The puzzle spread out on Walter Skinner's desk was almost complete. He had taken great care with it, choosing each piece with a specific purpose in mind. A fat file folder sat just to his left, waiting to be hastily opened atop the puzzle in the event that anyone should happen in. God forbid he should be asked to surrender that folder. He wasn't sure what his reaction might be, but he knew it couldn't be good.

The completed portion of the puzzle was yet another grainy rendering of his and Fox Mulder's frenzied coupling in the handicapped access stall of a Washington Denny's men's room. Blown up to roughly the size of the AD's desk calendar, the quality of a shot that had not been spectacular to begin with had deteriorated to the point that the incident seemed even more sleazy than it actually had been. All that remained of the puzzle now was the portion that depicted Mulder, who had assured Walter it was a "pretty good come shot" as if this was the sort of information that would make a difference to the AD.

But he had saved it for last, with not insignificant anticipation. In the back of his mind was the idea of saving the piece that was Mulder's face, maybe slipping it into his wallet. All it required to squelch that notion was the threat of pickpockets.

There were any number of more important things he could have been doing just then. He had calls to return, reports to read. Pencils to push. He had enough nightmarish crap stacked on his desk that he could expect to work well into the night, even if he had not been fucking the dog, which he was. Yet he continued, adding piece after piece, thoughtful and meticulous. He wished his preoccupation could be inexplicable, but it wasn't.

If he allowed his mind to wander even slightly, it invariably came back to the vision that had been haunting him for days. Each time he closed his eyes, each time he had a spare moment, each time he took a breath, even, he saw Mulder and Jackson White, looking for all the world as if they were locked in a clinch. From a strictly intellectual standpoint, Walter knew that this was not the case. That the reality was that while Agent White had been looking for a quick fuck in Mulder's office, Mulder himself had been looking for something to gut him with.

Walter was not a man plagued by insecurity. He knew he had his charms, and he knew Mulder would not betray him. He knew too that Mulder was not at all dissatisfied with their relationship. But the image of the two men was persistent, and each time it returned it came with the thought of just how attractive White was. How much hair he had. And that while they were as opposed as any two people could be, he and Mulder had a lot in common.

Unbidden, Mulder's words echoed in his mind. "Walter, if you were any dumber, you'd be Gomer Pyle."

Like a fool, he'd shipped Mulder and White off to Quantico to head up a profiler's symposium. A symposium at which Agent White would likely break out all the witty anecdotes and cheap cologne at his disposal to spirit Mulder away. He'd had to do it. To refuse to send the pair would be to invite the wrong questions.

More importantly, it was sure to settle the matter once and for all. Either the two men would return (sporting blackened eyes) or Walter would receive a Dear John letter hastily scribbled on the back of a postcard purchased at Las Vegas' Chapel O' Love. It wasn't the preferred outcome, certainly, but any had to be better than none.

Nobody ever throws themselves at me, he griped, in much the same tone as the famous "Jim never has a second cup of my coffee..."

People flung themselves at Mulder as if they were moths and he was a giant, mobile Bug Lite, and with much the same result. He had been oblivious to them long before Walter came on the scene. He flung himself at me...

He was just slipping the last piece into place when his phone rang.

"Skinner."

"Sir, it's Agent Scully. I need to see you as soon as possible."

He frowned. "You'll have to make an appointment with Kim, Agent Scully--"

"You don't understand, sir."

"Enlighten me."

"I need you to meet with me downstairs."

"Scully, what's going on?"

"Please."

Walter looked down at his puzzle. As much as he hated to admit it, Mulder's theory that his gifts and those the agent received were somehow connected appeared to be a sound one. "Have you received any unusual deliveries lately?"

"With all due respect, sir, I'd prefer not to discuss this over the phone."

Oh, God. She had. "Will you be in the building for a while, Scully?"

"Yes, sir."

He flipped through his Day Timer. "I have a meeting in half an hour."

She paused. "Sir, I don't think the matter will take much more than five or ten minutes of your time." And you're wasting it arguing with me, her tone implied.

"I'm on my way."
 
