TITLE:  Outside In
AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan
EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION:  Wherever.  Just let me know.

RATING:  PG-13 for language
CATEGORIES:  V
KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance, Skinner POV
SPOILERS:  Existence

SUMMARY:  Mulder and Skinner share a beer and a moment.

FEEDBACK:  Is good karma.

Disclaimer:  Clearly I don't own them, never have, and never will.  I 
don't own much of anything else, either, if you want the truth.

Author's Notes:  If you don't know that Mulder and Scully have a baby, 
you should probably stop reading now.  Nonetheless, this is 
emphatically not babyfic.  I like to think of this as a start toward 
correcting Carter's alternative universe, because clearly all of 
season nine was perpetrated by lookalike clones who didn't know how 
their characters would actually behave.  Oh, and although it has no 
bearing on this story, that whole brain cloud and IVF nonsense never 
happened, either.

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

I raise my fist and knock on the door quietly.  I remember someone 
telling me once that you should do that when there's a baby in the 
house.  It is only a moment before Mulder answers.  He looks almost 
pleased to see me, if a little surprised.

"Mulder," I say briskly, and he returns the greeting with a little 
nod.  "Is this a good time?"

He smiles and steps aside.  "Yeah, come on in.  Scully's feeding the 
baby, but they should be done soon."  He says it like there is nothing 
mind-boggling about Scully nursing a child who shouldn't exist, and I 
flick my eyes to him.  He catches it and smiles again, shaking his 
head slightly.  Don't even try, the gesture says, you'll just get a 
headache.  "It's A.D. Skinner," he calls back toward the bedroom.

Scully's voice returns, warm and contented.  "We'll be out in a 
minute."

"How are they?"  I ask.

"They're great," he says.  "They're absolutely great."  He means this 
as much as anything I have ever heard him say.  "Have a seat.  Can I 
get you anything?  There's some pretty fresh coffee."

"Um...Yeah, sure, that'd be good."  I want something to do with my 
hands.  I watch him walk across her apartment to the kitchen.  Hell, 
let's be realistic, _their_ apartment.  One look at him and I can see 
he's never going home.  I make a mental note to change the priority 
number in my Rolodex.

He hands me a mug of hot coffee and sinks down in the chair opposite 
me, his legs stretched out in front of him.  He looks relaxed, but I 
have seen this deceptive stillness before.  He is thrumming with 
energy, and if I believed in half the crap he does, or claims to, I 
could probably make a case for an aura of excitement around him.  He 
is happy, I realize.  I never thought I'd see it.

We make small talk.  Neither of us is very good at it, but what do you 
say?  "Sure am glad you made it back from the dead in time for the 
birth of this miracle baby."  "So was this the second virgin birth, or 
have you two been making an ass of me for years?"  There doesn't seem 
like much point in pursuing that right now.  We have edged into the 
Yankees' chances for the series this year when Scully appears.

I stand up automatically, but I didn't need to hurry.  Her eyes find 
Mulder first, and she smiles like she's been waiting all day to do it, 
before she looks at me.  She is stunning.  Scully has always been 
beautiful, but she takes my breath away now.  She is serene, radiant, 
like a Madonna in a Renaissance painting.  Obviously that parallel 
can't be taken too far, but there is no denying her loveliness.  I 
glance at Mulder, and he is watching her with such a light in his 
eyes, such naked love, that I am taken aback.  I can't imagine being 
that vulnerable, but he has always poured his heart out for her.

Scully walks up to me with a warm smile, and I notice the bundle in 
her arms for the first time.  The baby is wrapped snugly in a blanket 
with little stars and moons on it.  I wonder if they have one with 
aliens and UFOs.  "It's good to see you," she says, and I think she 
actually means it.  "Thanks for coming."

My collar feels too tight.  "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner.  You look 
terrific."  She waves this away, then nods toward her arms with an 
expression of invitation.  I don't really get babies, I don't know 
what to do with them, but I definitely want to see this one.  Mulder 
is suddenly standing behind her, looking over her shoulder at the baby 
like he just can't get enough of the sight.

I take a look.  He has Scully's eyes, big and blue.  I think all 
babies have blue eyes, but his are the same shade as his mother's.  
That is Mulder's mouth, and his chin.  Scully's nose, thank God.  
Mulder's skin.  My hair.  He has long fingers and tiny, perfect nails.  
"He's beautiful," I say honestly.  Scully beams, and Mulder just nods 
his approval, never taking his eyes from the little face.  "He's 
tiny."

"Tell that to my cervix," Scully replies lightly, and Mulder chuckles 
as my ears flame red.  I've spent years trying not to think about the 
fact that Scully has a cervix.

