TITLE: East Of Africa
AUTHOR: Blue Mohairbear
FANDOM: X-Files
PAIRING: Mulder/Skinner
RATING: NC-17, to be safe (sexy fantasy)
FEEDBACK E-MAIL: bluemohairbear@t-online.de
AUTHOR WEBSITE: http://members.theglobe.com/ratboyx (thank you, Jadzia!)
SERIES: PWP, (1/1)
ARCHIVING: Yes
DISCLAIMER: I make them happy, CC doesn't.
SUMMARY: Skinner is in a coma and Mulder talks him out of it - in a typical and
very mulderesque way
WARNING: I've decided not to apologize anymore for writing schmoop. I'm just
warning you sap-haters out there: this is schmoop. <g>
Notes: Please don't bother looking for a plot, there is none. The description of
the technical stuff in the room of a coma patient may be incorrect, I have only
very few experience with hospitals, thank God.

This one is for my friend and beta from heaven, Sergeeva. Thanks for everything,
love! ;)

And, yes, I *am* working on the sequel for Airport! And there'll be sex in it,
too! :)

******************
East Of Africa
by Blue Mohairbear
July 22, 99
*****************

Mulder nodded briefly at the guard who was sitting in front of the door and
flashed his badge at him. The guard nodded back, likewise briefly, and immersed
himself in his vampire novel again. If he *did* ask himself why this slightly
strange Agent came to visit so often and at such odd hours, he knew better than
to show it.

Mulder took a deep breath and entered the room. His first glance over to the bed
showed him that the patient lay there exactly as he had left him this morning.
Pale. An oxygen mask over nose and mouth. Lots of multicolored tubes in, out of,
and around his body, all connected to monitors whose beeping and ticking sounds
already grated on Mulder's nerves. The loud hissing of the respirator.

He sat down on the chair beside the bed. Watched his boss' white face. The
bruises on the cheeks and around the eyes had almost faded in the last five
days, the stitches on the left cheek and the left side of the bald head, where
ugly wounds had been, were healing nicely. Everything seemed to be going well -
except that Skinner didn't seem want to wake up. Mulder stared at his boss,
chewing his lip. Skinner appeared almost fragile to him, which was frightening -
but also roused a fierce protective instinct in him.

"Hello, sir. It's me. I'm back. Scully says hi. She did the autopsy this
morning, you know, the Miraghelli case. She refused to admit that the dead guy's
intestines looked... well, a lot not-intestinny, you know. She said that was
just due to his dying in his car. Well, exactly, she said it was his dying in
his car while the car went through that metal press. But frankly,sir, this
doesn't look like a metal press-pressed car. I read about something like that in
one of the last MUFON Journals and... "

He trailed off, wishing fervently for just a small, a tiny sign of reaction from
the man in the bed. But he saw nothing other than the regular rising and falling
of the big chest. That big chest which he had been watching regularly in the FBI
gym for the last months. Months...? Ha. Come on, Mulder. It has been almost a
year.

"Uh, anyway, you know Scully. She kicked me out of there and told me to get some
proper work done. I tried, really. I did some researching on the house that had
vanished over night, you remember, the 302 I asked you for before... well,
before they got you."

He sighed. Tentatively, he stretched his hand out and brushed his fingers over
his boss' hand - over the small part that wasn't covered with tubes, needles and
white tape. The skin felt like paper, smooth and cool.

"Come *on*, Walter, where have you gone to. Come back. I'm quite sure you can
hear me. The Bureau needs you. The X-Files need you. Scully... and I... we need
you, too." He swallowed. "We miss you, sir, you know."

*I* miss you like hell, Walter. Miss you so much it hurts me.

The regular hiss of the respirator. SSSSSS-in. FFFFFFF-out. The bip-bip-bip of
that shitty little green monitor. The green hurt his eyes. Mulder didn't even
want to know what it was monitoring. He just hated it. He hated this room, he
hated this whole fucking building. The voices and the hasty steps in the hall
outside, the smell of disinfectant and sickness, the white clothes. Needles. The
fact that Skinner was lying here before him, motionless. In a perfect
MulderWorld, there would be no hospitals. No needles. No sick people. Oh, yeah -
and spiders. No spiders, either.

