The sixth floor was still and quiet, the offices dark behind locked doors.

The fluorescent lights hummed loudly in the otherwise silent hallway, and the floor gleamed with fresh wax. This late in the evening, even the most dedicated at the FBI had turned off his or her computer and headed home.

Behind his own office door Assistant Director Walter Skinner stood outside the dim circle of light from his desk lamp, staring out the window at the lights of his city. The colors of distant neon signs flashed dully within the darkened room and reflected on the surface of the man's glasses. He had been standing there for some time, motionless, while the minutes crawled by. Late as it was, he still looked much as he had when he had arrived at his office almost 15 hours ago -- his crisp shirt was only slightly rumpled, his tie was still knotted neatly against his buttoned collar. 

Skinner turned and moved back to his desk, dropping his glasses onto it with a heavy sigh. He rubbed his temples, as he often did, hoping it would help relieve his headache. He yanked open a desk drawer and took out the extra-large bottle of aspirin, shook out a couple of tablets and tossed them back with half a glass of water.

He put his glasses back on and sat once again staring blankly ahead for several minutes. At length he reached for the letter that sat in the center of his blotter and read it again. It still said the same thing.

The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was pleased to offer Walter Skinner a promotion to Deputy Director.

He was still stunned. The letter had taken him completely by surprise.

He considered himself damaged goods -- even if he had survived the ten-year mess he had found himself buried in. And he had thought the Director felt the same way.  Promotion should have been impossible after... well, after he had played such a strange role in everything that happened. The lines had blurred so many times.

After the Consortium and its network had been brought down, after the silent, violent war had been fought and won, the Bureau had cleaned house. Skinner had been astounded that, in the aftermath, he had been cleared of any and all wrongdoing. He had even been cleared of the murder of Alex Krycek, in spite of the photographic evidence.

Well, it was pretty hard to convict a man of murder when the alleged victim walked into the hearing to testify on behalf of the accused. The committee, having seen and heard other bizarre testimony over the preceding months, had almost gratefully accepted the explanation offered by the acknowledged Resistance hero. In the end, not only had the charges been dropped, but Skinner had been congratulated and even thanked for his courage and sacrifice.

Skinner had kept his position and his responsibilities, but he had believed that there would be no upper floor in his future. Over the past three and a half years he had managed to earn again the respect he had formerly commanded, and he had been satisfied with that. Satisfied but restless.

Now he had been offered the Deputy Director's chair -- what he had once considered the height of his ambition. Not so long ago, he had expected only to be dead or in prison. He had Alex to thank for his current situation and he knew it.

He had thanked Alex -- eventually. After the fistfight, the curses and

accusations, the tortuous explanations, and the desperate fucking. After they had had time to work out the nagging little details of the wounds and betrayals. After they had finally found it in themselves to make love to each other the way they once had.

In the long run, Skinner had been convinced. Alex loved him. Alex had loved him before, during and after everything. The proof was just too obvious to argue.

In the months following that blinding revelation, Skinner had finally let

himself love Alex with every ounce of honesty and passion he possessed. At times he had even wondered how he could ever have been so afraid of loving Alex, of giving him everything and holding nothing back. He and Alex were better than good together -- they were equals in bed and out of it. Skinner had not only loved Alex, he had loved their relationship. He had believed in it. Trusted it.

And then he had come home one night to find a note instead of his lover.

The note said, "Walt. You know that I love you. I can only hope you will understand why I have to go. You're going to be busy for a while doing what you need to do. I need to do something, too. But to do it, I've got to be free -- truly free -- for the first time in my life. Yours always, Alex."

Skinner leaned back in his chair and stared sightlessly across the room, remembering. The pain had turned to numbness after a while, and he had closed himself off again. He had had work to do and his self-respect to find, and he blocked everything and everyone out in order to achieve what he wanted. Alex would come back. Or not.

The first postcard had come six months later. It pictured a sailboat and was postmarked Nantucket. It said, "Walt. Collected on a debt and am back from the stars with a new arm. Am now learning to sail while heading for warmer water. Yours, Alex."

