These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 
1013 Productions and Chris Carter.  No infringement is 
intended.  I just want to play with the boys for a while before 
I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. 
This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.

This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash.  If that 
is *not* your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! 
(simple, ain't it??)  Feedback is *very* much appreciated, 
and always answered.  Flames will be passed around to 
friends and chuckled over.  :) 

'Colorblind' by Amirin       groh@iquest.net
(XF, M/Sk, NC-17) 6/98


**********************************


Ketchup.  Why do so few people understand about ketchup?

Mulder tossed the towel around his neck onto the counter 
and looked into the fridge, shivering as the cold air poured 
down over his bare feet. He idly scratched his chest and 
debated about the pickles, but decided he'd better not push 
his luck.  They were the same shade of grey as the ketchup.
If it wasn't for the taste of the stuff, he wouldn't let it 
anywhere near him. Ketchup on scrambled eggs was 
heaven, as long as he didn't have to look at them when he 
ate them.  Grey over yellow was sickening.

And why didn't Scully understand about health food?  Didn't 
she know how much of it was green, hence, *grey* to him? 
Christ, who would *want* to eat it?  Broccoli?  Lettuce? 
Spinach, for the love of God? 

And what about mint chocolate-chip ice cream, one of his 
personal favorites?  Hell, it was the same damned color as 
strawberry, as far as he was concerned.  Sometimes it just 
wasn't worth it and he usually gave in and went for 
something else.  Something ungrey.  *Anything* ungrey.

Mulder sighed, closing the fridge door.  Looked like mustard 
and onion, only, tonight.  So be it.  He flipped the burger in 
the pan on the stove and flinched when the hot grease 
spattered him. Cooking hamburgers was not a good thing to 
do while shirtless, obviously.  A knock on the door made him 
start.  Couldn't be food delivery; it wasn't the right night.  He
turned off the burner and the burger sizzled in response as 
he went to the door and opened it, licking the grease off his 
fingers.  Skinner?

"Sir," Mulder said, puzzlement evident in his voice.

"Am I disturbing you, Agent Mulder?" the other man said 
with his office growl.

<No more so than usual> Mulder thought, but wisely 
responded, "Not at all, Sir, come in."

Skinner entered, looking around as if he expected the decor 
to have changed since the last time he'd been there. 
Hardly.

Mulder went into the kitchen and Skinner followed, eyes on 
the stove.

"Late dinner?" the man asked.

"Wasn't hungry earlier," Mulder said, opening the freezer for 
the package of hamburger buns.  "Went for a run, came 
back, showered, got hungry. Have you eaten?"

Skinner seemed somewhat taken aback at Mulder's 
question.

"No, I haven't gotten around to it," he said, eying Mulder 
suspiciously.

"If you don't have a problem with beef, Sir, I can make 
another one," Mulder offered, turning around to arch an 
eyebrow at his boss.

"I'd appreciate that," Skinner said, leaning against the wall in 
the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest.

"You know, there's this story about some cows down in 
Texas," Mulder started, only to have Skinner cut him off.

"Why do I get the feeling that if I let you share that story, I 
won't be able to eat hamburger for a month?" Skinner said 
dryly, grinning slightly as Mulder chuckled.

"As you wish, Sir," Mulder gave in, tossing another burger 
into the pan.  "So, what brings you out on this cold winter's 
night?"

Skinner looked down at his short-sleeved shirt and slacks, 
then outside where the temps still had to be in the eighties 
and sighed that sigh that always meant 'I've got a headache 
coming on and it's all your fault' to Mulder.

"The Rachim case," he said succinctly.

Mulder nodded wisely.  "Ah, yes, the Rachim case."  A 
particularly nasty bit of business that luckily he didn't have to 
deal with.  Or did he? He looked up at Skinner with a 
resigned expression on his face.  

"What about the Rachim case?" he asked moodily.

"I'd like you to take a look at it, Mulder," Skinner said, just as 
Mulder had figured he might.

"I already have," Mulder informed him, flipping the burger 
over to start a whole new round of sizzling.  "What do you 
want to know?"

"Where do you think Daniel Rachim is?" Skinner asked, 
eyes glued to Mulder, who shifted uncomfortably under the 
scrutiny.

"I suggested to Agents McElroy and Dreunner that Dr. 
Rachim just might be in New Orleans, but said agents didn't 
appear to be interested in my opinion, so I decided to keep 
my mouth shut," Mulder said with attitude and anger.

"Do you know *where* in New Orleans, Agent Mulder?" 
Skinner asked quietly, coming away from the wall as Mulder 
walked past him and grabbed a pen and a napkin from his 
favorite take-out Chinese restaurant off the coffee table. 
The man hastily scribbled an address on the napkin, capped 
the pen brutally and walked by Skinner again, slapping the 
paper into his hand on his way back to kitchen.