 

Scully's manner was all tension when Walter found her. Though she was not pacing the office, something in her suggested she would have liked to do so. Neither of them had yet recovered from her finding him in Mulder's apartment, clad in nothing but his glasses and a barely-there towel. He knew Scully wasn't casting him speculative looks when his back was turned, but it was still an awkward situation, in which only Mulder saw the humor.

"Agent Scully, I'm very busy today. I hope this is--" his voice died in his throat when he saw the television and VCR set up at the far side of the office.

The AD experienced a thousand kinds of hell as he imagined what Scully was about to show him. What she must have already seen, to have sounded so grim over the phone. Son of a bitch.

It wasn't enough that Walter lived in terror of coming to work for fear his new desk pad would feature a full-color blow-up of the incident at Denny's. It wasn't enough that Mulder had taken his paranoia to new heights and was now placing a strip of scotch tape across his door jambs to detect a break-in. Now the sick bastard, whoever he was, was gunning for Scully.

"This arrived for Mulder this morning, sir," she said. "He asked me to have a look--"

"He did what?"

She pressed play.

Walter stared at the screen, an unwilling audience, but he couldn't look away. An FBI warning came up. He blinked. That hadn't appeared on the video. He watched. Waited. Gaped. "What the hell is that?"

Scully raised a brow. "Sweatin' To The Oldies, sir."

He swallowed. "Did-- uh... did you watch the whole tape?"

"Unfortunately. Have a look," she said, gesturing to the box that sat on Mulder's desk.

The AD lifted the flap and peered inside. Cher's Body Fitness, Abs Of Steel, Jane Fonda's Workout, and exercise videos from Cindy Crawford, Dixie Carter, Kathy Ireland, Fabio, and a host of others sat inside the box. That's a hell of a mixed message, he thought. Donuts, Elvis, and fitness videos?

"We'd been operating under the assumption that this was an inside job," said Scully. "But whoever sent these must not have known Mulder would be out of town this week."

"Or he wanted you to think so," Walter said, examining the Fabio tape.

"Agent Scully, what's your assessment of Jackson White?"

She faltered, but recovered quickly. "He's-- he's brilliant, edgy, irreverent. He isn't a team player. Not afraid to take risks." She smirked. "Actually, he's a lot like Mulder, ignoring the fact that he's as devoted to his skepticism as Mulder is to his belief."

"Bizarro Mulder," he murmured.

"I'm sorry?"

"Forget it."

"There's something else, sir."

"What?" he said, all dread.

Scully handed him a sheet of paper filled with addresses. "These firms all offer the kind of services that would produce the sorts of gifts you've been receiving, sir. We have no way of knowing if they were made locally, but I think it's an excellent beginning."

He met her eyes. "Agent Scully--"

"I'd be happy to check some of them myself, sir."

"That's not necessary, really."

"I'd like to help." She was accepting no arguments on the matter, clearly.

Walter looked at the list. He really didn't have the time to check them all himself. To wait for Mulder's return was insanity. The two of them could be on the side of a bus by then. "Thank-you, Scully. I think I speak for Agent Mulder as well as myself when I say this is much appreciated."

She smiled faintly. "I'd like to see the matter done as soon as possible," she said. "As with everything else, what affects you affects him--"

"Which in turn affects you. I'm sorry."

"Well, it's done now. There's no sense in regretting it. I would just--" She flushed.

"Agent Scully?"

"I would suggest that you and Mulder be more discreet, in future." She looked horrified that she'd said it.

"I'll take it under advisement."
 
 

One of the advantages of Walter's position at the Bureau was that he could afford an apartment that was supplied with endless hot water. Long, indulgent showers were his guilty secret. Fifteen minutes with his shower head set on stun was almost as good as having Mulder there to massage his neck and shoulders. And a good deal quieter. He stood, unmoving, as the water pummeled him, and tried to look on the bright side. It was a tactic at which he failed miserably on his best days.

He would be hard pressed to imagine any activity more humiliating than driving from shop to shop, asking innocent proprietors whether they had or had not created a heat-activated mug with a picture of himself fucking his subordinate on it. Of course he never expressly stated that it was he on the mug, but then, should he be the one to hit on the right location, he doubted it would be necessary to explain that to the owner. A fine mind is a terrible thing. The longer he thought about it, the worse the situation became. It was entirely possible that his admirer was buying each item at a new store.

