Not that she even wanted to, anyway. Tomorrow would have to be good
enough for that. Swallowing a sigh, she stole a furtive glance at the car's
driver.
Her partner. The only person in the world she trusted without question
or hesitation. The only person she would willingly lay down her life for.
She'd come close to it today. So had he.
It hadn't been the first time for either of them. It was a risk they
took every day. It's what partners did. All in the line of duty.
But this time had felt different. Not like doing what duty required
of them. This time had felt like...
Like sacrifice...
Like suicide...
Her mind acknowledged silently what she couldn't bring herself to verbalize
to Mulder when they'd stood there together at Modell's bedside. She supposed
she should have felt some kind of compassion for Modell at that point,
but all she'd wanted to do was seize him by the throat and strangle what
little life he had left out of him.
She hadn't realized she had it in her to hate somebody so completely.
But she did. She hated Modell, hated the son-of-a-bitch for what he'd done
to Mulder. For making Mulder put that gun to his head and pull the trigger.
For making Mulder want to pull the trigger. And he had wanted it. She'd
seen it there, right there in those tortured, intense hazel eyes. At that
moment in time, he'd wanted to die.
Maybe that part hadn't been Modell at all.
"We're home, Scully."
She started, shaking her head, so wrapped up in her own reverie that
she hadn't even noticed Mulder pulling up in front of her apartment building,
switching off the lights and ignition.
"You okay?" he asked with a tentative touch on her arm.
She finally forced herself to look at him, nodding. "Want to come in
for a few minutes? I'll make coffee."
He rubbed a hand over his face, then just stared out the windshield,
shaking his head. "I, um...no. That's not such a great idea right now."
"Mulder, we need to talk—"
"No, we don't," he replied, his voice flat, toneless, hollow. "There's
nothing to talk about. File your report with Skinner, and I'll file mine."
"Mulder—"
"And while you're at it, file your request for a transfer to another
unit."
All she could do was gape at him, stunned, frozen, not comprehending.
Not wanting to. "Y-you aren't serious—"
"Damn right I am. Hand in your paperwork and get out. I want you to."
"No."
"What?"
"N-O. Which part didn't you understand?"
"Goddamn it, Scully, will you just do what I say for once—"
"Forget it," she snapped, grabbing the door latch, "I'm not sitting
here listening to this for another second—"
And suddenly a python's grip closed over her wrist, yanking her back
down into her seat. "I almost got you fucking killed today," he hissed
through clenched teeth. "I already got your sister killed. No more. Everyone
who matters to me dies, Scully. I'm not adding you to the list."
"You can't blame yourself for Melissa. It wasn't your fault—"
"Bullshit. You can't tell me she wouldn't still be alive now if you
weren't my partner."
"I don't hold you responsible."
"I do."
Silence fell, so thick and heavy it felt like she was trying to breathe
soup. He let go of her wrist then, turning away, staring out the windshield
again, eyes deep and fathomless, shining with pain...
It was all there, Modell and Tooms and Donnie Pfaster and every other
case they'd worked on together in the past three years—
All the guilt for everything he'd ever put her through, for her abduction
and Melissa and today and yesterday and last month and all the tomorrows
he didn't want to face—
And Alex. More than anything else, for Alex...
Her hand cupped his cheek before even she realized what she was doing,
turning his face toward her, leaning forward—
"Don't shut me out, Mulder," she murmured, so close now she could feel
soft warmth on her cheek, the side of her throat, "please..."
And their lips met, brushed, moist and gentle—
And he pulled back in the next instant, mouth hovering scant millimeters
from hers, breath coming in rapid, jerky spurts—
"Mulder, what's the matter—"
"I-I c-can't do this...I'm sorry..."
"But—"
"Let go of me. Now."
Stung, she broke away, going suddenly, completely numb, nerveless, one
hand flying to her mouth, tracing the outline of her lips, not sure whether
she should be relieved at finding them still there.
"Oh, Jesus...oh, sweet Jesus," he kept repeating, running a hand through
his hair, swallowing so hard she thought he'd choke himself. "Scully, I-I
won't lie to you, I'm tempted, but... it wouldn't be fair, I'd just be using you—"
"What, to help forget we both almost died today?" she half-snapped.
