Red and White, Part One

by Nikita

Title: Red and White, part 1/?

Author: Nikita

Summary: After Redux II, Skinner finds himself wanting to comfort Mulder - things get a bit out of hand.

Disclaimer: Don't own them, but they're awfully persuasive.

Warnings: M/M slash, romance, angst, etc....

Rating: I originally only planned up to R, but the last scene I wrote for this is definitely about NC-17, I'd say.

Hope you all enjoy this! This is for Tesa - she's far too persuasive.



Author's Notes: This fic takes place immediately following the events of Redux II and is the sequel to my other fic, 'Conviction' (available at the Basement, mskslash group and my website). I meant to finish this story before posting, but considering how long it's getting in my head...I better post in parts if I'm to finish it.


Red symbolizes the vital force, energy, passion, courage and action. It is associated with leadership, power, the will and the body. Spontaneity, impulsiveness and the instinctual sexual forces are its qualities. It stimulates activity, intensity and extroversion. Red brings out the revolutionary and leads us into affirmative thought and action.

White symbolizes purity, union, truth and innocence. Its qualities are cleanliness, self-sacrifice and beginnings. Purity essentially opens us to the deeper levels of existence and renews the souls experience of the moment.


Red: Passion - joy, sexuality, aggression, animal passion, fun.

White: Perfection - hope, faith, purity, perfection, confidence, enlightenment. When mixed it purifies and refines the meaning of that color.

Red and White: need for joy and hope - especially if worn or brought by a healing agent.


12:00 AM

Mulder: I'm sure whatever connections there were; they're being erased right now.

Skinner: They're cleaning up, taking everything away.

Mulder: Not everything. Scully's cancer has gone into remission.

Skinner: That's unbelievable news.

Mulder: It's the best news I could have ever heard.

Skinner: What turned it around?

Mulder: I don't know. I don't think we'll ever know.

Skinner: Can I see her?

Mulder: Yeah. She's in there with her family right now. I'm sure she'd love to see you.


I feel awkward and out of place in Scully's hospital room, but I make sure to congratulate her on her remission and reassure her that her job can wait until she's feeling well enough to come back. Her face is so pale, and her red-rimmed eyes seem impossibly huge. I find it painful to even look at her. I finally make my exit and leave her to her family - she deserves a bit of peace.

As I go back out into the hall, though, I'm reminded of another person in need of peace: Mulder.

But as he looks up at me I'm all the more aware that he isn't likely to have it anytime soon. He's crying. He hears me come out of the room and tries to hide it, ducking his head and wiping surreptitiously at his face under the pretext of reaching for his jacket on the back of the chair - but I notice it all the same. He's been biting his lower lip and it looks rather swollen.

Something falls from his hand as he pulls his jacket on and I stoop to pick it up before he can react. It's the picture I handed him; the blood smeared on the faces is still horrifying to look at. I hand it back to him without a word and he immediately tucks it inside his jacket. I almost protest - it's evidence and I shouldn't have given it to him in the first place, but I find I don't have the heart to ask for it back now.

"Agent look exhausted. How about I take you home?"

He sighs and looks back at Scully's room. I can see the thoughts going through his mind - he wants to stay, but he knows he isn't needed or even particularly welcome right now.

"Sure...only, I don't think I can sleep right now. How about a drink?"

I was expecting a protest; he's never been one to accept help easily - more like he fights you tooth and nail if you dare suggest he needs it. Not to mention the suspicions and doubt he's had about me lately...but he manages to surprise me as he always does. I nod quickly and gesture for him to follow me out to the parking lot.

While I let him into my car, I take another look at his face in the dim light of the streetlamps. He really does look awful, I shouldn't let him drink, but I've promised him one so I start the car and drive. He stares out the window despondently and I'm hesitant to speak. What can I possibly say?


As I pull into my apartment building's parking garage, he suddenly sits up straight in the passenger seat, rubbing his face briskly. I guess he 'did' fall asleep.

"Where - what are we doing here?" he asks suspiciously, pinning me with accusatory glare. I glance at him before pulling into my parking space and turning off the engine.

"You wanted a drink," I say as I open my door and get out.

He climbs out of the car and faces me over the roof of the car. "I didn't mean at your apartment. If you didn't want to go out you could have just dropped me off at a bar...I can see myself home." His eyes are glinting inside his tired face and I'm not sure if I'm pleased to see he's still got a bit of spark to him or if I'd rather he just came with me quietly.

