Healed with a Kiss - Chapter 2

Friday, September 20, 1996
Crystal City, VA
8:53 p.m.

Mulder drove slowly to Skinner's apartment building, vaguely wishing there would be a sudden blizzard to make the streets impassable, or at least a traffic hazard to delay having to face Skinner on his home turf. After all, it was September; little chance of a blizzard. But then again, in all his experiences working with the X-files, stranger things had happened. A vision of frogs falling from the sky briefly flashed through his mind.

He had thought that meeting Skinner at a bar to talk about the A.D.'s behavior of late would be uncomfortable enough, but the prospect of going to his apartment, as Skinner had suggested, made him want to flee in terror. "C'mon, Mulder, you've faced mutants and serial killers before; why are you afraid of your boss?"

Something about Skinner had always made Mulder uneasy. He was a hard-assed ex-Marine, the type who did everything by the book. As he had been trained to do, he would follow orders, questioning them only when faced with something morally or logically flawed. "My Country, Do or Die" -- the complete antithesis of Mulder's irreverent rebelliousness. That clash of personalities was probably a large factor in what spurred their continual clashes professionally.

Still, after being under Skinner's supervision for the last four years, with Skinner being exposed to the various government conspiracies that the X-files division had uncovered, Mulder sensed that his boss was beginning to appreciate the value of a rebellious nature -- at least in his most troublesome agent.

Through those four years, Mulder had grown to respect the A.D., and actually had opened up enough to trust him. Not complete trust, not like he trusted Scully, but much more than he had when Skinner had first replaced Blevins as his direct supervisor. Despite his motto of "Trust no one", Mulder longed to be able to trust another human being as much as he trusted his partner.

Skinner was the only man besides his father to whom he had ever felt close. Mulder had a strained yet oddly symbiotic relationship with Skinner, much like the one Mulder had had with his father. Strained. A perfect descriptor for the love he and Bill Mulder had shared while the elder man had been alive.

A similar atmosphere existed between he and Skinner. Despite his father's emotional distance, Mulder loved him deeply and, even as an adult, had continued to crave his approval. Mulder was still haunted by the fact that his father had been murdered on the only night Bill Mulder had ever shown his son any real respect and admiration for who he was.

Then Mulder remembered the sudden pride he had felt when Sharon Skinner had given him a clue about her husband's opinion of him. She had said that Mulder was one of the few people from work Skinner ever mentioned -- and that she could tell by the way he talked about Mulder that Skinner admired him. That almost made up for the years of disapproval he had felt from his father.

Of course, Mulder thought, there were many differences between the two older men. Both were difficult to read emotionally, but Mulder had learned that his father's hardness masked a fundamental weakness of character. In contrast, Skinner's inner strength shone through his tough exterior.

He arrived at the building without realizing it at first, a light chill running through him as he pulled in front of the ultra-modern high-rise Skinner had moved into during the breakup with his wife. Mulder thought of what he would say to Skinner as he rode the elevator up to Skinner's floor. By the time he stood in front of the apartment door, he had decided to leave any plans behind and just see what developed.

Skinner opened the door a moment after Mulder knocked. "Mulder. Come in," he invited, stepping to one side.

Skinner's manner was as businesslike and aloof as it was when he was behind his desk at the Hoover Building, but his appearance was very un-Skinnerlike. Mulder almost gasped at the image he saw as the door opened: his boss in a gray, long-sleeved, soft cotton Henley shirt, the top two buttons undone. His snug faded jeans were getting a bit frayed at the bottoms.

But after Mulder's gaze settled on the frayed cuffs of the pants, he had to keep his jaw from dropping at a bigger shock -- Skinner was barefoot. Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner, wielder of the lethal glare, one of the most fearsome men in the Department of Justice, a man who could leave gun-toting F.B.I. agents quaking in their shoes over a less-than-perfect expense report, actually had toes. And cute ones, at that, Mulder thought, surprising himself this time.

Skinner closed the door behind Mulder and led him into the spacious, sparsely-furnished living room.

"Sit down and I'll get you a beer," his boss said casually, indicating the long, white, sectional leather couch that dominated the room. The bottle of imported beer Skinner carried with him to the large adjacent kitchen was half empty, and Mulder recognized it as his favorite brand -- but too expensive for Mulder to indulge in very often on his conservative salary. After all, he had to leave enough for his Armani suits.

Mulder commented on it as Skinner returned and handed him a fresh bottle, more to break the ice than to inspire a deep conversation. "My favorite," Mulder said, raising the bottle in salute from his slumped position on the couch. "You have good taste in beer."

"What did you think I drank -- Old Milwaukee?" Skinner retorted with an uncharacteristic grin, his eyes sparkling.