"There's nothing terrible in wanting that—"
"No... I'd be doing it to prove to myself that Hong Kong and that hotel
near Dulles airport and two years ago didn't mean anything..."
"Mulder..."
"I'd be doing it to try and make myself forget I ever fucked and sucked
another guy and bent over and took his cock up my own ass and..."—his
voice broke, splintered, but only for a second—"I'd be doing it to make
myself forget I loved every second of it."
His language made her flinch inside, but she tamped down the reaction.
He was purposely trying to repulse her, make her turn away from him in
disgust. Well, it wasn't going to work. She was his partner, damn it, and
she'd stuck by him through worse than this...
She was his partner, and he was hers, and right now her own feelings
didn't matter. This was Mulder, who'd sooner put a bullet through his own
head than shoot her... and now he was hurting, and he needed her...
And now that the initial shock of the experience had had a chance to
recede, she could see she had no real reason to feel rejected—in fact,
quite the opposite. This was his way of protecting her, of keeping them both from making a rash mistake in a moment of mutual
vulnerability, maybe even destroying their friendship in the process...
And the kiss itself had felt so odd—sweet, but cool at the same time,
tentative, curious—
Chaste—that was the word she was looking for. A gesture of affection
and comfort, not passion—
Sort of like kissing her older brother.
She bit back a chuckle. Well, she'd always wondered how it'd feel to
lock lips with her partner. And now she knew. Now she knew...
It didn't change how she felt about him—she loved him, always had,
always would, just as she knew he would always love her. It was something
that had grown between them, slowly and gradually, from the first case
they'd worked on together.
Now it was just... there, evident in everything they said and did. Partners,
comrades, backing each other up, going to the wall if necessary, without
question, without hesitation...
Accepting each other, and everything about each other, in exactly the
same way.
"It's okay, Mulder," she said quietly, hoping he didn't notice the tinge
of mingled sadness and regret in her tone, rubbing his shoulder. "It's
all okay...in fact, if you want to pretend it never happened, it's fine with me."
"Y-you mean you're not...um, I mean—" The pain in his expression was
so raw, so palpable she could feel her heart clench in response.
"I know what you mean, and no, I'm not. Offended, I mean."
"But—"
"How could I be offended by something that never happened?"
Apparently he knew when to concede defeat, for his only reply was a
sheepish grin.
She clasped his hand for a moment, opening the door at the same time.
"Go home and get some sleep. I'll see you at the office in the morning,
okay?"
"Okay. And Scully..."
"What?"
"I still want you to file for that transfer."
He didn't give her a chance to reply, jerking the car door closed and
locking it, though not driving away until she reached the well-lit front
porch of her apartment building—
And she stood there, watching, until his taillights faded to blurred,
ghostly pinpricks behind her eyes.
His key jammed in the front door lock. At first he thought it was because
he was so fucking tired he'd stuck it in the wrong way—
Then he saw something lodged inside the keyhole, something shiny, like
metal, something shoved in there to force the lock—
And the door was already yawning open.
Drawing his gun, sending the door crashing back against the wall, he
swept the kitchen, then the living room—
Nobody there, and no signs of any apparent search—everything was
as he'd left it this morning, all the way down to the coasterless coffee
mug leaving yet another milky circle on the table in front of the couch—
He took a step back, two, then three, nose crinkling, assailed by a
sharp, queasy epiphany—
The room smelled like a fistful of old pennies.
And his shoes were sticking to the floor.
Glancing down, lifting up one foot, he could see why—thick, half-congealed
droplets dotting the floor, smearing the sole of his shoe, a blackish trail
leading all the way from the front door—
Into the bedroom.
The bedroom door was open too, and he holstered his gun, part of him
knowing what he'd find there before he saw it, right there on the bed—
A crumpled heap sprawled lengthwise across the mattress, face pushed
into the covers—
"Alex...Jesus Christ, Alex..." he breathed, three steps taking him to
the bed, shaking the other man's leather-jacketed shoulder—
His hand coming away slicked with blood—
Blood that had already coated the entire left side of Alex's body from
shoulder to thigh, soaking his clothes, seeping into the sheets—
//What the hell's going on he's supposed to be in Toronto or Europe—
//Not lying here in my bed bleeding to death—//
Panic closed around him, squeezing him in its greedy fist, but he fought
it off, kneeling on the bed beside Alex, putting two fingers to his throat—
And it was there, a pulse, weak and thready and sluggish, but still
there—
But his skin felt clammy, chill, like half-congealed wax...