"Communication is a fascinating thing, Walter, you know that?" Mulder leaned
forward and searched the still face under the mask with his eyes. "They say that
of all the senses, hearing is the one that lasts the longest when you are in a
coma. That's why they let coma patients hear music and have their family and
friends talk to them. Scully told me not to talk too much nonsense or you might
decide to stay where you are. Haha. Well, of course... she doesn't know I'm here
now. She doesn't know about most of the times I'm here. She could ask questions
I don't want to answer. Another sort of communication - avoid Scully's
questions."

He shoved the chair nearer to the bed, as near as possible. Studied what he
could see of Skinner's pale face. So silent. No scowl, no stern look, no tight
lips. Everything looked relaxed, but in a very disconcerting way. In a ... wrong
way. Mulder swallowed.

"Did you know that trees communicate through scents? There are trees that emit a
warning scent when enemies begin to feed on them. The wind transports it to
their fellow trees and causes them to produce a bitter constituent that makes
the leaves inedible. That's how they prevent plagues of certain bugs." He
cleared his throat. It was dry from talking.

"Just getting a coffee, Walter. Be back in a minute, ok? Don't go anywhere - not
without me, at least." If Scully were here she would glare at him for making
sick jokes and tell him that coffee only dehydrates the body more and and pester
him to drink at least two litres of mineral water per day. He sighed. The coffee
tasted dreadful. Like old, moldy rugs. Moldy *decaf* rugs. He grimaced, drew
another cup for the guard out of the machine and wandered back to Skinner's
room.

"Hi, I'm back." He sat down on the ugly orange plastic chair - he hated that
chair, too - and touched the back of Skinner's hand again with his finger.
Stroked it lightly, drawing small circles. He could feel the tendons under the
thin layer of cool skin. Cleared his throat and tried to ignore the sudden
feeling of loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him. He was used to ignoring
feelings like loneliness. Wasn't he.

"Now, that's cool of the trees, isn't it. Really clever. The acacias in the
african savannah do that, too, did you know that? As soon as one of them senses
a giraffe cropping at its leaves, it sets that warning scent off. The breeze
transports it to the fellow acacias and wham! - all the leaves taste bitter. And
you know what? That's the reason why giraffes graze against the direction of the
wind."

He sighed. Looked at his watch. 9 pm. Ok. He took a deep breath. Might as well
get it over with, he thought. Skinner can't pounce and tear me to pieces,
anyway. Not at the moment, that is. He leaned forward, pulled the chair nearer
to the bed and touched Skinner's chest.

"Um. Ok, Walter. What I was really trying to say... um. This communication stuff
and all that. Well... " He sighed and shook his head.

"I feel so stupid here, Walter. You wouldn't believe *how* stupid. I don't feel
stupid when I try to convince you there's a Fountain of Youth or
shapeshifters... But this... " He cleared his throat. "Ok." He caught himself
tugging at his lower lip and let his hand fall into his lap, the other one still
on the steadily lifting chest before him.

"Why I told you all this communication stuff, Walter, is because I think
communication works in strange ways sometimes and I think you can hear me. I've
read that it is immensely important for people who are in a coma to hear someone
they know. And to feel them, too..." He lightly stroked Skinner's chest,
cautious not to touch the tubes, and took a deep breath.

"What I'm *really* trying to tell you here, Walter, is-" He bit his lip, then
took another deep breath. "- is that I love you." The feeling that rose inside
him was a mix of deep relief and panic. He had said it. He had really said it.
It was out.

"Well, I love you and I want ... well, *something* with you. I don't know what
exactly I want, I just know it's you. And I'm not planning on a one-nighter
here, Walter. I want you in my life."

The panic threatened to overwhelm him. But he *had* said it now, hadn't he. If
Skinner had heard him, he might as well finish this and wait for the AD to wake
up and kill him.