"Anything else you want to know, Sir?" Mulder asked, taking 
up his position by the stove again as he flattened the second 
burger.

"Just one thing, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, looking at the 
napkin in his hand before placing it in his pocket.  "You got 
any tomatoes?"

Mulder looked at him startled, then snorted and shook his 
head.  "They're even worse than ketchup," he muttered 
cryptically, nodding toward the fridge. "What I have is in 
there."

Skinner came up to him and put his hand on the agent's 
bare shoulder.  "I'm sorry, Mulder," he said quietly.

Mulder shrugged.  "Don't worry about it, Sir.  I'm used to it."

Skinner sighed and looked down.  "You shouldn't *have* to 
be used to it."

Turning off the stove, Mulder just shrugged again and 
Skinner removed his hand.  "We all have our crosses to 
bear, Sir," he said with forced humor, but his boss snorted 
anyway.  Mulder reached overhead to grab a couple of 
plates, and nodded to the fridge.  "There's beer in there, if 
you want it."

Skinner took out two bottles, using the magnetic bottle 
opener stuck to the door of the fridge to pop the caps off. 
He joined Mulder at the small table, grinning at seeing him 
lick the grease from his fingers.

"They wouldn't be so greasy if you broiled them," he 
commented, biting into his. 

"I don't have a broiler pan," Mulder said, sinking his teeth 
into his own.

"Everyone has a broiler pan, Mulder, it's a universal 
constant," Skinner said with mild sarcasm.

"That's why I got rid of mine," Mulder said, chewing 
thoughtfully.  "Perfectly innocuous, I'm sure, but you can't be 
too careful."

Skinner stopped chewing for a moment, then took a swig of 
his beer.  "Broiler pans?" he asked, as though not exactly 
sure whether or not Mulder was kidding.

"They're one of the two things you always find when you 
move into a place,"  Mulder answered seriously.  "Which is 
why I pitched mine into the dumpster."

"What's the other thing?" Skinner asked, taking another bite 
of his burger.

"Lightbulbs," Mulder answered.

Skinner halted in mid-bite.  "Lightbulbs," he mumbled 
blankly around a mouthful of hamburger.

"Think about it, one in the exact center of almost every room 
and hallway, in the *ceiling*, for crying out loud," Mulder 
said, as though it should be clear to Skinner why lightbulbs 
had to be considered suspect.  "Don't tell me it's just a 
happy coincidence."

Skinner washed down the bite with another long swig of 
beer.  "You tossed all the lightbulbs into the dumpster, too?"

Mulder shook his head, getting up to fetch another couple of 
beers.  "I tossed each one into a *different* dumpster, all 
over DC," he said smugly as he opened the bottles and 
returned to the table, where he proceeded to demolish his 
dinner.  "Bet *that* confused them."

Skinner blinked, watching Mulder inhale his burger.  He 
shook his head and went on eating his own.

"That's also why I cook so much greasy food," Mulder 
imparted, apparently still perfectly serious.

"Really?" Skinner asked, frowning.

"Yeah, grease really screws with the lenses, gums up the 
wires.  It's a great equalizer."  Mulder looked up, way too 
innocently, and Skinner snorted.

"Wouldn't they just replace the lenses and the wires?" 
Skinner asked sensibly, finishing his burger.

"Well, sure, but that takes a while," Mulder said confidently. 
"Why do you think I have the Gunmen check out the place 
after every extermination or fumigation?"

"It's not just to get rid of rats and cockroaches, is it, Mulder?" 
Skinner asked, frowning as if wondering why Mulder 
suddenly froze across the table from him.

"It takes a hell of a lot to get rid of rats, Sir," Mulder said 
quietly, picking up the empty plates and taking them to the 
sink.  He set them in none too carefully and went to the 
fridge. "You want another?" he asked, dangling a third beer 
for each of them from his long fingers.

"Sure," Skinner replied, looking puzzled.  He took the 
opened bottle from Mulder and followed him into the living 
room before joining him on the couch.

Mulder stretched his long legs out in front of him and sighed, 
draining about half of his beer with one swallow.  "You want 
to use the phone?" he asked, eyes on the floor in front of 
him.  Skinner shook his head.  "No, why?"

"Thought you might want to call in," Mulder offered by way of 
explanation.  "Rachim."

"No, I'll deal with it later; he's not going anywhere," Skinner 
halted and looked at Mulder a little more closely.  "Is he?" 

Mulder snorted.  "No, I'm sure he's very comfortable where 
he is."

Skinner was silent for a moment, then asked, as if he 
couldn't help himself, "Are you all right?

"Fine," Mulder said abruptly, trying to relax into the couch, 
feeling rather mellow all of a sudden.