Pulling off his coat and jacket, he got out his cell phone and hit the
speed dial, then lay down beside Alex, curling around him, spooning him,
his back to Alex's front, trying to keep him warm.
She was there in less than half an hour, letting herself in when he
didn't answer her knock, barely breaking her stride when she entered the
bedroom, her intense blue gaze taking in the whole scene in an instant.
"How'd this happen?" she asked, taking off her coat, throwing it over the
back of a nearby chair.
"I, um... don't know," Mulder replied, rising from the bed to give her
room to work. "He's been unconscious since I found him."
She knelt, taking the pulse in Alex's throat, then his left wrist, her
hand trailing lightly up his injured arm. "Well, here's the reason he's
still alive," she said, slipping a fingertip under a wide leather strip the exact same color as his jacket, "he used his belt as a tourniquet."
God no this isn't happening can't be happening it's just another part
of the nightmare just like this afternoon just like Modell making me shove
that fucking gun in Scully's face...
He let his eyes drift closed for a second, just a second, red and blue
and green and every other color in the rainbow crashing, converging in
his head, exploding, burning, unraveling—
"Mulder."
He wasn't sure if it was the sound of her voice or the soft touch of
her hand on his arm, but he snapped back to reality with a sharp intake
of breath, eyes locking on hers. "Wh-what?"
"He's got a gunshot wound to his upper arm, but I won't be able to ascertain
the extent of the injury until I can get these clothes off him," she said
slowly, softly, pausing a moment, looking at him intently. "I'm going to need your help, Mulder. You okay with that?"
The thought of standing there watching as she probed Alex's wound made
his gut twist, but he forced himself to nod. "Sure, I-I'm... okay, I'm fine
with it. What d'you need?"
"Go change into some clean clothes, then bring me a basin of warm water
and some towels and a pair of scissors. And some hydrogen peroxide, if
you have it."
Her words made him glance down, run one hand across the front of his
shirt, the cotton growing stiff with Alex's drying blood. The top half
of his pants were covered in it too, and he hadn't even noticed.
Luckily, he had a pair of jeans and a t-shirt hanging on the back of
his bathroom door, and he pulled them on, then dug out what Scully'd said
she needed, padding back into the bedroom as quickly as possible.
They got the belt off, but unfortunately, the scissors weren't up to
their task—they sliced through Alex's plain white t-shirt with no problem,
but the jacket was hopeless. "Lift him up," she said finally, mouth taking on a grim set, "and I'll pull it off him."
They got it off his uninjured arm easily, but his left arm was another
story, coagulated blood gluing cotton and leather to Alex's skin. Scully
soaked a towel in the warm water and, working with painstaking patience,
managed to loosen the jacket enough to slide it off Alex's arm—
And Alex's eyelids fluttered, flew open at that exact same moment, a
groan welling deep in his chest. "J-Jesus, what the hell're you..."
"S'okay, Alex," Mulder said, relief sweeping him, though one look from
Scully was enough to put a momentary damper on it, "I'm here, and so's
Scully. We're gonna take care of you."
"H-how long..??"
"Were you out?" Scully prompted. "We're not sure. Do you remember when
you got here?"
"Um...mid-afternoon, I think, the sun was still out..."
Mulder's eyes met Scully's for a second, then she returned to the job
at hand, opening the bottle of peroxide, dumping some into the basin, soaking
the clean end of her towel in it. "Where'd you get shot?" she asked.
"In the arm, looks like..."
This time she gave Mulder a 'he's-been-hanging-out-with-you-too-long'
look as she wrung out the towel, one corner of her mouth quirking up, but
saying nothing else.
Apparently Alex took the stony silence as a cue to continue. "I... um,
wandered into this little Mom-and-Dad convenience store and... found myself
on the wrong end of somebody else's gun...guy was a good fuckin' shot,
I'll give him that...didn't even know I was hit till I was half a mile
away with black spots floatin' in front of my eyes..."
"Half a mile?" she repeated. "You ran half a mile with this kind of
injury?"