"Look, Mulder, you wanted a drink and I could use one, too. But I don't particularly want to go to a bar just now - come on upstairs where it's comfortable and quiet." I shut my car door and stalk off to the elevator, daring him to follow me.

For the few moments I wait for the elevator car to arrive, I'm sure that he's decided to leave the garage on foot, but as the door opens and I step in, I feel him suddenly step in behind me.

"You better have a good liquor cabinet," he mutters and I look at him as he slumps against the wall behind me.

"I do...but I don't think you should be drinking anything too heavy. How about a beer?"

He sighs and shrugs; there's no more talking until we get to my floor. I'm nervous all of a sudden, fumbling slightly with my key as I become uncomfortably aware of his presence just beside me.

What am I doing? I'm playing with fire. I suddenly want nothing more than to slam him against the door and devour his mouth. Suck that swollen lip inside my mouth and reach down -- the door finally opens and I shove all thoughts aside and concentrate on walking to the kitchen.

"Beer okay?" I ask again, but I get no more of an answer than before. I hear him softly padding through my living room and I pause in front of my refrigerator to close my eyes and take a deep breath. Nothing's going to happen tonight. Nothing. He needs someone to talk to and some rest.

I try not to think about him resting in my bed.

Mulder's standing in the living room, hands shoved in his pockets as he surveys the place as if it's a crime scene. "Thought you might have replaced that by now," he says as I hand him his beer.

I look over to where he's staring and see the gouged desk drawer where my gun used to be locked in. "Haven't gotten around to it, I keep my gun somewhere else." My new gun anyway, the old one lies in an evidence locker still.

He takes a swig of the beer and strolls over to the balcony, staring out the glass door. I find myself staring at his profile; the moonlight gives his face an ethereal glow.

"He showed me my sister."


He turns and looks at me with a small ironic smile. "The Cancerman - he brought a woman, supposedly my sister, to a diner for me to meet. She doesn't remember much of anything and what she does remember...doesn't make sense."

"Why would he do this?" I sit down on the couch and he reluctantly sits next to me, staring at his beer.

"He was trying to convince me to join him - to work for the Syndicate since I'm obviously not respected in my chosen career." He smirks and takes another drink.

"That's a rather odd offer, considering that you've always worked to bring him down."

Mulder snorts and looks at me. "Well, I wasn't too thrilled with the FBI at the moment, but it wasn't a tempting offer, no. That wasn't the only offer I was made lately. Blevins...he wanted me to name you."

I try not to choke on my beer. It's not really that much of a surprise, but to hear it said out loud... "Why didn't you?"

He raises his eyebrows at that, "You have to ask? I knew it wasn't you. And I'd never sell a friend out like that to save my own ass."

Friend? Earlier today he threw the word back in my face, sneering as he said 'thanks, buddy.'

He seems to know what I'm thinking and grimaces. "I should apologize-"

"No. You've been under a lot of stress...and anyone would have been suspicious..." I frown as I notice his thin tired face once more. "...when have you last eaten? Or slept for that matter?"

He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, standing it on end. "I don't remember...I've been a bit busy."

I feel an urge to take care of him - tuck him in bed with soup and crackers, hold him until he sleeps... I've never felt this way about anyone before - I find that I like it.

"Let me make you something to eat."

"Oh, no - I'm fine. I should get going, anyway..."

I stand up and give him my best glare - I've perfected it over the years on my subordinates. "Mulder, you need to eat. I'm not a great cook, but I think I can handle a can of Campbell's soup and a sandwich. You just wait here."

My cupboards are nearly bare, but I do manage to produce two cans of chicken noodle and a jar of peanut butter. I hurry through heating the soup and making a few sandwiches. I carry the food back into the living room only to find Mulder sound asleep on the couch.

"Mulder? I've got food."

"Mmmph," he mutters and turns onto his back.

He's stretched out along the sofa, but his shoes are still on. I sigh and set down the food before reaching down to unlace his shoes and cover him with an afghan. I know it's clichd, but he really does look younger in his sleep - all of the tiny lines of worry and doubt that have lined his forehead the last few months are smoothed out and his eyelashes brush against his cheeks giving him a softer look.