"So, Walter, if you... if you *can* hear me and if you feel like you wanna kill
me just now, I can understand. But if you don't want me, can you please just
pretend you didn't hear anything at all? I mean, nobody's ever gonna know,
right? I promise, in that case I'll never mention it again. Really.

But *if* you hear me, Walter, and you should want me, too - then I'm afraid
you'll have to be the one to make the first step. Okay, of course you could say
now that I've made the first step already, but - Walter, I don't think I could
make a move on you in the office. I don't even have the nerve to do it when
we're not in the office. Remember when we were together in Chicago, the Benson
case? I couldn't sleep both nights because I knew you were in the next room and
there was only a door between us. It drove me crazy." He sighed. His thumb
stroked over the ugly hospital gown over Skinner's heart. He felt the slow,
regular beating under his palm. He sighed.

"Now you know everything. I've been trying to tell you this for over a year now.
Don't be mad at me for using such a shitty situation to break the news to you,
but... like I said, I just couldn't do it otherwise and I might never have said
a word. I think, maybe, you *might* be interested, but it's so damn hard to tell
with all those fucking walls you've built around you. I want to get behind those
walls, Walter. I want to see what's there. And I'm sure, I *know*, you are full
of surprises. All of them waiting for me." Then something dawned to him.

"Shit. I just realized, Walter- - if you can't hear me then of course you won't
say anything because you don't know about all this and I'll never know if you
don't want me or just didn't hear me. Shit. I'll have to think of something,
here."

Suddenly, Mulder felt tired. Tired and empty and hopeless and lonely. He kept on
lightly stroking Skinner's chest.

"Hey, Walter... whatever you want or whatever you hear - just come back, ok?" He
got up and looked over to the door. It was still closed, the nightly sounds of
the hospital far away. Quickly, he bent down and kissed Skinner's cheek.

"See you tomorrow."


*****

He was wading through the thickets of a shadowed nightmare when his cellphone
rang. He groaned, fumbled around the sofa and found the cell at about the fifth
ring. Briefly considered shooting Scully. It could only be Scully at this time -
what time was it,anyway? Hell. His tongue felt like a dead mouse. Tasted like a
dead mouse.

"Scully, this better be good."

"He's awake, Mulder."

"He's - oh." Mulder sat up. "When?"

"About twenty minutes ago. He still hasn't said anything, but he seems to
understand where he is and what happened. The doctors-"

"I'm on my way, Scully."

"Mulder, that isn't necessary. The doctors are with him. I just wanted to let
you know. Go back to bed... err, to sofa."

"No, it's okay. Oh god, I'm glad, Scully. I'm glad."

"Me too, Mulder." Scully sighed.

The news began to sink slowly into his fogged brain. Walter was back. Mulder
felt giddy with relief as six days and nights of fear and sorrow slid off him.
Leaned back and rested his head on the arm of the sofa. Scully was right, of
course. It wasn't necessary. In fact, it would look more than a little odd if he
rushed to the hospital now, in the middle of the night. He was just an agent.
One of many. One who already *had* visited his superior suspiciously often.

"Go back to sleep, Mulder. We can visit him tomorrow. Or rather, this
afternoon."

"What do you mean, this afternoon, Scully? What time is it?"

"Two-thirty."

Mulder groaned.

******
He forced himself not to rush to the hospital in the morning. He went to the
office and tried to appear busy. He could consider himself lucky when his many
visits in the hospital had gone unnoticed. Afternoon was the earliest time when
a visit would look normal.

How would Skinner be? Would he remember anything? Had he recognized whoever had
attacked him and left him half dead in the Hoover parking lot? And had he,
Mulder, really told Skinner that he *loved* him? Suddenly, he felt as if he was
in a bad novel.

"Crazy", he muttered. "Totally crazy. He's gonna kill me. He's gonna hate me.
He's gonna... oh, I don't know. Fuck."

