CRACK
He froze, the camouflage clothing little use against the sparse vegetation.
It had come from behind him somewhere. Not close enough to be an immediate
threat, but he was even more wary as he set off again, cradling his gun in
the crook of his arm.
The forest had gone silent for a moment after the loud retort, as if out of
respect for the force it could sense moving through it... but gradually the
sound crept back until it was almost as it had beenbefore. And the next snap
wasn't nearly loud enough to halt the raucous calls—but it was closer. And
on the route he had taken.
And he was running, the pounding of his heart drowning out both the birds
and the crashing sounds he must be making. It wasn't long before his
muscles, unused to the demanding terrain, were protesting loudly; and after
a few more minutes he slumped against a tree, panting harshly. It was darker
here, the branches overhead woven much more tightly, and the forest floor
was submerges in perpetual twilight. He was further than ever from his team,
from Scully and Skinner... and he doubted they would hear even if he
screamed for help.
And that was the point, wasn't it? none of them was clumsy enough to step on
sticks twice, almost directly after each other. And he'd let them drive him
away from the base, from his team, from safety...
The gun in his hands was all but useless. They hadn't stayed alive as long
as they had without learning a lot about survival, about disappearing. So he
closed his eyes and held his arms a little away from his sides, waiting for
the shot to be taken. And a moment later, it was.
Mulder's eyes flew open at the impact—he hadn't realised it would hurt that
much. And as he gazed downward at the stain in the centre of his chest, he
wondered vaguely why it was grey.
Skinner adjusted his grip on the gun slightly, maintaining his position on
the branch gripped between muscular thighs. The foliage was thick enough to
conceal him from anyone that happened to glance upward, but he could clearly
see the woman moving carefully through the clearing. And he took it as a
personal affront that she was so immaculate even now... it implied
complacency, the assumption that her team would win. So it was with no small
amount of satisfaction that he centred the crosshairs on her chest and
lovingly squeezed the trigger.
Diana Fowley screeched in mingled pain and anger as an unseen shooter took
her out of the game, white staining her jacket.
Mulder still sat at the base of the tree, not entirely sure which direction
he'd come from and unwilling to lose himself deeper in the forest. He didn't
particularly want to be stumbled upon by the other team, but he was dead now
so what did it matter?
But they
always had before. And along with the comfort gained—they were more than
capable of carrying the torch they had been passed—was the realisation that
they didn't need him. And it hurt. And he didn't want to think about them
as an exclusive unit that didn't really need [want?] to include "Spooky"
Mulder... so instead he focussed on the stain on his jacket.
Why was it grey? He had thought that they'd agreed that Mulder's team would
be white, and Cancer Man's black. Light and dark. It wasn't ever as simple
as that anymore, if it ever had been. There was no clearly defined line with
a sign indicating which side of the line was right. Was true. They all
walked in shadow now, and it would be just like the smoking bastard to point
that out, to choose grey. But then surely he would have insisted on
uniformity...
And then his question was answered as a gun dropped to the ground on his
left with a clatter and the shadows solidified into a rat with emerald green
eyes.
Doggett leaned against a tree, slightly disgusted with himself for agreeing
to take part in this in the first place. The birds were really beginning to
annoy him, and he found himself wishing that the gun in his hands was real
so he could take some pot shots. Amused by his thoughts of four-and-twenty
blackbirds, he barely ducked around the tree in time to avoid being spotted
by whoever was entering the clearing.
He carefully peered around the trunk and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw
Skinner's head reflecting what light there was. And he was just about to
step out and greet the Assistant Director when a movement to the left caught
his eye. The branches parted slightly again, and he caught a glimpse of
white hair and a slim black gun barrel... and then he was moving
instinctively to the aid of a fellow agent.
"Skinner, down!"
His voice startled both men, and the first shot went wide, the black
paintball harmlessly hitting a tree to Skinner's right. And before he had
time to squeeze off another shot Doggett's white paintball had hit him
directly over the heart.
"Bugger!"
And for some reason, the extremely British swear word, said in that
extremely British voice, was the last straw. Doggett had been wallowing in a
sense of the ridiculous
all day, and at this he just cracked up, bent double and
oblivious to Skinner's mumbled thanks and departure.