"Goodnight," I murmur and pick up the tray, heading back to the kitchen.

"You told me I needed to know who I could trust...I trust you."

The words are so soft I nearly miss them. When I turn back to look at him I see the faint glitter of his eyes before he turns over again, his back to the room.


When I woke the next morning I fully expected to find Mulder gone. I was surprised instead to hear him in my kitchen wrestling with my coffee maker.

"...Come do you turn this thing on, anyway?" he was muttering. I winced when I saw him nearly break the carafe trying to force it into place and decided to intervene.

"Here, give it to me, Agent, before you break it." I managed to start the coffee without major damage and then turned to face him in the suddenly awkward silence. "Guess you need your caffeine fix this morning?"

He ducked his head and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. "Well, actually, I was trying to do you a favor - make you some coffee to apologize for passing out on your sofa last night. Didn't realize how tired I was..."

Did he even remember what he said last night? I wasn't sure, but I was certain that I didn't want to be the one to bring it up. "That was fine. You obviously haven't had much of a chance to sleep well lately."

He shrugs and stares at the slow drip of the coffee into the pot. "I don't usually sleep that well at all, really. You've got a comfy couch."

"You should try my bed." Oh. My. God. I did NOT just say that. Shit - I did. And as I watch him blush I'm torn between being horribly embarrassed and thrilled at having finally made an innuendo that made Fox Mulder blush.

Once the coffee finishes I make us each a cup and even manage some toast and jelly. He seems rather impressed at my domesticity and I wonder what he usually eats for breakfast, poptarts? Still, it's rather nice to have someone occupy the other chair of my small kitchen table in the morning. It makes me wonder at what it might be like if this was a real 'morning after'. I then kick myself - why do I keep assuming Mulder would be even interested in sleeping with me. I'm not even sure if he's gay or bi...a kiss isn't exactly a declaration of sexual interest...or so I try to tell myself.

"So... I, uh, guess I should be going." He stands and searches for his jacket.

I'm quick to speak before he can make a getaway. "I know you're currently behind in your paperwork, Agent Mulder, but it 'is' Saturday. Besides which there's some security paperwork to clear up before you can return to your office. You'll have to wait until Monday."

"Well...I hadn't thought of that, sir, but I was really going to head over to see Agent Scully. Visiting hours should be starting soon."

Oh. Scully. Right. "Ah, of course. She'll be happy to see you." I'm trying not to ask if I can come with him...I'm ready to follow him around like a damned puppy - this obsession of mine is quickly becoming unhealthy.

"Yeah...well, her family won't be. I'll just drop her off some flowers or a new NFL video and leave before they show up."

I wasn't aware that Scully liked football, but I nod, nonetheless.

Mulder pauses at the door and glances back. "After that...well, I was you like to play basketball?"


I arrive at the YMCA to find Mulder already practicing shots at the closest hoop. I would have thought he'd be longer with Scully. From the look on his face, the visit didn't go well.

"Just in time." He bounces the ball to me and I dump my gym bag on the bleachers near his.

"You're early. How's Scully?" I circle him, dribbling the ball as I try to feel him out. He's younger, probably a little bit quicker and this is his preferred sport...still, I think I've got a fair chance.

"She's fine. Great. Her family's eager to take her home to her mom's for a while." He blocks my shot and we quickly turn our full attention to the game.

An hour later we're hot and sweaty as we grin competitively at each other over the ball. I gave him a good game, but he's clearly more talented on the court. I wonder how he'd like to box sometime...

He makes the last shot and puts the final nail in my coffin. I'm relieved when he decides it's time to quit for lunch. We grab our bags and head over to the locker room.

I find it hard to keep my eyes forward as he strips next to me. His long lean muscles flex as he pulls the muscle shirt over his head before bending down to strip off his shorts. I grab my towel and soap and head over to the showerheads before I get caught staring.

The water is only lukewarm and the floor feels gritty beneath my feet. I wash as quickly as possible; my body turned away from him in what I hope is a subtle attempt not to have to look at him.


Showered, dressed and seated at a pub booth, I watch Mulder happily attack a large burger and fries. I'm jealous. My own plate contains a grilled chicken sandwich and a side salad. Doctor's orders - my blood pressure was far too high at my last physical, he prescribed medication, a change in diet and he even recommended switching careers to a less stressful one. The first two are easy compared to the last one, there's no way I could bow out of this battle now - too much is at stake. So I obey my doctor like a good little patient, but it doesn't really help my blood pressure to watch Mulder eat - no matter what is on his plate.

