By Sean Spencer

seans13@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SR

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: None

KEYWORDS: Mulder/Skinner Slash

SUMMARY: A Crystal City neighbor's thoughts on the two Bureau men living together next door. A stand-alone story in the Baccarat universe.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The last few paragraphs are in the timeline of the end of BFIV.

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner are the sole intellectual properties of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. No copyright violation is intended or implied in their use in this work of fiction. All other characters are mine.

......................

I didn't notice them at first. I just knew that I had a new neighbor, but a lot of people came and went in the Viva Tower at Crystal City and so I paid no notice. I was too busy at work and really paid no attention to such things. I myself have been living in the building for five years already, since it was first built. One couldn't keep track of all one's neighbors.

It was a nice anonymous building. People were friendly enough but they generally kept to themselves. A nice luxury condominium like this kept out the riffraff, unlike in other buildings. There are a lot of divorcees looking for another spouse, wealthy empty nesters who would take jaunts around the world and eccentrics with a lot of money like me. I knew that there are some families, about two or three, but being in a building, especially a building as expensive as this meant that it was a temporary thing for these families; more of a weigh station before they move out to the suburbs.

I knew that the neighbor had a dog because I could occasionally hear its bark. But that was all right. The dog never had fits of barking at night and seemed to be generally well-behaved.

I think it was months later after I knew that I had new neighbors that I met him. It was late at night about ten in the evening. As I was leaving the apartment just to throw out my trash, I saw him at his door, obviously just getting in from work. The most distinct feature was the bald head and glasses. He was tall and wearing a suit and overcoat probably mid to late forties.

I passed him in the hallway with my trash and I said hello. He looked and smiled tersely, nodding his head. I introduced myself and of course didn't hold out my hand because of the trash bag. He thought for a moment then introduced himself as Walter Skinner.

I could tell at once that he was a divorcee. I just know those things. I was just puzzled why he seemed to want to get inside in a hurry the moment he saw me. It was only out of politeness that he told me his name. Oh well, people said I was weird so who was I to label other people as such?

I wasn't offended. I knew that one of the reasons one moves to a condominium like this is for its privacy. Just a hallway with silent doors, each a haven from the outside world. It was somewhat ironic that living in a condominium provided more anonymity. But it's true. There are no lawns to mow, no laundry to hang out to dry, no unwanted encounters with one's neighbors, no windows to fix from the outside, no painting of one's house and no snow to shovel. Generally, neighborly encounters are just brief hellos in the hallways. Seeing neighbors in the elevators are rare, too. These high speed gizmos transport people so fast and efficiently that most of the time no one gets in with you between your floor and the basement parking.

It was a few weeks later that Walter Skinner saw me in the hallway, again, when I was throwing my trash. He asked if I was willing to have my extra parking slot rented out to him. Each tenant got two parking spaces downstairs in the basement. I just said he didn't have to rent it. He could just use it but I would warn him if I ever needed it in the future.

As I told you, I'm an eccentric and I have odd hours. Sometimes, I drive around in the middle of the night, usually around three in the morning to get some nice crisp fresh air when the rest of the city is in slumber. As I pulled into my parking space after another brief city foray, I realized that the cars beside mine were Skinner's. I only had one car, a small old BMW. I just wondered why Skinner felt he needed three cars; it seemed somewhat excessive even for the building tenants. Apparently, Skinner didn't. He had a Town Car, a Range Rover and a Camry. The Town Car and Rover were sparkling clean but the Camry was a puzzle. It was very dirty as if hadn't had a wash in quite some time. It was even dirtier than my car. I peered inside and saw a lot of books, papers, odds and ends strewn in the back seat. I guessed that Skinner must use the Camry more than the other two cars. I guessed he had a messy streak in him, but it sure didn't look like it when I saw him months ago. He seemed like the uptight executive type.

I work at odd hours because I can concentrate better. I work as a novelist; okay, I'm a romance novelist. My books sell like hotcakes. It's not great literature but people lap it up. That's what keeps me afloat. Aside from the inheritance from my mom, I make a lot of money for myself. There's no need to bring my latest work to my agent or have someone bring it there. I just send it to New York by e-mail and they approve it or suggest some changes. No human contact is needed to get my books published. It's a solitary life, but I like it. With biweekly visits from my boyfriend, it's enough for me. We're still not sure if we're compatible for a more serious commitment however.