"You've got a lot of vacation time saved," Skinner said 
quietly.  "Things are pretty quiet right now.  You could . . " he 
trailed off when Mulder interrupted him.  "I don't need a 
vacation, Sir," Mulder bit off.

"Then, what *do* you need, Agent Mulder?" Skinner shot 
back at him.  Mulder looked at him sideways for a moment. 
"Nothing you can help me with, Sir," he answered gloomily, 
eyes widening when Skinner moved closer.

"Are you sure about that, Mulder?" Skinner asked him, 
grinning when the agent's eyes got a little larger.

"How many of those did you have before coming over here, 
tonight, Sir?"  Mulder asked suspiciously, nodding at the 
bottle in Skinner's hand, as he licked his lips nervously. 
<This isn't really happening> he thought.  <Can't be>

"None," Skinner said, lifting a hand to rest it lightly on 
Mulder's shoulder.

Mulder lifted the bottle to his lips, paused, then continued 
the movement, aware of Skinner watching him intently.  His 
eyes shut of their own accord when that warm, heavy hand 
began kneading the muscles in his shoulder.

"I know how hard it is, Mulder, believe me," Skinner said 
quietly.

<You have no *idea* how hard it is> Mulder thought, as he 
shifted uncomfortably in suddenly too-tight jeans, but kept 
his thoughts to himself.

"It's not easy to let the shit go, when you're constantly 
getting buried under more," Skinner said in that low growl 
that passed for his voice.  "If you need time away from it, 
*take* the time, Agent Mulder.  It'll all still be here when you 
return."

"Exactly the problem, Sir," Mulder muttered, trying not to 
groan as strong fingers dug into the rock-hard muscles of 
his shoulder.  A second hand began working on the other 
one and he was helpless to stifle the groans any longer. 
Shit, he'd always been a sucker for a backrub.  He let 
Skinner turn him around slightly, giving the man better 
access, and just went with it.

Firm, small circles along his spine made his back arch and 
he groaned into a wry chuckle, feeling nothing but a slightly 
hazy, beer-soaked warmth flow through him. Beer.  Hell, 
he'd only had three.  Sure, they were pretty close together, 
but Christ . . .

Hands moved back up to his shoulders, further up to his 
neck, and his head fell forward like the vertebrae had been 
snapped.  Heat suffused his skin, moving down his body and 
he mumbled a faint protest when the hands disappeared, 
before they reappeared and he was gently pulled backward
against Skinner's now-naked chest.  Arms crossed over his 
front, trapping him in a prison of steel and bone and he 
heard the sigh pass over his lips when a quiet growl 
sounded in his ear.

"I think you need this, Mulder," Skinner's voice echoed 
through the fog clouding his vision, his judgement, and he 
nodded mutely, the effort to lie, to run, too great a price to 
pay.  "Tell me, Mulder," a dark voice insisted.

"Need this," Mulder mumbled, feeling himself lifted off the 
couch and led down the narrow hall to his bedroom.  "Need 
you."

Hands released him briefly, just long enough to flip the 
covers on the bed back, carelessly sending two days worth 
of laundry to the floor. Mulder couldn't have cared less.  He 
walked forward, almost tripped, and his head spun when the 
floor was no longer beneath him, until he felt the cool press 
of the sheets against his body in stark contrast to the heat of 
the hands on his skin, and wondered just when and how 
he'd lost the rest of his clothes.

His mouth opened to ask the question and was sealed by 
lips covering his own.  Unwilling to break the seal, he left the 
query unspoken and responded instead to the kiss 
demanding his immediate surrender.  He resisted, taking 
what was offered, needing more, and braced his hands 
against the shoulders on the body he was pinned beneath, 
moving the burden away just long for him to catch his 
breath, before pulling the man back down.  A soft chuckle 
rumbled against his throat, a nose nuzzled his ear and he 
heard a whimper of need and frustration, dimly recognizing it 
as his own.  

He found the hard column of a neck under his lips and they 
parted, allowing his teeth to nip, gentle bites soothed with 
quick licks of his tongue.  Arms wrapped around him, 
holding him tight, and he struggled, needing to move, until 
they relaxed enough, allowing him free reign to explore the 
solid warmth of the man at his side.  

Mulder hooked a leg over Skinner's body, bringing them 
closer together and he moaned low and harsh when a cock 
even harder than his own brushed against the flat planes of 
his stomach.  The faint squeak of the nightstand drawer 
caught his attention for an instant before a cool, gelled finger 
sought permission to enter his body and he relaxed, granting 
it, lips and tongue finding Skinner's collarbone to be 
something of a distraction.  His body arched helplessly when 
a second finger joined the first and the weight shifted as 
Skinner moved downward, kissing and licking his way 
toward Mulder's swaying cock.