Over the next couple of years he had sporadically received postcards from wherever Alex found himself --  The Pier House Hotel in Key West, a beach on Andros Island, a hotel on Martinique. Another card featured a picture map of Costa Rica. Later there was a card from The Giggling Marlin club in Cabo San Lucas, and a card picturing the Carnival madness in Rio. The most recent postcard had been mailed from Nassau. They all said the same thing.

"Wish you were here. Yours, Alex."

Mine, he thought. You were mine for six months. I was happy for six

months. And then you left me -- again -- you son of a bitch.

He removed his glasses and rubbed his temples again. Why tonight?Why were the memories crowding in on him tonight, making him remember? They were robbing him of the victory this promotion would be and leaving a taste of ashes in his mouth. Goddammit!

He guessed he only had himself to blame. He should never have believed that Alex could truly love a surly old bastard like him. Not forever like they had promised each other. Alex had lied to him, but he had lied to himself, too. He should have known he could never be good enough for Alex.

Well, it looked like he was good enough for the Deputy Directorship... and that was no mean feat. He should be happy. It should make up for the fact that the one true love of his life had dumped him and had literally sailed off into the sunset. The job was real, something he could never doubt.

Just then, in spite of everything, a part of Skinner's conscience bravely

stepped forward and reminded him that he had doubted Alex's love before and had been proven wrong. It whispered that he should give Alex the benefit of the doubt, even after all this time. So Skinner thought about it.

In the dimness of his quiet office, he allowed himself to picture the best

case scenario -- the one he had ignored for so long. What if Alex... what if he had meant it? That he needed to experience freedom for the first time in his life -- to choose for himself what he wanted to do, where he wanted to be. It was more than possible, after all; he knew what Alex's life had been. And Alex had known that Skinner had felt himself duty-bound to stay in Washington. Even if Alex had asked him, Skinner wouldn't have gone with him.

Okay. For the sake of argument, he would believe Alex needed the freedom. Did that mean that Alex had trusted Skinner to understand? And to keep loving him? To wait for him? 

Well, he owed Alex the understanding. And, God help him, he did still love him. Was three years long enough to wait? He thought of the only words he had heard from his lover in all that time.

"Wish you were here. Yours, Alex."

It was suddenly very important to Skinner to know if that was true. Hesitating only briefly, he spun his rolodex and reached for the telephone.

***********

It had taken Alex longer to make the crossing than he thought it might, but it didn't matter. When he'd signed on to help an old friend of Mulder's sail from Nantucket to St. John that first year, he'd learned a lot more than about what all those ropes were for.

He'd also learned to kick back and relax, to let time slow down. He'd learned to fish. He'd learned to use the damned sunscreen and wear a fucking hat. He'd learned to like beer and the occasional rum drink. And he'd learned that he liked the sea -- the smell of it, the sounds of it, the feel of it under the hull. He'd learned that he loved the islands.

He'd helped out on other boats, too -- shrimpers out of New Orleans and Key West, freighters on short hauls. And while shrimping and freighting weren't his style, at least he had some experience to base his decision on. He'd made some friends, mostly just casual acquaintances he kept running into. But he wasn't looking for anything deeper -- he certainly wasn't looking for a lover.

Alex had finally decided to invest in a sailboat of his own. He had bought it brand new -- top of the line, with all the bells and whistles, even a GPS -- and he could handle it nicely alone. He lived on it. He loved it.

He sailed for his own pleasure and on his own time. So the fact that he sailed into the marina at Cat Cay instead of just continuing on to Bimini wasn't any big deal. He'd make it to the other island... oh, whenever. He eased the boat into a slip as a boy caught the bow line to help him tie up. Cat Cay was not his favorite hangout -- no place to really relax unless you owned or rented a home here. But it had a store and he had run out of beer.

He put on a clean tee shirt and a more respectable pair of jeans. Then he grabbed his wallet and headed for the marina office.  The staffer on duty checked his documents then handed him a slip of paper.

"When you radioed in, I forgot to tell you that you had a message waiting. Here you are, sir. And have a pleasant stay."

Message? Waiting for him here, where he'd never planned to come in the first place? How in the hell...

He unfolded the note and read, "Bonefishing in Bimini. Wish you were here. Yours, Walt." It was dated six days ago.

