The Animal I Wanted by Ladyluck Chapter Three The Salamander Oh, what a genius must inform the skies! And can the salamander-heart remain Cold and untouched amid these sacred fires? —Edward Young Mulder slept later than usual the next morning. He fasted, not eating or drinking anything but a little water. Wondering how to broach the subject of his planned expedition to the ridge, he made desultory small talk with Scully. She seemed preoccupied, however, barely registering the words as she repeatedly glanced at the clock. At exactly eleven o'clock, her cell phone rang. She had it open before the second ring. "Eleven on the dot," Mulder commented. "Pretty anal, don't you think?" Scully ignored him completely as she spoke into the phone. "Hiii..." Her voice curved warmly around the single syllable. Paul said something on the other end and she answered with a girlish giggle. Her lips shaped a private smile. Suddenly seeming to notice the presence of Mulder and Krycek, she carried the phone into the bedroom. Mulder stared after her, feeling like the last remaining inhabitant of a ghost town. Welcome to Basementville. Population: One loser. He wanted to punch the wall, but he would not do that in front of Krycek. Turning, he caught Krycek gazing at him with a strangely troubled expression. Alex's hair was damp from showering. Mulder could see that he had his gun on, but at least he had left the leather jacket off this morning. He had also removed the bandage from his wrist. Mulder gestured at it. "Uh, before I go, you want me to—?" Krycek glanced down at it as well. "Nah, leave it." His voice sounded strained. "It'll heal up in the air." He held out his hand, palm up, flexing the wrist. It still looked pretty raw to Mulder, but he wasn't going to push the issue. He suddenly wanted to touch Alex, just reach out and take hold of him. But he did not, although they were standing close enough. Still smiling, Scully came out of the bedroom. Mulder talked quickly, telling her of his plans. He had arguments ready if she protested, but she only nodded in a distracted way. "Sure, fine. Just let me get dressed." She headed off, humming under her breath. Mulder was dumbstruck. He had never seen Scully act this way. Slowly, he collected the things he needed—water, his cell phone, a sweater, a small first-aid kit—and loaded them into his backpack. He had to get out of the cabin. Being around Scully like this was too depressing. He didn't begrudge her happiness, but it was too much of a reminder that she would be leaving him soon, and too much of a contrast to the bleak emptiness of his own personal life. And being around Alex—Krycek—twenty-four hours a day was just too much, period. "Okay, Mulder. Go commune with the squirrels and the bears." Scully came back into the room. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail that made her look young and cute. Mulder reached out and flipped it up, played with it. Scully pulled her head away with an indulgent, abstracted smile. Her gaze fell on Krycek and her voice became businesslike. "Krycek, sit down, I'll take a look at your arm and bandage it up." Mulder hoisted his backpack and headed for the door. He would let Krycek and Scully fight it out over that particular subject. Alex was watching him. He didn't look happy. He had never liked being left behind on anything when they were partners. Left behind? There's no reason why you should include him in any part of your life. He's an informant, nothing more. All he's supposed to do is stay in the cabin and lay low. He felt a sense of excitement as he approached the old church. Again that peculiar stirring sensation went through him as he stepped into the stream of light and walked through the door. He jogged along the trail, out into the clearing where he had met Tomasina the day before. Her coyote-dog's grave was there, with its ring of stones. Mulder found a smooth round stone and laid it on the grave with the others. He remained there a moment in silence, not knowing any prayers. Then, remembering the direction Tomasina had gone the previous day, he started off down that trail. He had a strong wish to see her again, to tell her what he planned to do. The day was warming up and he sipped from his water bottle as he walked. He had gone no more than half a mile when he saw a cabin in the distance. It was well tended and neat, with a few chickens and a couple of benches out front. A battered blue Toyota was parked under the trees. There was no answer when he knocked. He tried a couple of times more, then headed around to the back. A vegetable garden was growing there— tomatoes, sage, the pendulous pods of beans, a sprawling patch of squash and pumpkin vines. Tomasina stood among the vines. She had made a basket of her skirt and was filling it with tomatoes. A few reddish-brown chickens pecked aimlessly around her feet like windblown leaves, and a black and white cat lay sunning itself. "Tokala." As before, she seemed unsurprised to see him. She lifted a basket of beans and handed it to him to carry as she started back toward the house. Mulder followed, as did the cat. Around the front of the house, she sat on one of the benches and began unloading the tomatoes from her skirt into another basket. "So, you are going up there?" She indicated the ridge with her hand. Mulder seated himself on the other bench, letting his backpack drop in the dust. The cat came over to inspect it, its scrawny tail quivering with excitement. "What is that place?" "It doesn't have a name. People go up there to do hanblecheya." "That means...some kind of spiritual quest, right?" "Yah, white people call it 'vision quest.' For us, Lakota, it is 'the long night of prayer' or 'long night of crying.' It takes a year to prepare. There are things you need to gather, people you need to go to." She placed the last of the tomatoes in the bowl, and brushed off her skirt. "Some fast four days, some do eight." She sorted through the tomatoes and selected a large one, then handed it to Mulder with a grin. Mulder felt a little awkward, not wanting to refuse the gift, but also not wanting to say that he was fasting, since his fast had only been for about sixteen hours. It felt a little ridiculous, now. He held the tomato in his hand. It was warm from the sun, weighty and ripe. Tomasina passed a bowl over to him. "You know how to shell beans?" Without waiting for an answer, she picked one out of the basket and demonstrated, her fingers expertly splitting the pod. A cascade of plump brown beans skittered into the bowl. Less adroitly, Mulder followed suit. They passed several minutes in this way. Tomasina was focused on her work, seemingly content to have Mulder sit there shelling beans for her all day. Finally, Mulder's curiosity surfaced. "So I shouldn't go up there?" "You can go there. It will not be hanblecheya, but you can pray." She shrugged, her fingers never pausing in their work. "The animals don't mind. The trees don't mind." "The trees?" Tomasina's face creased in thought. She reached down to stroke the cat. "All things are," she waved a hand in the air, indicating the surroundings, "...here, with us..." Mulder wasn't quite sure what she meant, but he had certainly heard stranger ideas in his time. "Those are white birch trees, right?" "Sycamore. They look like white birch now, when they are young. They will be big in your time." Mulder shelled the last bean pod with a sense of satisfaction. He passed the bowl over to Tomasina. She patted the beans. "Thank you, Tokala." She rose, gathering the empty pods. Mulder stood up too. "I feel like I should thank you." She swept the bean pods into her skirt and carried them over to a metal pail on the ground. "Next time, you can bring me some tobacco," she grinned. "That is the traditional way." "I guess you haven't read the Surgeon General's warnings." "Tobacco is sacred to us," Tomasina said. "When you plant tobacco, it is not like any other plant. It sucks everything out of the ground, everything. So it is very powerful." She brushed her skirt off, then turned to Mulder. "So. What is your prayer?" At his hesitation, she clarified. "What you are searching for. Why you go there today." Mulder lifted his backpack. He pondered how to answer. 'The truth' sounded too pretentious. "I don't even know." She gave a bright caw of laughter and slapped him lightly on the arm, her hand as dry and light as one of the bean pods. "So you will pray to find out what you are praying for!" It was a long walk to the ridge, but a pleasant one, as Tomasina had advised. The sun was high, splashing down through the trees. Mulder removed his shirt, enjoying the feel of the warmth on his bare skin. An image of Alex staring at him with that unhappy look as he left suddenly came into his mind. He tried to push it away. There were good reasons why Alex had to stay locked up in the cabin. Besides, with that pale skin, he doesn't look like he gets out much anyway. The trail became steeper. Walking along here, he could look down the side of the bluff and see the whole area spread out below. He was glad to note that the trees were too thick overhead for the cabin to be visible. He knew his destination right away. There was a kind of majestic silence in the grove. A very large tree stood in the center of a ring of smaller ones. Mulder dropped to the ground under it to rest. He was tired and a little lightheaded from not eating all day. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on why he was here. What did he want? What was he searching for? Confused fragments of thought floated through his mind. The truth...Samantha...the raid...Scully leaving...his family...the tomato in his backpack, succulent and ripe... He shook his head, feeling restless and somewhat foolish. The truth. He tried to focus on that. That was his quest, the central focus of his life now for lo these many years. But the image that came to mind instead was Alex standing in the kitchen, looking down, rubbing his bare foot along the back of his other leg. Alex's legs were long and muscular, but his ankles and feet, like his wrist and hand, were slender and elegant. Without realizing it, Mulder had been running his hands over his bare chest and belly. He became conscious of that at the same time as he realized he was hard. Like the old cartoons where an angel stood on one shoulder and a devil on the other, one part of Mulder looked on in horrified disgust at the idea of jacking off in this sacred place. The other part noted dispassionately that he was bored, horny, and most importantly, completely alone for once. Would the trees mind? Would the animals mind? Slowly, Mulder's hand began its familiar journey...sliding up and down, then circling around. Mulder allowed himself to imagine getting up off the couch, going into the kitchen there, putting his hands on Alex, touching his ass and sucking his nipples.... Alex had seemed different there in the middle of the night—relaxed, introspective, almost friendly. How would he have reacted? Would he have welcomed Mulder's touch? Who cares how he'd react? This is your fantasy. Forget all that crap and take his pants off already. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Mulder's hand quickened its pace. Alex's ass, in all its glory, for his pleasure. Oh...yeah. He teased himself a little, but it had been too long and his impatient need overrode the wish to make it last. Breathing hard, he fisted his cock fiercely and felt it break over him like a wave; with a sharp cry he came and he could no longer deny it: he wanted Alex Krycek. Just his ass. The rest of him can go to... But he was remembering, in the hazy torpor of release, just why Alex had been standing in that kitchen. Alex making tea, Alex's touch on his shoulder, Alex forcing himself to stay awake listening to Mulder's stories. Mulder wiped his hands on the grass. Idly, he wondered what Krycek did for release. Unlike Mulder and Scully, Alex had no privacy, and shower time was severely limited because of the hot-water problem. Again Mulder felt a sneaking sympathy for the rat, stuck in the cabin all the time, not able to go outside, nothing much to do. The sexual tension that was driving Mulder crazy had to be getting to him too. Feeling relaxed and drowsy, he tried to take deep breaths and get into a meditative state of mind, but he felt his eyelids growing heavy. He had not slept more than a few hours the night before, and now sleep overtook him. In the twilight state just before he woke he knew he had dreamed, very vividly. He had been with Samantha, sitting in the tall grass. Her long hair was tangled and full of bits of weeds and straw. She held the body of a large insect on her palm. Big eyes, iridescent green shell. "Look, a locus! They're very rare. They only come out every seventeen years." "Locust" He emphasized the "t" sound. "A locus is a place. Anyway, that's a cicada." He had the strong sensations of sunlight, Sam's laughter, and a feeling of peace. He opened his eyes. It was late, and his mouth felt very dry. Reaching for his backpack to get a bottle of water, he realized he was not alone. A small black spotted lizard—no, a newt—sat atop it. It regarded him calmly, not blinking. He reached over and ran a finger lightly along its back. The skin was smooth and faintly moist. Mulder chuckled softly. "So...are you my spirit animal?" Looking at his watch, he saw it had only registered three hours passing, although he was positive this time that it had been much more. It occurred to him that he should call Scully and let her know he was okay and would be heading back. Reaching for the backpack to pull out his cell phone, he saw that the newt had disappeared. He punched in Scully's number repeatedly, but he could not get a signal on his cell. Swearing under his breath, he tossed it back into the pack and pulled his shirt on. He had just better hope he didn't trip over a root and fall down the side of the bluff and break something. He took a less scenic route down, hoping it would be quicker, although it would not take him past Tomasina's place. He soon realized, however, that he was hopelessly lost. His eidetic memory was exceptional, and he tried picturing landmarks in his mind, but every tree, every path, appeared identical, an endless maze of green and brown. His cell phone still refused to work, and he was almost out of water. Frustrated and exhausted, he sat down on a fallen log to rest. The dream came back to him. Samantha's smile, her fascination with the strange bug. His own words. "A locus is a place. Anyway, that's a cicada." Had he really been such an insufferable prat? A tiny movement caught the corner of his eye, and he looked up to see something skitter over the end. It was another newt, this one slightly smaller. It sat still, curling itself almost into a circle. Spirit animal my ass, these things are probably common as mosquitoes out here. He got to his feet. He saw that he was at a kind of crossroads of trails. He could figure out which way was west, of course, but where was he in relation to the cabin? His movement seemed to disturb the newt. It hopped off the log and ran down the path a short way before vanishing. "That way, huh? Well, good as any, I suppose." Mulder shouldered the pack and started down the path the newt had gone. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, he realized he was passing familiar landmarks, and he broke into a jog as he saw the stones of the old cemetery ahead. As soon as he entered the cabin, he knew something was wrong. Krycek was standing by the window, Scully a few feet from the door. Krycek had his gun drawn and Scully's hand was raised, as if warding him off. Her face was tense and pale. Mulder felt a disbelieving fury boil up within him. He cursed himself for having been so stupid as to leave her alone with the treacherous bastard. Was he threatening her? I'll break every bone in his fucking body, injuries or no. I don't care what information he has. I'll shove that gun so far down his throat— "Mulder," Scully said in a carefully controlled voice, "you cannot forget to turn off the perimeter alarm as you come in." Stunned, Mulder felt like ten kinds of ass as he realized the truth of the situation. Krycek, with his hair-trigger jumpiness, had pulled his gun at the sound of the alarm. Scully must have been trying to calm him down when Mulder walked in. No doubt she had been worried about the absent Mulder as well. Mulder let his backpack drop to the floor. "I'm sorry," he told her. Scully nodded. She ran a hand through her bangs. Krycek reholstered his gun, his eyes hard. Mulder felt the familiar stubborn defensiveness taking over, as it did whenever Skinner called him on the carpet, or his father before that. He was no good at smooth apologies. Or any sort of apologies, really. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not eaten all day. With the other two watching in silence, he went to the refrigerator. Wrapping a wad of turkey breast in a slice of bread, he ate it in three quick bites. Scully came over to the counter and perched on a stool. She gave him a half-smile, letting him know he was forgiven. "So, did you meet your spirit animal?" "Yep." Mulder took a long drink of water, washing down the dry sandwich. "I suppose I did. Guess what it was." "A fox!" Scully said immediately, as if anticipating the punch line to a joke. "Uh...no." "A bear? A wolf? An eagle? A stag?" "A newt." At her blank look, he elaborated. "Little lizard-thing? With yellow spots. It crawled onto my backpack while I was, uh, meditating." He had expected some amusement at this, but not the raucous guffaws that greeted him, Scully all but pounding the countertop in her hilarity. "I don't think it's that funny, Scully," Mulder said stiffly, after a few minutes of this. "A salamander." The husky, quiet voice from behind him startled Mulder. He had not thought Krycek was listening, but of course he always was. He turned, ready to quash the rat with a cutting comment, but Krycek only regarded him thoughtfully. "The salamander was a mythic animal," Krycek said. "Supposedly it could walk through fire and stay alive." Mulder felt a little jolt at the words. He had not told Alex the content of his dream, or about his fear of fire. Only Scully, and Phoebe Green, knew about that. "They can regenerate body parts, too," Scully said. "Do you remember that case we had, Mulder, where the guy was using salamander cells to regrow limbs and—" Scully was still giggling a bit from the newt revelation; perhaps Alex imagined she was laughing at him. Doubtless her remark struck a nerve. Mulder saw him flinch slightly, then his face harden and shut, before he strode swiftly past them and out onto the screened porch. Mulder felt a disproportionate irritation at Scully, but the stricken look on her face dispelled it. He might, after all, have made a similar comment himself. "I didn't think—I didn't mean to—" Scully glanced toward the screened porch and sighed. "Do you think I hurt his feelings?" "I'm sure he's heard worse." Scully shook her head with a little rueful laugh. "It seems so weird to be saying that about Krycek. I don't usually think of him as having feelings." Mulder didn't want to have this conversation. Feeling thoroughly disgruntled by the whole damn day so far, he turned and headed for the shower. Krycek was at the refrigerator when he emerged. Scully was unloading clothes from the dryer. She gave a little yelp as a heated bit of metal burned her hand. "Dammit, this thing is too hot! I had it on the lowest setting, too." Tired from his hike, Mulder stretched out on the couch and turned on the TV. "So...what's for dinner, Scully?" Scully rubbed her hand in an irritated way. "Whatever you're making, Mulder." Mulder frowned at the screen. "Just shove something frozen in the oven." "I'd think you could shove something as easily as I could," Scully said tartly. They glared at each other, teetering on the knife-edge between humor and hostility. Mulder was just about to make a crack about it being like one of those old snowbound movies where everyone ends up going psycho and killing each other, when Krycek's voice spoke up matter-of- factly. "I'll make dinner." Scully regarded him skeptically. "Can you cook?" "Can we?" Mulder asked her. Scully conceded the point with a wry smile. Opening a cabinet, Krycek surveyed the contents and pulled out a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce. He hunted through the shelves and selected cans of mushrooms and black olives and various spices, methodically lining them up on the counter. Mulder noticed that his wrist was bandaged again. Score one for the indomitable Dr. Scully. Mulder went to the refrigerator to get a soda and felt Krycek bristle at the intrusion. He settled back on the couch, occasionally glancing over at Krycek. Alex did seem to know his way around the kitchen. He seemed calmer too, totally absorbed in what he was doing as he stirred the sauce. Mulder watched him taste it, then transfer the spoon to the prosthetic hand and add a pinch of something. He lifted the box of salt and poured a small amount into his hand, stroking it momentarily with his thumb before adding it to the pot. There was only one small moment of tension, when Scully would not allow Krycek to carry the heavy pasta pot to the sink to be drained. She stepped in to do it while Krycek backed out of the kitchen, plainly resentful. But the moment passed uneventfully, and Krycek's equanimity seemed restored as he served up the food and waited for them to try it. "This is really good, Krycek," Scully said. Mulder tasted it. It was indeed quite good. "Any fresh-grated Parmesan cheese?" he inquired. Krycek shot him a look, then smirked and pushed a battered-looking canister of Kraft across the table. Scully got some spoons from the drawer. She twirled the strands of pasta around her fork, holding it in place with a spoon. "Paul showed me how to do this. His grandmother was Italian." "Paul's probably one of those guys who eats fried chicken with a knife and fork," Mulder said. He took a big forkful of spaghetti, slurping the strands into his mouth as messily and noisily as possible. Scully rolled her eyes. "That's charming, Mulder. It's no wonder you're unfamiliar with the concept of the second date." "I'm unfamiliar with the concept of the first date." Krycek ate rapidly and efficiently, watching them without joining in the conversation. Mulder suddenly remembered the tomato Tomasina had given him. He retrieved it from his backpack and set it in the center of the table. Krycek drew back slightly, staring at it as though he expected it to attack him at any moment. "What's that?" Jeez, Krycek, paranoid much? Mulder gave him a condescending smirk. "That is a tomato, Krycek. Your basic vegetable. Or fruit, really." Krycek frowned and started to speak. Mulder ignored him. "It's from Tomasina's garden." "The Lakota woman? Who was burying her dog?" Scully asked. Mulder nodded. He cut the tomato into slices and placed them on a plate. Krycek eyed them for a moment, then gingerly speared a couple with his fork. "I miss my dog," Scully said. "Queequeg." "I'm sorry, Scully, that was not a dog, it was a powderpuff with a yip. A German Shepherd, that's a dog." Mulder helped himself to more pasta, ignoring Krycek's satisfied smirk. "And what kind of name for a dog is Queequeg?" Scully buttered a piece of bread. "When I was growing up, we had a dog named Panjandrum," she said. At Mulder's expression, she laughed. "Didn't you ever have any pets as a kid?" Mulder snorted. "You kidding? If a dog hair entered the atmosphere, my mother would have had the vacuum out before it ever settled on the furniture." He shrugged. "I always wanted a dog." "A German Shepherd?" Krycek's voice was quiet. Mulder mentally kicked himself. He hadn't meant to reveal anything like that in front of Krycek. But Alex was just looking at him thoughtfully. "Well, how about you, Krycek?" Mulder said. "Any childhood pets with ridiculous names?" Krycek shook his head. Mulder was about to change the subject—he had a few questions about the upcoming raid—when Krycek spoke up, very softly. "In one place we lived, the neighbors had a dog. I kind of...co-opted it." Scully raised an eyebrow. "You stole your neighbors' dog?" "Not stole it." Krycek glanced at Mulder. "This old couple lived in back of us and they had a dog, but they never played with him or anything. I used to sneak him pieces of baloney and pretend he was my dog." A small silence fell. Krycek sat looking down at the table, playing with a spoon. Scully had a curious expression on her face. "So what was this dog's name?" Mulder asked. "Something better than Queequeg or Panjandrum, I hope." Krycek looked about to speak, then hesitated. "Blackie," he said, shrugging. "They didn't have much imagination." The hesitation was not lost on Mulder. He wondered what Alex's own secret name for the dog had been. He wasn't going to press it, though; it was astounding enough that Krycek had told them about the dog at all. Krycek finished the last slice of tomato. He rose swiftly and took his plate to the sink. "I'll pull up those files." He hurried off to the computer room, not looking at either of them. Scully rose too, slowly. "Mulder, I think it's you on the dishes tonight, since Krycek cooked." Mulder started to say, "What about you?" But her steely glare stopped him. He could almost read her thoughts. After you dumped Krycek on me all afternoon while you were up on a hill playing with yourself? And set off the damn alarm to boot? I don't think so. "Sure, Scully, glad to." Mulder washed up the dishes. They had not been kidding about the hot water heater; the water, lukewarm for the first few minutes, soon faded to cold. He grumbled a bit, but Scully did not take the hint and offer to do them. She took her printouts and said she was tired and wanted to turn in early. Mulder might have expected that he and Alex would be the tired ones, after staying up all night talking, but he felt energized, ready to tackle the disks for a while. Krycek had some website up on the screen when Mulder entered, red and gold with Old English lettering. "I found a few things on salamanders," he said, his voice elaborately casual. "Really?" Mulder tried for the same half-interested tone. He grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Krycek in front of the computer. Alex tapped the screen. His eyes were bright. A border of entwined salamanders danced down the side of the page. "Yeah, look...apparently the legends date back to ancient Egypt." Mulder perused the words on the screen, all too conscious of Alex's sidelong glances at him as he read. He remembered Alex doing that when they worked together, peeping at Mulder from under those lashes, hyper- attuned to Mulder's reaction. The urge to touch Alex was suddenly overpowering. He could swear he felt heat coming off Alex's body. "This count in Scotland," Alex said, clicking to pull up another site, "supposedly a mystic...it says here that he spent six weeks in a trance, sitting in front of his fireplace. At the end of the six weeks a salamander crawled out of the flames." "It probably crawled out to tell him he was an asshole for staring into a fire for six weeks," Mulder said. "Just like mine probably came to tell me I'm an asshole for thinking I could attain some kind of instant enlightenment by skipping breakfast and sitting under a tree for a couple of hours." Krycek was looking at him oddly, and Mulder immediately regretted the words. What the hell had he been thinking, admitting weakness to his worst enemy like that? Although he could hardly call Alex his worst enemy any more. "So that's what you've been doing," he said, "looking up salamanders on the Internet? Aren't we supposed to be going over the stuff on the disks?" "Mulder, I put these disks together. I didn't need to go over them." But Krycek reached for the mouse, bringing the information up on the screen. He looked at Mulder often as he talked, sometimes tapping the screen with a finger for emphasis. Mulder focused on the tiny gold earring Krycek now sported. He wondered when and where Alex had picked that up. He certainly hadn't worn an earring in his days at the Bureau. Sitting here like this was starting to drive Mulder crazy. Alex seemed uncomfortable too. Not usually a fidgety person, he kept shifting in his seat and surreptitiously rubbing or scratching at the stump of his arm when he thought Mulder wasn't looking. Mulder shoved his chair back and stood up. "You want to go outside a while, get some air?" "Yeah," Alex said, sounding surprised. He got his jacket off the cot. Stepping outside, Mulder felt the breeze on his bare arms. He became aware of a high-pitched, constant drone, like a ringing in his ears. "What's that sound?" "Crickets, my friend." Alex sounded amused. Mulder leaned on the railing. "Crickets. Where the hell are all the