by Erika
Reading the letter, Vic found himself smiling. It appeared as though the
detective had finally found what he was looking for: love, companionship,
friendship ... Fraser. He folded the letter and put it away in his
suitcase.
"Hey Vic!" Pounding at the door. "Vic!"
"I swear Liann, you've been spending too much time with Ramsey," he informed
the young oriental woman as she stepped inside.
"As if."
Vic closed his eyes. "No, I was mistaken. You have been spending too much
time with ... Hey!"
She pushed him toward the closet. "Come on, change. The director has given
us the night off."
"I know," Victor said as he picked up a brochure on the bed. "There is this
gallery I want to attend."
"Vic, this is me, you don't have to lie," she informed him. Seeing Vic's
innocent impression, Liann just sighed deeply. "Yeah, yeah, attend your
gallery. I'll just go out clubbing with Jackie."
Vic chuckled, kissed her on the forehead, grabbed his coat and headed to the
door.
"You're actually going to the gallery?" Liann squeaked at him as he pushed
her out the door.
"Yes," He shut the door behind him, making his way down the hallway.
"But Vic ..."
"Bye Liann," Victor opened the door leading to the staircase. He needed the
exercise.
"Mac, he didn't take the bait," Liann informed her one-time lover via her
cell phone. "He's heading to the art gallery."
"Why didn't you stop him?" Mac asked, a cell phone in hand, as he rushed
toward his parked car.
"Look. I don't know why we're babysitting him in the first place. If the
Director is so concerned about his safety, she shouldn't have given him this
assignment. Mac. Mac!"
Ramsey had already hung up. He followed the taxi Victor had entered and
Liann's question replayed itself in his mind: Why had the Director okayed
Victor for assignment? It just did not make any sense. He looked at the
camera on the seat beside him. From the moment Victor had stepped off the
plane, Mac had been following closely behind him.
The Director had wanted to know whom Victor came in contact with during this
visit to the American capital, and if anyone in D.C. took any interest in
the Canadian. Already he had four films capturing this tall, thin, older
man with a cigarette constantly in hand following his partner around the
city. In fact, Victor had passed the man on several occasions and Mac would
bet his sweet cherry, if he had one, that the man had been surprised when
Victor failed to recognize him.
Ramsey found a parking spot near the gallery and rushed inside, carrying a
small portable camera with him. He kept Victor within his sight and
contemplated his relationship with the older man.
Ever since Yellowknife he had been avoiding the Canadian. At first he'd
been miffed Victor had treated him so shabbily, like Mac would actually
believe Victor was flirting with a guy. I mean Victor with a guy, please.
Not his Victor. Never. At least that was what he kept telling himself when
he later met Victor at the hotel lobby, as they waited for their taxi to
take them to the airport. He had been just about to retort that Victor
didn't need to lie to him, didn't need to hide behind someone, that he just
should have told him the truth. Told him to cool off and stop bugging him
but his words had died on his lips, unspoken, when he saw the evidence in
front of him. Victor's lush lips. Victor, with a hickey on his neck. A
hickey for pete sakes.
Mac hid behind a sculpture as his partner innocently looked at an abstract
painting in front of him. Hmm ... I wonder how much that would sell in the
black market? He again peeked at the painting. Nah ... not worth it. Now
where was I? Oh yeah, Vic.
Victor loved Liann. Victor competed with Mac over Liann. Victor couldn't lie
or cheat if his life depended upon it. Victor, the older brother. Victor,
the guy with no sex life what -so-ever. Victor with cat green eyes. Wow ...
where did that come from? Mac shook his head and concentrated on the task
at hand.
First, follow Victor. Second, take pictures of Victor. Third, take pictures
again. Fourth, destroy all pictures of Vic below the waist line. The
Director was going to have a field day if all he brought back were pictures
of Victor's ass or groin. But did the guy's jeans have to be so tight?
Ramsey thought passionately. He was just an innocent gathering evidence,
that's all. After all, should Victor die of a heart attack due to his
inability to breath, voila, he would just take out the proof and declare: It
was the jeans that killed him. Those pants should be outlawed and next time
he saw the man he would tell him so.
Mac continued to silently follow his partner, contemplating whether he
should just shoot the guy and be done with it. If they were so concerned
about Victor's safety maybe staging a mock death would have some bad guy
coming out of the woodwork to claim responsibility. And they said he
couldn't improvise.
