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Playing With Fire
by Jami Wilsen


III Tchaikovsky

Apartment 42, Hegel Place
Alexandria, VA
10:10 AM

Byers knocked on the door. "It's open," came the call. He entered, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

He'd only returned from Sacramento the day before, having spent most of the flight back and the ensuing afternoon in his room poring over the information in the files that Alex had given him. It appeared that the origin of the oiliens aboard the Texas rig had been the wreckage of a submerged UFO under it.

John supposed he might still be in shock, actually.

He was still trying to make sense of the fact that Alex Krycek had trusted him at all, let alone turned their business meeting into a tryst. Somehow, it made him trust Alex far beyond the limits of honor, loyalty or even affection. He wondered if he'd been had. It was possible, considering the CIA and KGB agency operatives in the past, throughout the duration of the Cold War, and the honeytraps, stings and the CIA's Orchid operations. It was hardly a secret that agents had used sex as a way of securing relations —still, the personal nature of his own experience had been a little too candid for him to consider Alex a purely cold and ruthless person now. Sure, the coldness and ruthlessness was still there. But there was no denying that he was human.

Mulder was at his computer and looked up. "Byers! Hi. How are you? How did it go? Did you get anything useful?"

Byers couldn't help smiling at Mulder's enthusiasm and he held up a hand. "Yeah, hi. It went—fine. It was fine. He gave me some information on the X-File on the oilrig that you and Agent Doggett visited. You're going to like this, Mulder." He went to the table and placed the files down, sitting on the couch. "It turns out that the way the oiliens got aboard that rig was via the earlier underwater explorations that yielded the discovery of a downed, submerged UFO."

Mulder stood up from his computer and went to join him, sitting beside him on the couch and snatching up the files.

Byers sat back and waited, knowing that Mulder was going to get completely wrapped up in it. Mulder was already lost to the world as he pored over the pages of hardcopy from the disk that was included, the original files that Krycek had made from various sources.

"Shall I make some coffee?" Byers interrupted him.

Mulder distractedly grunted, "Yeah, sure. Go on. I have some in the kitchen."

Sometime later, after Mulder had also sat back and heaved a long sigh, Byers ventured, "We have to do something. We can't just leave things as they are."

"We?" asked Mulder. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're going to get killed if you keep actively involving yourself."

"You're going to, as well," countered Byers. "You already have, once. And there might not be anyone like Krycek conveniently around to save you again, next time."

"And I have years of experience chasing after aliens in the field, on active duty as a federal agent. I'd be happier if you let go of it, for now. I'm not trying to steal your thunder. Besides, I can't believe I let you go and place yourself in harm's way, meeting Krycek. I should have done that myself."

"I don't think you could have convinced him to meet up with you," Byers reminded him. "He chose an uninvolved contact over meeting you face to face for a reason."

Mulder regarded him thoughtfully. "So, what happened?"

"Not right now. Mulder, this is highly important. We can't just leave this—we have to do something."

"I'm not saying we won't. But it's going to have to be done undercover; I don't want anyone in the FBI finding out what we're up to. Scully would have my head, and she'd blow the whistle on us. I'm pretty sure that Skinner would have a coronary."

"They're not the Black Oil, the ones we're trying to stop, nor are they grays."

"Precisely. They are far more powerful. They have the ability to somehow use powerful bursts of radiation to stop anyone who gets in their way. We met one a few years ago that had been waiting in a submerged craft underwater. A French crew liberated it when they salvaged the Piper Maru, which was when the plane and the diver's suit Scully and I ended up finding had the oil residue that gave away its presence. The French diver was possessed by it and then it took over his wife. Then it went to Hong Kong and took over Krycek. I didn't even know that I was sitting beside one until much later. Meanwhile, it took Krycek and the DAT tape he had—"

"That DAT tape? The MJ tape?" Byers asked.

"The very same. Delivered him and the tape right into the cigarette smoking bastard's hands, in exchange for being returned to its ship, which they had placed in a silo in North Dakota. Scully and I went there but we were too late. Come to think of it, I never did find out how Krycek got out of that one."

"Mulder, Scully isn't going to be very happy about your involvement in this. And you know she'll find out. After the ordeal she has been through over that baby—"

Mulder coughed, spluttering on his coffee. "Byers, I'm begging you; leave Scully's placenta out of this. That's one mental image I don't need floating in my head over breakfast."

"Why hide it at all? Why can't we take this to AD Skinner? He's just as aware of the importance of this as we are. And he's less likely to respond in a maternal or overprotective fashion. He would know what to do, who to mobilize."

"Because then he'll assign Doggett to the case and I won't be able to get near it without 'violating protocol' again. They'll try to stop me from having anything to do with it. 'Thanks, Spooky, for the warning about the aliens in the government. We'll take it from here'. This is turning into an international incident, for God's sake. Come on, Byers; you know that there isn't anyone else more qualified to deal with this than I am, regardless of my employment status with the FBI!"

Byers was nodding and sighed, "Yes, I know, I know. Okay. I'll contact my lead at the Russian Embassy."

"No. Have that mercenary girl, Yves, do it. Try to avoid involving yourself wherever possible at this point. Someone might be able to trace this to you, and you'll end up paying for getting caught up in it. And impress upon her the need for secrecy. We don't need gossip flying along the grapevine. And try not to involve Frohike or Langley either."