normal noises? Like car alarms going off, the sanitation truck coming at the crack of dawn—" "—two drunks fighting at four a.m." "Jeez, Krycek, what neighborhood do you live in?" "They were very upscale drunks," Alex said. He realized he was enjoying himself, being out here with Alex. It was so strange...he hated Krycek, he was intensely attracted to him at times...but now, as with the other night, he found himself liking Alex. And despite his words, he wasn't really missing the city. The way the air smelled out here, the pale bark of the trees in the moonlight, the inconceivably starry night, uncluttered by streetlights and neon—it all exhilarated him. "Look at the sky," he told Alex. Alex stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing upwards. "Yeah, not like the city, huh? You can see all the constellations out here." "You know the constellations?" "I did once. In another part of the world." Alex's smile was almost shy. "They're not in the same places in the sky here...I'll see if I can recognize some." Mulder wanted to ask him where, and when, but he was transfixed by that little smile. He could not remember when, if ever, he had seen Krycek smile like that. If he started questioning Krycek now, Alex would probably withdraw, close off again. "There's Perseus." Mulder traced the shape in the sky as Alex watched. "That's Scorpio, over there." He studied Alex as the younger man stood with his head tipped back, looking up at the stars, still smiling slightly. The surprising thought occurred that he could look at Alex's face forever and not get tired of watching him. Alex glanced over at him, and Mulder returned his gaze to the sky. More and more stars were becoming visible as his eyes adjusted, an infinite pointillist network of galaxies, possibly civilizations, spreading out across the blackness. Mulder stared upward, feeling a ferocious hunger to know them, touch them, and seek out their secrets. Was Sam out there, somewhere, looking back at this world, and did it only seem like another star to her? Or was it all a crazy lie? Was she simply dead here on earth, her bones mingling with the dirt, another routine unsolved murder that he had been too clueless to solve or even discover? He had never felt so small or lonely. Krycek hated and feared the aliens, and Mulder knew he had his reasons for wanting to drive them off the earth, or even wipe them all out. But Mulder could not forget what he had seen and felt, amidst the chaotic terror of Sam being taken. That light, that voice, comforting him, filling him with a sense of solace and wonder. Turning his head, he found Alex looking back at him again. The sadness he saw in Alex's eyes startled him. He felt an understanding pass between them, the sudden deep, almost clairvoyant sense that they were both wishing for the same thing. If I could only tell you, if I could only make you understand, what it was like for me... "Mulder," Alex said. "Listen..." It sounded like he was shivering as he spoke. "You cold?" "I'm okay." "Maybe we should go back inside, get back to work." Mulder started for the door. Alex did not move. "That sixth disk..." The words stopped Mulder in his tracks, and he turned around, all attention now. "What's on it? And how do I break the code?" "I'll give you what you need. But you have to promise me something." There was a definite tremor in Alex's voice now. "I don't want you to open it until after I'm gone." Mulder narrowed his eyes. "Gone where, Krycek? As far as I know, you're not going anywhere." But a part of his mind was wondering what was going to happen to Krycek after this. They couldn't stay out here in the cabin forever. Once the raid was completed, Mulder and Scully would probably be called back to D.C. But where would Alex go? "If I—if anything happens," Krycek said, "there are things on it I want you to have. But not before then." He quieted Mulder's objections and questions with a gesture. "It doesn't have anything to do with the vaccine project, or the raid, I swear." He extended his hand. "Promise me." Alex had held out his hand to Mulder like that the first time they met. Mulder had not taken it then, but he did now. Alex's eyes were intently locked on his in that way he had, like he could burn a hole right into Mulder's very soul. His skin felt hot against Mulder's palm. Too hot. Still holding Alex's hand, Mulder reached out with his other hand and did what he had been wanting to all day: he touched Alex, laying his fingertips lightly against Alex's forehead. Alex pulled back. "Jesus, Alex, you're burning up." "Promise me, Mulder. I'm giving it to you, but you won't open it until I'm gone." "Okay, yeah. I promise." He felt Alex's grip ease up. "Now get your ass inside the cabin." Alex nodded. He started to raise his hand as though to rub at his arm again, then stopped himself. Mulder did not miss the slight grimace of pain that tightened his features. "Your arm hurting again?" Alex shrugged, his head down. "I—I get these phantom pains in it." His voice was very low. Mulder held the door open and Alex walked over to the cot and sank heavily onto it, shrugging off his leather jacket. "I don't have my arm any more, but it still hurts like a bitch sometimes." Mulder remembered the other day on the porch: Alex hunched in misery, refusing the pain medication. He frowned. "All the time?" "No...just sometimes...like when I'm sick." "That sucks." "I'm not sick very often." Alex bent to undo his boots. "Does anything help?" "Sometimes if I cause pain in the other arm, that does the trick." Alex smirked wearily. "Or heat." "Why don't you take a hot bath or something?" "No hot water," Alex reminded him. "Want me to get Scully?" Alex looked up, shaking his head irritably. "Fuck no." "No, of course not...you're sick and in pain, why would you need a doctor?" Alex pulled his shirt off. His teeth were chattering. "I just need some sleep." He undid the prosthesis and put it away, then unzipped his jeans and struggled out of them, still sitting on the edge of the cot. Mulder was surprised Alex was undressing like this in front of him. Usually he would get changed in the bathroom. Maybe he felt too sick right now to care. Mulder stood, feeling a confused sympathy, wanting to help him and not knowing how. He could not avoid the guilt as well, knowing Alex was sick right now because of what Mulder had done to him. An idea suddenly hit, and he located a couple of large bath towels and tossed them into the dryer with the heat setting on 'high.' In the kitchen, he filled a glass with water. The prescription bottles stood on the counter. It didn't look like Alex had taken any of them. What the hell was wrong with Krycek? Mulder could understand him not wanting to have Scully examine his arm, or give him an injection, but what was the big deal about swallowing a damn pill? He collected the various pills and brought them over to Alex. Krycek bristled slightly, but it seemed more reflexive than anything. He swallowed the antibiotic and Advil, but shook his head at the Demerol. Even the small movement of taking the pills seemed to cause him pain. Mulder couldn't help feeling somewhat impatient with Alex's erratic resistance to taking the medication. "Why are you so paranoid about getting addicted? You don't seem like you have an addictive personality." One corner of Alex's mouth twitched up. "There's no such thing, Mulder. Enough pain and anyone would shoot themselves full of anything." I thought I knew what pain was...I was wrong. Mulder set the Demerol and water on the little table next to the cot. "Can you—you were awake for—the whole thing?" he whispered. "Yeah..." The word was more a breath than a whisper. Mulder closed his eyes for a second. "Shit." He couldn't even imagine it. His mind wouldn't go there, and it could have been him. Gingerly, he reached out to touch Alex's arm, maybe rub it for him. It wasn't really what he wanted to do. He wanted to kick something, smash something. He was aware of a harsh, burning rage. Alex flinched back from his touch. "No, Mulder...not now." As though that might be just too much to handle at the moment. For just a moment, his eyes fixed on Mulder's with a kind of desperate faith. Mulder noticed that Alex was sweating, although it was not that warm in the cabin, and he still shivered slightly. His single hand was clenched tightly into a fist. "Please," Alex said roughly. He bowed his head, his gaze dropping away from Mulder's. Mulder closed his eyes for a second, trying to get himself under control. He felt as if he was being sucked into a black hole, strung out into filaments of unspent emotion. The intensity of Krycek's suffering, the terrible flashbacks this was obviously triggering, his humiliation at having to beg Mulder not to touch him—it was almost unbearable. Why, Alex? Why did you jump off that truck? Why did you follow me into there in the first place? Why couldn't you be honest with me? Why couldn't I save you? Mulder headed into the bathroom. Brushing his teeth, he all at once felt shaky and utterly weak, as though all the strength had been sucked out of him. He leaned heavily on the mirror, but his body was turning to jelly, and he slid down to sit on the floor. The yellow tiles were hard and cold, and, seen up close like this, none too clean. His father had lain on a bathroom floor like this one, bleeding, dying. Mulder had held him in his arms. He remembered the consciousness fading from the old man's eyes, the awful sense of helplessness and despair that coursed through him. "Forgive me," Bill Mulder had whispered, but Mulder had never gotten the chance to forgive him or be forgiven by him. Alex had done that to him. And Alex had sat on a bathroom floor like this one for two days, chained to the sink. Exhausted, in a lot of pain, probably hungry as well. And scared, Mulder knew. Afraid he was about to be killed, phobic about being shut up in there, maybe scared of Mulder as well. Mulder had done that to him. It was no place to die. No place to spend two days of your life. But it was the only place at this moment where he could be alone. He felt weighted down with sorrow: for his father, dead before his time; for Alex, fighting off all that pain and terror; and for himself, flooded with the memories and caught between the two. He had not cried in a long while, and he did not cry easily, but now the grief engulfed him. Sitting on the chilly, cracked tiles, he pressed his face into his folded arms as the sobs shuddered through him, trying to be as soundless as possible. The buzz of the dryer stopping jolted Mulder back to himself. Slowly, he rose and splashed cold water on his face. He took a few deep breaths and walked out to the machine. The towels inside were almost too hot to touch. He carried them over to the man on the cot. "Krycek." Alex opened his eyes. "Here," Mulder said, "lean forward a little." He sat on the edge of the cot and wrapped the hot towels around Alex's arm and shoulder, then tucked the blanket up around him to keep the heat in. Alex drew in a shivery gulp of air. He made that little sound again, somewhere between a sigh and a moan of pleasure. Mulder felt it go through his own body, his nipples hardening, his belly tightening. He knew he should get up, go over to the couch, but he felt oddly reluctant to move. They were sitting too close. Mulder was extremely aware of every movement, every breath and sound from Alex, the scent of his sweat mixed with the fresh-laundry smell of the towels. Alex's eyes looked dark, the pupils dilated. It was too much, the tidal pull Mulder felt every time they got near each other. The urge to grab Alex, kiss him fiercely, hit him hard, hurt him... He realized he had no wish to hurt Alex right now. How the hell could you hurt someone who had been through that, who relived it and felt the effects on a daily basis? Or he could take the other road. Just give in to those desires. Stop fighting it. Scratch the itch once and for all and then move on. Alex's mouth was less than a foot from his, and he didn't look like he would put up much resistance. But Mulder didn't know if he was ready to go there. Not now, not yet. And Alex was sick, and hurting; he didn't need Mulder coming on to him. Not to mention that, sick or not, he was also dangerous, unpredictable, and not in a very good mood right now. Mulder stood up. He stretched unthinkingly and walked back to the couch to get undressed. "Mulder." That smoky, insistent voice. So many times over the years Alex had said his name in just that way, and always Mulder was drawn inexorably to it, like a fish on a line. "Yeah?" There was silence for a moment. Mulder's mind whirled. "Thanks." Alex's voice was very soft, but full of emotion. Mulder was speechless. Was Krycek really so unused to simple kindness, to someone taking care of him? Or had he picked up on Mulder's anger? Was he thanking Mulder for not hurting him this time? Or for not pushing this beyond what it was—companionship maybe, an uneasy truce. Mulder found his voice. "No problem." He lay down on the couch. If Alex wanted anything more than that, he would just have to come over and get it. He must have slept surprisingly well, because the next thing he knew, it was daylight, and the crickets had been replaced by the equally grating twitter of birds. His cabin mates were both already up and having coffee when he awakened. Scully was seated at the table, flipping through some papers, and Krycek stood gazing out the kitchen window. Mulder dragged himself up into a sitting position. Scully looked up. "Good morning." Mulder waved to her. He made his way to the counter and watched Krycek pouring a cup of coffee. "Hey," Mulder greeted him. "Feeling better?" Alex just nodded. He measured half a spoonful of sugar into the coffee, stirred it, and passed it to Mulder. "Thanks," Mulder said, trying not to show his surprise. Krycek's fixing me coffee? How the hell does he know how I take my coffee? "You weren't feeling well last night, Krycek?" Scully said. Alex glanced at Mulder warily before muttering, "I'm okay." "You know what we need? Bagels," Mulder said. "We need a corner grocery where we can get some bagels. And the morning paper." "Mmm...someplace with a salad bar," Scully sighed. "And homemade muffins," Alex said. Mulder looked up and was floored to see that Alex was smiling. Not his usual sardonic smirk, or the phony kiss-ass smile he had sported in his brief sojourn at the Bureau, but a genuine, if