"Get in the bathroom. Now."
Green eyes widened, glittered in feral desperation, lips parting,
a tiny pink tongue-tip darting out to moisten them. "Jesus, Mulder... I
mean, I'm flattered, but can't you wait till we get someplace a little more private?"
That put a hitch in Mulder's breath, a jump in his pulse, but he tamped
it down. No time for this now. "It's a long flight back, and I'm not letting
you out of my sight for a second. You want to try holding it for fifteen hours, be my guest."
The corners of Krycek's mouth quirked up, one hand sliding down to his
crotch, lingering there, thumb hooked in a beltloop. "You wanna try holding
it?"
There was no mistaking his meaning now—just like there'd been no
mistaking it a couple minutes ago, when Mulder'd had him pinned against
that pay-phone, their hips grinding together with all the tenderness of
two dogs in rut. It'd been all he could do to grab Krycek's gun and break
away before the rising bulge in his own pants became all too apparent.
Thank God he was wearing a coat—
But the shift in proximity wasn't helping—quite the opposite, in
fact, every glance passing between them crackling in the air, sending a
hot flush creeping beneath Mulder's skin, making him feel like he'd just
rolled in a pit of itching powder—
"Get going," he ground out through gritted teeth, cocking his head toward
the men's room.
Krycek's smirk stayed firmly in place but he did as he was told, waiting
for Mulder to poke his head inside and give the all-clear before following
him in, heading straight for the sink, flicking on the cold water, splashing it on his face and neck, washing away the blood
and sweat there with a grateful groan. Straightening up, he grabbed a handful
of paper towels from the dispenser near the sink, wiping face and hands
dry—
Green eyes meeting hazel right there in the mirror—
Different green eyes, Mulder realized with a sudden pang—changed,
hard and frosty now, an ocean frozen over, a far cry from the open, overeager
enthusiasm of the Alex Krycek he'd worked with two years ago—
But that Krycek never existed...you just wanted to believe he did,
for as long as he kept telling you'd they'd find Scully—
For as long as he kept fucking you—
And even that hadn't lasted long. Just two nights...
Two nights he couldn't get out of his mind, even now, especially now...even
all the rage and hatred blazing through his veins couldn't completely obliterate
the hot, sweet taste of those memories, and the lust they inspired—
He almost slammed into the wall when Krycek pushed past him, trying
to get to a stall—
Both of them jumping as if burned when Mulder reached out, grabbing
Krycek's arm—
Holding him back until he swung the stall door open himself, looking
inside. No windows, no skylight, no apparent route of escape. "Go on,"
he said finally.
"What, aren't you afraid I'll crawl out through the toilet?"
He hadn't thought of that, though he probably should have. Going in,
he waggled the toilet handle, flushing it, watching the water swirl down.
After a second he shrugged, holstering his gun. "Looks safe to me."
Krycek stared at him a moment, obviously not sure whether he should
be laughing or not. "Y-you were serious about that, weren't you?"
"Any reason I shouldn't be?"
And then it happened—a tiny tug at the corners of his lips, slowly,
steadily working its way into a grin. Not a smirk, or even a sardonic chuckle,
but an all-out, full-faced grin that could've kept the electricity going in four states for a week—
Mulder's back thumped the wall of the stall at the exact same moment
he felt sure his knees were about to go out from under him—
Krycek's hands slapping flat on the wall on either side of Mulder's
head, faces close enough to sense the warmth of each other's breath—
Close enough for him to catch Krycek's scent in full force—musky,
dark, unwashed—
Primal, irresistible. He bit back a moan, his erection twitching to
fresh new life. He hadn't been this hard since that night two years ago,
on the couch in his living room—
The night Krycek'd pushed him flat on his back and sucked him to a fare-thee-well
with that lush mouth of his—
That same mouth so near to his now, a hair's-breadth from touching,
halting suddenly, dipping down to his throat, teasing, brushing the soft
pulse thrumming there—
"You think this is safe?" he murmured, glancing up, looking Mulder straight
in the eye, two fingers stroking the line of his jaw. "I don't think it's
safe at all...want me to stop?"