My office is in the den where I keep the all important PC which has all my work. I try to write my great American novel on the side. I'm sure it will not be a best seller, especially if I use a pseudonym, but it is my best work. It's still far from finished.

The romance novels I can crank out just like that, even with my eyes closed. There's a tried and true formula to it: girl meets boy, boy irritates girl, they fight then they realize that they're made for each other and they live happily ever after. You just need to change the setting or even the century and you're all set. Money in the bank.

So at night, I work on my real work, my great American novel, which is infinitely more difficult to write. I had to get a book from upstairs, my library and as I was searching for the book from the piles on the floor, I heard a strange rapping sound. It was rhythmic and repetitive and as I strained my ears and listened, I smiled as I realized what it was. Walter Skinner was apparently over his divorce and was busy with someone else. My library was right next to his bedroom. As the raps grew more frantic, I was able to discern his voice. Apparently, oh-so-in-control Skinner was a screamer. I laughed to myself. It wasn't long after that that I called him Skinner the Screamer, to myself only of course.

That would explain the Camry. Skinner must have a wild side to him. I saw him months later after that, in the elevator of all places and the enforced confinement made me take in his ever present executive dark suit. I tried to keep a straight face but all I could think was here was Skinner the Screamer and I was hard pressed to keep a stupid grin from my face. We greeted each other correctly of course and each of us proceeded into our respective apartments.

I was parking my car two weeks later when I noticed that the Camry wasn't there anymore. It was missing for at least a week. Then suddenly, there was a brand new Cherokee in its place. It was green and still had its dealer's plates. I just wondered why Skinner felt the need for two four-wheel drive vehicles. Again, after a few weeks, I noticed that the Cherokee was a marked contrast to the other two cars of my neighbor. It was messy and there were books and papers all over the back seat again.

Finally, I was able to figure out the odd appearance of the Cherokee. It was another of my night sojourns and as I was parking my car, I saw the empty slot of the Cherokee. As I was getting my groceries from the trunk of my BMV, I heard the Cherokee. I looked up and was puzzled that it wasn't the Screamer emerging from the Cherokee. It was a younger man and he also was wearing a dark suit and an overcoat. The man took out some luggage from the back and saw me.

"Hello," the stranger said. I noted that he was good looking. Hair too short, though and nose slightly too big. But the eyes were nice and the lower lip was something else.

We got to the elevator at the same time and when he saw that I was also going to the seventeenth floor, he spoke again.

"I'm Fox Mulder," he said, holding out his hand. I thought how appropriate his first name was. "We must be neighbors."

"Hi, I'm Jean Maclean," I said, shaking his hand. "Yes, I'm from 1702."

In the short elevator ride, he said that he worked for the FBI and just came from a case in Boston. I said that I was a writer who just needed some late night groceries. He wanted to know what I wrote but fortunately, we already got to our floor and we went into our respective apartments. He had his own key to the Screamer's apartment.

I didn't think much of it until a half hour later when I was in my library searching for another book. The thumping sounds were again audible and there was another short cry , unmistakable in its passion filled intensity.

It was then that everything clicked into place. Skinner wasn't the screamer. I had wrongly assumed that he was with a woman that last time. As my wise mother once liked to remind me all the time, never assume anything. The voice I heard was Fox Mulder's voice. So the two were lovers. And Fox Mulder was the screamer.

It wasn't alliterative to have Mulder the Screamer so the sobriquet was soon forgotten.

That explained the dirty Camry and the equally dirty Cherokee. Those cars were the younger man's, while the staid Town Car and the more expensive Rover were Skinner's. I was pleased with myself for figuring all this out. It was interesting thereafter to see how the two tried to keep the pretense of just being friends and not the lovers that they were. It also caused me some amusement because they were so straight looking. Walter Skinner always remained upright and correct whenever I saw him, greeting me politely and not saying much. Fox Mulder was the more animated one. I say more animated because he just talked more, but even then, both were very close mouthed. I made each of them assume that I didn't know they were living together. After all, that was what they wanted.