The baby's eyes have drifted shut.  I'm slightly relieved that I won't 
have to decline an offer to hold him.  I don't know how to hold 
babies.  Scully, though, has got it down.  He is cradled against her, 
snug in her arms, and her head is tipped down to look into his face.  
Somehow I knew she'd be good at this.

Mulder shifts around her, his hand trailing down her arm as he moves 
past.  He gives himself away when he stands for a moment, no clear 
object in mind, and then straightens a few books on the coffee table 
as if that had been his plan all along.  It reminds me that although I 
wanted a glimpse of the miracle child, I came to talk to Mulder.  
It's a conversation that's long overdue.

I clear my throat, and they both look up.  Must have been my 
government official throat-clearing.  I am unaccountably nervous, so I 
tighten my jaw and adopt my office voice.  "Mulder, you want to go get 
a beer?"

To his credit, he doesn't look shocked, although Scully's eyes widen a 
little.  He looks at me appraisingly a moment, and then he 
straightens, almost imperceptibly.  He gets that this is a guy thing, 
a moment of breaking the established pattern to lay a few things on 
the line, after which the pattern will no doubt reassert itself.  He 
nods, and then glances at Scully.

I wonder what they'll say to each other when he gets home, but for now 
she just smiles at him.  "Go ahead," she says softly.  "I think we'll 
take a nap."

Mulder visibly hesitates, and I can see that he is torn between the 
need to know what I have to say and the desire to just wrap himself 
around them, around his family, and dream.  But he has made a 
commitment, and he always honors a commitment.  He goes back to her, 
leans down, and kisses her.  I've seen them kiss each other before, in 
hospitals, usually when one of them was unconscious.  I've never seen 
anything like this, anywhere.  It is almost unbearably intimate, but I 
can't seem to look away.  Her head tilts up to his instinctively.  He 
kisses her softly, hardly any pressure at all, and then his mouth 
lingers on hers like he is memorizing her, drinking in her taste.  I 
see her lips move against his, and I realize she is whispering her 
love into his mouth.  Scully.  His partner.  Shit, his lover.  His 
eyelashes flutter like he is dreaming as he fights the urge to just 
stay there, cocooned with them.  Then he pulls back slowly, brushes 
the backs of his fingers against her cheek.  His hand moves to the 
baby's head, his eyes drop to the tiny sleeping form, and he bends 
down to the child in her arms and presses a kiss of unbelievable 
gentleness to the baby's - his son's - forehead.  Jesus, this is going 
to require a whole new vocabulary.  Scully's gaze never leaves him, 
and she meets his when he straightens.  She is incandescent, her love 
for him blazing in her eyes.  It makes my chest hurt.  I can't even 
imagine what it must be like to be him right now.  No one has ever 
looked at me like that.  I wouldn't want to leave, either.

"We'll be at Nino's," he says softly.  I know immediately that it is 
the very closest place.

She nods.  "We'll be here."

Nino's is only a few blocks away, so we walk, mostly in silence.  It 
turns out to be one of those Georgetown kind of places that is a lot 
trendier than either of us, but it's mostly empty at this time of day.  
We order a couple glasses of something imported.  When they arrive, I 
take a pull of my beer and decide I'm not quite ready for the reason 
we came here.  I lean back in my chair and look at him.  "I'm trying 
to decide whether or not to kick your ass."

That flash of asshole annoyance that I've seen way too many times 
races onto his face.  The attitude is building in him like a reflex.  
"For what?" he demands, not quite politely.

"How about knocking up your partner, for starters?"  He stares at me 
for a minute and then drops his eyes with a small grin.  I hold my 
glass up to him.  "Congratulations, Mulder."

He is embarrassed, and then he is pleased, and his smile gets wider as 
he clinks his glass against mine.  I don't think I've seen him smile 
this much in all the time I've known him.  "Thank you," he says, 
meaning it.  I realize this is the first time anyone's said that to 
him, and I am struck by an almost palpable sense of grief for what he 
has endured these last few months.  Hell, his entire life.

"I, uh..."  Shit, just say it.  Like tearing off a bandage.  "I owe 
you an apology."

He looks at me again, and now his face has gone cool, expressionless, 
his eyes watching me closely.  It is his profiler face, and it doesn't 
miss much.  "For what?" he asks again, this time quietly, the way you 
talk to an armed gunman.