He tried to speak, but his throat had closed up. All he could manage
was a feeble nod.
"Liar," he rasped, one hand snaking down, grasping, squeezing Mulder's
erection. "You tell me one thing, your body tells me something else. Which
should I believe?"
Both... neither... shit, I don't care... just keep doing what you're
doing...
His surrender must have shown in his face, for Krycek leaned closer,
soft, moist lips touching Mulder's own, so gently he barely felt it, dusting
the corners of his mouth with tiny feathery bites, nipping and licking
until his lips parted, opened for Krycek's probing tongue—
He tasted like...sunlight and fresh water and two years of sleepless
nights tossing alone in his bed, wanting this, yearning for it, remembering
how it was, so fevered and head-spinningly intense he couldn't be remembering it right, nothing had ever felt, ever could
feel this good—
But it did, and it was, and right now nothing short of a nuclear blast
was going to keep him from feeling it again—
He barely registered Krycek's foot kicking the stall door shut, then
the click of the latch—all he was aware of was the other man sliding
down on his knees in front of him, then the invisible scratch and pull
of a zipper, and his own strangled gasp as cool air hit heated skin—
Lips, stubbled skin touching his belly right between his navel and the
waistband of his boxers, following the crisp, springy treasure line downward—
Fingers gently slipping the confining underwear off, letting it pool
around his ankles along with his pants, freeing his stiffened flesh—
A hot, silky curl of tongue around the tip of his erection, darting,
teasing the tiny slit there, tracing the soft ridge—
Sliding down his shaft, engulfing half his length in one slow, sinuous
stroke, starting to move—
It took all Mulder's willpower not to lose it right then and there,
but he didn't, just let his hand float down, tangling in the other man's
hair, burying his fingers in thick black satin, trying to guide him to a steady, gentle rhythm—
But Krycek ignored him, speeding up, head bobbing, tongue swirling,
wrapping around his shaft, flicking over the tip—
Green eyes looking up, locking on his—
And that did it. Thrusting once, twice deep into Krycek's throat, he
shattered like a window with a brick flung through it—
He didn't lose consciousness this time, though probably only because
Krycek's arm was there, wrapping around his back, shoring him up. Warm,
moist lips were there too, teasing his own lips open again, letting him
taste his own taste still clinging to Krycek's tongue, sticky, spicy-sweet...
"God, I missed this," Krycek whispered, mouth hovering bare millimeters
from his, so close he could feel the other man's words sinking directly
into his skin, "missed you..."
And he melted, leaning into him with dreamy abandon, Krycek's hard-on
pressing into his own belly with warm insistence, mouths meeting, devouring—
A frozen jolt jetting through him at the sound of the outside door banging
open, footsteps clacking on tile, coming closer—
Entering the stall next to them, flipping the latch—
Krycek pulled back, but didn't break away, just looked at him with eyes
widened in amusement, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth—
And the dream faded, dissipating like morning fog even as Mulder's hand
snaked down, discovering with mingled relief and dismay that his pants
were now miraculously refastened around his hips. Krycek must've done it,
though for some reason his own consciousness had blanked it out—
And his brain finally kick-started again, racing with his pulse at a
million miles a second, cold sweat breaking out in bullets all over him—
This is not fucking happening... I'm not standing in a bathroom in
the fucking Hong Kong Airport knocking tonsils with another man—
With Krycek, for shit's sake... the man who killed my father—
He pushed Krycek away the instant he heard the outside door swinging
shut, slamming him back hard against the far wall.
"Mulder, what the hell're you—"
"You're going to walk out of here ahead of me and go directly to our
gate. Don't turn around, and don't talk to me for any reason."
"But... wait a minute, I don't—"
"Shut up and get moving."
Krycek looked like he was going to say something anyway, then, eyes
narrowing, jaw going tight, he moved, out of the stall, out of the men's
room into the congested terminal, not five steps ahead of Mulder the entire
way as they both headed for the gate—
Just in time to see the plane taxiing away.