"Naw, I had a car... it's parked a few blocks down the road...walked
from there..."
"Dripping blood all the way," she replied under her breath. Mulder heard
her, but he was pretty sure Alex hadn't. "This'll sting a little," she
said aloud this time, dabbing the peroxide-soaked towel right above Alex's wound, right where his t-shirt still stuck to his
skin—
"Jeeessusss..." Alex hissed, clawing the sheets, calming a little as
Mulder began softly stroking his hair, green eyes glancing upward, intense,
grateful, throbbing with agony. "Just cut off the whole fuckin' thing... make it easier on both of us..."
"It's off," she said, cloth peeling away, revealing a pair of dark punctures
still slowly oozing blood—
"I meant the arm..."
She examined him quickly, efficiently, then started cleaning the wounds,
wincing a bit herself at the obvious pain she couldn't help causing. "Take
it easy, I won't prolong this any more than I have to."
It was too much to watch anymore, almost too much to bear. Mulder looked
away, concentrating on Alex, green eyes now clamped shut, welcoming the
touch of the younger man's hand, fingers entwining, squeezing with bone-crushing
pressure, his own heart lurching at the sight of him gnawing his lower
lip so hard it bled, yet not uttering another sound as Scully worked on
him.
She sat back on her heels when she finally finished, sweeping away a
stray lock of hair. "You're lucky—you've lost a good amount of blood,
but apparently only from tissue trauma—the bullet seems to have passed through cleanly, without nicking the bone or any major
blood vessels. I think all we need to do now is stitch up the wounds and
get you some antibiotics. And the first part'll be much easier if you can make it to the bathroom."
Alex hesitated, then nodded, raising himself on his right arm, Mulder's
own arm looping around Alex's back, helping him to his feet, then, seeing
how weak and wobbly the blood loss had made him, letting Alex lean on him,
both of them hobbling to the bathroom.
Jesus, it felt so damned good to hold him, even like this, so good feeling
the slow, steady thump of his heart pressed against his own chest, soft
breath so sweet and near, feathering his own skin, spinning his mind back to Hong Kong, to two years ago—
To that hotel near Dulles Airport less than a month ago, the last time
they'd made love, the first time he'd made love to Alex—
No, it hadn't been making love. It had been fucking, pure and simple,
him fucking Alex, using him like a whore, punishing him—
For the two years they'd spent apart, for his father and Scully's sister,
for everything else that had ever gone wrong in his whole miserable fucking
life—
And the hell of it was, it didn't matter. None of it did. Scully'd said
it herself, that night he'd finally told her about him and Alex—it was
over, done with. Time to put it behind him, time to move on...
Time to forgive.
He flicked on the bathroom light with his free hand, letting go of Alex
as he caught hold of the edge of the sink to steady himself, grinning shakily.
"You okay?" Mulder asked.
"Yeah... I'd be great if somebody'd stop ramming that red-hot poker through
my arm... and using my head for a bass drum..."
"C'mere, sit down," Mulder said, flipping down the toilet lid—
And suddenly Alex was right there beside him, mouth too close to his,
hand searching, finding the exact spot on his throat that never failed
to drive him insane, thumb splayed gently over his cheek, caressing, stroking—
"You c'mere. I need something to make me feel better..." he whispered,
drawing Mulder closer, mouths barely touching, silky, delicate as butterfly
wings beating together—
Breaking apart at the sharp, sudden tap of Scully's footsteps moving
toward the bathroom door—
But if she had any inkling of what'd just happened, it wasn't evident
in her expression or her demeanor. "I called in prescriptions for an antibiotic
and a painkiller to that drug store down the street," she said. "They're
in your name, Mulder, so you may as well go get them."
"I, um... sure..." He hesitated, still half-reeling from the kiss, but
the look Alex shot him had him out the door, out of the apartment, down
the hallway to the elevator in thirty seconds flat.
Jesus what the fuck's wrong with you... you were standing next to your
goddamned toilet kissing a guy covered in blood... kissing Alex for Chrissakes... with
Scully on the phone in the next fucking room...
