Which makes him wonder if he did something right in his life, to deserve that?
He can't really think of what it would be, though.
But someone made sure he ended up with a puppy dog, and of that Alex is certain.
Someone or something planned for it to happen. Alex feels happy when he thinks
about it.
Maybe I deserve this dog? Maybe I earned him somehow.
But then he gets sick. That wasn't planned.
There is nothing to do, but call Mulder...
"Yeah?"
"Mulder. It's me."
There is silence on the other line, and then a deep sigh. Alex closes his eyes
momentarily, listens to the dull throbbing pain in his own head, counts to five
and says into the phone, "I need your help, Mulder."
"With what? What's wrong with your voice?"
"I'm...I'm not feeling well. I need you to help me out a bit...with my dog."
He is shaking already, feeling the fever run through his body, making his teeth
rattle and his skin crawl. The phone drops out of his hand before he can hear
Mulder's reply, and when his weak arms finally manage to grab it again, the line
is dead.
He puts the phone down, lies back on the bed and waits.
Mulder shows up half an hour later. He walks into the small apartment, looks
around at the room which is almost empty except for a couch, a book shelf and
some dog toys lying on the floor. Alex is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Alex,
the dog.
Need you to help out with my dog. That has better not be some sort of trick.
And then he thinks Damn it's cold in here.
He still can't really believe that he actually dropped everything he had in his
hands when Alex phoned, just to go and make sure the dog isn't suffering. Make
sure Alex is taking proper care of it. Help him out if it turns out he isn't.
"This is ridiculous," he mumbles to himself when he is standing in the apartment
again. The dog is probably fine and Krycek is waiting behind that bedroom door
with a gun and some alien virus or something.
But nevertheless, Mulder steps across the room and over to the bedroom door. At
first he knocks on it, but there are no sounds, so he pushes it open and looks
inside.
It's pretty dark, even though the sun is shining brightly on the cold, winter's
day outside the window. But Mulder can make out the bed and the closet and the
small nightstand with the phone on top of it.
Krycek is lying in the bed, on his side, one arm stretched down towards the
floor and the other—the fake one- tucked behind his back. His eyes are closed
and he is breathing heavily through his mouth. The hand down by the floor is
burrowed into the fur of the dog, which is lying by the bedside, awake. The
puppy's small head is raised up and his brown eyes are locked on Mulder in the
doorway, but he doesn't make a sound until Mulder takes a step inside the room.
Then he growls, low in his throat.
Mulder sighs. "Hey Alex, it's just me. You remember me, right? Look, I brought
you biscuits. Look!"
Mulder crouches down and lets the dog sniff his hand and then he feeds him the
treats he has brought with him, reaching down with his other hand to pet the
small body a few times. As the dog is busy licking his fingers, he lets his eyes
drift to Krycek's face.
The man doesn't look so good. He's pale as the sheets and Mulder notices that he
seems to be trembling. His breathing is painfully heavy. There is a nudge at his
hand and Mulder looks down between his knees again, strokes the dog's head, says
to it in a light voice as not to scare the animal, "You poking me there, huh?
Something the matter, boy? Something you wanna tell me about? What is it, Alex?"
The man on the bed mumbles, "Mm, think I'm sick."
Mulder's head jerks up and he is staring into Krycek's open eyes, noticing how
glazed they look. He clears his throat a little. "You called me," he says
stiffly. Krycek is obviously in need of a hospital or something. Mulder really
doesn't want to get involved.
Krycek nods. "The dog," he whispers, obviously hurting from every breath.
"Can't...take care of him. Needs walks. Food. Could you...?"
"I'll take him," Mulder says quickly and Krycek's eyes closes then. He nods
briefly. Mulder expects him to ask for something else, water, aspirin, a place
to stay that isn't as cold and dark as this one.
Krycek just breathes out a small "Thank you."
Mulder sighs in relief. "No problem."