"Right. No sense in endangering them, as well."

"And don't tell Krycek."

Byers frowned. "I wouldn't know how. I have no idea where he is."

"He's around. If the Russians are involved, you can bet he'll be skulking about somewhere."

"The Russians are aware that one of their diplomats here was a host infected by the alien virus. Do you think they might have any idea that the Resistance does too?"

"Yeah. I'm willing to bet that's where Krycek got this stuff. Even though he betrayed them, too, he's still in with them." Mulder turned to him. "Didn't he tell you where he got it?"

Byers shook his head. "That—never really came up in the conversation. But I'm pretty sure he's a member of the Resistance, probably the Russian division."

Mulder stared at him. "What did you talk about? What did he say?"

Byers shifted uncomfortably. "I think it would be more along the lines of what he didn't say."

"Alright. But you could still tell me what you actually discussed." Mulder seemed as though he was suppressing a substantial amount of exasperation at this point.

Byers shrugged. "By the time we finished eating and had moved on to drinks, there really wasn't that much left to talk about. It isn't like we were old friends catching up on past times. I mean, come on, Mulder. I was only there to collect the material from him. And we didn't even talk about the files he was giving us—I read those on the flight back, yesterday morning."

Mulder was staring at him now with a dazed look on his face. "My God," he said, slowly. "You slept with him!"

Byers blinked. How—

No, Mulder's famed intuitive ability was legendary and he'd had too many instances to see first-hand how Mulder could piece together the most bizarre, yet accurate, rendering of any questionable situation, seemingly out of thin air or from the most incredibly lean pickings of clues. The penny dropped heavily for Mulder, as Byers had suspected it might. Mulder's voice had been slightly accusatory but mostly just stunned.

"Well, it was only a single room," Byers replied, hoping that neither confirming nor denying the accusation would lead Mulder away from the rather personal and still distressing incident. He had absolutely no intention of discussing it with Mulder if he could possibly help it. "Our return flights weren't until the next morning."

But Mulder was sitting without moving at all; he was in shock. He was obviously trying to grasp the implications of the concept.

"I don't know what to tell you, Mulder. Krycek was cagey and quiet. He certainly wasn't any more forthcoming with me than anyone else. I'm not sure why you expected him to be. He knows that I'm working with you, that Mel and Ringo and I have always been your lesser counterparts on the edge. The only reason he takes me seriously at all is because I offer him a connection with you. I'm just a carrier pigeon."

Mulder didn't reply. He was still sitting with that stunned expression. He was starting to assimilate the actuality but somehow Byers couldn't see him really able to deal with the thought of Alex Krycek, his long-time nemesis, as a sexual being without some difficulty. After all, Mulder had felt safe for so long simply denying the man had any validity beyond his status as villain and maverick.

"Mulder? Are you alright?"

Mulder turned a curious gaze on him. "Walking on the wild side, aren't you, John."

Byers straightened. "Look, you didn't want to meet with him and he certainly didn't want to meet with you. I don't think we had any other option, do you?"

Mulder's eyes slid away to stare sightlessly at his coffee on the table. "It's alright. Forget it."

"I'm more concerned with how we're going to get word to the Russians about the oiliens that were released from the new deposit offshore in the Gulf. The ones you saw. I don't think they realize the danger. Even the Resistance won't understand the high-risk nature of getting close to them. And the fact that the corporation who discovered it wants to continue drilling there... Besides taking a Greenpeace approach and going out ourselves in boats to sabotage their efforts, I don't see how we can stop them, and we still aren't any closer to knowing how to stop the infected hosts, short of killing them."

Mulder shook his head. "There's something else going on, something we haven't learned yet. We need to know why the aliens would target a Russian diplomat here in the US. And why the Russians should be so concerned about the contaminated oil deposit in the Gulf. It's not Black Cancer. But maybe that's why. They don't have a vaccine against the oilien introducing itself into the body."

Byers sat up suddenly. "Scully had the medical data on the two Mexican Indians who were able to resist the oil—maybe she could come up with something to combat the introduction of it to the rest of us who don't have the natural immunity."

Mulder shook his head. "That's what the Russians are really after. The medical records on the two rig workers."

Byers countered, "But Krycek would have asked, I think. He would have told us that that's what they wanted in return for the information he was giving us."

Mulder gave a sickly smile. "Not necessarily. Maybe they already have it. Otherwise he would have asked for it, like you said. And he is working for himself, not for anyone else. He only works with the Russians or the Resistance where it meets his needs in any given situation."

"How do we know that what Krycek knows, the Russians know?"

"Exactly. Krycek would have obtained the data so that he could bargain with the Russians."

"So why bother getting us involved? Why tell you? What does he want from you in this scenario?"

Mulder snickered. "He expects me to do exactly what I always do. Go looking for the answers. He wants me in position, on the board."

Byers finally got it. "The aliens are taking advantage of the oiliens' entry into the game—they're using this as a way of drawing out the Resistance."

Mulder looked grave. "Right. Which means that as soon as the members of the Resistance get involved, they're in danger of walking into whatever trap the aliens have set. Maybe even..." he fell short.