It irked him to feel so helpless. Irked him more that the best he could manage as a man of action was to hope for the best and tell himself it was an educational experience. He kept waiting for his sensible side to sound off, for his subconscious mind to announce that he would not be in this mess if not for Mulder. He didn't believe in destiny. He didn't believe that events were preordained. But the longer he was involved with Mulder, the more he believed that things could not have unfolded any other way. There was no sense in flagellating himself for inviting that first kiss, so long ago. If it had not happened that night, it would have been another. It had been inevitable. Neither right nor wrong, it just... was.

If he was honest with himself, he could even admit that he wasn't sorry he had fucked Mulder at Denny's that night. Only sorry they hadn't caught the camera man.

The shower door slid open quickly, startling him. Mulder stood naked on the bath mat, wearing a sardonic smile. Walter let himself drink the agent in, heedless of the water that sprayed everywhere. What, am I checking him for bite marks? He smiled carefully. Mulder had some strange sexual aura about him. His eyes gleamed, his skin glowed. He was hard, and ready, barely leashed by his lover's restraint. Waiting.

"The last time I laid eyes on you," the AD said, "You had White in your lap and his tongue down your throat."

"I didn't do anything," Mulder said. "It could have been Hale-Bopp. Sometimes things like that do strange things to people."

Walter looked him up and down. "What you're telling me, what you're saying, Mulder, is that he had no reason to take a shine to you other than his strange reaction to a passing comet?"

"Why not?"

"What's my excuse?"

"Desperation. Why don't you let me in? I'm grimy, and somebody has to use your shampoo."

"Fuck you, Mulder," he said, but he stood back.

The agent stepped inside and carefully slid the door shut before he turned to face the AD. His hair stood up in clumps. Water sluiced off his body, that beautiful, lean body...

"Mulder," he said.

His lover stepped closer, and closer still, until they were a breath apart. "I'm sorry, Walter," he murmured.

"You said it yourself: you didn't do anything."

"You've been thinking about it, though. Stewing."

"So? You're the one who's been shacked up with the man for the last week."

Mulder allowed himself a smile. "He squeezes from the wrong end of the toothpaste."

"Bastard." Walter slid his arms around Mulder's waist and tugged. Both men gasped when their groins collided. He tried for a kiss, but Mulder dodged him. He settled for nipping at the agent's neck.

"He made another pass at me on Thursday night."

Walter froze. "And?"

"And you're going to burst a blood vessel when you see the hotel bill. The only other room they had was a suite."

"Mulder..."

"Walter..." he teased, smiling now. "Tell me you didn't think I'd run away with him." The AD was silent. "Walter?"

He smirked. "And leave all this?"

The agent cupped Walter's face in his hands and kissed him persuasively, licking his lips before he plunged his tongue into the AD's mouth. Walter sucked his tongue, grinding his hips against his lover's. He wasn't going to last, he knew. It disappointed him. Suddenly he felt like he and Mulder had been separated for months. He wanted that first new consummation to linger.

Mulder slid a finger into Walter's ass. The AD bucked, tearing his mouth away. "Cut it out."

"Ah-ah-ah," his lover warned. "You invited me in here, Walter, I get to do whatever I want."

"You're some kind of sex vampire?"

"Finally," he grinned. "An X-File I don't mind investigating."

He raised a brow. "Why don't you try investigating the challenging world of unmolested cliches?"

"I think that's an oxymoron."

"So is 'I think' coming from your mouth, when you're naked." Mulder slipped a finger inside him. "Mulder," he moaned. When his head fell back, the agent licked his throat. Walter's hands clenched on his lover's ass.

"Not yet," Mulder said. "Delayed gratification, remember?" He dipped his head to capture a nipple with his mouth, never breaking the rhythm of his hand against Walter's ass. The AD arched against him. Mulder turned him into a man he barely recognized as himself. One moment he was showering peacefully, thinking over a problem, and the next, he was Captain Libido, and the only problem he had was just when Mulder was going to let him come.

The agent switched his attention to Walter's other nipple now, still ignoring the AD's cock but for the maddening sway of his hips. Finally, there was no way he could continue as he was. He released Walter's ass and pulled away, sinking to his knees. He stroked Walter's cock reverently. The AD looked down at him through a haze. Mulder gave his cock rapt attention.