He is happy to leave the worn-down place, smelling of sickness and emptiness.
There is something deep inside him that whispers that he hates leaving another
human being, especially one in that much pain, in a place like that, but then he
shrugs it off with the now automatic response that Alex Krycek only gets
whatever he deserves. No more. No less. He picks the small dog up and leaves the
man on the bed without a backward glance.
Alex couldn't ask Mulder to take care of him, even though as he lies in his
bed, delirious with fevered dreams and coughing hard, he thinks he should have
at least tried. A harsh rejection and a punch in the nose wouldn't have killed
him. Being alone and sick in a cold dark apartment without the capability to
even stand on his own, might very well do that.
But Mulder's presence has never made Alex feel brave. He knows the other man
goes out of his way to help people. Mulder is generous and kind and probably did
so much good in his life that Alex couldn't stand to look at his own past in
comparison. But he also knows Mulder's kindness does not include him, not
since...everything that's happened. And he understands. He doesn't wish for it
to be any other way. Why would he?
He tosses his sweaty head on the bed and wants it over with.
Mulder thinks that Krycek's apartment really isn't a place for a puppy.
It's too small; the heater seems to not be working and it's situated in a rather
rough area, with not many green spots in which a dog could play. And Krycek
isn't...well, a couple of weeks ago Mulder would never have thought the Russian
double agent would be fit to look after a dog, but he has to admit he's changed
his mind about that. The couple of times he's been by to check on Krycek, the
dog has seemed happy. Mulder has to admit that the puppy is half of the reason
he's been visiting Krycek. The small dog is sort of...charming, and Mulder
understands Krycek's reasons for keeping him even though he still thinks the man
should move some place else.
Actually, he has spent quite a lot of time lately thinking about Alex Krycek.
It's like the man showed up in his life again as usual, but this time just
wouldn't leave. And this time, Mulder has to admit, Krycek doesn't even seem to
be in town because of him. The few surprise visits he has paid the Rat lately to
make sure he isn't up to anything, has only been to catch Krycek playing with
his dog, or walking it, or giving it a bath, and frankly looking quite annoyed
about being interrupted just to answer Mulder's harsh questions.
This kind of intrigues Mulder, and he finds himself wondering what is going on
in that dark-haired head. Thinking a lot about it, actually. That dark head.
But he is still reluctant when it comes to Krycek, and he doesn't want to think
too much about him, doesn't want to make him into one of his cases or something.
Doesn't want to feel anything for him.
So Mulder just takes Krycek's dog home, feeds it, and later that evening, he
takes it for a long walk around the large, green park right outside his
building. The dog runs in the grass and smells all the trees and seems genuinely
happy, which make Mulder feel warm inside and glad that he took it away from
that awful place. He even feels a bit proud, that he's able to give the animal a
better life.
Mulder pats the little head and rubs the furry back and says, "You like it here,
don't you, Alex? You want to stay, yeah? You want to stay here with me, don't
ya?"
The dog likes the attention and wags his tail and pushes up into Mulder's
caresses. Mulder smiles warmly down at him.
But then when the evening comes the dog sits down by the front door and stares
at it as if he's expecting someone to come through it. Mulder tries everything
he can to coax him away from the door, even trying to remove him with force, but
the dog doesn't let himself be moved. He just looks at Mulder with sad, sad
eyes, and then looks back at the door, and Mulder gives up.
The dog spends the night on the mat in front of the closed apartment door. A
couple of times during the night, Mulder can hear him sigh deeply and whimper a
little before going quiet again.
The next night, Mulder tries to lock the dog into the bedroom, but the animal
keeps howling and whimpering until he finally gives in and lets him out,
watching the dog run to the front door again, starting the long waiting all over
again.
Mulder stands in the hall watching him for a long time.
Alex is deadly ill for a couple of days. Then, through some miracle or a born
toughness, he slowly starts to get better. Not completely well, but a little
better. One day at a time.