Dragging in air, he punched the button for the garage, letting his head
fall back against the elevator wall. For a second he eyed the stop button,
seriously considering marching back upstairs and telling Scully to go pick
up her own fucking prescriptions, he wasn't leaving Alex, goddamn it—
But he didn't. This was what he needed—needed desperately, in fact... to
get away for a few minutes, get his head clear again—
Though he doubted it'd stay clear for very long.
Part Two
"Tell me what really happened, Alex."
She was giving him that look—that 'mess-with-me-and-I'll-smash -your-teeth-in'
look that somehow managed to be completely serene and matter-of-fact, yet
deadly serious all at the same time. Accent on 'deadly'...
"We both know that convenience-store story was a lie," she continued.
"We do?"
"The angle of the wounds, the powder burns on your jacket...obviously
self-inflicted. Mulder would've noticed it himself if he hadn't been so
upset." She paused, waiting for him to say something, but when he didn't,
she went on. "I didn't see any blood in the elevator or the hallway, so
I'm betting you climbed up the service stairs, shot yourself there, then
pitched your gun down the stairwell."
Silence.
"So which was it, Alex—were you trying to kill yourself or just making
a play for Mulder's sympathy?"
He still didn't say anything. She was starting to get noticeably irritated
which, oddly enough, wasn't making him feel any better.
"Well, if it was the latter, you're either a very good shot or a very
fortunate one, because if that bullet had hit you any lower, you'd be dead
or minus an arm right now."
He shrugged as best he could with one shoulder. She'd nailed him; no
point in denying it now. "You gonna tell him?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Sit down and we'll talk about it."
He did, his gaze drawn to a small black case she was pulling from her
pocket, unzipping, revealing several neat little rows of needles in various
sizes, and spools of thread in various colors. She emptied out the bloody
water from the basin she'd brought with her from the bedroom, pouring peroxide
into it now, selecting one of the longer needles from the case, dropping
it into the basin.
"Y-you're kidding me, right?" he asked, eyes widening. "Oh, you gotta
be... you're not gonna stitch me up with your fucking sewing kit..."
"If you'd prefer me to drop you off at the nearest emergency room, I'd
be happy to."
That wasn't an option, and they both knew it. If he showed up at a hospital,
the old man'd have no problem tracking him down.
"Well?" she prompted.
"Just do it, okay?"
"I want to know one thing first."
"What?"
"Melissa."
The name sent a hot jolt jagging through him, fresh knives of agony
lancing his wound.
"You were there, weren't you?" she persisted.
He ducked his head, half-nodding, throat suddenly closing up.
"Might as well tell me your side of it, Alex. I already know your friend
Luis's version."
That made him sit straight up. "Y-you've got Luis—"
"Had Luis, until somebody murdered him in his jail cell," she said
coolly, measuring some plain white thread, breaking it off, starting to
thread the needle. "But he'd already named you as his accomplice."
He dragged in a breath, tried to look at her, found he couldn't. "Look,
it wasn't supposed to happen the way it...we went to your apartment to
look for the digital tape. The old man said Mulder'd given it to you, but... soon
as we got there, we heard somebody at the door. Luis had his gun out before
I could stop him, and then... it was all over."
She didn't say anything for so long he looked up just to make sure she
was still there. "Does Mulder...?" he asked.
"No," she replied softly, "in fact, I told him you had nothing to do
with it."
Genuine relief crashed, sluiced over him. "Thanks."
"I didn't do it for you. Turn this way, please," she said, coming toward
him with the needle.
Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering, though the needle dragging
through his skin and flesh was burning, prickling hell incarnate. Luckily,
though, it only took a few stitches on each side of his arm to close the wounds, and she moved away to cut strips of gauze
for a dressing.
God, he couldn't believe her—here she was, patching him up—after
he'd just admitted he'd helped kill her sister, for Chrissakes—face
a calm, impassive mask, like this was something she did every day—
Her glance suddenly meeting his, straight on, unwavering—
"You fucking hate me, don't you, Scully?" he asked, not expecting an
answer, not getting one. "You hated me on sight from the first time we
met at Quantico. Afraid I'd steal your man even back then, huh?"
"He's not my man—"
"Not anymore." Something in him couldn't resist chuckling at that. "Weird,
isn't it, how our lives just keep intersecting, yours and mine and Mulder's?
Kinda gives you a healthy respect for the whims of fate."