A third finger entered him when Skinner took him deep 
inside his mouth and he cried out, hands scrabbling on the 
sheets for something to anchor him, before one found 
Skinner's head and held on, idly playing with the man's hair. 
A hot tongue committed what had to be an unlawful act 
around the blunt head of his cock, while his brain tried to 
wrap itself around the fact that Skinner suddenly had hair. 
Faint noises of hungry pleasure drew Mulder's eyes 
downward for an instant and he cried out, not only because 
a searching finger had discovered his prostate, but because 
Alex Krycek was currently giving him a blowjob to end all 
blowjobs.

Mulder shook his head, trying to clear the fog, and watched 
as the body currently pleasuring his own regained some bulk 
and muscle, although the hair remained, growing lighter until 
it was a blondish-brown in color.  The body lengthened for 
just an instant, then retracted, the hair faded away, and 
Skinner's face looked up at him, grinning, when he 
whimpered incoherently.

He tried to pull himself vertical, but strong hands held him 
down and a soft, sweet mouth devoured his lips again, 
coaxing his response as it fed his growing fear that the body 
pressed so slickly along his own was not that of his boss.  

Warm fingers wrapped around the backs of his knees, 
drawing them up to his chest, and he surged upward, 
fastening his teeth into the neck above him, worrying it for a 
moment, before he fell away and frowned at the grey mark 
his mouth had left behind.

"Watch the teeth, Mulder," Skinner said, his growl made 
even rougher with desire as he settled himself between 
Mulder's bent knees.  "I don't want you breaking the skin."

<No shit> Mulder thought, but he only nodded, forcing a grin 
to his face when Skinner raised up and placed the head of 
his thick cock just outside Mulder's body.  Was he wrong? 
Maybe it *was* Skinner . . .?  

Slight pressure, slight pain, then a growing heat started at 
his core and blazed outward, when Skinner began thrusting 
into him, steadily, until the AD's balls were resting snugly 
against his ass.  His hand found his cock and began 
stroking experimentally, the pleasure he was giving himself 
sending shudders through the man above him as the 
spasms telegraphed their way to Skinner's buried cock.

He moaned sharply when Skinner started moving inside him 
and wrapped his hand around the other man's neck, before 
slowly bringing it down his chest, scratching lightly as he 
went, leaving faint grey lines in the wake of his short 
fingernails.

Skinner hissed and moved faster, pumping into Mulder's ass 
mercilessly, the power of his thrusts lifting the agent off the 
bed.

Mulder cried out when the angle of penetration changed just 
enough to make Skinner's hot cock hit his prostate on 
damned near every surge into his body.  His back arched 
when Skinner sped up, eyes tightly shut, teeth gritted, jaws 
clenched to keep from screaming with something other than 
ecstasy as the older man fucked him, bringing him almost to 
completion time and again, then backing away.  At this 
point, all Mulder wanted was release and his jaws loosened 
enough to demand that Skinner give it to him.  "Finish it!" he 
shouted, seeing the feral gleam in Skinner's eyes as they 
focused on him briefly.  "Oh, *God*, let me . . *please* . ."

A hand not belonging to a man who spent his days behind a 
desk wrapped roughly around his cock and he thrust upward 
into it, Skinner making him work for it, paying him with hot 
desire.  

Fire tightened his body, tempered his arousal, left him 
burned as it curled like smoke around him, heating his skin, 
branding Skinner's fingerprints onto his cock as his climax 
moved through him, using what little oxygen remained in the 
room to keep itself ablaze.  Another rough thrust, hard and 
fast, dissolved into another, and another, and, suddenly, he 
was coming, hot, white spurts covering Skinner's hand and 
his own belly.  Contractions in his ass gripped the AD's cock 
and pulled and teased, promised, then, finally, delivered and 
the older man's orgasm joined Mulder's with a harsh cry.

Mulder 'oof'ed faintly when Skinner's weight covered him 
and he tried to breathe, tried to force air into lungs choked 
with something like panic.  Skinner moved off of him, and 
curled around him, letting his legs fall back onto the bed with 
a slight hiss. A quiet, tired chuckle shot his heartrate into 
dangerous territory.

"You are incredible, Mulder," Skinner's voice said, gentle 
and sated, before warm eyes lifted to meet his own.

"You, too," Mulder answered automatically, thinking 
<Whatever the hell you are>  He traced the grey lines on 
Skinner's chest with a slightly shaking fingertip, wondering 
what color they really were, and nearly jumped out of his 
skin when Skinner caught his hand and brought it to his lips. 
The kiss that followed took him by surprise and he stilled, 
before making himself relax, giving as good as he was 
getting, sighing deliberately as warm hands caressed his 
body.

"Damn, you're hot," Skinner said.  "In more ways than one." 
A chuckle rumbled from the man and Mulder grinned until 
the eyes were no longer focused on his own and he let the 
smile slide from his face. He cursed himself for his 
weakness, then found strength in anger, bitter anger, and 
icy rage chilled his eyes, turning the hazel a color like frozen 
mud.