tentative, smile. It was a good look on him. But then, what isn't? He does intense and sarcastic pretty well too. "Yeah," Mulder managed to say. "Blueberry..." "Cranberry," Scully said. Mulder noticed another unbelievable thing. Scully was actually smiling back. Maybe the aliens had already colonized the earth and replaced them both with happy clones. "Banana walnut," Alex said. He refilled his cup of coffee, plopping two spoons of sugar and a hefty dollop of cream into his cup. Mulder shuddered. "How can you drink that? It probably doesn't even taste like coffee anymore." Alex was still smiling. "How can you drink yours black? That's barbaric." How did he know that? Mulder caught Alex's eye, looked at his cup, then at Alex, letting the unspoken question show on his face. Alex tilted his head, widened his eyes and smirked. He looked younger for a moment; more like the cocky kid he had seemed when Mulder first met him. Mulder got the message: I remembered. A part of him was disturbed at Alex's ability to slide into that persona so easily. Who was he, really? But another part of Mulder was reveling in the feeling of finding that connection again, that feeling of being so absolutely on the same wavelength, the way they understood each other, communicating without needing words. I called your name. In the dark I called your name. I thought you might hear me...even in your mind... Oh, shit, Alex. It was like a physical pain hitting him, and he closed his eyes in an involuntary grimace, his fingers tightening around the coffee mug. "Mulder?" They were both saying his name, his past and present partners, both staring at him in concern. "Are you all right?" That was Scully. He could feel Alex moving nearer, reaching out his hand hesitantly to touch Mulder, and Mulder wanted to grab that hand and hang on, because he was going under. No, I'm not all right. I'm drowning, the sand is shifting from underneath my feet and I can't keep up. I thought I knew my enemy, but then I saw him...all his pain, all his fears, all his courage...all too human, like me. And I want to scream for how he's hurt me, and I want to weep for how I've hurt him. And I want him. Oh shit.... God, I want him. He forced himself to open his eyes and take in some deep breaths through his mouth. He couldn't look at Alex. Instead, he focused on Scully, her little frown, the fuzzy slippers she was wearing. "Just a headache." "I have Advil," Scully said. "I have Demerol," Alex offered, his tone gently mocking. "Uh, those things on your feet, Scully...what are they, Muppets?" Scully gave a little roll of her eyes. "They're sheepskin from the Woodstove catalog. Paul got them for me." "Woo hoo. This is getting serious now." Alex had moved back to lean against the refrigerator, sipping his coffee. Mulder had the impression he was withdrawing a bit, not joining in with their teasing. "He got me these socks, too." "I thought Catholics frowned on socks before marriage." Alex turned his back to them. He opened the cabinets and took out a box of pancake mix and a jar of cinnamon. He set them out neatly on the counter in that systematic way, along with a banana and an egg and the measuring spoons. "We actually had to go for pre-cana," Scully said, "and Father Shannon told us—Mulder, are you listening to me?" Mulder tore his attention away from the sight of Alex bending over in those cut-off sweats, hunting for a bowl in the lower cabinets. "Sure. The priest told you to—" Be fruitful and multiply. Mulder caught himself just in time, cursing inwardly. Of course Scully couldn't have children. He knew how much that hurt her. And how much had Alex had to do with that? Mulder felt the pain twist again, a knife inside him. Thankfully Scully was unaware, having followed the direction of his gaze. "Krycek, you're cooking again?" She cast a glance back at Mulder, her eyebrows raised—Better him than us! Alex did not answer; he seemed to be taking no notice of them, but he stood turned slightly in their direction, breaking the egg single-handedly into the bowl with a flourish. Scully stared at Krycek, looking bemused. "Where did you learn to cook?" Alex beat the egg with a few swift strokes, smirking slightly. "What do you two do, just live on takeout?" "He won't tell you," Mulder said. "He won't answer anything even vaguely personal. If you said, hey Alex, are your eyes green, he'd find a way to avoid the question." Scully shot him a curious look. Are your eyes green? Alex? Jesus, why hadn't he just commented on how sweet his ass was? He was glad he couldn't see Krycek's face, as Alex had his back turned, opening cabinets again. Mulder rubbed a hand over his eyes. I'm losing it, totally fucking losing it. "Headache still bothering you?" Scully's tone was sympathetic. Mulder headed off to take a shower. He had a feeling this particular headache was not going away anytime soon. Krycek seemed antsy all morning, repeatedly badgering Mulder with questions about exactly what Skinner had said, when the raid was supposed to take place, what modifications he was making in Krycek's plans. Mulder was tempted to just flip the phone over to him and tell him he could ask Skinner himself. "Well, whenever we're going, we need groceries today," Scully said. "There's a big superstore about fifteen miles away. I'll make a run over there." Mulder could tell she wanted to get out of the cabin, which was just fine with him. It was occurring to him that he and Alex would be alone for a while. There was nothing to stop them now. He wanted this. He was tired of fighting it. He was finally going to just get it over with; just do it, and then he would be free of this crazy obsession. He headed into the computer room to check his mail. Lying atop the closed laptop was a small manila envelope with his name on the front in Krycek's neat block printing. He heard a noise behind him and, turning, saw Krycek in the doorway. Mulder lifted the envelope. "This is the instructions on how to unencrypt that sixth disk?" "Yeah." Alex looked at him. Remember your promise, his eyes said. Mulder was dying to ask what the disk contained, but he knew that he would never get a straight answer out of Krycek. His briefcase was sitting in the corner. He opened it and tucked the envelope away in the bottom pocket. A sudden thought struck him. "You gave me that disk thinking you were going to disappear. But you just now gave me the instructions to unencrypt it. How was I supposed to get anything off of it if you disappeared?" A tiny smile appeared on Alex's face. "I gave you the instructions that night." Mulder was getting tired of playing games. "Well, where the hell are they?" Alex's smile became a definite smirk. "In your computer." Realization dawned on Mulder. "That's why you were in my apartment that night. I should have known you wouldn't mind the rain." In the main room, Scully sat at the table making a grocery list. Mulder wanted to get something for Alex. He was a creative cook with whatever they had on hand—the stack of banana pancakes awaiting Mulder when he returned from the shower had been every bit as good as Krycek's spaghetti from last night—but he seemed to care more about the act of cooking than the food itself. He had mentioned muffins...cranberry? Banana? "Hey Krycek, what do you want from the store?" Krycek prowled tensely through the cabin. "Anything. I don't care." "Well, that's easy," Scully said dryly. She regarded Krycek for a moment. "Are you having pain?" Krycek looked like he wanted to snap at her, but he just said shortly, "No." Scully rolled her eyes and cast a significant glance at Mulder, suggesting that she found Krycek a royal pain in the ass. Actually, Mulder thought Alex was surprisingly low-maintenance. He was quiet and fairly neat, didn't seem to care what he ate, wore or slept on, didn't talk in his sleep or snore too loudly, and simply retreated out onto the porch when he was feeling bad in any way. He even cooked. The most annoying habit he had was this stalking about, but Mulder thought he could take care of that. Mulder turned to look at Alex. "Scully's going to go into town to get some supplies later, do a big grocery shop and all." He tried to telegraph the thought: We'll have the cabin to ourselves for a while. So if it's pent-up sexual tension that's making you so restless and edgy, I can give you a hand with that. So to speak. Alex paused to stare at Mulder with a distinctly predatory look, as if Mulder were a particularly tasty treat he wanted to devour. Mulder gave him a little smile. Want me, do you? It's mutual. Just hang on a little while longer. Scully showered. She put on her makeup. She called her mother. She called Paul. She checked her e-mail. Now it was Mulder who was pacing, while Alex had settled down to read. Finally, just when Mulder was about to drag her out to the car by her hair, Scully announced that she was leaving. Walking outside with her, Mulder got the axe from the shed and readied a couple of thick logs to split, under the pretext that he planned to spend the next two hours chopping wood. He watched her car drive away, then waited an extra ten minutes before going inside, just in case she had forgotten something or there was some problem. He heard the staccato sound of a woodpecker, then silence. He turned and headed for the cabin. Inside, Alex was sitting in the chair reading, with one bare foot balanced over the other. For some reason Mulder found that incredibly sexy. "Well, Scully's off," he said. "She said she'd be gone a couple of hours." Get the picture? Scully's gone. We're alone here. For two hours. And I must say you're looking outrageously fuckable. Mulder could barely restrain himself. He reached out and brushed Alex's hair back, just above his ear. Alex shivered, pulling back from Mulder's touch. He stared up at Mulder unsmiling, his green eyes wide. Distrust and tension seemed to radiate almost palpably from him. Jesus. Mulder backed off. "Uh, I'm going out to chop some wood. I'll be right outside." "You—you want some help?" Krycek asked hoarsely. What kind of help? But Krycek still looked like a panther about to spring. Mulder stepped back some more. "You can't chop wood with broken ribs. Just hang out." Krycek opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, then just pursed his lips, gazing at Mulder with a little frown. Oh, shit, stop it with that mouth, or in two seconds I'll be ripping all your clothes off. At which point Krycek would probably grab his gun and blow Mulder's head off, or possibly just crush his windpipe with a well-placed blow. Mulder turned and left the cabin, letting the door bang shut. He hoped Krycek hadn't noticed that he had a raging hard-on. Had he misread Alex's signals? Maybe Krycek just had cabin fever, or was in pain again. Maybe he was plotting to murder them both. Maybe what Mulder had taken for a shiver of desire was actually fear; maybe Krycek was worried about what Mulder might do without Scully there to restrain him. Who the hell ever knew what was going on in Krycek's head? Sighing, Mulder took up the axe again. What did he want, anyway? He had no idea what he expected to happen between them. In his fantasies, he had taken Krycek roughly, pushing him up against a wall, forcing Krycek to blow him, grabbing him by the hair and taking him from behind... Just like he had done in the apartment. But he couldn't be rough with Krycek now. Alex had broken ribs. And he wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore. So what then? Kiss him? Well, hell, yeah. He kissed you, didn't he? He realized he had no experience in how to seduce a man. Hell, he had precious little experience in how to seduce a woman. Most of those relationships had been initiated by the women. And all his experiences with men had been back in college. Most had been with other boys and had involved sitting around with a beer, or a bong, then boffing each other by mutual consent. In his one real relationship with a man, Cedric had been much older and more experienced. There had been attraction there too, and they had simply given in to it one afternoon, over a bottle of wine and a lengthy discussion of R.D. Laing's alternative theories of schizophrenia. Cedric had made the first move, letting his hand shift over onto Mulder's leg, and Mulder had smiled at him and Cedric had moved his hand a little higher, still talking... Mulder snorted to himself, imagining Krycek's reaction if Mulder plopped down on the bed next to him and started stroking his thigh while discoursing about alienation being the condition of modern man. Scully would probably be calling in a homicide, or at the very least taping up a few more broken bones. Alex was nothing like Cedric. Where Alex was intense, wary, action- oriented and dangerous, Cedric had been gentle, intellectual, ironic and extremely low-key. Physically, they did not resemble each other much either. Cedric was taller, lankier, with brown hair graying at the temples, and a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard. He dressed elegantly, impeccably, and never seemed to sweat. His voice was light and mellifluous, in contrast to Alex's gravelly bedroom rasp. Cedric's hands, long and graceful—there they were similar. Alex's hands were long and graceful like that. Hand. Mulder winced, feeling sick for a moment. Alex's eyes, those unforgettable eyes. Next to, of course, his ass and his body, Alex's eyes were his best feature, Mulder thought. That piercing, vivid green, those sinfully long lashes. Cedric's eyes were...his eyes were.... Mulder paused in his woodcutting to realize with a little shock that he had forgotten what color Cedric's eyes were, blue or brown. Think, Mulder, you have a goddamn photographic memory. He wasn't sure why it suddenly seemed so important to him to remember that small detail. Closing his eyes, he could recall Cedric's flat perfectly; the armchair Cedric liked to read in, the African masks on the wall, the large bay windows that threw sunlight across the floor. Cedric had told the twenty-year-old Mulder to lie in that patch of sunlight one day, nude after lovemaking. Let me look at you there, my golden boy... He didn't think he had loved Cedric. Had Cedric loved him? He had no idea. Cedric approached everything with the same amused, somewhat disillusioned detachment. He had savored Mulder's fine young body, and his fine young mind. There had been something—pain? disappointment? —in his expression when Mulder fell for Phoebe Green