"Fate had nothing to do with what happened this afternoon."
"Let me guess—is this the part where you tell me it's gonna sting
a little?"
"He put a gun to his head today. There was no bullet in the chamber,
but... I don't think he would've cared if there was."
"Oh, Jesus..." he gasped, words smashing into him like a concrete wall,
headache pounding with renewed force.
"Every time he sees you he's torn apart. This has to stop, Alex, right
here, right now. No more of yours and Mulder's lives intersecting. You
get well, and you disappear—for good this time."
He let his head hang down, vision clouding, swimming, blinking back
the hot, stinging throb welling there. It was impossible, unthinkable,
what she was asking—
But she was right. He had to do it. There was already too much blood
on his hands; he wouldn't, couldn't let himself be the cause of any more
death, especially not Mulder's. It'd hurt like hell knowing he'd never
see Mulder again, but his pain didn't matter. He didn't matter, not to
himself or anyone else, not anymore...
"All right," he said, looking up, looking at her, "you win."
To his surprise, her expression gentled, the look in her eyes actually
compassionate—
And then came the sound of the front door opening, shutting, the shuffle
of footsteps moving through the kitchen, then the bedroom.
"It'll be a few days until you're well enough to travel," she said,
smiling slightly. "Make the most of them."
It was a week before Mulder let himself breathe easy again.
A week before Scully pronounced Alex on the way to a full recovery.
His wounds were healing nicely, with no apparent sign of infection. He
didn't even need the painkiller anymore, except to sleep at night.
Scully'd come by twice a day, in the morning and evening, to check on
Alex's progress and monitor his medication. She'd covered for Mulder at
work as well, handing in his report on the Modell case, telling Skinner
he'd decided to take some long-overdue vacation time.
A week... hovering between heaven and hell...
Seven days and seven nights...
Seven nights of lying there beside him, caressing him, holding him while
he slept—
Seven nights of persistent, painful arousal, with no immediate means
of relieving the pressure—other than ducking into the bathroom for a
few minutes, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Alex for even that long—
And apparently the feeling was reciprocated, for the spark flashing
in Alex's eyes the second Scully was out the door would've lit up a half-dozen
city blocks—
The next thing he knew, they were standing in the kitchen together,
mouths melding, tasting, devouring—
Alex's lips moving, tongue darting out, tracing a moist, velvety path
across Mulder's cheek, all the way over to his ear, laving, nipping at
the lobe, tilting his head back, working his way down the slope of his
throat with deliberate, maddening slowness—
And that was all it took to make his knees start dissolving to water.
Pulling back reluctantly, he grabbed Alex's right hand, heading for the
bedroom—
Pushing Alex down on the bed, impatient fingers tugging at his shirt,
yanking it from the waistband of his jeans, up over his head—
"Jesus, Mulder, stop! You trying to twist my fucking arm off?"
And he stopped, rolling to his side, chest heaving, guilt ripping through
him at the pained, stricken look on Alex's face. "Oh, God... oh, Jesus... I'm
sorry, Alex... I didn't think..."
"S'okay, I'm okay—"
"No, it's not. I should've known better than to be so rough—"
"Mulder—"
"I hurt you. I never... want to do that again."
"I know," Alex replied softly, leaning over for a kiss, sweet and slow
and endless. "Take it easy, okay? We've got all night. Let's make it last."
"Jesus, you make it sound like we're never—"
"Move over."
"Huh?"
"Just do it, Mulder."
He did, and Alex shifted, rolling onto his right side, snuggling close
to him, arm draped over his midriff. "Nice," Mulder couldn't help murmuring,
his own arm looping around Alex's shoulders, finally letting relaxation
wash over him.
"Yeah, it is," Alex agreed, "so let's just enjoy it, lie here and talk
for awhile, okay?"
"Talk?"
"Yeah, you know...that thing you do with your mouth."
"I can think of a couple other things I'd rather be doing with my mouth
right now—"
"Mulder..."
"Okay, okay... can't blame me for trying, can you?" he laughed. Maybe
Alex was right, he conceded; maybe what they needed now was quiet time,
time to decompress. They really hadn't had any time alone together—at
least not with both of them awake; the painkiller had kept Alex knocked
out for most of the last few days. Eyes closing, he let himself drift,
stray questions winding through his hazy mind, lighting finally on one
he still had no answer for. "Um... why aren't you in Toronto?"