As the agent reached out to cup Walter's balls, the AD flashed on Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone, cradling that enormous fake emerald and breathing "El Corazon..."

Walter stroked his lover's hair. It was a struggle not to just grip his head and put it exactly where he wanted it, but he managed. The agent looked up at him, like an acolyte, eyes wide and mouth open just slightly.

He gave Walter's balls a gentle squeeze. "Mulder..."

"Walter?"

He swallowed. "Did Scully show you those exercise videos?"

Mulder closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Walter grinned. He'd caught his lover off guard, for the first and probably only time. The man had been too swept up playing Valentino to maintain any kind of conversation. Finally the agent tipped his head backward and met Walter's eyes. "The Fabio one is missing," he said. "Do you know anything about that?"

"Try Scully. I prefer the scrawny type."

"I can't believe you. We're naked together for the first time in weeks, neither of us has to be anywhere, and I'm on my knees in front of you in your shower stall."

"And I had the gall to malign you."

"And you had the gall to malign me."

"Don't tell me you thought today was the day I'd start calling you Honeybunkle and offering to wash your feet."

"I should have stayed with Jackson."

He scowled. "Jackson is embarking on a one-way trip to Alaska as soon as I can manage it."

"Feeling possessive, are you?"

"Don't fuck with me, Mulder. Not about this."

"Don't be like that." He leaned forward, his hands on Walter's hips.

The AD gasped when his back hit the tile. "You know I'm not going to do that to you," Mulder breathed, trailing kisses along the inside of Walter's thigh.

"Yes..."

"I like the idea of you hoarding me." His tongue darted out and licked the sensitive area where Walter's leg met his torso. "I could get some kind of ID bracelet. 'Property of Walter S. Skinner.'" He paused as he was about to apply his tongue to Walter's balls. The AD moaned, protesting. "What does the S stand for?"

"Stupid," he muttered.

"Sexy," the agent murmured, sucking one of his lover's testicles into his mouth.

Walter's head banged against the shower wall. "That's so... oh, Christ..."

Mulder released him. "So..."

"Corny," he gasped.

"Oh, you hear that one a lot?"

"Nobody says it to my face."

The agent captured his neglected testicle, manipulating it with his tongue. Walter let out a keening moan. Somehow, this was exactly what he'd been needing, for days. Somehow, Mulder had known. His mouth was so hot, so wet, so... cunning... He let Walter go again.

"Stunning," he said.

"Simple-minded."

"Sensual."

"That's the same as sexy."

He grinned. "Sex slave..?" He stroked Walter's cock gently, rubbing his thumb over the head. The AD buried his hands in Mulder's hair, no longer content to let him tease. The agent resisted. "Sultry."

"Mulder."

"You're not trying."

"Neither are you. Please..."

Mulder bent over him and stroked his tongue along the head of Walter's cock, probing the slit, teasing the ridge. His mouth closed over it without warning, and he began to suck rhythmically, massaging the AD's flesh with his tongue, scraping with his teeth. Walter's hips moved of their own volition. He gave himself up to Mulder totally, denying him nothing. His hands clenched and unclenched in his lover's hair as Mulder relaxed his throat and took him all the way inside. He began to swallow.

Pleasure shot through Walter's body at odd intervals, warming him, maddening him, until he was shaking with it. Mulder manipulated his cock as if he'd taken extensive training in the act, drawing back just enough when Walter came close, then capturing him again and bringing him back. His hands kneaded Walter's thighs. His jaw worked to accommodate his thrusts.

The AD's knees had long since lost any tension they'd had. All that supported him now were Mulder's hands and God's will. Walter had no sense of identity, no problems, no car payments. He was close now, so close, and damned grateful, like some idiot winning one of the technical awards at the Oscars who got up on stage and thanked everyone he'd ever met, one name at a time. So close, and Mulder pulled away again.

"Mulder... fuck... please..." His lover's eyes burned. Mulder's mouth closed over him again. His hands massaged Walter's balls, and his sucked his cock furiously, working to finish him off now that he'd made up his mind. Walter's head fell forward to watch Mulder's own head bobbing over him.