and ended the relationship with Cedric. Well, hell, I don't love Alex Krycek either, how could I? It's just physical—lust, curiosity... But I could have loved him, once. He had imagined this, long ago. With Alex, his supposedly young and awkward partner. Mulder would have felt on surer ground there. He would have been the older, more experienced one, guiding Alex through the encounter, as Cedric had done with him. Under that green exterior, Mulder had always had the impression that Alex could be passionate, even a little willing to push the boundaries, just as he had suspected Alex's ill-fitting suits concealed a very fine body. But that Alex doesn't exist, never did... A sudden sharp pain ripped through his chest, causing him to stop in mid-swing and rest the axe on the ground, breathing hard. Either he had pulled a muscle from the unaccustomed exertion, or those memories still hurt like hell. Or maybe he was having a heart attack, one too many burgers and cartons of takeout catching up with him. What a way to go, dropping dead out here in the middle of nowhere while Scully's thumbing through Brides magazine at the Piggly-Wiggly and Krycek's in there playing footsie with himself. My body'll probably be eaten by raccoons before they even notice. A flash of movement through the window of the screened kitchen door caught his eye. Had Scully returned already? Was Alex looking for him? But the door remained closed, and he saw nothing further. He lifted his shirt to wipe his face. Alex now—older, more scarred by life, both literally and figuratively, presumably more experienced with men, but also suspicious, defensive, maybe afraid—how did Mulder go about reaching him? He had no answers, and he was tired of worrying about it. He positioned a log on the block and took up the axe again. Chopping the wood, he gave himself up to the satisfying feel of swinging the axe, splitting the logs. After awhile he was able to establish a routine, a rhythm, moving methodically through the stack of wood. He was getting into the zone, as he did when running, his body working smoothly to transport him outside himself, beyond thought and worry. He could forget the conspiracy, the nightmares that plagued him, the unsettling presence here of Alex Krycek. There was only the sound and feel of the axe connecting solidly with the wood, the light September breeze on his arms, the pull and burn of muscles he hadn't used this way in a long while. He knew he would be sore tomorrow, but satisfyingly so. Glancing over at the cabin, again he saw that glimpse of movement. This time he was sure. Alex had been standing there—doing what? Watching Mulder? He looked intently at the door for a few seconds longer, but Alex did not appear. Mulder realized how dry his throat felt. A cold drink would be great about now. He set the axe down, arched and stretched to take the stiffness out, and headed for the cabin. As Mulder pulled the door open, Alex stepped away quickly. On his face was the same stunned, ravenous look he had worn that day in Mulder's apartment when Mulder unthinkingly walked out naked. Mulder wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve. Alex ran his tongue over his lips. Mulder could feel himself getting hard again, and he tried to size up the situation. Alex's face was flushed, his eyes wide, and he was breathing a little too rapidly. He either really wants me, or he's really scared of me. If Alex was afraid, jumping on him was not likely to produce good results. On the other hand, Scully would be back before long and the window of opportunity would be lost. He had to act now, if he was going to. Alex stood barefoot in the kitchen, his eyes fixed on Mulder's, trembling a little. Mulder had to find out; he had to try, at least, even if he was wrong and Krycek went ballistic. He had to do this carefully. Just go slow, be gentle, don't grab him, he's got broken ribs, don't pull his hair... "Alex..." he said softly, experimentally. At the sound of his name, Alex gave a sharp, ragged gasp and, in another of those lightning-quick moves, leaped across the space between them, his mouth closing over Mulder's, all that pent-up passion unleashed with a force that knocked Mulder back against the door. Mulder could not catch his breath for a moment. Alex was kissing him deeply, hungrily, desperately, his hand running through Mulder's hair, up under Mulder's shirt, down to the waistband of his pants, his thigh coming in between Mulder's legs, the hard front of his jeans pressed up against Mulder's hip. And to hell with being careful, not grabbing him, going slowly—all Mulder wanted to do was lick and bite and touch Alex, feel every inch of him, make him groan. Alex was hot and hard against him, panting and growling softly, rubbing his whole body against Mulder's. Jesus Christ, he feels incredible. Closing his eyes, Mulder gave himself up to kissing Alex with a dazzling sense of abandon. He was a swimmer in the ocean, Alex's mouth on his the undertow carrying him out. He ran his hand up under Alex's shirt, feeling the tensile play of muscles there, brought his other hand down to Alex's ass. Mmm, oh, fuck, paradise... Alex sucked Mulder's bottom lip, breathing out low shuddering cries against Mulder's mouth as Mulder let his hand roam over the tight black denim, squeezing and caressing. Mulder ground his hips recklessly up against Alex's thigh, the hot need of it uncoiling in his belly. Alex spread his legs, pressing in more insistently against Mulder, his hand gripping Mulder's shoulder. Mulder was getting knocked off balance by Alex's weight; he shifted his stance abruptly to avoid an undignified tumble to the kitchen floor. Alex tensed at the sudden movement and pulled back, a wary uncertainty flickering across his face for a second. Quickly Mulder reached up, palming Alex's jaw in a rough caress. He tipped Alex's head back, kissing and nipping lightly, and fastened on the tender skin at the side of Alex's throat. Alex let out a low, guttural moan that shot through Mulder's whole body like an electric volt, causing him to tighten his mouth on Alex's throat, sucking and biting frenziedly. He slid his other hand up under Alex's shirt to rub and pinch Alex's nipples, eliciting another volley of sweet, sexy noises, then reached down to undo the button of Alex's jeans. Alex ran the back of his hand roughly along Mulder's thigh. He turned his hand, cupping Mulder, those long fingers stroking upward with deliberate pressure. Mulder's legs went weak: he heard himself gasping out the words, "Yeah...oh yeah," over and over, a jagged litany. Alex smiled at him, his lips swollen with kissing, before undoing Mulder's belt with a dexterity the two-handed would envy. Mulder fumbled for Alex's zipper and tugged it down, pushing his hand inside. Alex's cock surged into his hand, straining against the white cotton briefs. Mulder wrapped his fingers around it. Through the fabric he felt Alex's cock pulse in his hand, rock-hard and slightly damp at the tip. Mulder began to move his hand rhythmically. Alex gave a strangled cry and buried his face in Mulder's shoulder, biting down hard. Mulder brought his other hand up to stroke Alex's hair, and Alex let him for a moment, then froze, pulling away from Mulder. Mulder started to protest—shit, what did I do now, the hair again?—then he heard it too: the faint sound of wheels on gravel, Scully's car coming up the driveway. Alex let his head fall against Mulder's shoulder again, letting his breath out in a deep, frustrated growl, before stepping back and doing up his jeans. "We should..." His voice sounded hoarse. Mulder buckled his belt, trying to make his breathing return to normal. "Yeah..." He started to follow Alex from the kitchen, then on sudden impulse said, "Hey, Alex." Alex turned with a dazed look. Mulder took hold of his chin, pulling Alex toward him for a last, lingering kiss and running his other hand firmly down Alex's body and along the hard length under his jeans. Alex stood still with his eyes shut for a second, running his tongue over his lips, then fixed Mulder with a gaze so smoldering and intense that it took all Mulder's self-control not to jump on him and throw him to the floor. Instead he followed Alex out to the driveway, where Scully was unlocking the trunk of the car. He hoped she wouldn't notice the state they both were in. Scully looked up in surprise as Alex approached. "Krycek. No—don't take that. You shouldn't be lifting anything heavy with broken ribs." As Alex carried in a light bag of groceries, Scully watched him go with a frown. "Mulder. What is that red mark on his neck?" Oh shit. Shit and damn and fuck. "Uh, I don't know. I didn't notice anything." "I don't want to ask this, but you know that I have to, Mulder. Did you...get physical with him again?" Did I ever. "I didn't hit him, if that's what you're asking, Scully." "Did you touch him in any way, Mulder? Choke him, for instance, or grab him by the neck?" Mulder chose his words carefully, trying to answer without outright lying to her. "I swear that I didn't lose my temper, or do anything to hurt him, Scully." At her unconvinced expression he added, "Really. We hardly even spoke. Most of the time he was inside reading, and I was outside chopping wood." He thought she might let it drop there, but of course he underestimated Scully. When the groceries were put away and they were snacking in the kitchen, the questioning began. "Krycek. What is that on your neck?" Alex's eyes widened just a fraction, and he touched the spot with two fingers before his expression settled back into impassivity. His eyes met Mulder's for the briefest second, then he shrugged. "Bug bite, probably. This place is crawling with them." "Probably a spider bite," Mulder said. "I saw two or three of those big brown suckers when I was chopping wood." Scully took a step toward Alex, frowning. He tipped his chair back, eyeing her speculatively. "Foxy's turning into a regular Davy Crockett." Foxy? Mulder had an urge to kick the chair over, sending Krycek sprawling. Scully noticed his expression. "Mulder," she said warningly. She motioned with her head for him to follow her into the bedroom. "I swear, Scully, I might just have to knock him on his ass." "Mulder, if you do, you're on the next bus out of here." She shook her head. "This is exactly why I felt I had to hurry back as soon as I could." Mulder glanced at the clock. It was true; Scully had only been gone about an hour and fifteen minutes, rather than the promised two. Just as well, actually. Ten minutes more and she would have gotten the shock of her life. "I mean it, Mulder. You cannot touch him." Heh. "So what's with all the interrogation? You don't trust me to do this?" "I trust you. We just have to be constantly vigilant." The afternoon seemed to drag. Scully did paperwork with an expression of dissatisfaction. Alex paced about, looking ready to climb the walls. Mulder brought in some of the wood he had split, and Scully built a fire. Alex did not offer to cook this time, but Scully had picked up some frozen pizzas. She stuck them in the oven and glanced at her watch. "I'm going to check in with Skinner." She headed for the bedroom. Mulder leaned on the counter and beckoned Alex nearer. Alex came forward, sliding onto a stool at the counter. Mulder brought his lips close to Alex's ear. "Tonight...after she's in bed...outside." Alex nodded. Mulder had a sudden uncontrollable need to touch him. He reached out with one finger and traced the purpling mark on Alex's neck. Alex made a soft sound; he stiffened slightly and bit his lip, but did not pull away. Mulder smiled at him. "Sorry about the vampire act there. I didn't expect Scully to be such a bloodhound about it." Alex gave a low chuckle. "Yeah, I thought she'd start scraping my neck for DNA samples next." "You've got a vivid imagination." "Extremely vivid, actually," Alex said. His voice was husky, honeyed. The sudden sound of Scully's voice near the doorway made them both pull back, turning to look, but apparently she was just walking around with the phone. Mulder stepped over to get a couple of sodas from the refrigerator. When he turned back Alex was leaning on the counter, gazing at him with an expression he remembered well from their early days: that all-out, lips-parted, doe-eyed adoration. That Krycek had faked so well. Those looks had practically had Mulder eating out of his hand. Jesus. "You don't have to act like you're in love with me." His voice came out harsher than he intended, cold with disgust and anger. "I'm a guy. I'm already good to go." Krycek flinched back, shock and confusion evident in his face. He slid off the stool in a swift motion. Mulder thought he heard him mutter, "Asshole," under his breath as Krycek walked away to sit with his back to Mulder, staring into the fire. Well, what the hell did he expect, that I wouldn't call him on his bullshit? Did he not even realize he was doing that? Is lying so ingrained in everything he does? "Pizza ready?" Scully's voice behind Mulder made him jump. He slid the soda he had pulled out for Alex over to her, and she perched on a stool. "Skinner wants you to check in with him tonight." "Yup," Mulder said noncommittally. He glanced over at the back of Krycek's dark head. Alex was still watching the flames, rigid and unmoving in that way he had. He was suddenly reminded of another time, sitting with Krycek in a car just before they flew to Tunguska. Three a.m. in New York City. Mulder had come down from his interminable meeting with Marita to find Krycek asleep in the car where he had left him, handcuffed to the wheel. Alex had looked cute in sleep, younger and more defenseless. For a moment Mulder had almost smiled, almost felt a protective affection for the younger man, before the anger swelled again. Coming on top of all the betrayal and pain of the past, this whole encounter had felt like salt in an open wound. He had been disgusted to see Alex among the militia, his hair cut so short, looking like just another neo-Nazi thug. And he had been outraged that Krycek would shoot the driver of that truck so brazenly, right in front of Mulder. Did Alex think he could get away with anything, like all those other Consortium assholes? As Mulder started the car, Krycek, awake now, had asked him where they were going. And for one moment Mulder had such a wish to tell him all about it, to share this adventure with him, to feel Alex's quick and eager intelligence