Fuck, yeah. Exactly. Fucking. Now *there* was something to think about. Lying on
a bed, Skinner draped over him, the big, hard, hot, muscular body covering his
own from head to toe, burying him under that huge furry chest, Skinner's elbows
planted firmly by the sides of Mulder's head, big paws entwined in Mulder's
hair, that sensual mouth plundering his while a big, a *really* big, hard, wet
erection rubbed slowly against his own and-

"M-u-l-d-e-r...!"

Um.

Scully...?

Oh. Scully.

"Earth to Mulder...?"

Mulder blushed.

"Um - yeah, Scully. What is it?"

"What it is, Mulder? You are mumbling to yourself, I've been trying the
'Houston, Houston' thing for an eternity now, you haven't even noticed I'm in
the same room with you for the last fifteen minutes and *you* ask *me* what it
is?" Her blue eyes narrowed. Mulder had the terrible feeling she was zooming in
on his forehead and suddenly could see every single image that had been flashing
through his mind a few moments ago. He felt his blush deepen and that made him
blush even more.

"Do you have a fever, Mulder?" She reached out to his forehead, but he shrank
back, scowling defiantly at her.

"I'm fine, Scully. No fever, no nothing, ok?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against his desk.

"Okay, Mulder. Shoot."

"...."

"Mulllderrr...."

"God, Scully, you'e scary. It's nothing. I'm fine. Just thinking."

"Thinking. Uh-huh." Scully had "We Are Not Amused" clearly written all over her
beautiful face.

Mulder sighed. He was in a trap. When his partner got that terrier look... he
decided to go for the "Father Ralph" trick: disguise the truth with the truth.
Hey, he *had* watched "The Thornbirds", even if he couldn't ever admit that to
anybody. Father Ralph had called that "the peak of perfection of diplomacy". Ha.
He grinned up into his partner's blue eyes.

"I'm terrified to visit Skinner today, Scully. I tried to wake him with... um,
sort of a shock therapy. I proposed to him and now I'm afraid he remembers what
I said and... well, Scully, you know. That man knows at least twenty ways to
kill a person quickly and silently."

Scully rolled her eyes and hit his forehead with a pencil.

*********

"Why are you grinning?"

"I'm not grinning, Mulder."

"Yes you are. Come on, Scully, share the joke."

"I think Nurse Sanderson is a bit in love with him."

"In *love*? With *Skinner*? Come on, Scully. No nurse could fall in love with a
patient like Skinner. Not when she could have chosen a scorpion or a
rattlesnake. That man is hell around a hospital. I mean, look how he's been
behaving over the last five days, scowling, growling, bitching, rejecting
medication - what? *What*!?"

"Oooh, nothing, Mulder. Nothing. Really."

******

Mulder peered through the door. For the first time in several days, the room was
silent. No doctors, no nurses, no Scully. And no Skinner, either, he realized as
he stepped in and looked over to the bed. Then he heard the hiss of a shower and
knew where the patient was. And, unfortunately, the mental picture of a naked,
wet Skinner standing in the steaming fog and lathering that great body of his
gave him a throbbing hard-on. Not good, this. Especially when Skinner- oh. The
water had stopped. Mulder clutched the file he had brought as an excuse for his
visit. If Skinner came out of the bathroom now, naked, and found Mulder here -
he would not be happy. Definitely not. Mulder threw the file on the unmade bed
and decided to say hello to the coffee machine.

Ten minutes later, he was back, with two cups of bad coffee in his hands.
Skinner was sitting on the bed, in blue sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He
acknowledged Mulder's entrance with a nod. He was looking almost his old self
again. The last faint traces of the black eye had vanished. The scars had
receded to a nice pink already. He took the styrofoam cup Mulder offered him.
"Thanks."

Mulder caught himself staring at Skinner's naked feet. The man had nice feet.
Long and elegant. Cute, somehow. Sexy. Like... no, Mulder. Not now. He looked up
and realized that Skinner had caught him staring. Blushed. Cleared his throat.

"How do you feel, sir?"

Skinner shrugged. "I'm fine. They're going to let me out of here tomorrow." He
took a sip of the coffee and made a face. Mulder grinned.