I watch him lick his lips free of ketchup and try to focus my thoughts on a more neutral subject. "So, Mulder. What exactly happened when you met the woman who claimed to be your sister? Where is she now?"

He pushes his plate away and fiddles with his silverware on the table. "She said she had problems remembering anything that happened that night or before. Apparently she focused instead on forgetting them. She thought she was an orphan - she claimed she was raised by foster parents until one day she was taken to meet her father - Cancer Man."

"Cancerman? But Bill Mulder...?" Mulder's face twisted into a painful grimace of black humor.

"Turns out my mom might not have been Ms. Cleaver after all - he told her it was a secret she kept to protect the family."

"Do you believe that?" The man before me seems to deflate a little further as he frowns down at his nervous fingers.

"I don't know 'what' to believe right now. My parents...there were times that I remember hearing fighting - I think it got worse right before Samantha disappeared. Dad always seemed angry, but I don't remember it ever being focused at Sam...she was his little princess..."

I don't bother to ask how he was treated. "How much do you remember of that time?" I know from his file that he has an eidetic memory, but he has always talked of the incident in vague terms - just as his statement reads from the night his sister disappeared.

He shakes his head and looks up at me with a rather lost look in his eyes. "My memories of that time are sporadic. I don't have a solid stream of memory until three months after the disappearance. After that I remember perfectly, but everything that came before then, all the way back...I look at pictures that were taken during my childhood - picnics, barbecues, family trips...and I can't remember being there. It's like it was someone else there in the picture...wearing my face. I can understand Samantha having difficulty remembering us...but I've always strived to 'regain' those memories...not to run from them."

He looks so hurt that I want to comfort him. "You're a psychologist, Mulder, you know not everyone handles trauma the same way. You're the bravest man I know. You aren't afraid to face things that would make other men run and can't expect the same from her. And you never that she's found you - maybe she's ready to face those missing memories..."

He shakes his head. "She didn't want to come with me. I offered to take her to see Mom and she refused. She said she had a family of her own... She doesn't need us anymore."

I push my own plate away and put a hand out on the table, not quite touching him, but lending my support. "You're wrong. Give her a chance, Mulder...she'll come around."


After lunch was finished and the check paid (I had to fight for the check, but he caved once I made it clear I was using the bureau card for our unofficial 'business' lunch) I then found myself inviting him back to my apartment for coffee. As soon as I'd made the offer I realized just how it might sound.

The fact that he accepted filled me with both trepidation and excitement.

He followed me to my apartment in his own car and I found my mind racing ahead, trying to remember I'd thought to wash out the coffee pot earlier and if I should stop for condoms and lube - I was a nervous wreck.

I've never been in such a state of anxiety over a possible sexual encounter...I'm suddenly feeling my age: the last time I was with a man Nixon was president.

I'd never been quite like my buddies in high school. Although I was on the football team and even dated a cheerleader briefly, I never felt the same things that the other guys seemed to about girls in general.

It was only once I went away to war that I discovered another world - one full of many possibilities. I explored those possibilities many times, knowing full well that each day might be my last. After I came back from 'Nam and recovered from my injuries, I met and married Sharon, planning to start a family like many other war veterans my age were doing. I convinced myself that any previous sexual inclinations I'd had were in the past and not a part of my new life. Sex between two men was just not normal - everyone at home was thrilled that I'd found a nice young lady to marry. I told myself that I was finally going to be like everyone else and pursue the American dream. Surely a wife, house and 2.5 kids would finally settle me into a respectable and accepted life.

And it worked - sort of. I was successful in my career; I bought a nice little house in the suburbs and worked hard on my marriage...when my career would allow it. But somewhere along the way it all crumbled. I got enmeshed in consortium power games and stopped talking to Sharon. It was for her own good. The less she knew about what I was going through at work, the better. And kids...well, the kids never came and I know that broke Sharon's heart - she would have been a great mother. I guess I should have been more supportive about the idea of adoption, but at the time, I couldn't help being a little relieved that there were no more innocents at home to endanger in the terrible balancing act I was performing already.