The last flight of the day back to D.C.—or anywhere else on the eastern
seaboard, according to the departures listed on the blue-screen monitors
right next to the gate. Terrific, just fucking terrific...
"Let's go," he said tersely, nodding Krycek toward the entrance to the
concourse.
Neither one of them said a word on their short cab ride to the nearest
hotel to the airport. The front desk clerk spoke flawless English and didn't
twitch a hair when Mulder slapped down his Amex card and asked for a double
room for the night, even when her gaze flicked over Krycek, standing right
behind him. "With two beds," Mulder hastened to add, feeling so suddenly,
totally wiped he didn't even bother asking the nightly rate.
But he should have, he realized as soon as he got the door open. It
was a double room, all right—for somebody with Donald Trump's expense
account. Plush white furniture with throw-pillows and carpeting to match,
a big-screen TV and stereo, a wet bar with every kind of liquor known to
man—
And two beds. Two double beds.
At least they weren't waterbeds, he thought, plopping down on the edge
of one of them, watching wearily as Krycek did a slow circuit of the room,
finally pulling off his leather jacket, throwing it on the other bed with
a smirk. "Nice work, Mulder—looks like you snagged us the honeymoon
suite." Off Mulder's look, he spat, "what, am I still forbidden to talk
to you?"
"Do whatever you want, I don't give a shit," he sighed, leaning down
to tug off his shoes. He was too fucking tired to put up even a token fight;
all he wanted right now was for the whole day to just disappear...
"Okay, fine," Krycek said, "I'm taking a shower."
And he proceeded to strip, peeling off his t-shirt, then his jeans,
kicking off his shoes. Mulder turned away, face suddenly, inexplicably
burning, pulling the phone book from the bedside table drawer, though he
couldn't think of anybody he had to call—
Breath rushing out in a gust when he finally heard the bathroom door
snick shut, then the soft patter of water hitting tile—
Jesus, he could just imagine it, imagine him, Krycek, stepping under
the warm spray, water soaking, slicking that black hair, pouring over his skin—
He slumped over with a bone-deep groan, elbows on knees, head hanging
down, sweet knives of fire stabbing at his groin. This was hell, and he'd
hurled himself right into it. What was he thinking, bringing Krycek to
a hotel with him? If he'd had any sense at all, he'd have dragged him down
to the nearest local lockup and left him there for the night—
But he hadn't. And here he was, sweaty and exhausted, with a hard-on
that threatened to bust through his fly any second—
And if he got any sleep at all tonight, it'd be a fucking miracle...
He wasn't sure he'd even be able to stand up, but he did, pulling off
his coat and suit jacket—
Suddenly realizing he still had Krycek's gun. It was right there, a
solid, unmistakable lump in his coat pocket. Krycek had had ample opportunity
to get it away from him at the airport, to just take it and run—
But he hadn't. He hadn't even tried...
His gaze drifted, lighting finally on the other bed, on Krycek's clothes,
laying there in a limp, wadded-up bundle—
Fingering the grey t-shirt, he picked it up, the thin cotton draping
over one hand, finger poking through a hole torn under one sleeve—
Nose wrinkling at the dank, musty whiff of body odor wafting up from
it. Jesus, it smelled like he'd been wearing it for a week—
Tossing it in the trash can underneath the bedside table, he fished
in his own bag for a second, pulling out a fresh white undershirt, throwing
it on top of Krycek's jeans. He had to sit next to the guy on a fifteen-hour flight tomorrow, and he wasn't about to hold his breath
for the entire trip...
He jumped slightly as the bathroom door opened and Krycek emerged, turning
his back as the other man came over to the bed, reaching for his jeans,
though Mulder could see from the corner of one eye that he'd already donned
his briefs—
"I'm... um, gonna wash up too," he mumbled, grabbing underwear, jeans
and a clean t-shirt from his bag, heading toward the bathroom before Krycek
could answer. He didn't realize until he'd already shut the door that Krycek's
gun was still in his coat pocket, right there on the bed—
He stared at the back of the bathroom door, considering, then unslung
his holster, started undressing. It didn't matter. If Krycek wanted to
come in here and shoot him, he was welcome to. He wasn't going back out
in that room until he felt clean again... if that were even possible...