again. But then Krycek had said in that gravelly, insistent voice, "You're gonna keep me in the dark, aren't you?" Like Mulder was holding out on him, like he had a right to know. And Mulder had hit him. Had lashed out, punching him in the face. Alex had not hit back, had not protested. He only bowed his head and then sat, turned away from Mulder, silent and motionless as he was doing now, for over an hour as they drove to the airport. Mulder had driven in silence as well, rage and guilt mingling within him, as they did now. Mulder popped open his soda and let the cold wash down his throat. He realized he was shaking. Fuck. Would being around Krycek always feel like swallowing glass? "Better pull those pizzas out." Scully's voice broke into his thoughts. "I smell them burning." "Just our extra crispy crust, ma'am." Dinner passed in silence. Krycek had retreated behind his customary hard, blank look. He ate his pizza in a few quick bites and went out onto the screen porch. Mulder stared at the door. What kind of game is he playing? What does he want? And do I still want this? But remembering the feel of Alex's body against his, the taste of Alex's skin, he was swept by a rush of desire so intense he felt it even in his teeth and the ends of his hair. He was almost tempted to go into the bathroom and jerk off, but he didn't want to do that if there was still any chance at all that something might happen tonight. "Well," Scully said finally, "it looks like the raid is going to be sometime in the next couple of days. We should go over the plans once more." "I'll get Krycek," Mulder said. Through the door to the screened porch, he could see Krycek standing with his back to them, staring out at the sky or trees or moon. Mulder pushed open the door to the screen porch. Krycek turned. For a moment fierce emotion flashed up in Alex's eyes, so strongly that Mulder almost took a step backwards. He forced himself to hold his ground, keep his voice neutral. "We should go over those disks some more." Krycek nodded. The cool blank mask was in place once more as he followed Mulder back to the computer room. If Mulder had thought it was difficult to sit next to Alex the night before, this was a thousand times worse. He couldn't even make himself stay in the chair. Alex kept losing his train of thought as he outlined the steps of the raid. He sat stiffly, and his voice sounded higher than usual, two indicators that he was feeling stressed. "Okay, this is the back," Krycek said. "Scully, that's where you two will be, you'll go in and get the medical records." "Mulder and I will go in the back, and you go in the front," Scully said. "Will we—" Krycek interrupted her. "You and Skinner. Mulder will be with me." An eyebrow shot skyward. "Mulder is my partner. And Skinner said—" "It makes more sense that way," Krycek said coolly, not giving any reason why. "Don't fight, kiddies," Mulder said. No one laughed. Scully's arms were folded, her mouth tight. Krycek stared fixedly at the screen. "Scully, I'll go with Krycek. You can work better with Skinner than he can." From the corner of his eye he saw Krycek lean back, exhaling audibly as though he had been holding his breath. "Can you two work together?" Scully said pointedly. "Yeah," Mulder assured her, trying to sound as sincere as possible. Alex rubbed the back of his head, tugging at the dark hair. Mulder allowed himself to imagine his own hand there, gripping Alex's hair and turning him to face Mulder. Alex would close his eyes and moan huskily as Mulder kissed him hard. His face would be level with Mulder's crotch and Mulder would unzip— Scully's voice asking something about the vaccine supply jolted Mulder back. He tried to focus on the situation at hand, and not his hard-on. A lot depended on this raid. They went over the plans thoroughly. Krycek had covered all contingencies in almost obsessive detail. Mulder was torn between impatience and admiration, none of which he expressed aloud. The atmosphere in the room felt charged. Krycek did not look at either of them, keeping his eyes only on the screen as he spoke. "Well," Scully said finally, "I think we're good. Why don't we wrap it up for the night?" She headed for the kitchen. Mulder lingered for a moment, but Krycek ignored him, closing the files and shutting down the laptop. Well, Scully was hopefully going to bed, and then... Alex was bending over, locking up the disks. Mulder imagined grabbing him around the waist, stripping off the tight black jeans and taking him facedown on the desk. Alex would sprawl wantonly on the desk; his ass would be like hot butter— "Hey, look!" Scully called from the living room. "'Erin Brockovich' is on!" Mulder wanted to bang his head against the wall. He made his way out to the living room, where Scully was curled in one corner of the couch with a bowl of microwave popcorn. "You can ogle Julia Roberts' cleavage," she told Mulder. Mulder snuck a glance at Alex, who did not react. Alex sat in the armchair, eying the TV with a bored, aloof expression. Mulder flopped on the couch and took a handful of popcorn. "Bring it on." Eons passed. Erin Brockovich and her Wonderbra faced down a corrupt corporation. Seasons changed; leaves turned, fell, moldered and reemerged as young green shoots. Entire species became extinct. Alex leaned back in the chair, his eyes half-closed. Julia Roberts flashed her teeth in triumph. Novas burned out, imploded, galaxies shifted. The credits rolled. "Well, I think I'll get ready for bed," Scully said. She headed off down the hall. Instantly Alex was alert, his eyes meeting Mulder's with a guarded question. Mulder nodded imperceptibly. Ah, here was a huge benefit to sex with a man. Had Alex been a woman who had spent the entire evening pissed off at him and sulking, Mulder would almost certainly be seeing no further action tonight. But Alex was a guy, and guys were, as he himself had noted, always good to go. Scully came out in her blue pajamas, some kind of goo on her face. She bid Mulder goodnight and disappeared into the bedroom. Alex was watching intently, reminding Mulder of a cat about to spring. Mulder indicated the clock with his eyes and held up both hands, fingers spread: ten minutes. Alex nodded. Seven minutes went by. Scully's door opened. She shuffled into the kitchen in those ridiculous sheepskin slippers to pour herself a glass of water. Mulder wanted to speak, to make some kind of light small talk, but his mouth was dry and he could barely think. Alex sat motionless, staring at an infomercial on TV as if it were a ticking bomb. "Goodnight," Scully said again. Her door closed. Mulder nodded to Alex. They moved quickly, not speaking or smiling or even looking at each other; they might have been preparing for some hazardous, covert mission. Mulder pulled on a sweater. Although it was September, the nights got chilly up here already. Alex sat on the cot, putting his socks and boots on. Mulder got a flashlight, wondering if there was anything else he needed to take. He had no sexual paraphernalia here at the cabin. Should he bring a blanket? Would that be presumptuous? He couldn't say with certainty what he was expecting to happen between them now. Alex had been so distant and closed-off all night; yet he still seemed to want this as much as ever, and paradoxically, so did Mulder. Alex was painstakingly lacing up his boots. Mulder leaned against the window frame, looking out, not wanting to make Alex self-conscious by watching. The atmosphere was tense enough as it was. What was going to happen? What did he want? To throw Krycek up against a tree, fuck him, and smack him in the head. It was a satisfying fantasy; indeed, a shamefully familiar one. "Mulder." Krycek's voice was quiet, almost whispering. Standing by the cot, zipping up his leather jacket, he looked at Mulder uncertainly. Mulder nodded again. He crossed to the door and opened it, then followed Krycek out. They moved slowly and cautiously as Mulder locked the door and they went down the porch steps. "This is like being a teenager again, sneaking out of the house," Mulder said, low. Krycek gave him a curious look but did not reply. Mulder suddenly wanted to grab him, shake him, kiss him—maybe even apologize, although Krycek had been in the wrong, dammit! Anything to break through the huge block of ice between them. He wondered why that should be so important to him. He was certainly no stranger to the idea of having sex for sex's sake alone. The moon was nearly full, casting a bright ghostly light over everything. They headed into the woods. Reflexively, Mulder raised the flashlight, but before he could switch it on Krycek reached out to push it back down. "There's enough light," Krycek hissed. "Just give your eyes a minute to adjust." Annoyed because Krycek was giving him orders, and because he was right, Mulder followed the black leather jacket through the woods. By mutual agreement they did not go too far, to avoid setting off the perimeter alarm. Krycek stopped in a small clearing near a large sycamore tree. The white bark of the tree seemed to glow in the moonlight. Fifty feet above their heads, the wind sighed through the dark mass of branches. The woods felt alive to Mulder. "All things are here with us," Tomasina had said, and he felt it now, the multitude of living creatures all around them, going about their business, oblivious to the intensity of the moment taking place in this clearing. "That's a sycamore tree," he said inanely. "It looks like a white birch, but it's bigger." Krycek said nothing. He unzipped his jacket and leaned back against the tree, spreading his legs slightly. Mulder's heart was pounding so hard he could actually feel it as he stepped closer and Krycek's hand reached for his belt. Alex looked good in the moonlight—cool, enigmatic, in control. Mulder leaned toward him and Krycek tilted his head, smirking. "You don't need to kiss me." Krycek's voice was dry, slightly mocking. "I'm a guy. I'm good to go." Instantly, Mulder felt himself stiffen, start to make a move, and just as quickly, Krycek's hand came up, holding him off. Krycek stared at him, lifting an eyebrow in warning. His hand returned to Mulder's belt. Mulder's lips were tingling with the nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss Alex again. He lowered his eyes and reached to unbutton Krycek's jeans. Krycek caught his breath. He slid Mulder's zipper down, scooping Mulder free of his underwear in a practiced motion. Mulder's stomach flipped and a jet of molten heat shot through him, up his backbone and all the way down to his toes, as Alex began to stroke him, those long fingers moving expertly. Alex was biting his lower lip, his eyes intent on Mulder's. Mulder rolled Alex's briefs down to release his cock, finding to his chagrin that he needed two hands to do this. He was certain that fact was not lost on Krycek. Alex's cock was good-sized, thick and beautiful; Mulder could not hold back a small sound of desire and admiration. "Aaah Jesus..." Mulder didn't know he was saying the words until they were out of his mouth. The way Alex was touching him, slow and deliberate, almost as if he knew Mulder's body better than Mulder did. Krycek spit in his palm, his wet hand closing over Mulder's cock like a warm mouth. Mulder heard his own breathing, loud and rapid like a dog panting. He palmed Alex's cock, loving the way it filled his hand. Mulder stroked his thumb over the slick crown, using the precum as natural lube, then circled it along the underside. A deep low moan broke from Alex, and he rocked his head back against the tree for a second. Alex brought his hand up again, and Mulder took hold of it, pulling it from Alex's mouth to his own. He licked the palm, then, unable to resist, ran his tongue up the long fingers, letting his teeth graze over the fingertips. Alex caught his breath as Mulder slid his lips down over the first finger and sucked gently. "Oh shit..." Alex breathed shakily, closing his eyes, and Mulder knew the balance had shifted. He moved in closer, rubbing against Alex as he slowly sucked, nibbled and licked up and down each finger, taking his time. When Mulder released Alex's hand and leaned in to kiss him Alex did not resist this time. Mulder caught Alex's lower lip between his teeth, then pushed further in, feeling himself groan aloud as Alex began to stroke him again. Alex's tongue met his, fucking his mouth, quick and hard. Mulder felt Alex's breathy growl against his mouth as their tongues clashed, battling fiercely for dominion. Alex's hand came up to the back of Mulder's head, holding him firmly in place. It was the prosthetic hand, and Mulder started involuntarily, pulling back and glancing over his shoulder at it. It didn't feel all that different from a real hand—slightly harder, and the touch was a bit more tentative. But he knew, and it threw him. Only for a second, but the damage was done. He could see Alex's face tighten, the brief flash of—anger? hurt? humiliation?