But there was one more thing that upset my little applecart of life. No matter how much I sincerely loved Sharon...I couldn't help noticing men on the occasion. It was never anything more than secretly admiring a young man's body at the gym...or noticing a rather pleasant smile or demeanor in a fellow agent...nothing more than innocent appreciation - and maybe an occasional fantasy or two. I was never unfaithful to Sharon...never even really tempted to be...until I met a certain brazen and talented young agent named Fox Mulder.

Mulder was an up and coming brilliant profiler in the BSU when I first came across him. I only observed him from afar as he presented one of his profiles in a case I was supervising. Despite his stressed and weary demeanor at the meeting, I detected a great passion and drive within his eyes. His hair was longer then and when it flopped in his eyes at one point, he impatiently brushed it back and lifted his head - catching my gaze across the room. It was electric - an instant attraction and rekindling of a need that I'd long denied.

I must confess that I became a bit obsessed with him - I read his jacket cover to cover and found myself fascinated with the young man that sparked such conflicting reports on his effectiveness as an agent. He was gifted and perceptive, without a doubt, but he was also brash and impetuous when it came to procedure. He had been recruited straight out of college and his supervisor, Patterson, was very territorial over the use of Mulder's abilities. Bill Patterson was a rather hard-lined son of a bitch and the fact that he was so taken with Mulder only proved just how special the young agent must be.

Still it was obvious that Patterson rode the man too hard - there were numerous notes on Mulder's stress levels and physical and mental exhaustion. But the fact that most caught my attention was that he was married to one Diana Fowley, a fellow agent and staunch supporter in his more wild theories and beliefs. It wasn't all that long afterwards that he was assigned under me as head of the X-Files department and I soon found myself confronting my new and terrifying temptation head on.

He was exactly as the reports in his jacket said he was and I would often find myself both disciplining and commending him on nearly every case he pursued. His hazel eyes would morph from one color to the next as he defended his actions and conclusions during our meetings. He was passionate, confrontational, and full of life - he was beautiful.

I was sometimes harsher with him than other agents as I struggled to repress my own attraction to him. It was hard, but I managed to keep my own feelings secret - even when he was quietly divorced and his wife transferred to another country...even though by then I had found my original infatuation and lust had grown to more troubling emotions. Ones I didn't allow myself to explore too deeply.

When Scully was assigned to him and the two became quite close, I knew that any fantastical hope I'd once had was dashed and I was almost relieved. They were utterly devoted to one another and perfectly suited to each other's weaknesses and needs. If I had to see him with someone else, at least it was with someone worthy and honorable like Scully. Fowley had always seemed like such a cold woman and from the guarded and speculative looks I would receive from her at times...she was almost...territorial.

Not that Scully seemed any less territorial about her partner, but she also seemed to honestly care for him. She has always stood up for him during times that I couldn't possibly be there for him. My own position has only become more and more difficult to maintain, but I've tried whenever possible to help them. This past month has been pure torture and I'm sure it has only been the beginning...

So as I pull into my parking lot and watch him pull into the guest slot, I'm struck once more by the impossibility that my fantasy might come true. Mulder has never shown any evidence of being gay...everything he's done so far on my behalf has only shown an unhealthy amount of trust for a supervisor and colleague. Scully is his lifeline and other half - he'd be with her right now if it wasn't for her need of rest and time with her family.

The fact that he has accepted my offer for coffee is nothing more acceptance of my company and friendship. I'm suddenly disgusted with myself - I'm a filthy old perverted man for ever dreaming anything more... Mulder's belief and trust in me should be more than enough.

"Are you planning to come out or are you going to serve the coffee in there?"

I start as I suddenly notice his face in my window. He seems mildly surprised at my reaction and steps back to let me open the door.

"Sorry, just lost in thought."

I lock the doors and head over to the elevator. I feel his presence next to me as we wait for the car to arrive and I fancy that I can feel his warmth through all my layers of clothes - I hear his soft breath just behind my ear and shiver inwardly at the imagined sensation of it on my skin.

The trip up to the apartment is blessedly free of interruption and I manage to open the door without fumbling. I make a beeline for the kitchen and try to focus on the coffee to distract me from my thoughts. I wonder if he'll change his mind and go...I suddenly pray he will - I need to purge my mind of these little fantasies of mine with a workout at the gym - or maybe a workout of another kind.

