Three Words
One Year Earlier
I pull on my armour, physical and mental, to prepare myself for going back
and facing my life. I hate to leave him here like this, still wrapped around
a pillow with a smooth face that is no longer haunted by demons... but this
could never last. We can't remain so sheltered, so happy forever. Reality
will always intrude.
But I lean down and kiss him briefly, tenderly on his smooth forehead. He
has got past my defences to an extent that I had thought was impossible;
especially for him. There is so much history between us, so many reasons why
this should not happen, can not happen; but he makes me feel so safe. And
that scares me more than anything else could.
So I walk out while I still can, and pray that he will still be here for me
when I return, that he won't turn his back and walk away. And I turn at the
door and whisper four words to the sleeping man who has so quickly become my
life.
"I love you, Alex."
Green eyes opened as the front door clicked closed; and he buried his face
in the pillow he was clutching, smelling the musky scent of his lover as a
silent flood poured from his eyes.
So the time had come.
When Mulder returned there must be no evidence that the apartment had been
home to another for a time, no slight clue of how to find him. It was too
dangerous to Mulder for him to remain here... at least he still had the
X-files, still had Scully. Mulder would survive this, as he had survived so
much before, but Alex felt like he was being torn apart inside.
And as much as he cherished the memory of those four words, as much as he
wished they were true, he hoped and prayed that Mulder had known he was
awake, had only been saying what he thought Alex wanted to hear.
Because he didn't want this to be as hard on his lover as it would be on
himself.
He dressed quickly and gathered up his few possessions and nothing else, no
matter how tempted he was to take a memento. He didn't leave a note. He
wouldn't call. He would just disappear exactly as he had so many times
before and pray that he could forget.
"Alex. How nice to see you again."
He fought against the urge to flinch away from the familiar cultured voice,
and instead retreated behind the expressionless mask that fit him so well.
Only twin green fires exposed the hatred he felt, and the Englishman seemed
almost amused by the loathing in his eyes.
"I am glad to see that you have not allowed time to alter you, Alex; I
despise change." The chair moved soundlessly forward, and Alex could not
prevent his mouth from twisting into a feral smile as the extent of the
damage was revealed.
Most of the burns were concealed by his expensive suit, but the left side of
his face looked oddly soft and shone waxily in the dim light of the antique
lamp. Leather gloves covered his hands, but he had chosen not to disguise
that the left leg was missing below the knee. As Alex met a cold gaze again
the old man nodded once, acknowledging a worthy opponent, even as his eyes
promised vengeance. No one had ever proved that it had been Alex that was
responsible for the faulty timer; but they both knew the score he had had to
settle.
"You have come to ask a favour, I believe."
"Not a favour. A deal." Krycek's voice had lost all traces of warmth and
reverted to the husky, emotionless tone it had always held when dealing with
this man—another of his defences. It was amazing how easy it was to fall
back into the role they had forced him to create. And each time it was a
little harder to convince himself that it wasn't the real him.
"You believe that you have something that I want?" His voice held affected
surprise, and Alex's hand itched to reach for the gun concealed in the
waistband of his jeans.
"Something you need."
"Indeed? And what could you possibly offer me?" The patronising tone was
familiar, and his skin crawled at the sound of it. He tried to dismiss the
images, the memories playing through his head, and in the next instant he
was looking at well-disguised fear in the other man's eyes as he pushed a
gun against his wrinkled forehead.
"Your life, in return for mine."
The old man's voice was steady as he replied, and Alex almost admired him
for it. "You have never been able to kill me before. What makes you believe
that this will be any different?"
"This time I have something to fight for. My offer is simple. For one year,
you will have unlimited access to my services." He tried not to shudder;
"however you wish to use them. After that period, you will allow me to walk
away, and you will never come after me. I have very little patience for
those that try to kill me.
In return, I will let you live. And I will leave you in peace. I will never
reveal any of the information that I have on you, or on the others that you
work with. I will disappear from your life forever, and you will never hear
from me again... on the other hand, I would just as soon squeeze this
trigger. Your choice."
The other man blinked rapidly, and Alex took this show of unease as a
personal victory.
"I agree to the terms. As to your undisputed array of talents... I'll make a
start now." He smiled distantly as Alex dropped to his knees and deftly
opened the suit pants. And Alex tried desperately to recall why he was doing
this, and a galaxy of stars and four whispered words banished the
long-buried memories that were trying to surface.
He killed twenty seven people, two of them children, and he never wrote.
He stole, he lied, he whored himself to anyone with something of value to
the man that owned his life, and he never called.
And every night he took the wrinkled cock up his ass, down his throat, and
he never forgot. His memories were all that kept him sane.
And then it was over. There was no fanfare, no ceremony, just a duffel bag
over his shoulder and a gun in his waistband... and eyes with the shadows
almost entirely gone and a strange new fear in their place. It hadn't been
easy—new scars marked him, many crossing the old on his legs—but he still
couldn't believe that it was over. He still didn't feel clean.
So for a month he only watched. He stayed in the shadows, not making his
presence known; testing once for a reaction and leaving an unspoken promise
for Mulder to find.
And then the roses.
And then tonight.
He wiped a hand across his sore mouth again and smiled ruefully at the red
that stained it when he took it away from his tender lip. This wasn't over,
no matter what Mulder said. That punch was not the work of an indifferent
man. And as he left the building he was so distracted with planning the next
assault that he didn't notice the men... until he was held between them with
a gun pointed at his head.
The Englishman cocked an eyebrow at Alex's swollen lip and tutted softly.
"It didn't go according to plan, Alex? Perhaps I can do something to help."
I responded automatically to the familiar sound of a gunshot and grabbed my
own weapon, barely noticing the freezing metal of the fire escape burning my
bare feet as I raced downward. Of the shooters there was no sign other than
a scent of burning rubber, but there was a dark heap crumpled in a slowly
spreading pool of blood... and my head was shaking in denial even as I knelt
by his side, looking into fear-filled green eyes as he struggled to speak.
And I barely heard the three words before long black lashes rested on pale
cheeks and I screamed hoarsely for help, for an ambulance, for anything that
would change this.
End, for now.
Glow-stars
Part III
by Beth
"...What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here..."
Creep: Radiohead