"You want to grab a shower with me?" Skinner murmured 
contentedly, as he kissed Mulder's shoulder and made as if 
to rise.

Mulder clutched his arm, not letting him leave.  "How about 
a bath, instead?" Mulder asked, his voice rough and husky. "Let me bathe you?"

Skinner smiled and, though he looked closely, all Mulder 
could *see* was Skinner's smile.  "I like that idea," the older 
man said quietly, lying back down.

Mulder leaned forward and kissed him lightly, then covered 
him with the sheet.  "Take it easy, I'll get everything ready," 
he said, turning to leave, forcing himself not to throw some 
clothes on and hide himself from the sharp gaze of the man 
on his bed. 

"I think I'm going to enjoy this," Skinner whispered, lacing 
the fingers of his hands behind his head.

"I hope so," Mulder answered, keeping the sneer from his 
face and voice.  He headed down the hall to the bathroom 
and shut the door, humming something purposefully, his 
tone lighthearted.  He started the water, grinning as the icy 
cold flowed over his fingers.  Probably not cold enough.  He 
thought for a minute and added some shampoo under the 
running water, smirking as it started foaming, before he left 
the room and headed for the kitchen, padding on cat's feet. 

Opening the freezer door, Mulder removed the three large 
bags of ice which took up most of the available space.  He 
sent a silent prayer of thanks to Scully for convincing him 
that, with as many injuries as he had, he actually needed 
that many of the damned things and headed back to 
bathroom, humming again.

Setting the bags gently on the floor, Mulder reentered the 
bedroom, going over to the nightstand.  Shit, this might not 
be easy.  He rummaged quietly, found what he needed, and 
dropped it into his other hand a second before Skinner 
opened his eyes.  He made a show of looking through the 
contents of the drawer and, with exaggerated triumph on his 
face, held up the lighter.

"What's that for?" Skinner asked sleepily.

"Candles," Mulder answered quickly, wondering if he even 
had any.

"Didn't know you were such a romantic, Mulder," Skinner 
growled with a warm grin.

"What, and ruin my hard-earned reputation?" Mulder joked 
back, planting a hard, tight kiss on Skinner's lips before he 
went back to the bathroom.  He depressed the tiny button 
and the stiletto on the switchpick shot out, the needle-like 
blade gleaming in the cold overhead light.  Placing a bag of 
ice into the tub, Mulder used the instrument to tear it open, 
dumping the contents out quietly, where they vanished 
beneath the layer of bubbles.  All three were rapidly emptied 
and he walked silently back to the kitchen to ditch the plastic 
bags, checking the drawers for candles.  He found two small 
ones, decided they would be more than adequate as he took 
them into the bathroom, and placed them on the counter of 
the sink, lighting them both.  Mulder slid the switchpick 
under a pile of towels next to the tub and, rubbing his hands 
over his face, walked into the bedroom.  Skinner turned 
toward him instantly and smiled.

"Ready for me?" he asked, sliding out of the bed and 
wrapping his arms around Mulder gently.

"Ready as I'm going to be," he muttered in response, letting 
the other man kiss him for a moment, before he led him 
down the hall and into the bathroom.

Mulder pushed Skinner down onto the edge of the bathtub 
and knelt between his feet.  Cupping his face in his hands, 
he kissed him softly, putting everything he had into it and 
grinned coldly against warm lips when Skinner groaned.

"Like that, huh?" Mulder murmured, easing away to see the 
glazed look in Skinner's eyes as the other man 'hmm 
mmm'ed quietly at him. "Then, you're gonna love this," 
Mulder said softly, licking the man's neck, nibbling on the 
ear until the older man slumped bonelessly against him. He 
turned Skinner away from him, on pretext of rubbing his 
back, took a deep breath, and shoved the man sideways, 
making him land face first into the tub.  Holding him with a 
knee in the small of his back, Mulder's hand found the 
switchpick and drove it into the back of Skinner's neck, hand 
still forcing his face under the frigid water.  He gritted his 
teeth as the struggles beneath him grew violent, desperate, 
and he watched as the faint ribbons of grey flowed from the 
neck wound and slid under the bubbles and the ice, until the 
body under him grew still.  

Mulder waited for some change to occur, for the real form of 
the man to be revealed again, but nothing happened.  He 
took the pulse, wondering if maybe he wasn't really dead, 
but found nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing.  Running a 
hand through his hair, he felt himself shaking.  Shit, he knew 
he hadn't made a mistake.  He *knew* it.  It wasn't Skinner. 
No way was this Skinner.  Skinner was a man who barely 
tolerated his existence, possibly admired his intellect on a 
good day, but nothing more. There was no fucking way 
Skinner would ever reach out to him, touch him. Kiss him. 
Much less have sex with him. Skinner?  No fucking way.