"Penny for your thoughts..." he says softly. I turn to see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen and give him what I hope is a nonchalant shrug.

"Not worth that much. Just thinking of work." I struggle with the coffee filter, which has suddenly become far more complicated than I remember it being. Why is he in here? He should be sitting out in the living room - why on earth did I have to invite him over for coffee?

Long, slim fingers appear before me and take the filter out of my hands gently. "All work and no play makes Walter a dull boy..." comes a husky whisper in my ear.

"What?" I say incredulously, but he's already turning me in his arms. I gasp as his warm lips suddenly press against mine and he swallows the sound and any air I might have once needed for my lungs.

The kiss is long and wet and it grows deeper as I suddenly abandon all of my previous denials and pull him closer to me - needing more. Needing it harder. Deeper. Now.

Our fingers are scrabbling at belt buckles and buttons - we knock over the coffee maker at one point, but I'm beyond caring. Fuck the coffee maker. I'll buy a new one - a bigger one. One I can make more than my usual two cups of coffee for myself in the morning. I wonder if he prefers cappuccinos...

My nonsensical thoughts are finally overridden by Mulder's demanding hands and I'm only aware of a tiny part of my brain distantly laughing at the realization that ol' Walter Skinner is about to have sex on the kitchen floor with a younger man...and loving every minute of it.


I might not be too old to feel my oats, but my bones are still far too old for the hard kitchen floor. It's not long before my knees demand that I climb to my feet and Mulder reluctantly joins me. I can't help watching him as he bends down to pick up our clothes - he has the long limbs and lanky muscles of a runner and a swimmer. I can just make out faint tan lines from the swimsuit I once caught a glimpse of him in the Hoover pool.

He notices my stare and gives me a knowing smile and an appreciative look of his own. I'm just vain enough to be proud that I've kept as fit as I have - it makes me less self-conscious of my aging body in his younger eyes.

"It's a crime to hide that body in a suit, Skinner."

I chuckle and roll my eyes. "I'll bear that in mind next time I'm dressing for the office. And I think after what we've just done, you could call me Walter."

"Walter, huh? Can I call you Wally? Just around at work," he assures me.

"Don't 'ever' call me Wally and I'm 'sir' at work. Now how about a shower?" We're both hot and sticky and he follows me into my bathroom with a sly grin on his face.

My shower stall is fairly big, but it's still a bit of a squeeze to get us both in there at once. He seems content to focus on cleaning me as my eyes continue to feast on his body and wonder at the fact that this is actually happening.

"I've been wanting to do this ever since the had your back to me the whole time and I couldn't help staring at that luscious ass..." he husks in my ear.

"You were?" I ask incredulously - I certainly hadn't noticed, but then again I 'had' avoided looking at him.

"Oh, yeah. I thought you were showing off for me...couldn't stop thinking about it all through lunch...this sweet, taut ass..."

I suppose I should have realized that Mulder would like dirty talk...that low monotone of his was causing my blood to burn and my cock to stir - never mind that I'm far too old to be aroused so soon. Maybe someone should bottle Mulder instead of viagra.

His voice is still murmuring into my ear as he presses his length against my back, fingers caressing my cheeks and dipping between them. I hadn't been on the receiving end of anal sex before and never really been interested in what I'd thought of 'bottoming', but with those clever fingers and that sexy voice...I was soon spreading my legs and leaning against the wall. He was gentle and slow in his seduction, but insistent nonetheless - the patient stretching from his fingers was soon followed by the press of something far thicker and hot. We wasted no more than a quick mutter that we were both clean and willing before I felt the first thrust - his breath was hot and damp on my neck as the shower continued to beat stinging hot water on our backs.

He angled and thrust hard, hitting my prostate with several strokes. It wasn't long before I was completely hard and his fingers were soapy and slick on my erection - I came with a shout and heard him follow not long after, needy fingers digging into my hips.

We slumped against the wall for god knows how long before Mulder finally summoned enough energy to wash us off. I was bone numbingly tired and worn out as we stumbled toward my bedroom. He actually tucked me into bed before climbing in beside me.

The last thing I hear before I finally pass out is, "You're right...your bed 'is' nice. We'll have to try it next time..."

Fox Mulder will be the death of me - I just know it.


To Be Continued...

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