feel all my muscles coiled tight; ready to flee the moment he relaxes his grip. Just then his assistant arrives and looks at us in surprise. “Lock up when you’re ready to go. Agent Scully and I must leave for the day.” “Yes, Sir.” She doesn’t question the command or my presence. Skinner’s people are so obedient. I decide not to be. As he propels me forward past her, I resist and try to pry my elbow out of his hand. He only holds me more firmly making the contact painful. Tomorrow the bruise on my wrist will have a companion. He marches me down the hall toward the elevator. I chance a look up and his face contains the same expression that threw me into the shower yesterday. Uh Oh. We garner a few curious looks, and most avert their eyes, but nothing is said. When we enter the elevator we suddenly become its sole riders. As the doors close I wonder what he’s going to do. Abruptly, he loosens his grip on my elbow, and I turn on him and open my mouth in protest. Whatever I was going to say is swallowed when he crushes me to him and covers my open mouth with his. He persuades me to relax with a series of deep, drugging kisses that steal my strength like the shearing of Sampson’s hair. My treacherous body responds immediately, severing all connection to coherent thought. When he releases my mouth and holds me even closer I can only murmur, “No fair…no fair…” “Trust me, please Scully.” His tone is heart-rending, desperate. I can’t fight him when does that. If he were cold or distant I could fight him. But this…this sweet pleading is hitting below the belt. I visibly relax and hug him back. “Alright,” I say quietly “but don’t abuse that trust. You may not receive it again.” He nods the chin resting on my head. He has experienced my mistrust in the past. And I have been wrong. My nose is thrust into his warm neck and I revel in how good he smells. The crook of his neck has become one of my favorite spots, and he is using it to full advantage; olfactory restraint. The elevator opens to the immense parking garage and I am led to his car; as Daniel was to the lion’s den. Part IV The ride in Skinner’s car is silent. Whatever he wants to say he is reserving for a face to face conversation. It is only mildly surprising when he takes the exit to Crystal City. He’s going to do this on his own turf. Does he need that in order to be brave with me? Just how bad is the news about Mulder going to be? He’s changed. Have I done that? If so, he’s changed me just as much. He’s handling me with kid gloves, but still on his own terms. And I’m going along with it. Surprising behavior from us both. I’ve never been to his apartment, but Mulder has told me about it. I was not prepared for the size or starkness of it. “You don’t live here.” I whisper, looking around. “You don’t live here at all.” I’m referring to the expensive and tasteful, but generic furniture that populates his life. There are no personal touches that define it as belonging to him. No photographs or mementos to line his neutral walls. It should make me feel sad, but instead I feel emptiness. A lack of feeling. Someone trying to rid his life of emotion. I make no further comment as I follow him into the next room. “Coffee?” He asks, playing the host to his captured guest. I nod my ascension, and look around his kitchen. Spare, clean lines, nothing fussy. A reflection of the owner. I sit on a modern white bar stool pulled up to the butcher-block center island. Watching him make coffee is a visceral experience. So much like yesterday, and yet very unlike yesterday. He’s just as grim faced and distant. The tension between us crackles. Is there a shower running somewhere? He sets a yellow ceramic cup before me and takes the seat opposite. A ridiculous thought invades my conscious mind. Maybe coffee and oatmeal are Skinner’s tools of seduction; warm, bland, comforting. Some men send bouquets of flowers. Skinner sends packets of instant cereal. A giggle escapes behind the cup I have lifted, spraying my face with the dark liquid. I raise a hand to stem the rest from dribbling down my chin. I only giggle more and fear it will come out of my nose if I don’t do something. This is a horrible situation. Skinner looks at me in shock at this sudden shift in demeanor and must wonder what I could be thinking. “Oatmeal.” I sputter, “Oatmeal…foreplay…” and then succumb to more laughter, throwing my head back to avoid dripping coffee on my suit. But it is a thoughtless move because I lose my balance. Mirth turns to panic as the bar stool tips backward, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. In slow motion I fall, a view of the kitchen ceiling rolling across my vision. The coffee cup is flung out of my hand and smashes on the solid floor. I close my eyes in preparation of the hard blow that is surely coming. But it doesn’t. A pair of strong arms catches me just as the stool clatters to the floor. I’m hauled up and smashed against Skinner’s