The smile and glinting eyes amazed Mulder more than the toes had. Skinner possessed toes, a sense of humor, and teeth. Incredible, Mulder thought. This night might be full of revelations.

Skinner walked across the room to the large stereo, turning on the radio component. It was set at a low volume to an oldies' station. A classic '60s song by Donovan was playing.

"Yes, it's gonna be a long, lonely summer,
but I'll fill the emptiness;
I'll send you all my dreams,
every day in a letter
sealed with a kiss...."

The song matched Skinner perfectly, Mulder thought. It somehow seemed right that Skinner would secretly favor old, romantic songs from more innocent days. From days before his tour in Vietnam.

Skinner plopped down casually next to Mulder on the couch. Closer than Skinner had ever been to Mulder -- except for the incident in the hallway.

Mulder couldn't forget that, even if he tried. Mulder may have been under the influence of an LSD-like hallucinogen, but his eidetic memory could still clearly replay the time he attacked Skinner for no apparent reason. Mulder had been amazed by the swiftness and facility with which Skinner had put him in a choke hold and held him there, the strength in his arms, could even still remember the musky scent that was Skinner.

However, Skinner's massive desk usually acted as a barrier between the agent and his supervisor. Despite his earlier apprehensiveness about coming here, Mulder found he liked this new casualness, and began to relax as he took another swig of beer.

"So, Mulder, what inspired you ask to see me after hours?" he asked. "I assume it's something you couldn't talk to me about at the office. Does it have something to do with Scully?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. Like I said, I've been under your supervision for almost four years now, and I thought it was about time..."

Skinner stopped him short with a raised palm. "I don't buy that 'getting to know you' crap you gave me on the phone. You're not the type."

Mulder should have known there was no pussy-footing allowed around Skinner. He decided to get to the point.

"Well, actually, Sir, it is more than that," he admitted, not sure of how to begin but deciding to dive right in. "Scully has been concerned that you've seemed...distracted lately. We just thought that maybe you...that you were having a hard time dealing with the death of your wife. Possibly because...because of your breakup with her just before she died."

Skinner looked thoughtfully at Mulder. He appreciated the concern from his best pair of agents, but he was never comfortable with long, drawn-out displays of sympathy. He did, however, know that he needed to learn to open up to people more; that had been part of the problem with Sharon.

"Thank you, Mulder, for coming to see me about this. And thank Agent Scully as well. But neither of you need to worry. I admit I haven't been myself since Sharon died, but I'll be able to handle it on my own."

Mulder suddenly felt a great sympathy for the man next to him. Coming here was no longer something he felt pressured into doing; Skinner needed someone to talk to. After all the times Skinner had aided him and shown concern for his welfare -- in Skinner's own way -- Mulder realized that he wanted to be there for Skinner, as well, now that he needed help.

He leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and looking intently at his hands clasped in front of him. He didn't know what more he should say. Skinner said he was fine, but he knew Skinner wasn't fine. Mulder had played enough of that game himself with Scully to be able to recognize it in others.

"Sir, I hope you will let me help you get through this," Mulder said quietly as he turned his head sideways to look over at the older man. The vague feelings of fondness and respect he had felt for Skinner before were amplified here tonight, he noticed; not just that, but Mulder sensed an actual attraction to Skinner, increasing as each moment passed between them. But Mulder didn't want to leave. Now that he was there with Skinner, he wanted to stay.

Mulder turned to face Skinner, looking at him earnestly. "Let me help you," he repeated, unconsciously placing a hand on Skinner's knee, not thinking about the implications. Not at first.

Skinner took in a quick breath, and Mulder noticed Skinner's eyes dilate as their gazes locked. Mulder looked up at him again, wondering what Skinner might reveal, concentrating on getting his own heart rate back down to normal after his own unexpected action. And after his own unexpected thoughts.

This is really getting weird, Mulder observed.

Still, he remained silent and frozen to the spot, watching in wonder and strange anticipation as the atmosphere between the two men changed.

Finally, Skinner took the lead and broke the silence.

"Mulder, I told you I wanted to talk to you about something privately, too. I need to explain something about what happened between Sharon and me," he began. "It wasn't just what I assume you've already heard. It wasn't only caused by my not leaving the stress of this job behind at the office, and it wasn't just about my not being able to open up about what was going on with me. Not really." He paused. "Actually, the 'other woman' gossip is closer to the truth."

Mulder looked at Skinner, perplexed by Skinner's statement, and bewildered by how he was feeling as the night took its unexpected turns. He struggled to keep his mind focused on what Skinner was trying to explain.

"The truth is that, near the end of my marriage, I had begun to wonder about how honestly I had lived my life up until then. I had always had a sense that something important was missing from my life, and that I had been denying this need for a very long time. I think that Sharon sensed this need in her own way."