Victor was just about to leave the gallery when a man approached him. Bingo.
Doggett looked at the painting in front of him. Abstract art. How could
people make any sense of this? He bit his lip. Maybe if he stared long
enough at this monstrosity, he could better understand it. He shook his
head, wondering how he could have thought looking at a painting could help
him understand the X-files.
He sat down at one of the benches located in the middle of the room. He had
joined the FBI five years ago, making his way through the rank and file,
earning his right to become a lead investigator. His previous experience as
a New York detective and his degrees in Public Administration had been a
sign to many that John Doggett was a man on the rise, destined for great
things within the Bureau. One of the guys. Fools.
He picked up the pamphlet, flipping through its pages. It was incredible
how a painting could sometimes have two meanings. Two faces it presented to
the world. Its public face and its private face. Something very similar to
his own life. Everyone assumed he had entered the FBI to better his career.
A series of logical steps taken. He shook his head. Idiots.
All of this, everything he did, had been for one purpose. One purpose only.
To find out what had happened to Alex Krycek, his one time lover and friend.
He had met Alex six years ago. They had ended up working together on a
case. They had clicked instantly, both doggedly going over case files,
refining their investigative techniques. Alex's naivete balancing John's
worldliness. They had been a good match in and out of bed.
Doggett twisted the pamphlet in his hands. A good match. In one of the
last cases Alex was to work in New York he had caught the eye of Spender.
Days later Alex would be transferred to Washington, D.C. where he was
partnered with a Fox Mulder. Mulder, the very man he was now being ordered
to find. He had once revealed to Scully that he knew Mulder very well, but
she had never asked how he knew him.
About five years ago, Alex had called him for a favour, asking information
on an ex-service man. Alex had known John's connections in the Marine Corps
would provide him with information that may not have been available to the
public. At the time Alex had called him, Doggett had been happily working
in the New York police department but all of that had changed after that
phone call.
After Alex's disappearance from the bureau, he had tried to find out what
had occurred but to no avail. He had been just a detective with limited
access. If he was to find Alex, Doggett had no choice but to join the FBI
and use their unlimited resources to locate his wayward lover.
John's body could still remember what it was like to have Alex next to him.
To taste him, to bury himself inside that welcoming heat, to catch the cries
that fell from those lips, to watch as those green emerald eyes begged for
release. Yes, his body and soul remembered, refusing to forget.
Over the years he had conducted his own investigation, slowly piecing
together the events and people that had had a hand in Alex's downfall. Yes,
he knew Fox Mulder very well. Very well indeed.
Doggett made his way to the exit when he noticed the man in front of him
turn and smile at the attendant. Alex? he thought in shock. "Alex!"
Alex continued to walk away from him and John rushed to his side, his hand
reaching out.
His arm. In the report Doggett had read, it mentioned Alex had lost his left
arm. His left arm, but ... he looked into clear, innocent, forest-green eyes
and knew this wasn't Alex. Not his Alex. "I'm sorry. I thought you were
someone else." He let go of the other man's left arm, stepping back.
"Hey, are you all right?" Green cat's eyes filled with concern stared back
at him and John's heart broke seeing their compassion and hearing a voice
that so resembled his one time lover.
"No. I'm not. I ... excuse me." John stepped around the man and made his
way outside.
"Wait," the stranger called after him. "You don't look so well. You
shouldn't be out walking the streets, feeling like this." He looked around,
dragging the reluctant agent with him. "Taxi!"
Mac rushed outside watching as Victor crossed the road and got into a taxi
with his companion. He ran to the parking lot only to discover his car was
missing. A sign above the spot read, 'No parking.'
God, damn it!
"Hotel Hilton," Victor informed the taxi driver. He then turned to the man
beside him and said, "Sorry. Victor Mansfield. And you are?"
"Agent John Doggett, FBI." He showed Vic his badge.
"Hmm ... I never kidnapped a federal agent before."
"I'm pretty sure it's illegal."
"Probably right. Look, I'm ..." Victor smiled sheepishly. "Just visiting."
He playfully held his hands up.
"And that should excuse you from kidnapping federal agents?" Doggett found
himself flirting back.