"You almost weren't here for this.  That's my fault."  He doesn't 
answer, just looks at me, his finger tracing absently around the rim 
of his glass.  And I spill it, like I was eight years old and my dad 
caught me sucking on one of his cigarettes.  I tell him the whole damn 
story, starting in my office and ending in that hospital with Scully, 
and it spills out of me like water, like blood.  He doesn't say a word 
while I talk, doesn't try to interrupt.  His face is impassive, 
impossible to read.  When I finish, he nods, as if I have given him 
the right answer.

"I know," he says.  "Scully told me."

"Jesus, Mulder!" I explode.  "Why'd you let me say all that if you 
already knew?"

He shrugs.  "Because you needed to.  Didn't you?"  He cocks an eyebrow 
at me, and I frown automatically to discourage him from thinking he's 
cracked through to the inner man or any bullshit like that.  He just 
smiles a little at the bluff.  "Thank you."

"Mulder..."  My voice is tight now, and I recognize it as the one 
Scully heard when I told her these same words.  "I lost you.  You were 
gone, and it was just dumb, blind luck that it wasn't forever.  I 
can't begin to imagine what happened to you, what you went through.  
I have some idea what Scully went through because of it."  He grimaces 
at that.  "I'm sorry.  I was supposed to watch your back, and I let 
you down.  Both of you.  I can't tell you how sorry I am."

He sips at his beer, puts the glass back in the little ring of water 
on the table, and thoughtfully slides it in small circles.  "Well, I 
think resurrecting me pretty much makes up for it.  Don't you?"

There it is.  The truce.  We have settled this like men, the air is 
cleared, and tomorrow everything will be back to normal.  I feel 
myself slip back into who I am.  We drink in silence for a minute.  
It occurs to me that I've known Mulder for almost ten years, and this 
is the first beer I've ever shared with him.  That stuns me.  I like 
Mulder.  Yes, he can be a tremendous pain in the ass, and I've been in 
more hot water and morally compromising situations as a direct result 
of him than anybody has a right to expect.  He spouts more nonsense 
than the entire fourth floor of the state hospital, and I've never 
been convinced he actually believes most of it.  But he is a 
fundamentally decent man, a man of almost unfathomable courage and 
fierce loyalty, and there's no one I would rather have looking out for 
me.

He hasn't always trusted me, and not without reason.  I've had to 
prove myself to him more than once.  We've moved past that, though.  
I've always done my best for them, always tried to protect them.  
Funny how in my mind "he" is "them."  They are so very different, such 
complementary opposites, and they have become inseparable in my 
thoughts.  They are twined and twisted around each other like the 
roots of an old tree.

"When did it start?" I ask suddenly.

He glances up and meets my eyes.  He knows exactly what I mean.  "The 
sex, or the love?"  I narrow my eyes a little to let him know I'm not 
joking, and he shakes his head to let me know he isn't, either.  This 
is none of my business, I have no right to know, but he isn't planning 
to blow me off.  It occurs to me that the only person he has ever been 
able to talk to about Scully is Scully.  He is quiet a minute as he 
decides how to answer me.  "The sex came first," he admits at last, 
and I know I must have looked startled.  He pretends not to notice.  
"Well, it didn't really, but that's what we said, what we had to say 
at the time.  It was after she was...after she came back.  It went on 
for several months.  It was supposed to be just sex.  That was the 
deal, that was the agreement.  Only it never really was, of course.  
She realized it first, realized that there was much more to it and 
what kind of danger we were in, and she ended it."  He falls silent a 
moment, pushing his glass through the water on the table again.  "I 
was so angry.  So hurt, although I didn't let myself realize it at the 
time.  God, those were bad times for us..."

I try to think back, but it seems like so long ago.  I can barely 
remember those people.  In any case, it's rapidly becoming apparent 
that I never had any idea what was going on between them.  Whatever 
happened, they kept it from my sight.

"Then, after Modell..."  I realize he is talking again, and I look at 
him in time to see him pull his eyebrows together at the memory.  
Pusher, I remember with a shudder.  That was a bad one.  We almost 
lost both of them.  I have absolutely no doubt that if Mulder had shot 
Scully, he would have turned the gun on himself next.  It doesn't 
surprise me that it drove them back to each other.  "After that," he 
says quietly, "it wasn't sex anymore, it was making love.  Not that 
often, but when we needed each other.  I had realized somewhere along 
the way what Scully had known for so long.  We loved each other, and 
we both knew it, although we never said it.  Never.  Isn't that 
stupid?"  He shakes his head in disbelief.

My head is spinning.  It may be time to come out of the office a 
little more, because I am clearly missing some important happenings in 
my division.  "You loved her even back then?"