We only remained acquaintances. I saw Fox Mulder more than Skinner because both of us kept odd hours. The usual place we saw each other was at the basement parking lot where he would come home after another case away from DC. He eventually found out that I was an actual romance novelist and would lightly tease me with an acerbic sarcastic wit. By this time, he already knew that my books were famous and best sellers.

It was on the third year after they moved in that I got to know Fox better. My doorbell rang at nine in the evening one night and I saw Fox in the doorway with a Labrador on a leash. He was in his usual suit and tie.

"I really have a big favor to ask of you, Jean," Fox said with those soulful eyes. I looked at him and then at the dog and noticed at once that the two resembled each other quite closely. "Uh, I just don't know how to go about this."

"Come on in," I said. He didn't seem to mind the general disarray, the way my apartment always was, full of books and papers. I try to keep the living room presentable but my boyfriend doesn't mind at all and neither did I.

"I have to leave on a case all of a sudden," Fox began. "But the kennel's full and I have no place to put Taylor here..."

"So you want me to be a dog sitter for a while?" I tried to hide the annoyance from my voice. But the dog just looked up at me and wagged its tail on the carpet. I had already lived five years in this building in relative anonymity without any of my neighbors knowing that here was this one person who would be the perfect housesitter, since she's at home ALL the time. Unfortunately, the G-man had figured it out.

"Only two days, Jean," Fox was pleading. "Our housekeeper just retired and there's no one else. My...my friend will be back in two days and he'll get Taylor off your hands. I promise. He's very well trained and he hardly barks and he's good. I've already called Conroy downstairs and he agreed to walk him in the mornings and evenings."

Sure, his friend, I mused. He and his "friend" (the way he had stammered over it was so endearing) had been quite busy nights and I didn't know if I should be envious. It seemed that every time I rooted for my books in my library, the two were having a go at it.

But since Fox already arranged for the doorman to walk the dog, I agreed to dog sit. Fox gave me some telephone numbers.

"Anything else you want me to do for you?" I sighed. Since he was going away, I just thought I might as well find out what I could do. That was when he mentioned the aquarium.

I followed him to his apartment, which was much better looking than mine, I tell you. It was very clean with nice modern white furniture. Everything in its place and not a stray sandwich or cookie crumb in sight. There were important paintings on the wall, originals and not just prints. And against one wall just beside the balcony was the most magnificent beautiful aquarium I had ever seen. I must have stopped in my tracks or even gasped when I saw it.

The fish there were very colorful. There wasn't an ordinary goldfish here. These were rare tropical fish and the aquarium also had beautiful plants in it.

"These are beautiful, Fox," I said as I bent down to take a closer look. Fox looked very pleased and was beaming at my admiration of it. Apparently, the aquarium was his pride and joy.

"What am I supposed to do with them?" I was anxious because I was more familiar with dogs than with tropical fish.

"Nothing," Fox said. "It takes care of itself. You just have to make sure that the feeding block is still there. If they've eaten it all up, you just have to drop in a new one and that's it."

He showed me where he kept the feeding blocks. He gave me the key to the apartment and since I would have to check the aquarium every day, it made no sense to get all of Taylor's things. He could still take his meals here at the corner of the spic and span kitchen where his dog bowl was located.

For the next two days, it was nicely pleasant to have a dog in the premises, especially someone as well behaved as Taylor. Each morning and evening, Conroy would get him. I didn't have to mutter to myself as I worked. Instead, Taylor was there to listen. To keep himself from being bored and since I was an appreciative audience, he performed all these tricks for me, showing off what he knew, spurred on by the chocolate cake pieces I rewarded him with. I wasn't sure if Fox prohibited cakes for the dog but I made sure that Taylor ate the chocolate cake I had in the freezer. And he would go with me on my evening rides through the city. It seemed the dog didn't have qualms about irregular schedules.

From what I could see, Taylor was well taken cared of and ate the most expensive dog food that money could buy. The dog even had a nice well-polished brass dog tag that had both Skinner's and Fox's name and phone numbers. He also didn't have a doggy smell and his toenails were nicely clipped and he had a very healthy nicely brushed coat. I wouldn't be surprised if he visited dog groomers on a regular basis. If he were a child, he was obviously well loved.