***********

Walter Skinner finished his beer and tossed a few coins on the bar as he left. It was nearly mid-afternoon and he still had to stop by Manny's for groceries. But the fishing had been too good today and he'd stayed out in the mangroves a little longer than he'd planned. Or maybe he was just getting used to "island time." Things were so unstructured and... lazy. He was really beginning to like it.

He had been on Bimini for almost a week now. It was a small island, and it didn't have much in the way of scenery or entertainment. But it had a decent beach on one side, a nice bay on the other, and clear emerald green water all around. The fishing was great. Skinner had always been a fisherman, but he usually preferred fresh water fishing -- fly-fishing in particular. In the past few days, he had discovered that the saltwater bonefish were a lot of fun to catch with a fly rod. They weren't much good to eat -- they weren't named bonefish for nothing -- so he went strictly catch and release. But the wary things were hard to sneak up on and they fought hard when hooked. It made for a very satisfying day.

He walked at a leisurely pace down the dirt road toward Manny's Market, grinning as he watched the latest group of arrivals fighting their luggage up the steps to the All My Children Hotel. Must be their first visit, too. If he'd known what life on Bimini was like, he'd have only brought a small duffel for his gear. All he'd used out of the suitcase full of stuff he'd brought were his shaving kit, the supply of underwear, his swim trunks, and a pair of shorts. He'd bought a couple of tee-shirts when he got here -- along with a pair of flip-flops, a baseball-type cap, and a beach towel. And he'd made use of the laundry facility over at Blue Water Marina to keep the stuff he was wearing fairly clean.

Skinner's grin grew wider as he imagined what his co-workers in D.C. would say about their starched and pressed, buttoned-down A.D. if they could see him now -- ambling down a dirt road in a sweat-stained turquoise tee shirt, loose khaki shorts, sunglasses hanging from a blue cord around his neck, and hot pink flip-flops on his feet. Maybe he should get someone to take his picture.

He stopped by Nona's street kiosk to buy a loaf of fresh Bimini bread and bought a good bottle of rum at the Lion. He was beginning to feel at ease here, talking easily with the shopkeepers and street vendors. After a few minutes in the market, he ambled back up the road toward his rented cottage with his arms full of bags.

At the cottage, he put the groceries away and grabbed a cold beer to take with him to the shower. The shower was cool and refreshing, and the beer even more so. He stepped into clean briefs and the semi-clean khaki shorts and wandered back through the main room toward the kitchen and the beer.

And he saw Alex standing at the door, looking in through the screen. Skinner froze and stared, his heart suddenly pounding hard.

Alex had got the message. Alex was here. So... what should he do? Wait here? Go to the door and greet him? Surely he could think of something to do besides stand here like an idiot.

But Alex had seen him, and he stepped into the cottage and let the screened door swing shut behind him. The two men stared silently at each other, rooted to the floor.

For Alex, it seemed unreal. Skinner had come to him out of the blue, and he really didn't know what to expect. He hoped he hadn't screwed it all up by leaving the way he had. He had never called or even written more than one stupid line on a few postcards. And now Skinner was here in the flesh. God. He was standing there tanned, lean, half-naked and sexy as hell. And Alex had no idea what the man was thinking.

Skinner was thinking that the past few years had been very, very good to Alex. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days and he needed a haircut, but he looked so... whole. So beautiful. Skinner could not hold back the smile.

That was all it took to break Alex' paralysis. He launched himself across the distance between them and wrapped himself around the man whose arms were open and waiting for him when he got there. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his lover's shoulder, sighing with relief and breathing in the man's familiar scent. He felt Walt's arms around him and his cheek nuzzling against his hair. They stood there quietly, wrapped in the welcome comfort of each other's arms.

After a few minutes, Alex tipped his head back to look into Skinner's face, and he parted his lips just as the other man covered them with his own. They let one kiss flow into another, losing all sense of time as they reacquainted themselves with each other's taste. Finally, Skinner ran his tongue over Alex's lips one last time and drew back.

His voice was husky as he choked out, "I missed you. Goddammit, I missed you so much."

Alex buried his face in Skinner's neck and whispered, "I'm so glad you're here... I'm just so glad you're still here. Your message was dated days ago. I came as fast as I could." He pulled away, laughing. "How did you find me? I mean, the FBI's good, but this is more like ESP!"