He turned the water on as cold as he could get it, teeth rattling as
he stepped under it, relief sluicing over him when he toweled off, frozen
but finally clear-headed. Now if he could just manage to stay this way
for the rest of the night...
Krycek was standing at the balcony window when he came out, staring
out at the view, thousands of lights set into the skyline like twinkling
diamonds. He turned around just as Mulder'd tossed his clothing onto his
own bed, a slight smile turning up his lips as he fingered the new white
t-shirt he was wearing. "Thanks. Guess the one I was wearing was getting
a little ripe..."
"No problem." He'd started moving closer, then caught himself, stopping
dead, eyes slowly sweeping the other man. Five months on the run had put
muscle on him, lean, ropy sinews in his shoulders, neck and upper arms,
playing subtly under taut, tanned skin. On closer inspection, though, his
jeans weren't anywhere near as new as they'd appeared earlier, frayed at
the waistband and ankles, knees scuffed almost white—
Breath caught, froze in Mulder's chest as Krycek turned, came toward
him, hand fumbling in one of his pockets, pulling something out. The key
to that locker he'd mentioned in D.C. "Here," Krycek said, holding it out
to him, "take it."
What twisted little game was he playing now? "You said you'd only give
it to me if I let you go. I'm not letting you go."
"I don't care, take it. I'd rather you held onto it anyway."
He held out his palm, let Krycek drop the key into it, not wanting to
touch him even for a millisecond. "You gonna tell me where this locker
is?"
"When we get there."
Shoving the key into his own pocket, he felt a smirk twist his lips.
"Guess selling classified government secrets isn't as profitable as I thought.
If it is, you sure don't dress the part."
He hadn't believed it possible, but Krycek's eyes flashed even colder
than they'd been the first time he'd seen them reflected back at him in
that men's room mirror at the airport. "Took me three months to hook up
with Kallenchuk, cut a deal for the documents she wanted. Even after I
delivered, the bitch never paid me a fucking dime." Off Mulder's look,
he hissed out a bitter chuckle. "Why d'you think I broke into her office?
Don't flatter yourself that I was waiting for you, Mulder—I didn't even know you were still alive until you walked in there tonight."
Neither one of them said anything for a long time, Krycek wandering
to the window again, looking outside, half-turned to Mulder. Night light
bathed him, ethereal, blue-white, glowing off his shirt, his skin...
"The old man told me you were dead," he said finally, his voice so soft
and smoky Mulder had to strain to hear it. "Said he'd made sure of it himself.
You should've seen the look on his face when he was telling me... Jesus,
he was loving every second of it, the fucking twisted bastard. After that,
anything he wanted me to do, I did. I didn't care what happened anymore.
I think I was hoping somebody'd kill me...save me the effort of doing it
myself."
Jesus, this was too much—he couldn't believe he was still standing
here listening to this. "Put away the violins, Alex. Do you really think
my heart's gonna bleed for you, after you killed my father—"
"I already told you, it wasn't me—"
"Maybe you didn't pull the trigger, but you were there, you had to be.
Either way you could've stopped it from happening, and you didn't."
"I had no choice, Mulder. He was getting ready to tell you everything... and
if he had, I would've had to kill you too. And I couldn't..." Voice cracking,
he swung around, looking Mulder straight in the eye. "I couldn't let myself
make that choice."
Silence fell again, a heavy blanket that threatened to smother both
of them, crush his own heart under its weight—
God, oh God, he hadn't known... had never realized Alex had felt this
way, not about him, about anything...
All this time he'd hated him, for his betrayal, for what had happened
to his father, and Scully's sister... for leaving him the morning after
he'd let Alex make love to him completely for the first time—
It'd never occurred to him that Alex's pain might have matched—or
even surpassed—his own...