"Yes... yes." He was bucking wildly now, completely undone by the man who knelt before him. Then he was cresting, his whole being suffused with pleasure. He mumbled incoherently, in a voice he barely recognized. Collapsed against the shower wall and slid to the floor. Mulder crawled to him and wrapped himself around the AD. His lips were swollen, his eyes glazed. His cock, still hard, bumped against Walter's stomach.

"I'm sorry," the AD said. "I wasn't thinking."

"That was the idea." He dipped his head and kissed Walter softly. "I want to get inside you," he murmured into his lover's mouth.

"I don't think I'll be able to stay upright for very long."

Mulder fumbled blindly and shut off the shower. "Just try to make it to the bed," he said, rising. He extended a hand and Walter took it, standing shakily.

"Don't look so smug," he said.

"It would help if you didn't look so... sated."

"I'll try to look more disgruntled in the future." He tried to push past Mulder to get into the bedroom, but the agent grabbed his arm and tugged. Walter's body collided with his own. His arms snaked around the AD as he plunged his tongue into his mouth. Mulder moaned.

"What about the bed?"

Mulder grabbed a towel from the rack and rolled it into a fat tube. This done, he handed it to Walter, turned him around, and bent him over the bathroom counter.

"Mulder, for Christ's sake..."

The agent pressed his body flush against Walter's. His chest hair tickled Walter's back. Mulder's cock slid against the AD's ass, hot insistent. He thrust his tongue into Walter's ear at the same moment he began to stroke Walter's erection back to life. The AD's skin still tingled, hyper-sensitive, almost to the point of discomfort, but only almost.

With tremendous effort, the AD raised his head and opened his eyes. In the harsh light of the bathroom, the mirror he faced concealed nothing.

This was a unique perspective for him, and far more intimate than had been watching his lover on videotape. Mulder gave himself up to the role of seducer as if he'd been born to it. He was in a strange humor tonight, content for once just to pleasure his lover, all quips set aside in favor of a greater focus. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark, his mouth softened. He looked like a love slave. He looked predatory.

Walter watched Mulder's hands on him and was doubly aroused by the sight. Watched his tongue, tasting as much as teasing, finding all Walter's best spots with the unerring accuracy that only a man with an eidetic memory or a gigolo could possibly have. An image of Mulder in black rubber pants and a blue sequined shirt came to mind, and he laughed, without thinking.

"Ticklish?"

"No. I was imagining you as Neil Diamond."

"Fuck me," he said, disgusted. "You always have to say something like that, don't you? Why can't we just fuck like normal people?" Walter's eyes met his in the mirror. Both men came to the same conclusions at the same time and laughed. The moment didn't last, though. Mulder's cock rubbed against Walter's ass with each new convulsion, an act that captured the agent's attention. He collapsed on top of his lover. "Shit." He planted a kiss between Walter's shoulder blades. "I never used to be so--"

"Depraved?"

Mulder pinched his ass and pulled away. "Don't stand up," he said, when Walter shifted.

He raised a brow. "This isn't some kind of prelude to a d/s scenario, is it?"

"No, I'm just lazy," he said absently, rifling through Walter's drawers. "I don't want to have to seduce you again."

"If it's that much of a trial for you--"

"Where the hell is the lube?"

Walter blinked. "What?"

"I got toothpaste, moisturizer, shaving gel, Brylcreem-- and I don't want to know what you do with that--" He shot the AD a desperate glance.

Walter cleared his throat. "Maybe I'm out."

"Out?" He opened another drawer. "Saliva," he muttered. "Olive oil, sunblock, soap--"

"What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you ever read any gay porn, Walter?"

He stood abruptly. "I'll find the lube." A thorough search of the bedroom uncovered a tube under his bed, much to his relief. The look on Mulder's face had said it all. If he'd failed, there was a bottle of Thousand Islands dressing in the refrigerator with his name on it.

"Astroglide," he said.

"The preferred lubricant of gay federal agents worldwide."

"Official lube of the 1998 Winter Olympics." He gave Mulder the tube and resumed his place over the counter.

Mulder stared at him. "Oh, Walter..."

"What?"