Byers finished it for him. "The Russians. The aliens know that the Russians and the Resistance have a vaccine against the virus and the Black Cancer. They're going to use the oiliens to get rid of them for them, so there won't be anyone else to stand in the way of their invasion. Because no one really understands exactly how powerful the oiliens really are—or what their agenda is. Or just how cooperative they are with the grays."

"Yeah. The Russian diplomat is just the tip of the iceberg."

"Well, now that we know their plan, we can do something about it." Byers had to agree that at this point, he was way out of his depth.

"The moment I get involved, and we start showing our hand, even though we have to do something and can't just stand by as observers, they flush us out into the open and can attack us as well. Maybe that's what Krycek had in mind in the first place." Mulder was still trying to accredit negative intentions to Krycek.

Byers was sick of it. "If he considered you a threat and not an asset, he'd have killed you in that hospital and not saved you by giving you the vaccine," he pointed out.

"I know." Mulder had a self-satisfied look on his face. "I just wanted to watch you defend him again. You're really taken with him, aren't you?"

"Not as much as you are," Byers replied. "I read the Syndicate file on Krycek. The Brit as much as said so. Several times it mentions that one Special Agent Fox Mulder is Krycek's only weakness, and vice versa. And that the best way to manipulate said Agent is by sending in Krycek to deal with him. The Brit apparently knew exactly how to distract you, using your own reactions to Krycek against you, in their favor. I guess it's the same as starting a land war in the Middle East with stakes as high as the world's primary oil reserves so that they can conduct secret activities elsewhere when no one is looking." Byers was deliberately referring to the Gulf War, because he knew Mulder must have read Krycek's file by now, too. And it specifically stated that it was through Krycek's placement in the Gulf War that he came into contact with the Syndicate, through Marita Covarrubias.

But Mulder wasn't rising to Byers baiting at this point; he seemed to take it in stride and merely grinned at him. "I'm not jealous, John. If anything I feel sorry for you, for having fallen victim to his manipulation."

Sure, Mulder. Byers could hear the usual denial-sublimation-repression response in Mulder's words. He dropped it. And tried to concentrate on the far more important matter at hand. The grays' plans of using the oiliens to distract and entrap the Resistance and the Russians.

But it was interesting how Mulder couldn't stop talking about Krycek, always bringing the conversation back to him. Byers' collaboration with Krycek in trying to make Mulder jealous and have to face his problem about it was working far more effectively than they could have expected. A sense of relief went through Byers at this; he wasn't sure he could handle even one more meeting with Krycek without losing all perspective or sense of self-preservation. It was bad enough that he couldn't think of anything but Alex whenever he had a moment to himself. Poor Mulder: he had no idea what he was missing or how caught he still was; how completely distracted by Krycek he was. Well, it was understandable, insofar as Mulder had already watched the man die once but Byers would have thought Mulder would be more upset than he was, to learn that his one-time nemesis was still alive.

But Mulder had beaten him to getting back to the matter at hand. "We have to find out what the grays plan to do to get the Russian-organized Resistance to get too close to the oiliens."

Byers stood up. "I can have Yves find out. I can ask her to get the latest from the Embassy. She's good; she has to be, she's a professional. I trust her to do it competently without leaving any trace."

"I believe you. Get back to me, all right? I'll be waiting. Meanwhile, I'll tell Scully and the others that I'm taking a little out-of-town trip. I have to give myself an alibi so I can go wherever it is that they're going to make their move."

"What about backup?" A knowing look at Mulder; the ex-agent was famed for charging in, leaving others to go in after him and bail him out.

Mulder just smiled, gleefully. "Don't worry. I'll be careful."

"What should I do if Krycek contacts me again?"

Mulder shrugged. "Find out what he wants, I guess. Anything he gives us at this point will also tell us what he knows, and what he wants us to know, and give us a better means of knowing how to navigate this situation."

The Lone Gunman HQ
A day later
18:46

Byers received an email from Rhoda Wele-Svelya, telling him that he was lucky not to be dead. The Russian Embassy was in a state of security lockdown; they'd received warning that one of their diplomats had received a death threat and they were looking for the guilty party. The compromised diplomat was being protected now by the best the Russians and the Americans could provide, making it impossible to get to him. This was undoubtedly part of the aliens' plan to ensure the effectiveness of the execution of their plot to entrap the Resistance.

Wait—Svelya? It sounded Russian, vaguely. Wele? Or South African. Strange. Rhoda? It had to be -Yves. Yet another one of Yves' 'Oswald' anagrams. He shook his head and sighed at the girl's affectation. Such an idiosyncrasy made her entirely too easy to trace. But maybe she only did it when she wanted to leave tracks. Still; it was as silly as when he used the name JF Kennedy when checking into hotels...

He emailed her back, requesting a news update on the Russians' intentions.

'Rhoda' promptly told him that the Russians had tracked down the terrorist party to a subversive revolutionary group working from within the Mordovian government. A secret faction operating out of the Republic of Mordovia. A ship called the Red Star, working under the guise of working with a program that offered eastern Europeans the chance to join the Merchant Marines... The Red Star had apparently docked in a port on the coast of the United States, on Galveston Island, Texas, there intending to pick up cargo.

Byers was willing to bet that part of that cargo would involve the transfer of one of the oiliens to the crew, and infect them with the alien virus too. Galveston was where Doggett and Mulder had gone, after all, to the offshore rig.