Mulder's shaking grew worse and it had nothing to do with 
the fact that he was sitting naked in a bath of ice water with 
a corpse.  He shot out of the water and ran into the living 
room, nearly breaking his neck when he slid in front of the 
couch.  Grabbing his cell phone and hitting one of the 
buttons on the speed dial, he staggered back into the 
bathroom.  

"I need your help. My place.  Now.  A disposal p-problem," 
he muttered tersely, cutting off Frohike's questions.  "Alien 
hybrid. I've got him in ice water, but you need to move fast, 
b-before he becomes a puddle of goo."  Frohike's sharp 
comment that they'd be right over was lost when he abruptly 
disconnected. 

Mulder sat on the edge of the tub gingerly, as though 
expecting the thing to come out of the water after him. It 
hadn't moved and it still looked like his boss, goddammit all 
to hell. He punched the first speed dial on his cell and held it 
until his knuckles turned white, hoping to what little he 
believed in that she was there.

"Sc-Scully?" he asked, teeth shattering together.  Shit, he 
could barely hear her.  "Home," he answered what he 
thought her question might have been.  "I may be in d-deep 
sh-shit."  

His hand went numb and he dropped the phone, cursing 
when it went into the water.  No fucking way was he going to 
stick his hand in there to get it. He slid to the floor, unable to 
quit shaking and backed himself up until he hit the counter, 
but he could still see the cylindrical handle of the switchpick, 
even though the body was out of sight.  Wrapping his arms 
around his knees, he sat quietly, counting off the minutes in 
his head, praying the guys would hurry up and get there.

Sounds echoed oddly though his apartment and his eyes 
jerked back to the handle of the stiletto, thinking he'd seen it 
move. He watched it until his eyes watered and shocked 
himself when the image wavering through tears looked like it 
had moved again.  <Couldn't have. Couldn't have. He's 
dead.  No pulse>

"I checked."  <But you're not a doctor>

"N-no, I checked."  <Nice try, but you're *still* not a doctor>

A faint "Oh, my God" reached his ears and he flinched, 
seeing his partner kneeling next to him out of the corner of 
his eye.

"Mulder, look at me," he heard Scully say, but didn't want to 
take his eyes off the handle of the blade still buried in the 
neck of the man who just might be his boss, after all.

"Mulder, are you injured?  Can you hear me?  Mulder?"

"N-no," he answered, covering his ears when more voices 
were heard. "I killed him," he said brokenly, looking up at 
Scully with bloodshot eyes.

"Mulder, it's okay, the guys are here, they'll take care of it."

"I killed him. I killed Skinner," he said, chuckling hysterically. 
"I KILLED SKINNER!" he yelled when she didn't seem to 
understand.

"No, you didn't, Mulder," she said, helping him to his feet, 
wrapping a blanket handed to her by one of the guys, 
around him. 

"Then, who do you think *that* is, Scully?" he asked, like 
she was off her rocker.  The thought made him laugh again 
and he saw her looking at him worriedly.

"Mulder, it's a hybrid," she tried to say, but he yanked his 
arm away from her.

"Don't fucking *lie* to me, Scully, I killed Skinner!" he yelled, 
feeling tears of fear and frustration running down his cheeks.

"No, you didn't," she insisted quietly, taking his arm and 
leading him into the living room.

"It's a hybrid, green blood and all, Mulder.  It *isn't* Skinner," 
Scully said, trying to look at his eyes.

"Green?" he asked, grabbing her shoulder in a punishing 
grip.  "I can't see *green* Scully.  I can't see green, I can't 
see red, they're both grey to me, Scully," he was rambling 
more so than usual, but why couldn't she understand?

"I know, Mulder," Scully said, rubbing his back under the 
blanket.  "But it's green.  The blood in the water is green."

"It looks grey, Scully," he said in a soft whimper, turning on 
his side, legs drawing up.  Dimly, he realized he was going 
fetal and the thought made him laugh.

"I know, Mulder, but it's green.  It wasn't Skinner, Mulder, it 
*wasn't*," Scully said over his laughter.

"Are you sure?" he asked, shaking still.

"I'm positive, Mulder," she said quietly.

Mulder heard one of the guys talking about a vial in the 
pocket of the slacks on the floor of the bedroom.  Skinner's 
slacks.  Skinner?  He started trembling violently again and 
heard Scully's voice from a distance, asking him what he'd 
eaten that night and did he have anything to drink?

He tried to answer her and couldn't stop shaking long 
enough to force the words out.  Panic seemed like a good 
idea, like a really, *really* good idea and he struggled, only 
to feel warm hands on his bare shoulder again.  Mulder 
started whimpering, trying to move away, and heard a soft 
voice try to hush him, telling him to keep still, he was all 
right, he'd been drugged, but he was going to be all right.