And each evening, I would visit my neighbor's apartment and check to make sure that the feeding block was still there. Once, I made the mistake of not having a grip on Taylor's fur when I visited his apartment. He just ran upstairs, probably thinking that Fox was there. So after checking on the aquarium, I called out to Taylor but the dog wouldn't come down. I reluctantly had to go upstairs, turning on the light switches without difficulty since it was located in the same place as my own light switches. I thought he was in the smaller room that was probably Fox's room, from the mess I saw. There were book filled shelves and a desk with a PC. But no dog in sight.

So I had to go to the bedroom. I found Taylor on the Persian area rug, probably his customary spot. Now I knew that Taylor was REALLY well loved. What other dog had a Persian rug to sleep on?

The bedroom was as neat as the rest of the apartment, dominated by the big bed. It was a completely masculine room with no frilly thing in sight. Usually a master bedroom has some sort of feminine touch like flowers or a floral pattern to the linen that might even match the curtains, while a bachelor's bedroom didn't have such a big bed and no way was it as neat as this. I know because I've been into a lot of these bachelor's bedrooms.

The comforter was some sort of navy blue restrained print that I recognized from the Ralph Lauren home collection (from the catalogs, where I mostly do my shopping). The bedside table had a picture of my neighbors. I looked closely at it, although I knew I shouldn't. But then I figured that since Fox gave me the key, there was an implicit consent for me to move around the apartment. With such a shaky rationalization on my part, I looked at the picture.

It was a very nice picture of the two together. Both of them were in white shirts and without a necktie in sight. The love the two had for each other was quite evident and I found myself smiling at the nice photograph. From the picture, I wished that Skinner would smile more. He certainly looked different here than his usual self.

The bedside table on this side had a maroon leather eyeglass case, a book entitled "Competitive Advantage: Creating and Sustaining Superior Performance" by Michael Porter which I knew was a management book and the latest issue of Newsweek. All these were in a neat pile.

The other bedside table was more haphazardly arranged with the TV remote, an empty glass, an aspirin bottle, Jim Morrison's biography and a book entitled "Alien Encounters" which was left open face down on the table.

From the way the bed was oriented in the room, I figured that the sounds I heard was the headboard hitting against the wall and noticed that there were well worn marks against the plaster. The bed certainly saw a lot of action, unlike my bed which was graced with my boyfriend's presence only about four times a month. I sniffed the air and noticed that there was a nice male citrusy scent which was familiar and I knew that it was probably Skinner's aftershave which I smelled in the elevator when I was with him.

Another odd thing that I noted was the presence of two wooden valets in the room, one on each side. Again, in most master's bedrooms, there's only one of these things for the man of the house. I could even tell which one was Fox's because it had a crumpled shirt hanging on it and three colorful ties while the other one only had a neatly hung gray suit jacket.

Lest you get the impression that I snooped up there for a long time, I tell you it didn't happen that way. I just have this very strong power of observation and all the details that I mentioned were registered in my brain within the few seconds I was there. That's what makes me a writer, I guess. I can sit down at the mall and see how people interact; I can go into a room and see how it's arranged and figure out the people who own that room. It only took me a few seconds to persuade Taylor that he wasn't going to go nighty night on his usual spot by the bed.

I left their apartment after turning off all the lights with the bubbling huge aquarium leaving an eerie glow in the living room. Taylor followed me uncomplainingly as I locked myself back into my apartment.

Then I took everything I've seen and integrated it in my brain for future reference regarding my neighbors.

After two days of Taylor's company, I had to give him up the next evening. The doorbell rang and it was Walter Skinner this time at the door. Taylor frisked around at Skinner's feet, so happy to see him. Skinner was his usual business-like self and thanked me as I handed him the key Fox had given me. However, I noticed that he seemed to have lost a lot of weight since I last saw him. He was pleased when I said that Taylor was such a nice dog. In that instant, I knew that Taylor was his dog in the same way that the aquarium was Fox's. They had the same expression on their faces as if I was complimenting them on the good manners and well-scrubbed appearance of their child.

It was four days later that Fox was at the door again.

"Thanks for taking care of Taylor and my aquarium on such short notice," he said. "Normally, we wouldn't have bothered you; it's just that our housekeeper retired and we haven't found anyone to replace her yet."