"Look in the right-hand pocket of my jacket."
"What?"
That made him lift his head slightly. "You didn't throw it out, did
you?"
"It's in my closet. I cleaned off as much of the blood as I could, but
I don't think you'll ever be able to wear it again—"
"You didn't find it?"
"Find what?"
"The digital tape. That's the reason I didn't get on the plane. I was
just about to go through the metal detector at Dulles when I realized I
still had it with me. Jesus, I hope it didn't fall out when I—"
He started to get up, but Mulder stilled him with a touch. "Stay here,
I'll look."
It was in the pocket, right where Alex said it would be. Chuckling ruefully,
he came back to sit on the edge of the bed, tossing the tape onto the bedside
table. "Guess I left the hotel in such a hurry, I forgot it," he said softly.
"Yeah."
"You didn't have to bring it back. You could've put it in another locker,
or in the mail—"
"No, I couldn't... leave things the way we left them. I wanted to see
you again and I was afraid..." he stopped, swallowing hard, looking down
at his hands, "I just figured you'd slam the door in my face otherwise."
Fresh ache thrummed inside him, singing all the keener for the truth
underscoring Alex's words. "I'm sorry, Alex... sorry for everything..."
"S'okay. You had every right to feel the way you did."
"Jesus, how can you say that, after what I—"
"Look, I didn't exactly say no, did I? I wanted it as much as you did...and
I still do."
"Alex..."
"Come on back to bed, Mulder. We've got a lot of lost time to make up
for."
And he did, rolling on top of Alex as gently as he could, taking care
not to touch or jostle his wounded arm, taking his own weight on his hands—
Dipping down to let their mouths touch, lips parting, tongues dueling,
tasting sunshine and shadow and fever and a month spent hating himself
so much he wanted to die and seven nights spent dreaming of this, dreaming
with his eyes open—
Seven nights spent lying here with a hard-on so fucking stiff and raging
he could pound nails with it, just like right now—
And he jerked away, breaking the kiss, gasping, blood hammering a tattoo
in his head. God, no, he couldn't, it was too soon, Alex wasn't ready yet—
The sudden feel of fingertips trailing down his cheek, his throat were
an agony almost too much to bear, hellish bliss, starting a growl rumbling
deep in his chest—
"S'okay, Mulder...do it, I want you to—"
"No, this time's for you..."
"For you too. For us. C'mon, I don't want to wait..." And a slow roll
of his hips told the truth, Alex's stiff shaft pushing upward, poking Mulder's
belly, rubbing, teasing his own erection even through two layers of hot,
heavy denim—
"H-how do you w-want to...?" he half-sobbed, an icy, invisible fist closing
around his windpipe—
"Face to face. I want to see you..." Smiling, he reached up, tipping
Mulder's head back to bestow the gentlest, sweetest chain of kisses along
the underside of his jaw, and suddenly the fist unfurled, unclenched—
Mulder's jeans, t-shirt and boxers quickly became a small heap on the
floor, and he'd just yanked condoms and lube from the bedside table when
he realized Alex was still fumbling, one-handed, with his fly—
And he knocked Alex's hand aside, ripping the zipper open with one savage
tug, skinning jeans and underwear down and off, eyeing Alex's t-shirt,
then deciding to let him leave it on, not wanting to jerk or wrench his
arm—
Grabbing the extra pillow, tucking it around and under Alex's arm, heart
lurching at Alex's startled, grateful little half-grin—
He dove for the tube of lubricant next, squeezing a fat blob onto his
fingers, hands sliding under Alex, lifting him, spreading him open, one
tentative finger, then two, gently probing, dilating the tiny puckered
winkhole there, gliding in all the way to the second knuckle—
God, he was a smooth, satiny furnace inside, muscles clenching, gripping
his hand even as he pulled out, pushed back in with three fingers this
time, keeping his rhythm steady and fluid, ignoring Alex's pleading gasps and yelps—
Glancing down, gaze sweeping the younger man, watching the subtle play
of muscles beneath taut ivory skin, back arching like a cracked whip, head
tossing, thrashing on the pillow, wispy black curls glued to his cheeks,
his forehead, eyes glowing lambent jade under the sweep of half-lowered
lashes—
And lower, resting finally on the slender, rosy arrow nestled in a springy
thicket between Alex's thighs, pulsing in perfect time with his own hand's
deep, insistent thrusts—
And he leaned down, going down, tongue wrapping around the weeping velvet
tip, eagerly lapping at the milky essence pooled there, all salt and bitter
musk and some new sweeter, darker flavor he couldn't quite place—
He wanted more, and he wanted it now. Flicking Alex a look, he plunged,
taking a mouthful, slow and deep, giving him long, languid tongue-strokes,
fingers penetrating his hot, sweet ass with renewed fervor, lips and hands
working him in synchrony—
And Alex's fingers were suddenly buried in his own hair, seizing a rough
handful, trying to pull him off, push him away, but he held on, teeth dragging,
scraping in warning as he slid down to the tip, running his tongue along the soft, delicate ridge, sucking hard—
"J-Jesus, Mulder... if you m-make me come before you get inside me, I
swear I'm gonna fucking kill you..."