A sharp pain in his arm made him look down and he saw a 
needle being withdrawn, felt warmth stealing over him and 
looked blearily up into Scully's blue eyes as she told him that 
everything was going to be just fine.  "Never," he mumbled, 
feeling the darkness coming to drag him down.  "Never be 
fine. Never be fine again."


                      <<<<<<<>>>>>>>


"What the hell happened, Agent Scully?" Skinner bit off, 
standing just outside Mulder's apartment.  The agent in 
question was giggling somewhere inside and Skinner moved 
around Scully as if to go in and find out the answer for 
himself.

"That's not a good idea, Sir," Scully said quickly, trying to get 
him out of the doorway before Mulder saw him. 

"I want to know what's going on, Scully, and I want to know 
now," the AD said, losing what little patience he had left.

Scully sighed, steering him away from the door.  "An alien 
hybrid came here tonight, to see Mulder.  He apparently 
drugged him and . . seduced . . him," she said awkwardly, 
her eyes meeting Skinner's briefly.

"Why the hell . . Why would Mulder . ." Skinner trailed off, 
unable to pry the words out of his mouth.  Mulder?  *How*??

"Because he thought the alien was you," Scully answered 
him quietly.  "Until he killed him, and for quite a bit after, he 
thought it was you."

"It came here, looking like . .?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And Mulder killed it."

"Yes, Sir."

"Where?" Skinner asked, knowing how lethal that damned 
green blood could be.  

"In the bathtub.  The body's been taken care of; he'd 
preserved it in ice water until . . help could arrive."

"How did he kill it?" Skinner asked, trying to look around 
Scully and into Mulder's apartment.

"With one of those stiletto blades to the base of the skull," 
she replied.

"Is he . . all right, Agent Scully?" 

"Physically, he's fine.  He wasn't . . hurt." 

"And the drug?"

"A moderate narcotic, like a lighter version of PCP."

"Christ," Skinner muttered.

"I sedated him through most of it and watched him carefully. 
He seems to be past it, now, but . ."

"But what, Scully?"

"I can't convince him that it wasn't you he killed."

"Couldn't he tell?  The blood?"

"He's colorblind, Sir, remember?  The blood was grey to 
him, he didn't know until I got here that it was green and not 
red.  Not yours."

"And you called me to convince him?" 

Scully nodded.  "But, I'm not too sure that's a good idea, 
now, Sir."

"Why not, Agent Scully?"

"What happened . . sexually between him and the hybrid he 
thought was happening between the two of you.  And it was 
completely consensual, Sir."

Skinner froze for an instant.  "I'm not going to take notes, 
Scully," he ground out from between clenched teeth, but it 
didn't faze her in the slightest.

"I know that, Sir," she said calmly.  "I just don't want this to 
jeopardize his future.  In *any* way."

"I left the AD at home, Scully, all right?" he bit off.

"It's not the AD I'm worried about, Sir," she said dryly before 
her blue eyes hardened to steel.  "Mulder has been taken 
advantage of enough for one night."

Skinner took a deep breath.  Then took another.  And 
nodded his complete understanding.

"Sir, one thing that was very clear to Mulder when it was 
happening was how . . considerate and . . compassionate 
the hybrid was.  He's said repeatedly that that should have 
been a tipoff that it . . wasn't you."

Skinner realized that if he took any more deep breaths he'd 
likely pass out.  "So, you're telling me that in order to 
convince him that he didn't kill me I have to act like I don't 
give a damn about him, right now, is that it, Scully?" he 
asked sarcastically, then wanted nothing more than to take 
the words back when he saw her eyes narrow.

"Pretty much, yes, Sir," she replied in a clipped voice.  "Just 
be yourself."

Skinner sighed, letting it go; he probably deserved that. 
"Where is he?" 

"On the couch," Scully answered quietly, moving aside to let 
him enter.

He walked through the door and immediately saw Mulder, 
still wrapped in the blanket and curled up in a ball.  The man 
looked like hell. 

"Agent Mulder?" he said quietly, but wasn't prepared for the 
stark terror crossing his agent's face as the man sat up.  "It's 
me, Mulder.  The real me."

Mulder swallowed roughly.  "You don't look half bad for a 
dead guy," he quipped, then laughed, sort of, with no sound 
before he buried his face into his drawn up knees.

Another deep breath seemed to be in order, but Skinner had 
problems forcing the air into his lungs.

Mulder was aware enough to realize that Scully must have 
called him. So too, most likely, had she told the AD what 
he'd done.  Christ, was he deep in it.  He flinched when he 
detected Skinner's presence next to him on the couch.

"What happened, Mulder?" Skinner asked him. 