chest squeezing the breath from me. Over his shoulder I can see pieces of the shattered cup and dark fluid spattered across the white marble floor like blood. “I’m sorry…” “NO.” Skinner’s voice booms in my ear. I feel a tremor pass through his body to mine. Well, well. I think I’ve scared my fearless boss. And then I know we both remember a central truth learned long before there ever was an X-files: that you may do everything possible to place yourself at an advantage in a given situation, but something invariably happens to destroy all your machinations. He pulls my head back by the hair and gives me a hard, punishing kiss. Punishing me for scaring him, for Mulder, for not trusting enough. If yesterday was an exercise in gentle discovery, today is a raw assault on my senses. His hands are not gentle as he crushes me to him, mouth and tongue invading me. Without knowing how we got there, I see we are back in his living room and he has pushed me up against a bare wall. His hands tear at my clothing, pushing it aside in haste. All the while his mouth is on mine demanding, punishing, asking a question I don’t have an answer to. I’m barely able to reach and undo the buttons on his shirt. I shove it away from his chest and run my hands up his ribs under his cotton shirt. He answers the contact with a low growl. We are rapidly losing connection with the civilized world. We could be any man or woman of any age in time. Primal, locked in sexual conquest. I feel him tear my bra off, and his mouth leaves mine at last to taste the soft skin he bared. Licking, kissing, and biting me until I cry out from the onslaught. My panties are the next casualties in his war on my flesh. As he reaches between my legs I attack his belt and slide the zipper down in haste. His impatience has become mine. When I reach for him, he pushes my hands away and drags the slacks and briefs down himself. He steps out of them and flicks them backward with one foot. It is an elegant maneuver. He shoves my skirt up and grasps both wrists with one hand hauling them above my head. With his free arm he slides me up the wall until we’re both at eye level. He pauses for a moment and looks at me. His eyes are black and we both breathe heavily as one watches the other. “You wanted to do this yesterday didn’t you?” My voice is husky and knowing. “Yes…” He draws it out in a harsh, grating affirmation. He is in total control and I allow it. Somehow I know he needs this, needs to control me in this act because he’s unable to outside of it. In controlling me he also controls his tormentor. Mulder. In his mind we have, I think, we become one person. There is also something freeing in giving up control to him. When he lifts me up and penetrates me I scream from pleasure, pain, and submission. He keeps me pinned against the wall so that I can’t move. I want to touch him while he thrusts into me, but he won’t permit it this time. I whimper in frustration, but soon have no thought at all as he grinds his pelvis into mine. When it comes the orgasm is strong, dark, and all consuming. Skinner’s body disappears from my mind as wave after wave of pleasure courses through me. I’m unable maintain my posture now and as he thrusts into me my body is loose as a rag doll’s. With a roar of frustration, Skinner pulls me off the wall and down on the floor. I wind up with my back side in the air; my chest and face are pressed into his clean beige carpet. He enters me from behind covering me completely with his massive body. I feel his sweaty skin slide against mine in a primal rutting behavior. He comes hard, fast, and bellowing inside of me. The power of it causes me to come again and again until I can’t even feel my heart beating. I begin to think he has murdered me with pleasure. Afterward I collapse forward and he goes with me, still covering me; his heart pounding into my upper back. I finally open my eyes and feel him kiss my sweaty face with the slow tenderness he previously withheld. It’s a long time before either of us can move. My first coherent thought is that we have desecrated his sterile apartment with sound, smell, and color. I seem to have left a mark in every room I’ve been in. And there’s still a lot of his apartment left to see. At last he rises and carries me up to the bedroom, my face tucked into his neck. He tilts the side of his face and head to cover mine, as if protecting me. It is very like the way a mother carries her sleeping child to bed. It is a tender gesture. It makes my heart sing. Reflecting on his recent behavior, I have no idea what made me think his seduction was bland. He pulls the covers back on his immense bed and lays me gently on it. I watch through sleepy eyes while he finishes undressing and lies beside me. I remove my ruined shirt and skirt and toss them on the floor. He spoons up to me and falls almost immediately to sleep. I have a terrible urge to wake him up and question him, but Mulder should not