What the Hell is this, Mulder thought as he shifted slightly on the couch, feeling his face flush, feeling the beginnings of sexual arousal. He was now terrified that Skinner would somehow know what he was thinking. Or how he was feeling.

Mulder listened intently, trying to control his physical reactions, while Skinner went on. For the first time since Mulder had known him, Mulder noticed Skinner growing nervous, his eyes cast down and his voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

"This may surprise you," Skinner said quietly, "but I had one intense sexual relationship with another man during my tour in Vietnam. It was the only relationship I'd ever had with a man, and the only one I've ever had. It affected me deeply...I don't think I've ever gotten over it."

Skinner paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing. Finally, he looked up at Mulder. "When I returned home, I had to put that life behind me. At the time, I had ascribed the experience to my being isolated from women for long periods of time, to being under the stress of combat and needing some kind of human connection....But I can't deny to myself that I had truly been in love with John."

The Assistant Director closed his eyes briefly with long-buried grief. He focused once again on the younger man in front of him. "John was killed along with the rest of my platoon that day. That was the day that I also died -- for a while." Skinner waited to let Mulder deal with everything that he was telling him.

The A.D. thought back on his life. Ever since Vietnam -- even before then, actually -- he had felt moments of attraction to other men, but had never pursued those feelings. It would be too much of a risk to his career. Then Mulder came into his life, and Skinner was no longer sure he could look the other way and deny his feelings.

Working closely with such an attractive man -- one who reminded him a great deal of John in looks and in intensity of personality, one whom he had come to admire for his commitment to personal ethics and justice in an often unethical, unjust business -- had become increasingly difficult for Skinner to handle. Especially during the breakup of his marriage, while striving to remain faithful to his wife.

Sharon had sensed that there was something more than the pressures of his job that was making her husband grow distant, and she tried to get him to discuss it with her. Skinner only became more closed off to her as the months progressed. Eventually this distance led to Sharon's request for a divorce.

What had disturbed Skinner greatly since Sharon's death was that, at certain times when he was feeling particularly lonely, he would strongly sense Sharon's presence nearby. He also had experienced several intense, realistic dreams in which Sharon seemed to be pleading with him to do something she had not been able to voice in life. Twice, he would have sworn he had seen an image of her out of the corner of his eye, as if her spirit were looking on after her death. Worrying about how he would cope without a true love in his life. Hoping he'd find happiness.

Skinner did not want to tell Mulder about these visions and feelings. He knew Mulder would focus on the paranormal nature of the events. Skinner knew that these were psychological symptoms of his own grief and guilt over Sharon's death -- and his emotional if not physical infidelity and abandonment of her in what would end up being the last years of her life. He didn't want Mulder to turn this into an X-file, but he did want Mulder to understand his distress, he knew now. He needed someone to understand. He needed Mulder to understand.

He finally managed to put words to what he was trying to say. His voice grew stronger with resolve.

"Mulder, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you ever since the first time you walked into my office," he said as honestly as he could, looking intently at Mulder to gauge his reaction.

Mulder smiled slightly. He was nervous, but he couldn't help but feel pleased by what Skinner had just admitted.

"Sir, to be honest, I think I've felt the same way about you. Maybe for a long time," Mulder replied. "I've just been realizing it tonight, as you've been telling me this." The look of apprehension Skinner had maintained throughout his confession quickly softened at Mulder's words. At Mulder's acceptance. At Mulder's shared confession of his feelings.

Skinner slowly leaned toward Mulder and reached out his hand, which he used to lightly touch the line of Mulder's jaw. Bringing his own face closer, Skinner gently placed his lips on Mulder's.

Mulder did not resist the unplanned advance; in fact, he welcomed it, leaning in to the kiss and reaching out to place one arm lightly on Skinner's shoulder. Using his tongue to part the other man's inviting lips.

A minute later, just as suddenly as they had begun, they broke apart and settled back into the couch, looking at each other briefly, nervously. Then both looked down at the space of cushion between them.

Neither knew what to say; both sensed that an irrevocable decision was about to be made. Both felt a heightened awareness of themselves, more alive than either had felt in a long time.

Mulder's thoughts flashed to an image of himself running out the door; just to go somewhere alone and think about what had happened. Was it the beer? It was strong, but neither Mulder nor Skinner were lightweights. Mulder had not even finished his first bottle, and Skinner did not look the least bit tipsy. No, it wasn't the beer.

Then Mulder knew what prevented him from getting up and leaving. The kiss had felt so right. It was like he had been waiting for something like this to happen for years. And now it was finally happening.

Continued in part 3.