"Yeah, I bent the rules that night," Alex went on, "but I broke the
cardinal rule a long time before that, and that's the one I'm still paying
for: never get emotionally involved with your assignment."
Mulder wasn't sure which one of them moved, how the space between them
closed, but somehow they did, and it did, because the next thing he was
aware of, he was standing next to Alex in the middle of the room—
Shuddering as he felt Alex's hand reaching up, cupping, stroking his
cheek—
"How did you live?" he blurted.
"What?"
"Here, for five months... if you never got any money for the tape...?"
"God, Mulder, don't do this—"
"I want to know."
"What the hell d'you think I did? I hustled. I bent over and took it
from any cock with cash." He swallowed hard, eyes floating shut a moment,
long black lashes stark against pale skin. "After awhile, it wasn't so
bad. Asian men don't like it as rough as Americans, and most of 'em aren't
that big. Less wear and tear on the merchandise."
The words sailed, tore through him, a hot knife lodging in his chest.
"Jesus, Alex, how can you just... shrug it off like that, like it doesn't
even matter—"
"It doesn't."
"It does to me."
"I'd never have done it if... if I'd known you were still alive, if that
makes a difference. I would've found another way..."
Their mouths touched then, a tiny, almost chaste brushing, scarcely
felt, the anticipation of something more shooting through them both with
all the knee-buckling brilliance of chain lightning—
Stumbling to the nearest bed, shoving everything piled on it onto the
floor, they fell back together, tongues sliding hot and wet, tearing at
each other's clothes—
Rolling and tumbling finally skin to skin, Alex's soft lips kissing
a hot, moist path down to the hollow of his throat, lingering there, tongue
darting out to tease, lave the thrumming pulse, making Mulder jump when he found a particularly sensitive spot—
His hands were everywhere, sliding like silk up Mulder's back, then
down and around, fingertips playing tickly little patterns on his belly,
then lower, palm cupping, slowly wrapping around Mulder's pulsing erection—
Pulling back, looking down at Mulder, smiling, deep green eyes dancing,
sparkling—
Not icy, not sad and remote and alone, not now—
"Alex, I want—"
"I know," he murmured, leaning in for another kiss, "I want it too."
"But... shit, I don't have anything in my bag—"
"S'okay, I've got what we need. Be right back," he said with another
quick kiss, getting up, finding his jacket on the floor, rummaging in the
pockets a few seconds, then coming back, condoms and tube of lubricant
in hand. "Um...want to do it face to face this time?"
"We can do it that way?"
"Sure," he chuckled, ruffling Mulder's hair. "It's nice... in fact, I
think you'll like it even better than last time."
"Jesus... you'd better get a coffin ready for me, then..."
He laughed aloud this time, gently grasping Mulder's hips, lifting him
up slightly, then grabbing the lubricant, squeezing some onto his fingers,
easing first one, then another, into Mulder's tight opening, rotating his wrist until he glided in and out of him in slow, easy
strokes—
It felt... incredible, indescribable, but the feeling couldn't go on
forever, much as he wanted it to. "C'mon, Alex... if you don't stop that,
I'm gonna come before you even get inside me..."
Apparently Alex must've had the same thought, for he rolled a condom
on in five seconds flat, lifting up Mulder's legs, wrapping them around
his waist, positioning himself, pushing forward until the tip of his erection
entered him, making them both gasp—
Mulder closed his eyes, giving himself over to pure sensation, to the
wonderfully delicious feeling of being gently, firmly filled full of Alex's
hard flesh, long, slow, rocking strokes that made his heart race, threaten to pound right out of his chest, blood thundering in
his temples—
And then he suddenly felt Alex leaning down, stretching out flat on
top of him, taking his weight on his elbows, lips dusting his own with
feathery kisses. "This'd be a lot more fun if you'd open your eyes," he
teased, dipping down to nip the curve of Mulder's throat—
"Next time..."