"Come on in, Fox," I said. "I just have to get the cookies out of the oven." He followed me into the kitchen.

"You can have some of those," I nodded at the rest of cookies already cooling on the racks.

"Thanks," he grinned boyishly as he scooped up two at once and finished it off in huge bites.

"So how long have you and Walter been together?" I asked because I would have asked the same thing of a married couple, which they were. I noticed the ring on his finger on the left hand and knew that it was some sort of marriage band.

Fox hesitated at first and I thought I'd made a mistake about asking a personal question, especially for someone who had to keep things secret.

"Six years," he finally answered. "I hope you wouldn't mind calling me Mulder. All my friends do."

"Sure," I said as I got out the latest batch of cookies and put them on the cooling rack. We talked for some time and it was then that Mulder became a good friend. I learned that Skinner was the Deputy Director of the FBI, second only to the Director on the totem pole. And that Mulder was what they called a Special Agent, whatever that meant.

"So that's where you and Walter met?" I asked.

"He was my boss," Mulder said casually. As he talked, I found out that I was right in my impression that Skinner was a divorcee. He did have a wife until a year before he and Mulder found each other.

The cookies were too much for just one person and even if Mulder ate a lot of it, there was still quite a number left. He said that he missed having homemade cookies because their housekeeper retired. He was very glad when I offered to wrap up more of the cookies because it seemed that Skinner had a sweet tooth and Mulder wanted his partner to sample some of my cookies.

I didn’t see them for some time after that, because I went off with my boyfriend on a long vacation. In reality, it was an attempt on my part to see if we really did get along. After a while, the relationship ended. So we parted ways. Of course, after that, I was in no mood to write a romance novel and was able to make inroads on my one good novel.

So it was a pleasant surprise to see my two neighbors together. I remember it was a Sunday. I got out of my BMW and smiled at them as they emerged from the Cherokee. Skinner and Mulder were in casual clothes, the first time I ever saw the two of them out of their FBI get up. They even had Taylor with them. It was Taylor who approached me first, as the two were busy unloading their things.

"Hi, Taylor," I said, patting the dog who was busily sniffing at my bag of groceries.

"I see that Taylor remembers you."

I looked up from the dog and saw that it was Skinner. This time I could tell that he was back to his old self having regained his previous bulk since he got Taylor from my apartment months ago.

"You look much better that the last time I saw you," I commented. I didn't fail to notice that he looked startled by what I said. "Remember, when you got Taylor from my apartment? You were much thinner then."

"Maybe it's my cooking," Skinner laughed. It was my turn to be surprised. Skinner laughing? Then something extraordinary happened.

Mulder approached with their bags and the two went into the elevator with their arms on each other's waists. Well, the two certainly weren't hiding their being lovers anymore compared to the secrecy and caution of years back. I followed with the ever present Taylor at my heels.

In the elevator, Skinner and Mulder continued to have a hand on each other. It was sort of touching, too. Especially the way that Skinner had a hand on the back of Mulder's neck, tenderly running a finger back and forth on it. It was unmistakably a practiced gesture because Mulder sure wasn't ticklish about it. Mulder himself still had a hand on the older man's waist.

Seeing the two together for the first time and the affectionate and loving way they treated each other was quite a revelation for me. Their love for each other, the life they had built together on the seventeenth floor, it was as pure as the love of any married heterosexual couple. Surely their relationship was a whole lot better than the one I just left behind.

I had to admit that they indeed made a striking couple, notwithstanding that they were of the same sex. I just wondered why Skinner seemed to have no qualms about me seeing them together; after all, he was more conservative of the two. Then I thought that maybe I had been seeing them in parts, that when I saw them alone, away from each other, they were incomplete.

It certainly added a lot of ideas to my writer's head and once we parted ways and got into my apartment, I ran to my PC and tried to capture the essence of what I had just witnessed. I was able to get back in the mood for writing my good ol' romance novel, my bread and butter, and that particular book became my number one bestseller.

END OF BACCARAT PIECE: 1702

Feedback truly appreciated.

-------------------------------------------------

"A beacon in the night."

Mulder in reference to Skinner

Nisei

---------------------------------------------------