Skinner led them over to the couch, not letting go of his grip on the other man. They sat, legs twining, hands roving, touching, making this real. "I called Byers. He narrowed the area down to the Bahamas based on your credit card purchases -- all the routine stuff. Then he actually contacted several marinas to try to get a hint of where you might be headed. A marina where you bought fuel on Andros said you had headed this way. So I booked a couple weeks vacation and left a radio message at every marina in the Biminis. Where were you?"

"Cat Cay. Just twelve miles from here. I got the message this morning." He straddled Skinner's legs and ran his hands over the bare chest and shoulders. "Longest twelve miles of my life. I hoped... I hoped you'd be glad to see me. Your message seemed to be... good. But I've stayed away so long, I really didn't know how you'd feel."

He stilled for a moment and, looking seriously into the deep brown eyes in front of him, he asked, "How do you feel, Walt?"

Skinner reached up and caressed the unshaven face. "I have to admit I didn't know how I felt until Byers told me the name of your boat." He grinned at Alex's sheepish look. "When I realized you had figured out a way to take me with you, I just quit second-guessing myself and came to see you. I was tired of waiting for you to come home."

Alex looked at his lover and said seriously, "I know beyond a doubt my heart would have led me there soon. Very soon." He leaned in for a kiss, but broke it off to say, "Walt, I didn't walk out on you. You do understand that, don't you?"

"I finally worked it out. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I think you were right to do what you did. I couldn't have left just then, and you couldn't have stayed until I was ready to go with you."

"So, how long have we got until you head back to D.C.?"

"Another week. Can you stay?"

"Hell, yes." Alex leaned down to kiss the bare shoulder and whispered, "Can we talk later? I don't think I can wait much longer."

He heard Skinner growl deep in his throat as he pushed Alex off his lap and rose from the couch. "Bed. Now," he said, pulling Alex with him to the other room. They fell onto the hard bed, kissing desperately.

Alex suddenly rolled off and unceremoniously began yanking off his clothes, flinging them anywhere. Skinner pushed his own shorts and briefs off and tossed them across the room with a grin. When they were both naked, Alex crawled on top of Skinner, whose legs fell open to welcome his lover. He leaned forward and their mouths met, hot and hungry.

Much later, Skinner complained about the whisker burn, but it was a half-hearted complaint at best. Alex looked smug and let him go on about it. He was leaning against Skinner, who was propped up against a couple of pillows with Alex sitting between his legs. Skinner wrapped both arms around Alex's waist and nuzzled the ear that was within easy reach.

"Dinner?" he asked.

"Sounds good. But tell me we don't have to cook. I don't have any energy to spare right now."

"How 'bout a quick shower, a shave, and dinner at the Compleat Angler? That will be the perfect setting for you to tell me all about your adventures on the sailing vessel, Sergei."

"Okay."  Alex put his own arms over the two that held him and said softly, "And you can tell me what's got you so wound up." He twisted around to face his lover. "I know you, Walter. And even if it's been a while, I know when something is on your mind. I don't think it's just me. Is it?"

Walter pulled away and rolled sideways to sit on the side of the bed. "No, it's not."

He hadn't planned to say anything yet, but since the opening had come... He did not look at his lover as he said bluntly, "Alex, they've offered me a promotion to Deputy Director. I... I wanted to tell you in person."

"Oh."

Oh.

Alex felt his stomach drop and take his heart with it. He knew Walter deserved it -- more than anyone. He had worked hard for it and suffered for it and... oh, God, he'd wanted it. And now he would be in Washington permanently.

He tried to be happy for Walter's sake. "What did you tell them?" he managed to ask.

Still facing away from Alex, Skinner replied, "I told them I needed some time to think about it, and I took a couple weeks vacation."

Alex felt a little tendril of hope rising, and he crawled across the bed to

sit next to his lover. When Walter still wouldn't look at him, he took Walter's hand in his but didn't move to look into his face. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Well, you know, I've been thinking. Sergei is a great boat, but he's just too small. I figure between the two of us, we've got enough cash to buy a bigger boat. One that would be big enough for the two of us and maybe even some guests every once in a while. I mean, I have my nest egg over in Switzerland and you've probably got every penny you've ever earned."