"Unh-uh, now..." And he started moving faster, making Mulder's eyes
finally snap open, lengthening, deepening his thrusts, one hand slipping
down between them, between their bellies, reaching for Mulder's erection, stroking, milking it—
Making him whimper in the next second as he took the same hand away,
fumbling on the bedspread, searching for the lubricant, finding it, squeezing
out a squiggle, then pulling up and back slightly, rubbing the cool slickness
on Mulder's stiff wand and his own belly—
Coming back down to him, rotating his hips, bucking and plunging as
far in as he could possibly go, hips and bellies working, slapping together—
Backs arching, orgasm ripping them both apart at the same time—
Mulder came back to himself some time later, realizing he was now tucked
snugly under the covers. Rolling onto his back, he opened one eye a sliver,
just enough to notice the room strobing an eerie ice-blue from the TV,
Alex idly flipping channels with the remote.
"Hi," Alex said, grinning, leaning in for a kiss as soon as he saw Mulder
stirring. "Guess we won't be needing that coffin after all."
"What're you watching?"
"Dunno, it's all in Chinese. I had CNN here a minute ago—"
"Turn it off."
"No way. We're paying for all this, we might as well enjoy it."
"We? It was my credit card, remember?"
"Oh... yeah, sorry..." The room went dark a second later, an arm sliding
around Mulder's shoulder, pulling him close, soft, moist lips pressing
against his forehead. "Any regrets?"
"You mean, other than the two years we spent apart? Not a one," he replied
emphatically, kissing the flat, smooth plane of chest under his cheek.
"You sure? I mean, I can understand if you're having second thoughts—"
"Alex..."
"What?"
"Shut up and go to sleep."
There'd been nothing but ocean, flat black ocean under them for the
last five hours, and Mulder'd read every magazine on the plane from cover
to cover twice. Reaching up to dim the light, he flung his head back against
his seat cushion, willing himself to relax.
"Hey," came Alex's voice from two seats over, "you okay?"
"Yeah," he replied, not opening his eyes. Not wanting to open them.
"Just a little restless... God, I fucking hate these international flights."
"I know what you mean."
There was silence then, for long, uncounted minutes, the steady whine
of the plane's engines lulling Mulder into a light doze—
Until he felt something, something warm and firm touching his right
hand, slipping under his palm, tracing the length of his lifeline—
And he snapped awake with a sharp, sudden intake of breath, sitting
straight up, jerking his hand back. "What the hell d'you think you're—"
"Jesus, Mulder, calm down. I was just trying to—"
"We're on a fucking plane, for Chrissakes. Keep your hands to yourself."
Alex just stared at him for an endless moment, chuckling bitterly under
his breath, shaking his head. "Everybody's asleep, Mulder—or at least,
they were until you woke 'em up," he said, his tone soft, almost whispering.
"Nobody saw anything."
"Lucky for you."
"What's that mean? You gonna start beating up on me, right here in front
of a hundred-odd witnesses? Try it."
He tried closing his eyes again, but all he saw was red, all he felt
was the pulse pounding in his head. God, he couldn't deal with this, not
here, not now. Maybe if he could just get back to sleep again he could convince himself this was all a dream, some deranged nightmare
he'd gotten lost in, and when he finally opened his eyes he'd be back in
his office down in the Bureau basement with Scully and everything would
be all right again—
"You think I don't know why you use me for a punching bag every chance
you get?" Alex's voice went on, low enough for only the two of them to
hear, persistent, relentless. "You fight me, but what you're really fighting's
what you can't admit to yourself. Kinda funny, if you think about it—
the psychologist discovering a kink he never knew he had."
"Shut up," he snapped through clenched teeth. "Just shut the fuck up—"
"Face it, Mulder. If we'd only done it once, you could probably get
away with chalking it up to curiosity. Twice means you're queer."
He didn't answer, knew he couldn't without shouting or screaming, so
he turned, looking out the window, staring down into the flat black abyss
stretching out beneath him, stretching into infinity...
He didn't know why he felt so stunned, so twisted up in knots inside.