The captain of the ship and his officers had been told to go on shore leave, when in actuality they had been summoned to the Mordovian Embassy in Washington DC. The ship was still awaiting a release from the port authorities and the crew was still aboard, although the Americans had found nothing aboard the ship other than ordinary cargo in a thorough search.

Byers was thrilled; this was precisely what they had been waiting for. He thanked Rhoda profusely and got an immediate post that stated this was the last free job she was willing to do for him. After this, the only way she was going to go sticking her nose into the Russians' business was if she were paid for the risks.

He logged off and picked up the phone. "Mulder? Are you there? Pick up, if you are. We've struck gold."

Pier 34, The Docks
Port of Galveston, Texas
Saturday, 5:36 PM

The harsh cries of boat-tail grackles and crows intermingled with those of seagulls as Mulder pulled in to park near the terminal. The smell of saltgrass marshes and the seacoast blended into a remarkable sweetness in the air. It was stifling hot though, even with the sea breeze blowing in. The effect of the car's air conditioning had rendered him comfortable for the drive down but now the heat hit him like a wall.

He left the car parked outside an abandoned industrial complex of warehouse buildings and old shipping offices. As he walked towards the dock, he scanned the waterfront for the ship. It was a little distance away from the port proper, docked beside a large series of old grain elevators. They were testimonials to Galveston's entry into agricultural exporting of wheat in the 1900s; huge columns that rose side by side, two rows of them next to tall, ancient office buildings and equipment. It resembled a massive, post-modern industrial Temple of Karnak. One of the elevators had been damaged years before, a gaping wound in its thick concrete side where it had possibly been deliberately opened up and rendered useless. There was one light in a high window—the broken glass revealed a single, naked hanging light bulb. That must be the office of Concourse Grain LLC, who operated the elevators. The buildings and structures were suffused with history.

As he made his way across the open space, he could hear the distant crowds of small birds, shrieking and chattering from the highest floors of the buildings towering above. The early evening was torn with the cooler sea breezes and the hot currents of the Texan landscape. Galveston had been baked throughout the day and now the heat was being released to swill around. A bank of dark clouds had gathered and were moving across the sky, inland from the west and going out to sea. The air was tense as the storm continued building.

Dwarfed under the huge columns, Mulder took shelter under them, going to stand under the protection from possible rain offered by the covering over both rows of grain elevators. He checked his watch; it was getting close to six o'clock. He'd arrived with plenty of time to await the arrival of the Resistance. He wanted to be there to warn them about the compromised ship. Mulder was certain that one of the oiliens was aboard even now. As the brewing thunderheads roiled overhead, Mulder fished out sunflower seeds from the stash in his pocket from the jacket tied around his waist, and settled down to wait.

A couple hours later, thunder rumbled as the evening darkened around him. The flash of the headlights of an approaching car alerted him to the arrival of someone parking in the empty warehouse terminal of Pier 34. Mulder suddenly wished he'd parked the rental car somewhere less conspicuous. It was obvious that he was here. The fact that the car was empty didn't necessarily mean that the occupant was here for the Red Star. Still, it was a miscalculation on his part. He began to walk towards the edge of the dock.

The Red Star was flying the Mordovian and US flags. The only sounds were of birds and the slap of water against the railings, the concrete waterfront and the sides of the ship. A light rain was falling.

Mulder crept around the side of the building and waited behind the corner for someone to show.

A dark figure was silently making its way towards the ship, edging forward cautiously, obviously on guard after having noted Mulder's car.

Mulder knew he had to get to the member of the Resistance and warn them before they attempted to go on board. He quietly began to approach them, not wanting to raise any alarms but also not wanting to sneak up on them and either send them into a scramble for cover or put them on the offensive.

But in the gloom and the rain, the new arrival lifted his head as Mulder's approach brought him near enough to make out who it was. Krycek. Of course. Mulder sighed to himself. It had to be, didn't it? He was cursed to run into the man every time anything big came down. Of course, this did betray the man as still a leading member of the Resistance. But it was hardly surprising.

Continuing up to him, Mulder said dryly, "Krycek. Why am I not surprised?"

"I could say the same to you." Krycek's rejoinder lacked much emotive effort however.

"I thought you were dead. You should've stayed that way," Mulder replied.

"Mulder—I really don't have the time to sink to your level just now. I have to assume you're as aware of the importance of this ship as I am."

"It'd be harder to sink any lower, Krycek, seeing as you're already on the bottom."

Something flashed in Krycek's eyes before he could cover it. "Mulder, I wouldn't bottom for you even you were begging for it."

"I find that hard to believe. Except of course, you like being in charge. You really pushed Skinner past his limits with that whole blackmail gig you had going. Let me guess; you've got something similar in mind for me. What's it to be: torture?"

Krycek chuckled under his breath. "After all the opportunities I've had, why would I start now? Besides, why should I bother, when I can have the aliens do it for me?"

"Afraid to get your hands dirty, as usual?" Mulder snapped.

"Hey, I'd love to stand here and discuss this with you, but I have a much bigger problem to take care of first. Maybe if you're good, later on I can show you the sound of one hand clapping." Krycek moved away, obviously intending to climb aboard the ship.

"Wait," called Mulder. "You don't know who's in there."

Krycek stopped. "And I suppose you do? What, are the grays beaming you telepathic messages now?"