"I know, sir. Dreadful stuff. *And* decaf. There should be a special legal
punishment for people who produce shit like this and call it coffee."

"Maybe the whole company is owned by aliens and they just haven't found out how
to make good coffee, Mulder."

Mulder stared. That had been a joke, hadn't it? Skinner had made a joke? His
boss' face was calm and impassive, as usual. No, wait. There was something
twinkling in his eyes. A... smile. Suddenly Mulder was very aware of the fact
that he was alone with Skinner for the first time since... he had told him. He
fervently wished there was more oxygen in the room. His heart rate climbed a few
notches.

Skinner settled back against the headboard of his bed, shoving the pillow behind
his back. Pulled one knee up and rested the hand with the cup on it, the other
endlessly long leg stretched out over the bed. Took the file Mulder had placed
there and, after a quick dismissive look, laid it aside on the bedstand. Took
his glasses off, laid them on the file. Rubbed his face with one hand. Looked at
Mulder.

"You read to me."

Whoosh. That was his blood, racing to his heart. Mulder swallowed.

"Yeah. You remember that?"

"I'm not sure. Walt Whitman *and* Tom Sawyer?"

"Yeah." Mulder tried a weak grin. "I thought you might appreciate some variety."

Oh god. Heremembersheremembersheremembershe-

"And..." Skinner shifted a bit, looked studiously into his cup. "You... talked
to me?"

Uh-oh. Mulder tensed. Tried to breathe normally. Failed. Hoped he wouldn't sound
like Mickey Mouse because he had the feeling his throat was completely filled
with heartbeat.

"Yes." No Mouse, thank god. "What do you remember?"

The 64 000 Dollar question. He caught himself biting his lip. Skinner frowned
slightly.

"Africa. Giraffes? Acacias?"

"Oh. Uhm. Yeah. The communication thing." Relax, Mulder. Just the harmless
animals of the beautiful african savannah. No problem and maybe he didn't hear
the rest of it and you are out of this and-

WHAM.

Mulder stared. Set his cup down and considered running.

Skinner grinned.

A broad, boyish grin. A beautiful, cute, absolutely kissable grin.

An ad flashed through Mulder's head. *Walter Skinner, new and improved. Buy the
new smiling edition, NOW.*

"Yes."

"Huh?" Mulder startled, still totally entranced by that smile.

Skinner leaned back against the headboard, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes
twinkling mischievously at Mulder over the styrofoam cup.

"Yes."

"Uh... yes what?" Oh, those eyes. Help me.

"Yes everything. Everything you told me. Everything you asked me." Skinner
grinned again and the impact on Mulder was... could you be turned into a fluffy
cotton ball just by a smile?

Then Skinner took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"If you really said what I think you said, Mulder, you'll know", he said in a
low voice that left Mulder shivering all over. "If it was just my imagination -
then too bad. For both of us, I might add." That grin again, oh god.

Mulder swallowed. And stared. He just couldn't do anything else but stare at his
boss, who was sitting there in sweats and a tee and who looked so young and so
different without his glasses and... and all this couldn't be real. Skinner
couldn't mean... could he? This was....

He saw Skinner watching him. And he suddenly knew that the man could read and
understand every thought and every emotion he saw flickering over his agent's
face. Saw Skinner's face soften. Become tender. Watched him put his cup away.
Then Skinner reached his hand out to him.

"Come here."

Mulder blinked. Blinked again. Swallowed. Wondered if he could trust his knees
enough to stand. Got up from his chair and hesitantly sat down on the bed.

"Hey." His voice sounded husky. His galloping heartbeat made him dizzy.

Skinner touched his cheek. Stroked him, lightly, almost diffidently. And with
the lightest pressure, he pulled Mulder's face to his own.

"Hey", he whispered back. And kissed him.

And the sun was out and it was hot, hot, and the sky was a deep blue and the
giraffes ambled past the acacias in their beautiful slow motion glide and for
the moment, the lions were forgotten.

~~~The End~~~

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