It had all come to him with immediate, startling clarity back in that men's
room stall at the Hong Kong Airport—he'd just been denying it for so
long it'd become second nature to him. He wanted what he'd had then, what
he'd had last night in that hotel room, wanted the man sitting next to
him so badly his body burned with it, even now, even sitting here on this
goddamned airplane...
"Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"H-how old were you when you...?"
"When I what?"
"When you knew for sure..."
"That I was—"
"Yeah." He tore his eyes away from the window then, forced himself to
look at the younger man. "If you could tell me... I dunno, maybe it'll help
me understand..."
Alex's gaze met his, mouth softening in a little half-smile. "I was
fifteen. I remember because it was the summer I went away on vacation with
my girlfriend's family for a month, up in the mountains. She was... sweet, blonde, pretty... had a nice smile. The first night we
were there we took our sleeping bags out to this clearing and zipped them
together and took each other's virginity. It was nice... a little clumsy, but I liked it and so did she. I even had myself halfway convinced
I was in love." Chuckling, he paused, staring up at the ceiling for a moment.
"A couple days later, her brother arrived. He was twenty years old and built like a Greek god and I took one look at
him in his tight blue swimming trunks and I was smitten, though at that
point I had absolutely no clue as to what I was feeling and why. I found
out a couple nights later, when I went with him to the exact same spot
in the woods where I'd gone with his sister... and I, um... lost my virginity
again. And that was it. All the alarm bells went off in my head, and that's
when I knew."
"Alarm bells..." he murmured, stifling a laugh, "guess that's as good
a way of putting it as any."
"You too?"
He nodded.
"Mulder, you... um, haven't been with anyone else in the last two years,
have you?"
His mind flashed back briefly to Los Angeles, less than a month after
Alex had left him, after he thought he'd lost Scully forever, the sudden,
surprisingly raw pain shooting through him like wildfire.
"In that case," Alex said softly, "I guess I should be flattered that
you saved those alarm bells for me."
And that opened the floodgates. They talked, and kept talking, about
their lives, about anything and everything that had happened to them both
in the past two years, a hot, stinging pain pooling behind Mulder's eyes when the pilot finally announced they were about to land.
The digital tape was right where Alex said it would be, in a locker
at an ice-skating rink—
Along with two passports, one Canadian, one British, both under different
names, both bearing Alex's photo.
"Where will you go?" Mulder asked softly.
"Toronto first, then Europe, I think," Alex said, looking down at his
hands, then out the car window. "For awhile, anyway. Too dangerous for
me in the U.S. right now."
He was right, of course, that Mulder knew beyond a doubt; even this
brief respite was probably stretching it. And where Alex was going, he
couldn't follow—not now, anyway...
Reaching in his coat, he pulled out his wallet, taking out all the cash
he had, handing it to Alex—
Who stiffened, jaw going tight the instant he saw it. "Mulder, you don't
have to—"
"Yeah, I do." All of a sudden, it dawned on him what Alex really meant.
"This isn't... payment for anything. Take it. You're gonna need it."
Alex hesitated, then took it, looking away again. "Thanks. I'll pay
you back as soon as I can."
"Not necessary."
Neither one of them could think of any immediate follow-up to that.
"Look, um... if you ever need anything—money or...anything at all,
I want you to get in touch with me, okay?"
Alex nodded. "I won't, but... okay. Thanks for the offer."
"I mean it, Alex. I don't want you to have to—"
"S'okay, s'okay, Mulder. It's understood."
They didn't say anything more, just stared out the windshield, both
of them, staring into the overcast sky above Dulles Airport.
"I'd better go," Alex said finally, climbing out of the car, shutting
the door, walking away, two steps, three steps, four—
Halting, turning back, coming back, opening the door, getting back in.
"Toronto'll still be there in the morning," he said, a slow grin turning
up the corners of his mouth. "Pick out a hotel, Mulder. Tonight's on me."
The End...
Angel IV
Room Service
Hong Kong International Airport
"No... nobody that mattered."