A flash of light lit the sky and a booming, rolling echo of thunder interrupted them.

Krycek was about to continue on, when Mulder quickly caught up with him and grabbed his elbow. Krycek whirled on him, snatching his arm away angrily. "Mulder, this is none of your business. Stay out of it. Or you might end up dead again—and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"If you go charging on board now, you'll be dead, and we don't want that either."

Krycek stopped. "We don't?" A feral grin crossed his face.

"It's not what you think, the alien on this ship. It's an oilien, the same kind that we met before, in Hong Kong. The one that left you stranded in North Dakota, in that silo."

If Mulder had doubted that anything could get to Krycek, he was enlightened at Krycek's reaction to his words. Krycek went stock-still and something akin to revulsion went visibly over him. Mulder recognized it a second later as fear. Terror, he corrected himself.

Krycek recovered enough to say, "How do you know?"

"Because the grays are trying to draw out members of the Resistance, the Russian faction you're with. They've infected one of the Russian diplomats at the Embassy in DC, deliberately leading your people to suspect the Mordovians. It's a trap. The whole point of getting you here was to lead you straight into the path of the oilien on board where you'd be neutralized in an attempt to take it out, not realizing its true nature."

"Thanks for the tip," Krycek said, an edge of anger in his voice. "But I have to go anyway, because whether alien or oilien, its on its way back to Mordovia. The ship is departing tomorrow, to put into port in Russian territory along the way, where it's going to make its way into the country."

"Tunguska?" Realization flooded Mulder. Plans within plans; the oiliens could stop the Russians and remove their involvement in the Resistance, by neutralizing their operations there at the source. Remove the production of both vaccines to the alien virus and the Black Cancer... Of course, that was assuming what the oiliens' intentions were. They didn't really know for sure. The oiliens were inscrutable. They'd previously had the chance to take over Doggett and Mulder on several occasions aboard the oilrig, and hadn't.

Krycek shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"You're not going on that ship without me," Mulder stated, resolutely.

Krycek snorted and merely continued on his way. Mulder followed him aboard and into the interior.

The ship was deserted. Not a single soul appeared to be there. Maybe the crew had sloped off to party in the town of Galveston, but Mulder doubted they'd so flagrantly disobey orders.

"I don't like this," Mulder muttered. "And how come there's no security around here? It's too deserted for a ship that's been held under this much suspicion."

Krycek lifted his chin and motioned back the way they'd come. "This might be what they were waiting for. Let's get out of here."

They quickly made their way back through the ship, but as they came back out on deck, beside the narrow walkway that led down to the edge of the dock, a swarthy man appeared behind them. A little too close for comfort. "Are you looking for me?" he said, in a clipped, accented voice. The swirl of black in his eyes was more than enough confirmation.

Mulder quickly brought up his gun to bear on him but Krycek quickly knocked his hand back down. "Don't," Krycek warned. To the oilien, he said, "Where's the crew?"

"Gone. I dispatched them."

"Why?" demanded Mulder.

The oilien cast its dark eyes upon him. "You," it said, recognizing him from the rig. "Why do you follow us?"

"We have every right to know what you're doing here. You should have stayed below. In stepping into this war, you've made yourself a target, just as the others have."

The oilien cocked its head to one side and regarded him. "Two of the crewmembers of this vessel had been changed. They are now dead."

Krycek inhaled sharply. "Where are the others?"

"It was necessary. They were unfortunate enough to be in the way."

"Where are your friends? Where have they gone to?" Mulder rounded on the oilien.

"You should go," was the only answer it gave. "Others are coming here. They will be here soon."

Krycek stepped back, taking Mulder's arm. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Wait a minute. What about—"

The oilien interrupted him. "You must beware of leaping to conclusions, Fox Mulder." And it turned around, going back inside the ship.

Mulder stood staring after it had left, before turning to follow Krycek down the stairs and back to shore.

Catching up with Krycek who was striding purposefully back to his car, Mulder walked beside him. "They must be in the hospital; no doubt with radiation burns. And the two that it killed were infected with the virus, hosts for the aliens."

Krycek didn't respond, just kept walking.

"But why would the oiliens care what happened to the Resistance?"

"Maybe they don't, except where it interferes with their own plans," Krycek offered, quietly.

Another shock of thunder boomed around them and then the rain began to pelt down hard. They walked faster, finally making it back to their cars. Krycek had parked some ways away from Mulder's. Some strange impulse seized Mulder. He went with Krycek towards his car instead. "Krycek, wait."

With his hand on the handle of the door of his car, Krycek stopped and looked over at him.

Aware of the fact that he had a window of little less than a few moments, Mulder quipped, "After putting myself at great risk in showing up to warn you and save your ass, the least you could do is buy me dinner, don't you think?"

"Sorry, Fox. I have a natural suspicion of dining with people who want me dead. Besides, I already saved yours... You owe me."

"Then we're even," Mulder stated, dryly. "I'll buy you dinner instead, and you can owe me for that."

Krycek gave a little snicker of disbelief. "No thanks. I'd need a food-taster and I can't afford one right now."

Mulder stood there, feeling a little angry at making these overtures and being rebuffed when he was trying so hard. He remained where he was, helpless, not really knowing how he could get Krycek to play along, and not bothering to examine why he was bothering in the first place. "Come on, give me a break here. I haven't tried to kill you. I could have just let you go on board without warning you that thing was there."