Skinner looked over at Alex and raised an eyebrow. Not totally effective, naked as he was.

Alex grinned. "Come on, Walt. If we hit the brakes now, we'd skid for

twenty years."

Alex moved to kneel on the floor in front of his lover and took both his hands in his. "I know you've always wanted the Deputy Director's office, and I swear I'll still love you if you take it. And I promise I'll come to D.C. on a regular basis to be with you if that's what you want.

"But, Walt, just think about this. Please. Think about not taking it. Think about us on a sailboat, or even in a house near the coast some place where we could go island hopping every once in a while. God, you'd love it -- I know you would. And it would be a new life, without all the history, without all the...

"Look. I know this is out of the blue for you, but I've been thinking about it for a while. I want to be with you. But I just can't live in D.C. any more. Not forever, not even most of the time."

Alex took a deep breath and said earnestly, "You're my anchor, Walt, and I'm tied to wherever you are. But just think about it. Please?"

Skinner squeezed the hands that held his -- two hands. He lifted Alex's left hand to his lips and kissed it. "Alex, I don't think I could live like this for years at a time. I might have to find some other work to do. And if I have to work..."

It might as well be in D.C. Alex mentally finished for him.

"But if you're serious, I'll think about it. I want to be with you, too."

"I'm serious."

"Then come to dinner and tell me why this Marine should become a sailor."

The next week was one long, lazy blur of drinking and talking, fishing and sailing, laughing and loving. Skinner could see that Alex had found his peace and his place of comfort. Watching Alex's green eyes sparkle and glint as he told his stories, he knew his lover would never be happy away from the islands for any length of time.

As for himself, he could definitely see the attraction. Alex was showing him a whole new world, and he liked it. He could spend months doing this with Alex, but years?

The night before Skinner was due to take the seaplane back to Miami, they made love gently. Alex was riding his lover's cock, his eyes locked onto Walter's. The look of love on Walter's face was so intense that Alex felt an unfamiliar burning behind his eyes and had to blink the moisture away. He leaned down to meet his lover's kiss, and they sped up their movement. Alex gave out a soft cry, muffled against loving lips. As he gently eased back down onto the bed, he heard murmured words of commitment from the man who held him so close. Then, with a last lingering kiss, they both drifted to sleep.

When morning came, Alex walked down to the terminal with his lover, waiting for any sign of what he intended to do. They were watching the incoming seaplane land in the water, when Skinner turned to him and said, "I have to go back and speak with the Director. To see Washington again and give it a chance. Do me a favor?"

"Yes."

"Get a phone. Sergei has every gadget known to man, Alex. One of them has got to be a phone. Or at least figure out a way to talk to me in the next two weeks. Where will you be?"

Alex thought for a minute and said, "I'll be here. I'll get a room at the Big Game Fishing Club. They've got phones. I'll wait here for you to call."

They had said their "proper" goodbyes at the cottage, so the slight hug they gave each other before Skinner crammed his large body into the seaplane wasn't much more than a handshake. Alex watched the plane roll down the ramp into the green water and race across the bay before it lifted off and banked toward the States.

Alex spent the next ten days wondering if he'd said everything he could have, made every argument he could. He spent too much time wishing he hadn't stayed away from D.C. for so long, maybe making it easier for Walter to live without him. On the eleventh day, he had given up hope that Skinner would be coming back. He sat on the beach staring across the ocean toward America, feeling lost somehow. He saw the afternoon plane banking in for its landing in the bay on the other side of the island and thought it was time to head back to his room and wait for the phone call to come.

When he opened his door, he saw that a note had been slipped under it -- a telephone message taken while he was out. The message read:

"Alex. Wish I was there. Got loose ends to tie up, retirement papers to sign, and lots of ideas. Meet me in Key West in four weeks? Yours, Walt."

Alex  whooped and ran for the phone, needing to hear Walt's voice confirming dates and plans. He knew they had a lot of things to work out, that things weren't going to be perfect for the two of them immediately.

But if Walter Skinner had decided to make a sea change in his life, he'd make sure they got that way pretty damned fast.

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

The End