Mulder looked up at him, all mock innocence, half-grinning, still holding
the tip of him between his lips, licking at it like a kid savoring an ice
cream cone on a hot day in August, smug triumph jetting through him at the sight of Alex falling back on his pillow, chest
heaving, sweat-sheened from the scalp down, surrendering to the moment,
to him—
That was all he'd been waiting for. Scrambling to his knees, ripping
open the condom box, he rolled one on so fast he was sure it'd leave skid
marks, hands lifting Alex once more, holding him in place while he found
where he was supposed to be, pressing forward—
And he went in all the way on his first lunge, blistering heat enveloping
him like a kiss, rainbows flaming behind his eyes, colors colliding, molten
ribbons tightening, twisting around him, slicing, flaying him to the bone—
He wasn't going to last, he knew that in the next second, eyes flying
open, meeting Alex's, radiant, emerald-deep—
Deep as the abyss he was hurtling into, falling, drowning, coming apart,
only dimly aware of Alex's matching cries, and the silky warmth spurting
between their bellies—
He wasn't sure how long he slept, but the only illumination he could
see through the curtains came from the streetlights. Alex was still asleep,
lying on his back with only the sheet covering him, snoring softly, lips parted, wearing the same innocent, angelic expression
Mulder remembered from two years ago, their first morning waking up together.
Waking up together in this bed...
Leaning over, he brushed Alex's sweet, moist mouth with his own, smiling
when he didn't even stir; it was the first time he'd slept so soundly without
the help of drugs in a week.
He lay there a long time, staring at the ceiling, strangely restless,
debating whether to wake Alex, try and coax him into another round, finally
deciding against it. He needed to rest, recover. Tomorrow morning would be here soon enough, another morning waking up together...
Getting up, he snagged his clothes off the floor, tugging them on, padding
barefoot into the living room, sitting down on the couch, grabbing the
phone, dialing.
"H'lo?" came a distinctly groggy voice.
"Scully, it's me. Were you asleep?"
"Mulder?" A slight pause, the sound of a lamp flicking on. "What's wrong?
Is Alex okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, he's fine, everything's fine. Look, I didn't realize I'd
be waking you up. We can talk tomorrow—"
"Mulder, no, don't hang up. I'm awake now, so we might as well..."
Silence.
"You still there?" she prompted.
"Yeah, um... I just wanted to say thanks. For everything."
"You're welcome," she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice.
"Was there anything else?"
"You trying to get rid of me, Scully?"
"Mulder, it's two-twenty in the morning, and I have to go to work tomorrow
—unlike some of us," she added pointedly.
"You haven't filed that transfer request yet...have you?"
"No. No, I haven't. Did you still want me to?"
"Only if you want to."
"I never wanted to, Mulder. You know that."
Another silence.
"So I, um...guess I'll see you at work in a couple days?" he said.
"Mulder..."
"What?"
"Go back to bed before Alex wakes up wondering where you are."
"Okay... g'night."
"G'night."
Grinning, he hung up and headed for the bedroom.
The End...
Angel VI
Intersection
She gazed out the car window into the darkness, watching blurred shapes
pass by, so exhausted she could barely think.
