"Some of These Days" by MJ

Fox Mulder is not a happy man. This is no surprise to anyone who knows him; it usually seemed that Mulder's natural state was one of terminal misery. Lately, however, the mood has been far better than it had been, for reasons formerly known to two, and then three, people—Mulder himself, Walter Skinner, and Dana Scully.

Scully had taken the discovery of Mulder's relationship with Skinner far better than he'd thought she would, especially considering that she'd discovered it purely by walking in on them in Mulder's hospital room. He knows that Scully wasn't the reason that Walter had been dragged into what ostensibly wasn't an OPR meeting. Jana Cassidy's presence and direction of the meeting, however, had made it all too plain to Mulder that an OPR meting was exactly what Walter was going into.

And it was all Mulder's fault. Or so Mulder tells himself; after all, he'd seduced Walter in the first place. By rights he should be the one being raked over the coals now. But Walter's the Assistant Director, he's the supervisor, he's the one expected to know better. And Walter is only an Assistant Director, but since the events of the past month, Mulder is good Bureau publicity.

Sometimes it's hell to be right.

This is one of those times.

He paces back and forth in the office. Scully watches sympathetically, offers him a cup of coffee, asks if he wants to go get a bite to eat. His bladder can't take the coffee; his stomach can't take the food. Walter's the career man; Walter's the one who loves this place. Mulder's just marking time, as far as he's concerned; he wanted to find the truth, and he's found it. There are no worlds left to conquer, at least not here. If they flayed him alive, it wouldn't hurt now; he knows what happened to his sister, he's certain about his father, he has Walter. But it's not his hide they want -no, he's supposed to be doing a press conference tomorrow, in fact. They probably wouldn't let him quit if he tried right now.

They always said he was spooky. Now they know he's queer. He's been the Bureau renegade. And he's been sleeping with his boss. And all they can do these days is have photos taken of him with the Director and the Attorney General for his incredible heroics—when they didn't have the time of day for him six months ago—while they lynch Walter. The man who's always enforced their rules like the rules came from Charlton Heston in "The Ten Commandments."

What are they doing in there? This meeting's taking forever. He guesses it takes a while to roast a victim over coals till he's well done.

Scully offers him a muffin. He turns it down; he's not hungry. He may never be hungry again.

The office telephone rings. Mulder turns, stares. He doesn't move to answer it. Scully looks at him, sighs, then teaches for the receiver. After her greeting, she listens, nods and makes an acknowledging sound, then, silently, hands the receiver to her partner. He stares again, as if not quite sure what to do, then speaks. It is Kimberly, Walter's assistant. She sounds as if she has a horrible head cold, and she wants him in Walter's office. Now. Please. He shakes his head in disbelief as he slams down the receiver. The "please" did it. Walter's never said "please" at the office; he's a supervisor. He doesn't ask, he orders. Something's wrong, obviously. What the hell did they do to him up there? The silent resolve to kill Jana Cassidy forms in his mind as he grabs his jacket and storms out the door.

Kimberly doesn't have a head cold, though there is a pile of tissues on her desk. Mulder's never seen Kimberly cry before. Like her boss, she never loses composure, never lets go. She is letting go now. She points to the door of Walter's office with her free hand, waves him in immediately. He throws the door open as if he thought he were trailing the smoker into the room, just like the old days, and dashes in just like when he slid home back in Little League.

Two sights at once. Immediate comprehension. Walter, jacketless, looking out his window at the gray Washington weather. A cardboard box, open, on top of his desk. Mulder knows those boxes, remembers packing one just like it himself a few years ago, when he'd tendered his own resignation. Did Walter quit, or did they lynch him? The thought about Jana Cassidy resurfaces; he buries it rapidly as Walter turns toward him.

He's smiling. Looking ten years younger, looking thoroughly relieved, much as Atlas must have looked if someone had lifted the world from his shoulders. Mulder's seen him smile before, but never in here, not like this; he hasn't seen Walter smiling like this since the hospital.

Mulder reaches out. This time, he's holding Walter, Walter's not holding him up the way he did in the hospital. Different to feel, suddenly, that he's the one who's needed rather than needing, and he's not sure what to make of it, but he likes it. He likes it lot; he could get used to it.

They are embracing. How long? Minutes? Longer? He's not thinking about it, not worrying; whatever happened in that meeting, Walter's okay and he's leaving this ridiculous hellhole in one piece.

They are still embracing when Mulder hears a discreet cough from behind him. He turns.

It is Kimberly, holding a file out for Walter. "If you don't mind, Sir, I have a resignation for you to approve before you leave." A brief sniffle. "And…congratulations." She smiles at them through smudged mascara as she exits. Mulder's eyes follow her out the door.

Walter tugs his shirt, points out the window. The storm front's broken outside and the sunlight is dazzling. Walter, however, is more so. He uncaps a fountain pen, signs off on Kimberly's letter, and grins at Mulder again. The hot dog vendor's set up across the street, Mulder sees, and he suddenly realizes that he's starving. He grins back, reaches for Walter's hand, and orders him to come along for lunch.

Maybe it really isn't that bad a day after all.