Mulder took position behind him and kneaded his shoulders. His hands were warm and firm. He began to work his way down Walter's spine. The AD arched into his touch, breathing raggedly again. His cock throbbed. Mulder stroked it gently. "I can't resist you," he said.

"Then you're a hell of an actor."

The agent slid a slippery finger into his ass, stretching him, testing him. Walter bucked violently when Mulder teased his prostate.

"Mulder!"

He withdrew his hand and placed the head of his cock at Walter's asshole. He thrust slowly, an inch at a time, until Walter was squirming beneath him.

"Don't move." Mulder rasped.

Walter met his eyes in the mirror and rocked his hips. With an anguished moan, Mulder sank all the way in. He quickly found a rhythm, thrusting blindly, his head thrown back. The friction was incredible, exquisite, the pleasure that coursed through Walter overwhelming. What's going on with you, Mulder? he thought. The agent's movements were almost brutal. Walter bucked in counter-rhythm, his voice hoarse as he urged his lover on. He was electric. He was ethereal. Mulder stroked his cock quickly, crushing his body into the counter.

"Harder," Walter gasped.

"Harder?"

"Please."

Mulder's hips slammed against his own. Walter froze, suspended. He came, moaning Mulder's name, and in that instant he opened his eyes and watched in stunned fascination as his lover came, too.

"Oh, God, Walter, Walter..." He sucked in a breath, gripping the AD's hips and thrusting one last time. "Oh..." Walter licked his lips, savoring the feel of Mulder convulsing inside him. "That's it," Mulder gasped. "That's it..." He shuddered on top of Walter.

"Mulder."

"Mm?"

"I need... to lie down."

"I can't move."

"I'm not carrying you."

"With all that upper-body strength?"

"Look--"

He jerked. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

Mulder rose laboriously and stalked out of the room. "My fucking cell," he snarled.

Walter peeled himself off the counter and followed after him.

"What?" Mulder barked. "Yes, I was. What do you want?" He glanced at Walter. Grimaced. "I'll be there within the hour." He folded his phone and fell back on Walter's bed. "You," he accused. "You had to farm me out to the ISU people. You had to write that inter-office memo about shooting your fellow agents."

"That was White."

"You think my double entendres are cheesy," he said. "If I have to listen to one more joke about stiffs, I'm going to kill myself."

"Consider the irony."

Mulder sat up and rubbed his face. "I've got to have another shower," he said. "You're all over me."

"So?"

"White spends more time in my personal space than I do," he said, stuffing himself into his clothes. "If he even imagines I have tendencies, I'm going to have a permanent handprint on my ass."

"I've got a .38 and a shovel," Walter said. "If he touches you again, Alaska will be the least of his concerns."

He grinned. "You're so cute when you play throwback."

Walter found his glasses and shoved them on. "Get out of here and don't come back."

"Hah. I won't even make it to my car before you're calling to beg for forgiveness."

"Try me."

Mulder gave him a quick kiss. "I wanted to stay the night."

"You can always come back when you're done. If you want."

He paused in the act of tying a shoe. "That's about the most grudging invitation I've ever received."

"If you're going to have another man's handprint on your ass--" Mulder strode from the room, shaking his head. "Mulder!"

He turned. "What?"

"If he tries anything else, I want to know about it."

"You think it's him, don't you?"

He smirked. If he was going to make a suspect of everyone who even looked at his lover twice, he really had his work cut out for him. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe I just want to have a good enough reason to kick his ass."

"'It's time you learned your proper place, boy,'" Mulder said, doing an uncanny imitation of Walter's voice. "'You keep your hands off of my man.'"

"Fuck you, Mulder."

The agent grinned. Walter's gut clenched in response. Shit.

"Goodnight, Walter."

"Goodnight."
 
 

"Agent White, I'm glad you could make it on such short notice. Have a seat."

"What did you want to speak with me about, sir?"

I want you to keep your mitts off my Mulder. "This is my least favorite conversation to have with one of my agents," he said. In fact, I'd rather frame you for white-collar crimes and ship you and your pretty face off to the max. "It's come to my attention that you've continued to pursue Agent Mulder."

His features tightened. "Has he filed a complaint against me, sir?"

"Not formally, no. In fact, he doesn't know about this meeting, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"It's a personal matter, sir."