It takes Alex a good two days after he first starts to become aware of his
surroundings again, to figure out that Mulder is not coming back with his puppy.
At first he's furious and wants to rip the agents throat out. He did not intend
for the other man to just steal his dog, his dog, just because he needed a few
days help with it. The puppy is Alex's because he somehow earned it and someone
wanted him to have it and now that mother-fucking son-of-a-bitch FBI man just
took him away like Alex doesn't even count, like he isn't even someone you asked
for permission before taking the only thing in life he truly cares for.
Alex curses at the walls and wants to break something, preferably Mulder's arms.
But then he thinks about Mulder's apartment and in a flash of clarity he
realizes how much better the dog must be in a place like that instead of a dump
like Alex's flat. He looks around the room, almost for the first time since
moving in. Yes, it is a dump. And no good environment to raise a puppy in.
So Alex swallows his anger and tries to think about all the things Mulder can
offer the animal; space, a working heater, soft carpets, nice furniture, green
parks and a nice neighborhood.
Alex no longer wants to kill Mulder. He goes back to being sick and miserable.
Thinking it perhaps is what he deserves, after all.
No coaxing, no forcing, no petting, no briding, no begging, no nothing can make
the puppy stop spending the nights in front of the apartment door, his nose
against it and his sad, sad eyes locked on it, sighing and whimpering softly
during the long hours he waits and waits for Alex to come through it.
Mulder gives up even trying to.
Alex has never felt so pathetic in his life.
Here he is, a grown man, a longtime loner, a criminal, a hard-ass double—or is
it triple—agent, practically crying because his dog has left him. Well, not
exactly crying, just this deep, heavy pain in his chest and throat, and this
strange wetness in his eyes and...okay, so crying. Alex is crying. He is crying
because of a puppy.
It has been a week and a half days since Mulder took his dog. Ten long, endless,
quiet days when there has been no playful yaps or sound of small feet in his
apartment, and then ten equally long nights with no furry body curled up next to
him in bed.
Alex is beginning to wonder what he did before Alex showed up in his life. How
he actually spent days like this when there's nothing on his calendar and every
day is filled with—nothing special. Before he had his dog to play with, take
long walks with and talk to, what on earth had he been doing with himself?
Surely I didn't jerk off that much? Alex ponders as that particular activity is
the only one he remembers actually enjoying doing before.
Before Alex, the dog; who is now gone.
A sob wrenches from Alex's throat and echoes in the dark, quiet apartment before
he can stop it. Of course, it doesn't really matter. No one is there to hear it
anyway. So he lets another one go. And another.
Pathetic.
Over the next few days, Alex doesn't sleep well. He has an insistent cough and
for some reason he can't get his fever down to normal even though he rests and
takes Aspirin. At night, the apartment gets so cold he is shaking under the
blanket. There is no warm little body curled up next to him to offer a bit of
warmth and to breathe puffs of air evenly on his skin until he is lulled to
sleep.
Alex suspects that that, more than the fever, is what keeps him awake at night.
If Alex manages to fall asleep in the late hours, he still wakes up early every
morning. There is no nose poking him insistently and no quiet barking to wake
him up and make him take a brisk walk in the chilly morning air, but he still
wakes up every damn morning thinking; Must take the dog out!
Then, realizing his mistake, he sits in his small empty kitchen, afghan wrapped
tightly around the shoulders, and stares unseeingly at the clean but ugly sink
with its only glass standing in it.
And then he crawls back into bed again. Lying stretched out on his back, trying
not to think about anything.
A couple of days later, when Mulder comes back for him, Alex is surprised to see
him.
Sick
by Black Coffee
There are days when Alex thinks that maybe his dog didn't so much happen to end
up in his apartment as much as was sent there. It seems like things like that
don't happen in the lives of people like him without a cause. Good things, that
is. Because that is what the dog has been to him up until now. A good thing.