Krycek looked at the man slumped on the other side of the small clearing,
his mouth dry and his heart pounding in a way that couldn't be entirely
attributed to the chase. Hazel eyes met his, but there was no anger in them,
only curiosity. And Mulder didn't even try to move toward him, to lay a
finger on him.
but the soft voice of instinct seemed
less sure than usual. Mulder was just sitting there and looking at him for
the first time since they had been partners. And the heat in his eyes made
Alex feel vulnerable, almost naked. It took such an effort to remain still,
to resist the urge to turn away from the scrutiny and shield the gloved left
hand from view.
"Come here."
The softly spoken request made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck-
never had he heard Mulder's voice so free of resentment, or irritation, or
sarcasm, or an anger and hatred so intense that it waslike a physical blow.
He found himself responding without conscious thought, and was terrified to
think of what this man could make him do with a simple request.
He stopped in front of Mulder and closed his eyes as if in pain as the other
man moved fluidly to his knees... he gritted his teeth and willed his
erection to subside as he registered Mulder's position, the proximity of his
face to...
His prayers were answered and his hard-on painfully reduced as Mulder's long
fingers traced the line where flesh met plastic. And this time no amount of
willpower could prevent him from flinching away, moving back into the
shadows. His voice was husky as he asked, "What do you want from me?" and he
cursed the barely noticeable tremor in his voice. For a moment he almost
wished for the old Mulder—the man who hit him, cursed him, hated him. Then
at least he knew where the next blow would be coming from, didn't feel quite
so helpless.
"I just want to see you, Alex." And the sound of his name from those
gorgeous lips... he could hardly breathe in, felt like there was a clenched
fist behind his breastbone. And he walked forward again, hopelessly, into
the half-light.
the shot came from nowhere—no noise preceded it and until that moment
Doggett had been convinced that he was alone. He looked around and then
upward at the small areas of cloud-free sky that could be glimpsed through
the leaves; and he was resigned to the fact that he hadn't ever really been
a part of the game. It wasn't his fight. But he prayed that they would win-
and in his heart he knew that they could—that Scully could.
He thought of the petite woman and silently wished her luck. She was one of
the strongest people he knew, and he was proud to call her a friend. He sat
down and leaned against a tree, light playing across his closed eyelids...
and it was her face that caused the soft smile on his lips.
Deeper in the trees a lighter flared, briefly illuminating a care-worn face
before it disappeared, leaving only a glowing ember in the shadows.
Mulder watched as Krycek moved toward him again, head tilted downward and
eyes staring at nothing, submission evident in his body language. And he
recognised that a surrender of a sort had taken place, but he wasn't sure
how or what had caused it.
He just knew that Krycek was giving in to him, trusting him not to hurt
him... and for a moment the compulsion to hurt him, shame him, make him beg,
was strong enough that he didn't think he could do anything else. But the
wariness in the green eyes that flicked up briefly to meet his own made him
feel something approaching tenderness for the other man.
He gently took the lifeless hand between his own and felt Krycek's body
tensing, his head turning away to gaze sightlessly into the trees. And for
that moment Mulder ignored him. He traced the shape of the moulded plastic
under the long-sleeved black T-shirt that was really too heavy for the
weather, and then moved back up to trace the line where scarred flesh met
rigid prosthesis...
And then Alex swung his head round so their eyes met and Mulder could see
the conflict in them as the younger man fought the urge to lash out, to
escape the mental corner he had been backed into where he felt so
defenceless. And he saw how hard it was for him to surrender control, to lay
himself bare like this; saw the clenched right hand and the unsteady
breathing, and the bright film that turned his eyes to aquamarine.
He snatched his hand away as if burned and wrapped both arms around himself.
Skinner turned his head again, scanning the trees for some sign of movement.
He had the unnerving feeling that he was being watched, that someone was
following him, but he hadn't seen anything so far. The forest was completely
silent, the birds taking a break from their territorial calls.
He mentally shook himself and started moving forward again, shrugging out of
his camouflage jacket and tying it around his waist. His white T-shirt would
make him a more visible target but the jacket was a hindrance.
A cold sweat drenched him as a thump sounded in the forest ahead of him and
he froze, covering the area with his gun. He started to slowly back away and
then stopped again as a voice softly spoke from behind him.
"Hola, amigo."