"Scully didn't tell you?" Mulder challenged, eyes bright and 
still not too clear as he looked over at his boss.  At least, he 
hoped it was his boss.  The thought stuck him as funny and 
he heard himself laughing, until the sound changed abruptly 
and he cursed the tears, trying to muffle the hysterical sobs 
in the blanket draped around him. 

Skinner waited for Mulder to quiet a bit and went on.  "She 
told me some," he admitted honestly.  "But, I don't 
understand . . "  Mulder interrupted harshly.

"What don't you 'understand', *Sir*, that I could let you fuck 
me, or that I could kill you afterward?" Mulder snarled at 
him. 

Skinner felt unbelievably out of his element and wished that 
Scully was in the room.  "He drugged you . . " he tried to 
say, when Mulder cut him off again.

"Don't make excuses for me, goddammit, I knew what I was 
doing!" Mulder spat out.

"Then, explain it to me, Agent Mulder, because I don't get 
it!" Skinner growled back at him. To his surprise, Mulder 
calmed down immediately.

"I don't know if I can explain it to you, Sir," he said quietly. 
"It barely makes any sense to me." 

"*Try*, Mulder," Skinner said, keeping the bark in his voice 
on purpose.

"I thought he was here about the Rachim case," Mulder 
started quietly.  "He wanted me to take a look at it, but I 
already had. I'd figured out where Rachim was holed up and 
told him that I'd tried to tell McElroy and Dreunner that he 
was in New Orleans.  I even gave him the address of the 
hotel he's probably staying at.  His sister's oldest daughter 
runs the place," Mulder said with what looked like an 
apologetic smile and Skinner made a mental note to call 
McElroy and Dreunner to the carpet later.

"Then what, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked, with barely 
concealed impatience, nicely manufactured on the spur of 
the moment, but Mulder responded to it.

"Sorry, Sir," the agent mumbled, then sighed and went on. 
"He said he was sorry, too," Mulder recalled with bitter 
scorn.  "When I told him I was used to it, being ignored like 
that."

Skinner found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep 
from saying it, too.  Shit.

"We talked over dinner, just screwing around.  He was 
indulging some of my more 'out there' theories and 
somehow he . . he asked me if I was all right, if I needed a 
vacation.  He looked so fucking worried about me," Mulder 
said softly, then visibly shook himself out of it, grinning 
bitterly again.  "It was the backrub that got me, Sir," he said 
harshly, still smiling, if you could call it that.  "And one thing 
led to another, and I was feeling no pain, fuck, I wasn't 
feeling much of *anything*, and we ended up in the 
bedroom."

"When did you figure out it wasn't me?" Skinner wondered 
aloud, not too successful at keeping the office growl in his 
voice.  And judging from the sharp look on Mulder's face, he 
heard the difference.

"When he was sucking my brains out through my cock and 
he turned into Krycek for a moment," Mulder shot back, 
glaring again.

"Shit," Skinner muttered, dragging a hand over his face.  It 
took everything he had to meet Mulder's glare with one of 
his own and the agent's eyes dropped quickly.

"I wasn't too sure, even then," Mulder went on quietly.  "I 
was feeling the drug, although I didn't know it.  But, when he 
changed into someone I knew I'd never seen before, *that* 
did it," and he grinned coldly enough to make the short hairs 
on the back of Skinner's neck stand on end.  "The 
colorblindness damned me, but the eidetic memory was my 
salvation," he said reasonably, though the look in his eyes 
never thawed for an instant.

"I got the bath drawn, added the ice, hid it with bubbles, led 
him in, kissed him softly, pushed him back, shoved his head 
under the water, and skewered him with the switchpick," 
Mulder said, beginning to shake again.  "End of s-story."

"But you weren't completely convinced," Skinner reminded 
him coldly, *deliberately* coldly.

"Damn you," Mulder snarled weakly, trembling 
uncontrollably.  "He didn't change *back*.  He *stayed* you. 
There was blood in the water and I couldn't . . I can't . . "

"You didn't know it wasn't red," Skinner growled, though 
quietly.  "You didn't know it wasn't mine, that it wasn't me." 

"I should've known," Mulder said, his voice coming fast and 
harsh. "It couldn't have been you.  I mean, you don't . . You 
wouldn't have . ." he gave up and buried his face in his 
knees again.  "I should've known it wasn't you."

Skinner had to sit on his hands to keep from touching 
Mulder.  Christ, how long was he supposed to keep this up? 
How long was he expected to be the cold, heartless, 
son-of-a-bitch AD that would never want Mulder, under any 
circumstances?  When did he get to be Walter Skinner 
again?  A man who was constantly annoyed, challenged, 
and driven out of his skull by the agent at his side?  A cold 
realization hit him and he glanced at the door, remembering 
what Scully had said about it not being the AD she was 
worried about.  

Fuck.

Walter Skinner was in big trouble.  *Very* big trouble, 
indeed.


****************************end