—in Alex's eyes before he dropped the hand and looked away. Mulder cursed himself; this time was not Alex's fault, just Mulder's own stupidity. He tried to apologize wordlessly, stroking his hand along Alex's jaw, but Alex would not turn his head back for another kiss. Mulder slipped his hand down to join Alex's, rubbing their cocks together, then cupping the heavy balls in his palm, stroking over them with his thumb. He slid two fingers back, caressing the curve of Alex's ass and the juncture of his thigh. Alex writhed under Mulder's touch with a rough, throaty cry. He spread his legs wider, bracing his foot against the tree and lifting his hips to thrust into Mulder's hand. The sounds Alex made were driving Mulder wild. He ground his cock harder against Alex's, Alex's hand frantically working the two of them together. He could tell Alex was close, too, from his rapid shallow breathing. Pleasure and tension were blazing through Mulder's body, blocking everything else out. "I'm coming," he got out, and then he was beyond words. Alex stroked him, deliberately, drawing it out: once, twice, three times. Then Alex's hand tightened and quickened the pace, and Mulder felt himself crashing over the precipice with an intense rush. His vision filled with tiny pinpricks of light and a loud groan broke from between his clenched teeth. Not wanting to yell, he slammed his fist against the tree instead, almost hitting Alex. Alex startled and jerked away, staring at Mulder open-mouthed. Mulder steadied himself against the tree with one hand. He petted Alex's damp hair in reassurance, kissed his jaw. Incongruously, laughter was bubbling up within him. Alex stood watching Mulder, his cock in his hand as though offering it to Mulder. Mulder reached down to caress him, clumsily, as he tried to catch his breath. It was his left hand, and he knew he wasn't doing it very well. Alex shuddered lightly. He covered Mulder's hand with his own, his grip tightening as he increased the pace and pressure. Alex had his head thrown back, eyes shut, gasping out hoarsely with every breath. He braced himself with the prosthetic hand but did not touch Mulder again with it. Mulder leaned against Alex in a muzzy languor, his body still humming. Alex's hand moved furiously over Mulder's, his little sounds increasing in urgency. Close, frenzied, he seemed almost to take no notice of Mulder; he was using Mulder's hand to get himself off, but Mulder didn't mind. He licked and nibbled Alex's neck and the spot just behind Alex's ear, Alex's breath hot against his face. Reaching down, he cupped his hand around Alex's balls, feeling them taut and heavy as a pair of plums in his hand. Alex stiffened, the muscles of his neck and shoulders going rigid. Alex's hand squeezed Mulder's forcefully, almost painfully, and then Alex erupted with a series of hoarse yells. Mulder lifted his head to look at him. Alex had the most incredible expression on his face, as if he were gazing into some unimaginable vision. His cries softened to whimpers, his grip slackening as he let Mulder finish bringing him off. Mulder's hand was slippery, the air around them redolent with the scent of sex. Suddenly Alex grunted sharply, his voice becoming more conscious as he grabbed his side. Grimacing in pain, he put out a hand, motioning Mulder backwards. Mulder stepped away, and Alex slid shakily down to a crouched position, his hand still pressed to his side. "You all right?" Alex raised his head to glance at Mulder. "Yeah..." he said breathlessly. "It just—my ribs—" He pulled a wad of napkins from his jacket pocket and handed some to Mulder. They cleaned up in silence. Alex zipped his jeans. He shifted position, straightening up a bit to sit with his back against the tree. Mulder settled on the ground next to him. I just had sex with Alex Krycek. And I know he's an amoral killer, but he was so...hot, fantastic, wild... Mulder felt a little uncertain as to what to do now. Women liked to be held and talked to, and Mulder was good at that. But Alex was just sitting quietly with his eyes closed. Was he in pain? Still pissed off? Having second thoughts? Mulder laid a hand on Alex's knee, his thumb worrying at a tiny hole in the knee of Alex's jeans. Funny about Krycek. Some of his things were obviously expensive, state-of-the-art, but his clothes and boots looked well worn. He wondered if Krycek had money. In this, as in everything else, he was a mass of contradictions. "How're you doing?" Alex opened his eyes to look at Mulder, and then quickly looked down. Mulder studied him, trying to read his signals. Alex didn't seem upset, just a little overwhelmed maybe, and very self-contained. "Great." Alex spoke in a husky whisper that carried a faint undercurrent of irony. "You?" Mulder squeezed Alex's knee. "That was...I just...yeah." Alex caught his breath, then let it out in a long deep sigh. Mulder wondered again what was going on with him. He was pretty certain it wasn't Alex's first time with a man; he had seemed very experienced and sure before, taking the lead. Idly, he stroked Alex's thigh, and Alex gave another tiny gasp, his breathing speeding up and becoming more erratic. Was he getting excited again? So soon? Mulder knew Alex was a few years younger than he was, but still... Damn, baby. He sat up, studying Alex's face. Alex had his eyes closed again. Moonlight glinted on his small gold earring. On impulse, Mulder leaned over and took it between his teeth, nipping and then sucking. Alex's eyes flew open, and he let out a little cry that was equal parts startled and lustful. Alex looked over at Mulder and flicked his eyebrows up, giving Mulder a little smile. Mulder leaned in closer and watched Alex's face soften, his eyes shuttering and lips parting for the kiss. Alex kept his hands down at his sides, waiting. Mulder's throat tightened suddenly. He leaned forward and kissed Alex gently, sliding his tongue over Alex's lower lip. Alex's own tongue came out to lick his lip where Mulder had kissed him. "Should we...get back?" he murmured. Mulder played with his earring. "We've got time...Scully's a pretty good sleeper." "Oh, you—do this a lot?" Alex smirked at him. "Oh yeah, " Mulder said. "Every time we have a hot triple agent come in with some information that's going to possibly save the world from alien colonization, and we have to hide out in the safe house for protection, I always have sex with him while Scully sleeps." "Him. So you like men, Mulder?" "Fuck no, Alex, you mean you're not a woman? Guess that's why I didn't have to struggle to get your bra undone." "C'mon...answer me," Alex said in that husky, insistent tone, the one that could strip Mulder's skin off. "Actually, I haven't been with a lot of men. I fooled around some in high school and college, but nothing recent." "Oh." Alex seemed taken aback. "When we worked together, I thought...I mean..." Mulder traced the line of Alex's cheek and jaw, enjoying the gritty feel of Alex's unshaven skin. It's you, Alex, always has been. You drive me wilder than anyone I've ever met, man or woman. Alex's lashes flickered as he looked down. Bending close, Mulder whispered, "I want to suck you." Instead of the enthusiasm Mulder had expected, Alex seemed almost hesitant. "Sure, I—I don't have—" "You don't have what? Any strange diseases?" Alex frowned slightly. "No—I—I'm clean, I got tested, and—" "You got tested?" This had never even occurred to Mulder. "What, you like to cat around, Krycek?" "No, not—" Alex swallowed and looked down, "—not lately, not at all really—but sometimes I used to—" Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Do tell." Krycek shrugged. "I just would get tired of—staying inside the lines all the time." That was hardly how Mulder would have described Krycek's various nefarious activities, and he let his expression convey that. Krycek gave him a look in return, a kind of challenge in his eyes: You don't know me; you don't know how wild I can be. "Well, hell, Krycek, that's why there's the Internet. And phone sex. You can get as freaky as you like, risk-free." Krycek looked down, the long lashes veiling his eyes. "I like human contact," he said softly. Mulder was a little surprised at this, since Krycek often didn't seem to like human contact and in fact generally maintained a sizable radius of personal space. Mulder was the exception; from the start, Alex had sat right up next to him while they worked, stood close to him when they talked. Mulder had never been able to keep his hands off Alex, and Alex had accepted it, even seemed to welcome it. Evidently he welcomed it with strangers as well. Mulder pushed that thought out of his mind. It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on, and besides, Alex's line was a blatant invitation to make his move. He smiled. "You do, huh?" He ran his hands up and down the sides of Alex's body, then leaned in close, pressing against Alex to kiss him. Alex started to return the kiss aggressively, attacking Mulder's mouth. Mulder drew back. "Easy," he murmured, "take it easy..." He traced his thumb over the curve of Alex's eyebrow, then down Alex's cheek to the corner of Alex's mouth in a deliberate caress. Alex gazed at Mulder, looking mesmerized. Mulder leaned to kiss him once more, and Alex put up a brief struggle, then abruptly ceased resisting and allowed Mulder to kiss him slowly and sensuously. Alex shifted his position, turning Mulder as well. "Touch me," he breathed, and Mulder ran a hand down Alex's body—he was hard again already!—caressing him firmly but briefly before withdrawing his hand again. This was Mulder's show now, and he would do things on his own timetable. He took hold of Alex's shirt with both hands and started to lift it up, but Alex stopped him with a hand on his wrist. Alex's eyes met Mulder's, guardedly. Mulder tasted the guilt, bitter as bile. How could he say, "It doesn't bother me," when he had already, stupidly, shown that it did. He slid a hand up under the shirt, stroking Alex's bare chest. Alex watched him, tense and quiet. Alex's skin felt warm. Mulder let his fingers explore; he caught a nipple between two fingers and squeezed gently. Alex was still holding his other wrist, though not tightly. On impulse, Mulder bent down and pressed his face into Alex's belly, flicking his tongue into Alex's navel. Alex gave a low startled grunt. Mulder trailed his tongue upward along Alex's belly, nudging the shirt out of the way as he went, and this time Alex did not resist. Mulder felt a thrill as the shirt went up, exposing Alex's smooth chest, and he could finally do what he had wanted to for days. He flicked his tongue delicately over Alex's nipple, then just brushed his lips against it before beginning to suckle gently. Alex finally spoke. "You have been with mostly women." Perplexed, Mulder lifted his head. "You can go a little...harder." Mulder grinned at him. "You like it rough, huh?" Alex drew back slightly, pressing his arm to his left side, where the skin was still dark with bruising. Mulder realized how those words might sound, given their history. "I won't hurt you," he murmured. "Just relax." He bent his head again. Alex's fingers combed through Mulder's hair, then tightened, pushing Mulder's face forcefully against his chest. Taking the hint, Mulder sucked hard, even using his teeth a little. "Ohhyes...yeah, bite me!...touch me, Mulder...so good..." Alex cajoled and demanded huskily. He lifted his hips to pull his jeans and underwear down and reached to stroke himself. Mulder started to yank Alex's hand away and pin it down, but his fingers touched the bandage on Alex's wrist and he realized that might hurt. He settled for nudging Alex's hand aside and leaning over to growl breathily against Alex's ear, "Let me do this." He let his tongue meander downward, trailing over Alex's belly, then just brushing the side of Alex's cock as he traced the warm juncture of Alex's thigh. He sucked hard on the inside of Alex's thigh to give him a love bite where Scully would never see. Again Alex reached to touch himself, and again Mulder swatted his hand away. As punishment for this transgression, he feathered his tongue along the underside of Alex's cock only for a second, then licked his way back up to Alex's belly. "Mulder...don't tease me," Alex said hoarsely. "Just...it's been so long..." Mulder raised his head. "It's been about ten minutes, stud muffin." Alex hissed through his teeth, apparently not in the mood for any sort of teasing, physical or verbal. His fingers skittered restlessly through Mulder's hair, urging Mulder's head downward with convulsive little touches. Mulder had the impression Alex was restraining himself with difficulty from grabbing Mulder's head and forcing him down. Briefly he considered keeping up what he was doing, just to see Alex really lose control, but decided against it. That would be cruel, and most probably painful. Mulder bit him once on the hip, lightly, then decided to take pity on him. Moving lower, he scooped Alex's balls into his hand and plunged his mouth down over the thick cock. Alex arched into his mouth with a throaty gasp. Mulder swirled his tongue around, drinking in the sensations. It had been a long time since he had done this, but it was coming back to him, how much he enjoyed it. Or maybe it was Alex, the scent and taste and feel of him, how responsive he was to everything Mulder did. He knew Alex had probably been with a lot of guys, certainly more than Mulder had. But he was with Mulder now, and Mulder wanted to make this really good. He used every trick he had learned from his vast collection of porn, plus a few he had dreamed up on his own. Alex was much bigger than the boys he had done this with in college, but Mulder found he could still take him in fairly deeply. He licked up and down the sides of Alex's cock, flicked his tongue back and forth across the sensitive spot underneath, then wrapped his lips around Alex, sucking hard. "Oh God...oh, shit...Mulder!" Alex's cries were dark and raw, pure need. Mulder had never had such an uninhibited, appreciative lover. He was surprised and excited; somehow he had always thought Krycek would be the silent type, more guarded and controlling. Alex's gentle touch was a revelation as well; although his fingers were twined in Mulder's hair, he seemed to be just holding on. Mulder was in orally-fixated heaven. He lapped around the head of Alex's cock in long firm strokes like he was eating an ice-cream cone, then rubbed it against his face, drinking in the scent, the silky texture. Alex ran his hand all over his own body, rubbing and pinching, stroked Mulder's neck and rasped out wordless pleas. Mulder moved his mouth lower, working Alex's cock with his hand as he nuzzled and lapped Alex's balls. Wetting one finger, he slid it into the cleft of Alex's delectable ass. He stroked Alex there for a moment; then, finding what he was looking for, started to press his finger deeper inward. Alex froze, his hand on Mulder's shoulder. Mulder lifted his head. "You don't want that?" Alex looked at him a moment, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he whispered. Yeah, you do, or yeah, you don't? Mulder decided that if no meant no, yes probably meant yes. Slowly, he pushed his finger in. It seemed incredibly intimate, entering Alex's body like this, the two of them staring into each other's eyes. He could feel the heat of Alex's muscles pulsing, the beating of Alex's blood. Mulder pressed gently in and out, his other hand on Alex's cock. Alex shut his eyes; he threw his head back and moaned loudly as Mulder went a little deeper and found his prostate. Oh yeah, that's it, you like that, don't you? Alex writhed erotically on the ground as Mulder took him into his mouth again. Mulder found he was loving this almost as much as Alex, he could have kept it up all night. But now Alex was getting really noisy, so much so that Mulder was starting to become uneasy. He stopped his