be a part of our after glow. With difficulty I fall asleep too. Part V The bedroom is dark when I wake. No sunlight or shadows to greet me now. It is a fitting atmosphere for what I believe will follow. When I turn over, the bed is empty. For a moment I panic and sit upright, searching the room. My eyes light on a chair and a dark figure sitting there. “Skinner?” He rises and crosses to me. Instead of sitting down, he stands before me waiting for permission. Oh, Skinner don’t you know me by now? I hold out my hand and he takes it. I tug at him and he sits beside me. These small steps are a bewildering contrast to his earlier aggression. I lean my head on his shoulder and wait for what he has to say. A muscular arm is wrapped around my shoulders, and I settle into his side. Trust him, I say to myself. He wants me to trust him. I want to trust him, so why do I feel so apprehensive? “Mulder’s in the hospital.” “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” I stiffen immediately and try to pull out of his arms. I just assumed that Mulder had simply taken off again or had been suspended. He was also angry enough to leave without calling me first. I never expected this. He holds on tight and continues. “I didn’t tell you because you’d want to go there and you can’t.” Skinner knows me better than that. It is an unwritten rule that I show up at every one of our hospitalizations. I know the medical community, the jargon they use and I can help protect us from mistreatment and the occasional bounty hunter as well. “Why?” “He’s sedated. The director decided to surprise me while Mulder was in the office.” I groaned inwardly. Only Mulder could be lucky enough to show up on the same day the Director does a surprise visit. And now he’s sedated. “What happened?” I ask the question I don’t want an answer to. “Actually not very much. The Director took one look at him and asked when he last slept. Mulder told him four days.” “Four days straight?” I’m incredulous both by the length of time and Mulder’s candor. Skinner nods his head. “You know I didn’t think of sleep deprivation when I saw him. I was just angry that he had taken off and left you in that condition.” There’s a trace of guilt in his voice when he speaks. Skinner thinks he’s responsible for us all the time. “I didn’t notice either.” I say softly. “I’m a doctor. I should have known better too. We’re all just too enmeshed to see him objectively.” Skinner only nods again, and I can feel his emotional turmoil. I feel even guiltier than before if that’s possible. We’re quite a pair. The urge to go to Mulder is powerful. I attempt to dislodge Skinner’s arm again. “You can’t go.” He said. “He’s sedated and you won’t be able to do anything tonight.” Of course he’s right. “I know but…” I sense he wants me to remain with him; wants me to want it as much as he does. He knows I will stay if he demands it, but his pride won’t allow him to force me. “I’d want to go just as much if you were there too.” I infuse as much sincerity into the words as I can. “Would you?” His voice is far away, sad. “Would you really?” He is quiet, patiently waiting for an answer. I knew it would come to this. The question lingering in the air between us; between us in my bed, at work, and now here in his. It’s like trying to ignore the monster eating dinner at your table. And he wants me to kill the monster for him, because he knows I’m the only one who can. I start and stop several times, the words drying up before they leave my mouth. Finally I simply blurt it out with a graceless voice. “I love Mulder, but I’m not …in love with Mulder.” And then I feel the guilt slide away leaving me clean, whole, and painless for the first time in years. The truth I did not, could not face. “Mulder is not in love with me.” Skinner holds me close, but I don’t cry. Enough tears have been shed, and I smile into his chest. The monster is dead for us both. When I pull back he is watching me, making sure I’m ok. He traces my lips with his fingertip, a soft light in his eyes. I feel my stomach turn to jelly by the depth of the emotion I feel for him. I was wrong. There is another monster to slay. “I love you…am in love with you.” The plain and unvarnished truth. I wait for the regret and apprehension that never come. A smile spreads across his beautiful face, and he hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. He kisses me like I’m the only woman on earth. “I’ve always loved you.” He whispers. “It’s always been you. Always.” It’s the truth. Another truth I couldn’t face. Skinner therapy. He has given me his most prized possession: himself. I do love this silly man. And then he gives me the finest gift of all. “In the morning we’ll go see Mulder together.” The End More? Let me know. I may just tell you what’s really going on with Mulder and what the Anderson file is. Author’s note: I’m ignoring the whole boss/subordinate thing, because it’s been done to death in fanfic.