"If it makes you feel any safer, you can cuff me. If you want."
After that remark Victor wondered whether he should have his head examined.
He had followed his instincts and his protective nature had stepped
forward. That still did not excuse his behaviour. It was one thing to help
the man, another to flirt with him.
Silence settled in the cab. When the taxi finally stopped in front of the
Hilton, both men found themselves awkwardly standing at the entrance of the
Hotel. It started to rain.
"I have to ..." John started to say.
"Yeah." Victor looked at his watch. Liann was probably still out with
Jackie. "I'm staying here for the next two days if you need someone to talk
to. Room 314. Ask for Victor Mansfield." He would have offered more but for
now he figured that was all the agent would probably accept.
They shook hands under the heavy downpour. Victor watched as the agent just
walked away. And the rain continued.
He stopped.
He had already walked two blocks, away from the Hotel, and all he could
think about was Victor. Before he could change his mind he walked back,
retracing his path, not caring about anything, just knowing, needing,
wanting to lose himself in the unspoken promise Victor had given him.
He walked, not caring about the rain that plastered his clothes to his body.
He walked, not noticing the traffic around him, or the shadowy figure that
followed him as he entered the hotel lobby. Green eyes tracked his movement.
"Is your offer still available?" was the first thing Doggett asked when
Victor opened the door.
"Yes," Victor replied as his hands moved, tugging at John's clothes.
"Help me forget. Help me remember. Please," John begged as he trailed kisses
along the man's face.
Need. This was about need.
They walked, fumbled and almost fell to the floor in their attempts to get
out of their wet clothes. Bed. Alex. God. How could I have forgotten?
"Victor. Victor. My name is Victor."
Doggett blushed. He needed to explain. He would not use this man, this
body. "His name was Alex. Alex Krycek," he told Victor as he kissed him.
Naked. Naked on the bed.
Doggett knelt in between Victor's legs, a hand gently traced a calf, a
thigh. "He fell of his bike when he was six and scraped his knee. He has a
scar right here." He bent his head and his lips brushed Victor's unscarred
knee. Smiling cat-green eyes stared back at him.
"He has a spot right here that would send him into a ..." Victor screamed as
John licked the area. "Laughing fit," Doggett concluded. Victor blushed.
Erogenous zone. Got it. Marked it. Will play with it later.
"He smells of pine and Irish spring." His hand rested gently on top of
Victor's navel.
"Softness. His skin is so soft." Hands travelled up and down Victor's body.
Learning. Mapping. Discovering.
"And he tastes ..." Sweetness. Lips meeting lips. Victor arching up against
him, rubbing against each other. Skin on skin. A soft hiss. A whispered
curse.
'Alex. Alex. Alex.' his mind repeated. "Victor," he moaned aloud.
He licked the dark skin surrounding the nipple. Victor groaned, head falling
back, spine arching. More. More. This was like a drug. His drug.
He buried his face among the coarse hair of Victor's groin. He breathed in
the other man's unique odour. He flicked his tongue across the tip of the
cockhead, teasing the slit at the top of the younger man's shaft.
Victor squirmed. Doggett tasted the eager drops of fluid. Not enough. Will
never be enough.
He licked the tender skin behind the balls. Victor shook. Lush lips forming
one word, "Please."
Too soon. Too soon. Needed more time, to taste, to feel, to satisfy the
hunger. He turned Victor on his stomach.
Two days. In two days he would store enough memories to last him a life
time. Enough memories until he found his own sweet Alex. His tongue
travelled down Victor's spine. Tasting. Categorizing. Victor. Alex. So
alike. So different. His for tonight. His for a lifetime.
Heat. Incredible heat.
Five years of drought. Five years without Alex and he was like a man starved
for food, water, life. He wanted to ram inside the wonderful pliant body,
but more than anything he wanted this moment ... god.
"Victor!"
Washington DC: Fibbies, witches, aliens, oh my...
ic looked down at the letter Ray had written to him. The agency had
forwarded some of his mail to his hotel room, here in the American capital.
He had been in Washington for the past three weeks investigating a case for
the Director. He shook his head. The Canadian had learned long ago that
even if the assignment did not make any sense it did not belittle its
importance. Mind you, he was still trying to determine how a missing cat
case ended up as a possible UFO sighting.