ministrations and raised his head. "Aah, no, don't stop... Mulder, c'mon, please...what—" Mulder sat back on his heels, enjoying the incredible sight before him: Alex Krycek on his back, laid bare, panting, begging. Oh, it was too sweet. He could get up now, walk away, leave Alex there like this, and it would be worse than any beating he could give. But he didn't really want to. He wanted to give pleasure, and he was enjoying this as well. He wanted to finish it, feel that responsive body tensing and shuddering under his touch, hear Alex get loud and see that expression again on his face as he came. And, it occurred to him as well, if he quit now, his chances of getting Alex to reciprocate on him were pretty much nil. Alex had raised himself up on his elbow. He was very still, looking up at Mulder. He expects me to do that, to torture him like that. He's waiting for me to do it. Mulder couldn't resist. "Sure you don't want me to stop? Don't want you to be in pain." Alex's eyes glittered. "Don't make me pull out my gun, Mulder," he growled. Okay, I get it, don't tease you. He reached back over his head, stripped off his sweater and tossed it to Alex. "Here, take this...Scully's not that good a sleeper." Alex pulled the sweater to him, rubbing and nuzzling his face in it, biting and sucking. Mulder's mouth fell open at the sight. His own cock was tingling, watching this amazing display. Alex took hold of Mulder's hair again, thrusting into Mulder's mouth, fucking his face while Mulder fucked his ass with two fingers this time. Alex suddenly tensed, shaking his head free of the sweater. "Mulder—" he gasped out urgently, "I'm coming—" Mulder looked at him breathlessly. "Yeah, that's the idea." But Alex was reaching to take hold of his cock once again. "I can—" Mulder smacked his hand away, not caring if it hurt. He fixed Krycek with a look. "I told you to let me do this." Reaching up, he tweaked Krycek's nipple, hard. Alex groaned loudly, quivering all over, and then he was coming explosively into Mulder's mouth, convulsing, his wild cries audible even through the mouthful of heavy sweater. Mulder rode it out with him, sucking and pumping madly. The familiar tang of come flooded Mulder's throat. Alex's softening cock pulsed gently against his lips as he licked it, tasting the last few drops. Breathing deeply, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. Alex lay unmoving, his face buried in Mulder's sweater. Mulder ran his hand lightly up Alex's hip, and Alex's hand shot out to grab his wrist, holding him away, then stroking Mulder's hand with his thumb, evidently too sensitized to be touched right now. Mulder settled back against the tree. So, sex with men these days apparently involved no kissing, no teasing, no post-coital cuddling or conversation—? Or was that just sex with the very unusual Alex Krycek? Alex pulled the sweater from his face. He looked starry-eyed, the long lashes clumped in spiky points. He said something softly in Russian. The phrase rang a bell in Mulder's memory, and he mentally scanned, trying to translate. "Now I can die a happy man!" Mulder said, triumphant. Alex looked at him in shock. He sat up and said something else in Russian, a question. Mulder grinned. "Yes." He had no idea what Alex was asking, but figured it was probably something like, Can you speak Russian? Small creases of puzzlement appeared between Alex's eyes. He blinked at Mulder and asked another question in Russian. "Uh...no?" Mulder said. Alex continued to look puzzled. "I only know that one phrase," Mulder said. "I heard you say it before." Alex looked down and away. He busied himself pulling his jeans up. "Hey, don't be embarrassed. Who wouldn't be happy to get a blowjob?" He reached out, putting a hand firmly on the back of Alex's neck to draw him closer. "I know I'd—" Alex jerked back, startling Mulder, who had only meant to kiss him. Mulder saw that the walls were up again, Alex just looking at him with that wary expression. Jesus, what a fucking emotional minefield he is. A long moment passed in silent standoff. Then Alex moved closer, his movements deliberate, as though he were stalking Mulder. "Blow you, Mulder? Sure." Mulder said nothing, just watched him. "But I need to use my hand for balance. So I won't be able to give you all the bells and whistles..." Alex's eyes glinted; his smile held a hint of cruelty. "Unless you want to get creative." He extended the prosthetic hand, palm up. The fingers twitched. No, Mulder decidedly did not want to get creative, not in this way at this moment. He kept his eyes on Alex's, trying to read what was going on. If he showed disgust or anger or laughed at Alex, he knew, it was all over. He tried for a neutral tone. "You use that on yourself?" "Sure." Alex tilted his head, the sleek dark brows quirking upward pointedly. "I need my other hand to beat myself." "Alex." Mulder reached out quickly, grasping Krycek's wrist. "When I said that...I didn't know." Alex froze, as though ambushed by Mulder's sudden honesty. He flushed slightly, his gaze dropping to the ground. Mulder could see clearly that Alex didn't want to talk about this, but he didn't care. He recalled the flicker of pain in Krycek's eyes after Mulder said that. What an insensitive bastard he must have seemed. Krycek had flicked off the safety on his gun after Mulder said that. He had said that if it were up to him, he'd pull the trigger. "I only found out later. If I had known, I wouldn't—" "Yeah, you would." Alex's voice was a swift blade cutting Mulder off. Mulder was silent, reluctantly acknowledging the truth of this. Of course he would have made that remark anyway. He had hated Krycek then. Hadn't he in fact said something similar in his bathroom? He nodded slowly. Krycek flexed his wrist in Mulder's grip, and Mulder remembered it was still healing. He moved his hand up to Krycek's forearm. "Sure," he said. It came out harder than he intended, a challenge rather than an invitation. "Sure. Do it." Alex blinked at him, looking cornered. "I...we don't have lube." Mulder shrugged. He ran his tongue across his lips and took hold of the prosthetic hand, preparing to bring it to his mouth. But it was the wrong thing to do, the wrong time. Alex yanked both his hands from Mulder's grip, pulling the prosthetic up against his body. He stared at Mulder, his expression angry and unnerved. "Listen," Mulder said, "forget about it, don't worry. You don't have to do this." In truth, it was a bit of a relief; although he would never admit it to Alex, he had not been certain he could get and maintain a hard-on again so soon. Especially as Alex's strange behavior was making him more nervous than aroused. Alex seemed to draw in on himself, looking away, then down. A brief gust of wind swept through the leaves, ruffling their hair. The silence was heavy save for the omnipresent crickets, and another deeper chirruping that might be frogs. Mulder suddenly knew that he did not want to leave it like this. "Hey, Alex, it's okay." He laid a hand on Alex's shoulder, and this time Alex did not pull away. "It's okay...c'mere..." He reached out, putting his arms around Alex to draw him closer. Alex stilled in his embrace, like a wild creature being petted. Mulder remembered his broken ribs. "Is this hurting you?" Alex shook his head. He didn't speak or look up. Mulder was beginning to feel awkward; he was about to withdraw his arms and suggest they head back, when, just as he had done with the kiss, Alex abruptly capitulated, laying his head on Mulder's shoulder and bringing his arm around Mulder. Mulder could feel him trembling slightly, a fine vibration that was answered in Mulder's own body. Mulder felt almost dizzy. His heart was racing, and he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow it down. Alex clutched a fold of Mulder's shirt, hardly seeming to breathe at all. Mulder rubbed his back under the leather jacket, and Alex made a small throaty sound that sent a zip of arousal through Mulder. Alex was warm and solid in Mulder's arms, the size and feel of him so different from holding a woman. Each time Mulder moved, Alex quivered and tensed, then relaxed a tiny bit more. Mulder told himself to just enjoy the moment, not examine it too much. Don't think. Just be. So strange. To be this close to Krycek and be this peaceful, feel this good. He traced circles on the back of Alex's neck with his fingertips and Alex shivered. Mulder increased the pressure, raking gently with his nails, and Alex breathed "Ohhh yeahhh," his voice soft with longing and delight, as though Mulder had found his secret spot of pleasure. He clung to Mulder a little more tightly, pressing his face against Mulder's chest and closing his eyes. Something cracked open inside Mulder, flooding him with a bewildering wave of near-tenderness. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the cool, loamy night air, the scents of sweat and sex, the sweet musk of Alex's hair. Alex had loosened his grip on Mulder's shirt and was stroking his fingers over Mulder's ribs. Again Mulder felt that diffuse tightening of arousal, yet he felt no urgency to move or push it further right now. He could let go of that, forget about the cold ground under his ass, the nagging worry that Scully might wake up, the old tensions between them, who Krycek was and what he had done. Everything melted and quieted to the sound of their breathing together, the heat of Alex's body pressed to his. He lowered his head to rest his cheek against the top of Alex's head and kept scratching gentle circles along Alex's neck, while Alex purred like a big cat in his arms. Don't think. It feels so amazing, holding him like this he trusts no one I trust no one but we're trusting each other right now I could really really get to like him I could fall—No. No. Don't think. Just be. It lasted only a short time, probably no more than five minutes. Then Mulder became uncomfortably aware of the time, the place, the person he was holding. The craziness of it crawled over his skin and he suddenly wanted to pull away. Instantly, Krycek picked up on it. Mulder could feel the tension gather in Alex's body, feel him drawing back; then he abruptly sat up, breaking the embrace. "We should head back," Alex said huskily. He pushed himself upright and stood, not looking at Mulder. Mulder rose as well, brushing off his clothes. They walked back in silence, curiously formal with each other. Alex moved sure-footedly through the woods, taking the lead, as he had on the way out. At the cabin, Alex went immediately in to wash and change without speaking. Mulder sat on the couch and put the TV on low. Alex emerged wearing the cut-off sweatpants he slept in, but without having taken off his shirt or the prosthetic arm. Mulder felt a little surprised; Alex didn't generally sleep with it on. Mulder took his turn in the bathroom; when he came back out the arm was off but the shirt was still on. Mulder felt a pang, wondering if Alex now felt self-conscious about taking it off in front of him. He hadn't wanted to do that. They still had not spoken a word. Mulder felt the awkwardness of it wrap around him, like a prickly wool blanket against his skin. But what was there to say? Nice blowing you? Thanks for the hand job? Sorry about your arm? What are you doing to me? He flipped through the channels, not even seeing what was on the screen. He was playing back the night in his mind, turning over every sensation, every look, wanting to analyze it but finding himself suffused by it instead. Alex's hand on him, doing it better than he could do himself. The awestruck expression on Alex's face when he came. Alex's unhappiness, that fucking prosthetic arm. Mulder felt the rage churning through him again, too readily. It's not your battle. It's not your pain to bear. Don't take that over; it's not right to do that to him. He could see it would be a barrier; he still couldn't stand it, couldn't accept that that had happened to Alex. Everything in him rose up and revolted against it. How could they do that to him? Why didn't he get out? Why wasn't he luckier, like me? He shut his eyes against the images and his mind veered onto another tangent. Would he really have used it to—? Okay, maybe he was kinky, but the thought was a little—intriguing. He wondered if Alex used it on himself in that way. He got a sudden mental picture, and caught his breath at that, rearranging the blanket over himself. Alex was so—so utterly different from what Mulder had expected. Sex with Alex was so—he groped for the adjectives, came up short. Mind-blowing. Overwhelming. Confusing. Going down on Alex had been nothing like the near-impersonal two-minute blowjobs he had given and gotten in college. It was—he was—again Mulder could not frame the words, but his body was definitely formulating a response to the memories. An ego-driven part of his mind itched to roll over and ask Alex, "How did I do? Was it good for you? Did you like that?" Well, Alex had certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. He had certainly come hard enough, screaming into Mulder's sweater. If it hadn't all been an act of some kind. Mulder sighed sharply. There was the troubling crux of it all, the wall he kept coming up against. No matter what a hot lover Alex proved to be, the terrible reality of all Krycek had done and been would always make it impossible for Mulder to fully trust him. And then there was that disturbing tenderness he had felt, holding Alex. Alex's soft, aching little sounds of pleasure, the way he had clutched Mulder's shirt, seeming almost afraid to relax and let Mulder hold him—what the hell did that mean? Maybe, like Mulder, Alex was nervous—unsure about what it all meant, afraid to let his guard down. Or maybe Alex didn't really want to be there, doing that; maybe it was just another ploy to get whatever he wanted from Mulder. "Mulder." Mulder looked over quickly, a sudden tingle of apprehension and excitement washing over him. Alex was lying on his side, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Could you turn the TV off? Or down?" Mulder felt both relief and disappointment at the mundane request. "Sure." He reached for the remote and snapped off the TV. They lay there on opposite sides of the room, breathing, not sleeping, together. After a bit he heard a soft rustling: Alex, in the darkness, taking off his shirt. Chapter Four: The Rat ereshkigal44@yahoo.com

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