In the passage of a few heartbeats, Mulder could see Krycek deliberating this. But then, Krycek shook his head briefly. "Sorry. I have a prior engagement." He opened the car door.

"Fine, we'll play it your way," Mulder said, swiftly drawing his gun and moving in to place himself against the inside of the car door, holding the gun on Krycek and taking the safety off. "Move over. I'll drive."

Angrily, Krycek pushed Mulder's arm upwards, knocking him off-balance slightly so that he bumped against the car door behind him, and took advantage of this to grab him by the front of his jacket. With a surprisingly strong movement, Krycek reversed their positions, swinging Mulder around to slam him back against the car, leaving him leaning with his back against the door to the backseat.

Mulder was so taken aback he didn't stop him, surprised at Krycek's rather frighteningly formidable display of superior strength, quickness and skill—the man moved like a cat... The strength, with which Krycek had slammed him back against the car and had him pinned there under the force of his arm across his upper chest, had nearly knocked the wind out of him.

"Mulder," Krycek gritted out, breathing harder, a mixture of chagrin and anger on his face. But he didn't say anything else, just gave up on trying to talk to him. And then, with a darting, fluid motion, Krycek moved his arm away. He grabbed the back of Mulder's neck, leaning in against him sharply to press his lips to Mulder's.

For the first initial moments of finding another warm mouth against his own, Mulder instinctively closed his eyes, a flash of surging heat moving over his body and crackling along his skin. Instead of pulling away though, Krycek remained there, and the kiss deepened. Words and feelings were rushing in Mulder's head like a spinning, sloshing torrent. But he didn't pull away, either. It would have been a simple thing to turn his head to the side, break it off.

The rain was drenching both of them, and the pealing crash in the sky accentuated the storm, and it seemed so perfect. The hand against the back of his neck was hot and trembling slightly, in time with the trembling of the lips on his. Mulder opened his mouth a little, but he regretted it instantly as Krycek jerked away from him and took a step back, almost involuntarily. Krycek was looking at him with an expression that seemed all at once to be regret, dismay, longing and mockery.

Finally, Mulder found his voice. "If you go again, you're still just playing Judas."

The cynicism and menace in Krycek's voice reminded Mulder that there wasn't any relationship to salvage to begin with. "And if I don't?"

A variety of possible answers suggested themselves but Krycek merely regarded him for a moment and then said quietly, "Go home, Mulder."

Snatching an idea from the corner of his mind, Mulder said, bitterly, "You can tell me, Krycek. What has Byers got that I haven't?"

Krycek stared at Mulder in undisguised shock; a moment later, a mask of marble ice settled over him. But Mulder could still see the pain in his eyes. In a voice that burned with a measured but furious and somewhat justified threat, Krycek said, "Don't try to stop me again." He moved back to the car to climb inside and slam the door.

As the engine started, Mulder moved quickly. He flung open the back door and jumped inside as Krycek began to pull away, reversing.

"You started this, Krycek. You can finish it," he stated calmly from the back seat.

In the rearview mirror, Mulder saw Krycek sigh as he angrily stopped the car. In disgust, Krycek opened the door and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him hard enough to cause a ringing in Mulder's ears.

Laughing a little, Mulder leaned forward to remove the keys from the dashboard and then got out of the car himself.

Krycek stiffly said, "If you want my car that badly, take it." He began to move towards Mulder's car.

"Alex," Mulder called, "I've got the keys. Both of them."

Krycek continued to move towards the car, obviously intending to hotwire it if necessary.

"And the doors are locked," Mulder continued, hoping he wouldn't just break the window.

Krycek paused, turning on his heel. It was too dark for Mulder to make out his face, despite the light from the nearest floodlight by the pier. "What do you want, Mulder?"

Floundering, Mulder said, "I don't know. A chance, maybe."

Exasperated, Krycek walked back to him, stopping just out of arm's reach. "To what?" he prompted. "A chance to do what?"

"It's pouring down. At least let's get in the car and talk about this out of the rain," Mulder stalled, for time. He didn't really know what he wanted, himself; how could he explain it to Krycek?

Why had Krycek stopped? Why hadn't he just smashed the window and carried on? Mulder suddenly remembered: he'd called him 'Alex'. For the first time in years. With a shrewd insight he realized this was a subtle point but it had been the one thing that had convinced Krycek that maybe Mulder wasn't just screwing him around. Indeed, Krycek looked torn with indecision.

Returning to Krycek's car, Mulder went around to the passenger side and got in, shutting the door pointedly.

A few moments of soul-searching later, Krycek got into the driver's seat. "Okay, Mulder. It's your hand; play it. What do you want?" he repeated.

The darkness and closeness of the atmosphere of the two of them sitting there together, particularly with what had just happened between them, raised a heat to Mulder's face in the dark. He licked his lips. "Dinner. I'm hungry. Aren't you? You can order for yourself, if you don't trust me."

Krycek sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. "We don't have time for this. People are going to start arriving any minute now." With no small amount of frustration and aggravation, Krycek said, "What about your car?"

Mulder replied, "No way. The moment we get out of here, you're gone. I'll lose you on the way back."

Krycek snorted. "I don't suppose my word is good enough."

"Maybe not, but mine is. I'll behave."