Mulder chuffs out a laugh.  "I loved her long before that.  I think I 
may have loved her from the very beginning.  From our very first case 
together.  We sat in my hotel room in Oregon, and I told her the most 
outrageous story, and she didn't laugh at me."  He smiles a little.  
"She just looked at me with those big, serious blue eyes and tried to 
figure out how it could be true.  No one else has ever done that."

He's spent his entire life as an outsider.  First in his own family, 
then at school, then in the dark labyrinths of criminal minds, then in 
the incomprehensible mysteries and vast conspiracies that have tried 
to claim him as one of their own.  To the rest of the world, probably 
even to himself, he's Spooky - the guy who sees too much, believes too 
much, hopes too much.  And they laugh at him, even as they envy him 
and need him.  He really doesn't give a shit what they think, and he's 
managed not to give in to what he thinks of himself.  I've always 
admired that about him.  But it's got to get lonely inside his head.  
Scully gave him a place of refuge, where he wasn't alone anymore.  
From day one she's respected him, accepted him, willingly stepped into 
his nightmares with him and pulled him out the other side.  She has 
stood by him and protected him fiercely, even when I've pleaded with 
her to cut and run.  Who wouldn't fall in love with that?

Mulder sighs across the table, staring down into his nearly empty 
glass.  He is still telling the story.  "Then came the cancer...Ruskin 
Dam...Antarctica...that idiot Ritter..."  He shakes his head.  "So 
many times when I almost lost her.  After Padgett, when I found her 
covered in blood and realized it had almost happened again...It scared 
the shit out of me, and there just wasn't any good reason to pretend 
anymore.  Not one that I could believe in.  It was the last lie 
between us, and we were both so tired of it.  So we started telling 
the truth."

I am doing the math in my head, and I don't much like the result.  
They've been sleeping together, at least intermittently, for six 
years.  If I'm hearing him right, they've been a couple for more than 
two.  How did I have no idea this was going on?  I've heard the 
rumors, of course.  Everybody in the damn Bureau has heard the rumors.  
But I ignored them, shrugged them off, because they have the best 
partnership I've ever seen, and I decided a long time ago that don't 
ask, don't tell can be a useful policy.  More than that, I never 
really believed the stories.  They were tight, devoted, maybe even 
cosmically linked somehow, and I knew there was love there.  This 
six-year history frankly stuns me, though.

"I didn't know."

"You weren't supposed to."  He drains the last of his beer and leans 
his elbows on the table.  "I'm not surprised you didn't see it.  We 
hardly noticed the change ourselves."  I feel my eyebrows shoot toward 
my forehead in disbelief as I stare at him, and he smiles.  
"Honestly.  We were already so much a part of each other that it just 
wasn't that different.  And it's not like it suddenly got easy to be 
us just because we had said the words."  He shrugs.  "We just got to 
see each other naked without one of us being in imminent danger of 
bleeding to death."

"How romantic," I say dryly.

Mulder's eyes flick up at me again.  "Romance isn't nearly deep enough 
for what this is."

He's right.  Theirs is not a hearts and flowers kind of relationship.  
It's a pulling each other back from the brink, fighting to the death 
kind of relationship.  It's more primal than romance, more basic than 
body chemistry, more transcendent than poetry.  That sounds like 
something he would say, and I don't care for the sound of it in my 
head.  There's an uncomfortable amount of longing in it, for even a 
little of what they have.  "Do you want to get married?" I ask, and 
wonder immediately where that came from.

"Are you proposing?"

"Don't be an asshole, Mulder."

He smiles when I scowl at him, but it fades quickly to just a slight 
tilt at the corner of his mouth.  "We've made our vows to each other."

I nod, slowly.  There doesn't seem to be a lot more to say.  We sit in 
silence for a minute.  It's okay.  Like I said, I like Mulder.  I'm 
not exactly comfortable with him - he's too unpredictable for that - 
but I think we understand each other.

"Well," he says at length, straightening in his chair.  "Thanks for 
the beer, and the conversation.  I should be..."

"Getting home?" I suggest.

He grins.  "Yeah.  Getting home."  He stands and looks down at me.  
"I'm glad you came by."

"So am I."

"Come anytime."

His eyes are serious, and I just nod, slowly.  "Thanks."

We look at each other a minute, until he is satisfied with what he 
sees.  "We'll see you soon."

I think about saying something idiotic about how lucky he is, but it 
would be a waste of breath.  Nobody knows better than Mulder that 
every second of his life is a great cosmic present.  He shakes my 
hand, and I watch him walk out of the door.  I have a feeling he'll 
jog home.  Mulder, the ultimate outsider, has found his place.  I sit 
at the table a little longer, looking into my empty glass.

-Fin-