And it was with a sense of inevitability that he spun and saw the dark face
smiling cruelly as the paintball hit him in the stomach.
And this time it was Mulder that was unable to stay away—tortured by the
pain in the defenceless green eyes he stepped forward again and did the
first thing he could think of, brushing his lips against the other man's.
Alex tensed and tried to pull away, but Mulder slid his right hand up over
his shoulder and neck to tangle in his hair and pull him back. This electric
sensation was not something he would let go. And the other man shivered
slightly and opened his mouth under Mulder's, allowing access to his tongue.
And Alex tasted of black coffee, and dark chocolate, and the scent of the
night. And as the other man's arm slipped around his waist and pressed him
closer he realised that it was a taste that could quickly become addictive.
And his last thought—before Alex ground his hips forward against Mulder's
and all capacity for rational thought was lost—was that the addiction
didn't scare him as much as it should.
She moved silently through the forest, faster than her watchers could have
believed possible for a woman so petite and delicate. She was certainly
causing problems for her silent pursuer.
As she paused and cocked her head, nicotine stained fingers steadied the gun
and centred on her still figure, preparing to claim her as his own with a
dark stain.
The trigger was squeezed and the paintball was exactly on target...
unfortunately the target had moved and it harmlessly hit a tree trunk. He
cursed and took his eye away from the gun barrel only to find that she had
disappeared.
Rustling in the trees to his right caught his attention and he headed in
that direction, still hoping that he would come across Mulder.
Mulder opened his eyes again and stood for a moment, his breath unsteady. He
just looked at Krycek, noticing for the first time how beautiful the other
man was, especially with his lips shining and slightly swollen. Long black
eyelashes rested on his cheeks, and Mulder was glad of the oppurtunity to
think again without being distracted by haunted emerald green. And then Alex
spoke, and the low husky voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand
on end.
"What do you want from me?"
And for the first time, he knew. There had always been something about the
other man that had confused him, that subtly changed the way the world had
always been. And for a time Mulder had believed that the change could be a
good thing... until it was gone. And everything was as it should be and he
loved Scully but that didn't explain the pain in his stomach or the amount
he'd missed emerald eyes and terrible suits.
Green eyes opened slowly and the crease at the bridge of his nose grew more
pronounced as if something in Mulder's eyes confused him. And as Mulder
reached for him he flinched away as if expecting to be punched... and Mulder
hated himself for that. And he silently promised that he would make it up to
him.
"I want you."
And he watched the amazing change as a gorgeous mouth curved into a genuine
smile that was free from malice or bitterness, and green eyes that glowed
with an inner light raised to meet his.
And then they were kissing agin and neither could believe how right it felt.
Spender followed the rustling noises further into the forest... and when he
realsied that Scully had previously been silent it was already too late.
Two men in black tackled him, sending him crashing to the ground and causing
his gun to fly out of his hands. He lay on the ground, wheezing, and then
lost all the air he'd managed to force into his lungs in a rush, as one of
the men kicked him in the stomach.
He curled into a foetal position as blows continued to smash into his back
and side. The world was fading to red-black before it mercifully stopped but
then he was forced to his feet, barely able to stand.
They backed him up against a tree and handcuffed his hands painfully with
the trunk between them and his back, effectively tethering him. And then he
finally saw their faces.
"I killed you! I killed you both for betraying me to Mulder. You can't be
here!" His cries grew increasingly more frantic as the black man raised an
eyebrow at his older partner and they both turned and walked away.
"You can't leave me here!"
Mulder gently petted the sable head that was cradled against his shoulder
and smiled slightly. It was amazing how being dead changed things. At this
moment in time, he was happy... and that was all that mattered. The past was
past. And the game was suddenly unimportant. He had won.
End.
Surrealism
by Beth
There was an underlying scent of decay—of the endless recycling of life.
Birds sang loudly in the trees and a squirrel chattered angrily, unnoticed
by the man walking through the dappled light of the forest floor. He placed
his feet carefully, avoiding the dry sticks that waited innocently until a
careless step
It wasn't supposed to end like this...
I hope that Skinner and Scully can carry on without me...
a paintball game for possession of the Earth, followed by breakfast at
Milliways...
He's waiting until I get in range
I don't want to feel this. I don't want his trust.