Krycek turned to him in the shadows. "Fine. Where are you staying?"

"Downtown. At the Four Seasons."

Krycek sucked in a breath.

"What?" Mulder complained. "Isn't it good enough? What, were you expecting a cheap motel? Mind you, Super 8 isn't too bad."

"It's fine," Krycek said, curtly. "Are you getting out, or what?"

"Just a minute," Mulder murmured, turning in his seat and leaning over to kiss Krycek's startled mouth. Indeed, Krycek didn't move, not even to pull back.

Mulder didn't linger, moving back once more and murmuring, "I owed you that one. I've still got one left too. I'm counting."

Tautly, Krycek managed, "Are you through?"

"I don't know," Mulder replied, truthfully. Somehow, he felt he could happily remain here with him in the car. "How would you feel about fooling around on the backseat?"

Krycek replied, slowly and coldly. "No, thanks. I'm not into quick fucks and juvenile groping."

Just long, slow lovemaking, eh? But Mulder didn't say it, merely grinned.

"Get going. I'll follow behind you." Krycek wasn't in a playful mood. Not that Mulder could blame him.

Mulder opened the door, saying as he began to climb out, "It's Room 98. But I'll meet you in the lobby, okay?"

Krycek didn't answer, and Mulder shut the door. He walked back towards his car, in the driving rain that was now pelting down in a fair impression of a monsoon.

Not surprisingly, Krycek drove off before Mulder had even reached his own car.

Apartment 42, Hegel Place
Alexandria, VA
10:48 PM

Mulder lay slumped on his couch, languishing in a blue funk. He hadn't expected to find himself feeling quite so depressed, especially after the events of the day.

Suzanne Modeski had been liberated from her keepers and she'd sought out Byers who was now in a state of bliss. Mindless, pre-marital bliss, Mulder corrected himself. The man was floating on cloud nine, walking around with her hand-in-hand, unaware of the eye-rolling and plaintive sighs that followed in their wake from Frohike and Langley. Mulder had stopped off at the Gunmen's place to congratulate them.

And the new kid, Jimmy, was sunny, of course; the young man seemed ecstatic with the two lovebirds' newfound happiness. It almost hurt to see someone who actually believed in true love to the naïve and innocent, trusting level that Jimmy did. Let alone the glow of contentment that Byers wore on his face whether he was looking at Suzanne or not.

It had been close to two weeks since Krycek had driven off in the rain, leaving Mulder to wonder just what the hell he had expected from him.

Mulder had cornered Byers and asked him if Krycek had contacted him again at all, or if he expected him to. Byers had looked grave and said that he hadn't, and then expressed concern for Krycek's welfare, which had both turned Mulder's stomach in a flip-flop of anxiety, hoping nothing had happened to him, and equally angered him with the reminder that Byers had something he couldn't even ask for. Krycek's trust. Mulder had never imagined that he might one day actually believe that he wanted it, let alone envy someone else for having it.

Mulder had asked Byers to ask Yves if she could dig up Krycek's whereabouts, but Byers had phoned him up later that very evening and told him that Yves had said, "There isn't a fee high enough you could pay me, to ask me to do that."

In the aftermath of their encounter with the oilien on the Red Star, Mulder had since heard rumblings about an attempted alien coup on one of the Resistance headquarters in Moscow, and that they had been successfully defeated.

He'd been glad to hear it. Even though he'd had to suppress an undeniable and curious mixture of regret and yearning when he'd learned of it.

Now he sat alone, occasionally fidgeting but mostly moping. He was at a loose end, not really knowing what to do next. He didn't have any further leads on the oiliens, and everything that had been hot or interesting had either gone cold and was now old news, or had been provided by Krycek and he wasn't showing.

Mulder felt sick as he identified the reason why he wanted Krycek to show up with more leads... He wanted to see him again.

True, after all these years, to not even have his work in the X-Files to throw himself into, to be cut off from the busy hum and pulse of the FBI's basement activities—it hurt. But most of all, he was bored.

And now, with too much time on his hands, Mulder began to understand the hell that some people go through after retirement. What could he possibly do, to fill the empty gap that yawned so massively in his life? He didn't have a career in medicine to fall back on the way Scully did. Literature? Psychology? He supposed he could do something along those lines but he ached for the electricity and throbbing pulse that he felt when engaged with dealing with the alien threat, and pursuing leads to alien activity on the planet.

Now he was just an unwanted ex-employee—without any good references either. Oh, he had no doubt Skinner would refer him, but certainly Kersh and the rest of them had breathed a collective and deep sigh of relief when he'd left.

All his previous plans had been concocted in such naïve good spirits. Now he listlessly and aimlessly wondered what the hell he was supposed to do with his time. Nothing really sprang to mind, or excited him anymore. He'd gone from having his finger on the nerve center of the conspiracies and the alien threat to watching Oprah and Jerry Springer.

Of course, there was also the problem of the memory of those soft—softest lips—

It replayed over and over in his mind all the time, despite his attempts to push it away.

Turning on the television with the remote, he sank back even farther into the couch and ended up falling asleep.

Teena Mulder's house
Greenwich, Connecticut
Three weeks later
8:42 PM

"I heard you were looking for me."