"I disagree. As long as you're conducting your activities on Bureau time, and on Bureau property--" he tossed Mulder's hotel bill on his desk "-- and with Bureau money, it's a matter of public concern, to my mind. It's only a matter of time before someone notices your behavior, Agent White, and Mulder doesn't need any more people snickering about him right now."

His gaze sharpened. "Has someone been bothering him, sir?"

"Not at this time."

"I don't want to make trouble for him."

"Then leave him be."

The agent was silent.

"Agent White?" His phone rang. "Skinner."

"Sir, it's Agent Scully. I'm sorry to bother you--"

"Agent Mulder didn't show up for work this morning, sir. I stopped by his apartment to check on him, and he isn't here... do you have any idea where he might be?"

Walter met White's eyes. "No."

"Could you meet me here, sir?"

"I'm on my way." He replaced the receiver, fighting down the panic and nausea that threatened to consume him. "Agent White," he said, calmly, "It looks as if our mutual friend has disappeared. You were the last person to speak with him, were you not?"

White scowled. "I haven't seen him since we got back from Quantico."

Walter stared at him. "You didn't call him last night?"

"No."

He stood and shrugged into his jacket. "I have to go. We'll continue this conversation another time."

"Is Mulder all right?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"What--"

"You're dismissed, Agent White."

"Sir, I'd like to help, if I can."

"That won't be necessary."

His jaw tightened. "Agent Mulder is a friend--"

"Look. This isn't a party, and you are not invited."

"Hey, I--"

"I'm your superior, Agent White, a fact that seems to slip your mind at the moments that are most convenient for you. If I say you stay here, you fucking well stay here. Nod if you understand."

White stood and attempted to stare him down. His stance was eerily familiar. "If you want to play that way, fine. As long as you understand that I'm going to be on this at quitting time. You keep pushing your pencils and taking your orders--"

"I feel a sanctimonious speech coming on, and I don't have the time. Come anywhere near this on Bureau time and you're going to be working evidence in the smallest jerkwater office I can find for the rest of your life. Do it on your own time and you're going to be checking your insurance papers to see if your medical covers rhinoplasty. Do you understand?"

His eyes narrowed. "I think I do."

Walter stormed out of the office. "I'm gone for the day," he called back to Kim on his way out.

"What?"

Mulder, he thought, as he drove to the man's apartment. It didn't help Walter's equilibrium at all to think of how strangely his lover had been acting the night before. He'd seduced Walter with single-minded intent, and yes, it had been fantastic, stellar, even, but it had also been damned weird. He had been so intense, almost humorless by comparison, unusually quiet. Now he'd vanished, and suddenly it seemed feasible that he'd known this would happen and had wanted to give Walter something to remember him by. He was almost grateful for the thought, and there was a fucked-up notion. It was still better than the idea that Mulder had been using him as a substitute for Jackson White.

Scully was waiting for him in the hallway when he reached Mulder's building. She shoved the door open. "Forced entry," she said.

"Sir, his apartment has been tossed."

He smirked. "How can you tell?"

She glared at him. "Was I wrong to call you, sir?"

"No. I'm sorry." He crossed the threshold. The apartment was a disaster, and that was no surprise. The aquarium was overturned; the shelf that held it lay on the floor. His computer lay in pieces. Coffee was spilled on the rug, and there were papers strewn everywhere. At least he put up a fight. "Scully, what's your caseload like right now?"

"Negligible, sir."

"I need you to step up your investigation of my gifts," he said, gazing around the apartment. "I need you to find out if anyone saw anything, and if not, why not. I need you to find out if anyone else at the Bureau did not show up this morning, and if not, I need to know where they are. I'll get you any clearance you need." He turned and headed for the door.

"Sir, where are you going?"

"I have meetings, Agent Scully." He looked back at her, back at the demolished apartment. The image of Mulder flashed in his mind, Mulder shaking with pleasure the night before, Mulder mocking him when others wouldn't dare even to glance his way. Mulder sitting in his office, covered in blood and grime, looking like he hadn't slept in a month, grinning and asking him if he'd ever made it with a guy in a cast.

"I have a lot of fucking meetings." He slammed the door.