Mulder raised his head to stare at the owner of the vodka-on-ice, husky, ought-to-be-captured-and-commercially-sold voice, barely remembering to contain his joy at seeing him again. Krycek had let himself in, probably to avoid a confrontation on the porch.

"You rescued Suzanne Modeski for him, didn't you?" It was almost an accusation; 'how dare you go and do something so noble and selfless?' Such a 'nice' gesture. No doubt Krycek had felt indebted to Byers for the one-night stand, Mulder thought sourly. And tried to reject the feeling of envy that crept over him. He didn't want Krycek, he didn't.

Krycek gave a slight smile. "It was the least I could do." He stood there, both of his hands shoved in the pockets of his long leather jacket, the real one and the prosthetic. It very nearly made his missing limb unnoticeable except that Mulder found himself unable to stop wondering suddenly how Krycek managed without it.

"You wanted to see me?" Krycek prompted again, coming to stand in the middle of the room, carefully and noticeably keeping the low, glass coffee table between them.

"Not much for small talk, are you?" Mulder grumbled, ignoring Krycek's ready stance. He remained slouched on the sofa, comfortable in his jeans and long-sleeved shirt. "Have a seat. Want a beer?"

Krycek hesitated, considering for a moment or two, then moved off towards the kitchen, saying, "I'll get it," and pulling off his jacket as he did so.

So. Mulder grinned to himself. The rat-bastard had finally emerged from wherever he'd gone to ground.

Krycek returned with two cold beers from the fridge and handed one to Mulder. He sank into one of the wingchairs flanking the sofa. He raised the bottle and with a mocking tone, said, "To the aliens. We owe them our lives, after all."

"Ah, but which ones?" Mulder asked, his voice flat and uncurious. "We have so many to choose from." He still hadn't moved from his place on the sofa.

Krycek was watching him. "Word is you've been sulking out here for the past month or so."

"It hasn't been that long," Mulder corrected.

"Why'd you pick this place to retreat to?" Krycek sounded like he actually wanted to know.

Mulder turned his head to look at him. "Because I figured if I picked my father's house, in Martha's Vineyard, you wouldn't show up." He waited for the implications of that to sink in. He was sure that Krycek would have been a bit leery of coming to see him in the same rooms that Bill Mulder had died in.

"You've been waiting for me, here?" A note of disbelief crept into Krycek's voice.

"Eye for an eye, and all that. I guessed that I really deserved you ditching me like that, at the pier. After all, you seemed pretty put out back when I ditched you, when you were still my trusty sidekick."

"This—is what you wanted to speak with me about?" Krycek sounded like he was getting ready to throw in the towel again at this point.

Mulder shook his head and drank from his beer. "I really disappointed the Syndicate. I read your file. I guess you disappointed them, too. As well as the Russians. Of course, that's where I draw the line. That's the only similarity I can make between us."

"That's one of the intriguing things about you, Mulder. One never knows if you're being insulting or just stating an observation."

"In your case, it's both." Mulder wondered how much it would take to make Krycek snap at this point.

Krycek sipped from his own bottle and said, "Well, it's been fun. Thanks for the beer." He leaned forward, set the bottle down on the coffee table and stood up, picking up his jacket and shrugging into it.

Mulder sat up straighter. "You still haven't let me buy you dinner."

"I'll pass. Thanks." Krycek was already moving to the door.

Mulder swiftly got up and followed him, catching up with him before Krycek could open it. Grabbing Krycek's right arm, he pulled hard, spinning him around to face him and then shoving him against the door. It was a near imitation of what Krycek had done to him before. "I still owe you one, Alex," Mulder reminded him, a little triumph coloring his voice as he leaned in towards him.

But Krycek obviously was having none of this. Not tolerating Mulder's body pressing against him, he pushed Mulder away, almost savagely. "I really don't think you want to go there. If we're going to talk about debts... I owe you more than a few blows."

Defiantly, standing with a confidence he didn't actually feel, Mulder said quietly, "Go on; take your best shot."

With a slight sneer, Krycek replied, "I really don't think you could take it."

Considering, Mulder realized that Krycek could actually have taken him at any time in their long yet sparsely scattered acquaintance. He leaned in again, this time not quite close enough to touch him. He only paused when they were face to face and then murmured, "Prove me wrong."

And slowly, slowly leaned forward to bring his lips to Krycek's, quietly deliberate, noting how Krycek wasn't breathing at all, had frozen and wasn't trying to move away. Mulder resisted the urge to lick those trembling lips under his, feeling a wash of heat go over him, engulfing him. He didn't want to make Krycek bolt again. He pulled away from Krycek's mouth and pressed his lips to the warm cheek instead, briefly.

It suddenly felt so right to be making the moves, taking the initiative. Mulder took a breath and found himself putting his arms around the other man, holding him, waiting for the tension he could feel in Krycek to either break or relax and fade away.

"Maybe we were both wrong," Mulder whispered.

Krycek pushed him backwards again, this time nearly knocking him off balance; if he hadn't been expecting something he would have stumbled. Darkly, Krycek said, "It's a bit late for this, don't you think?"

Mulder shrugged. "I'd say it's long overdue. I'm not expecting anything, but I will say that when... when you were dead, gone, I—" he stopped, hardly able to believe he was actually saying it, "I missed you. I didn't handle it very well, back on the pier, either."

Krycek gave him a quizzical look. "Is that an apology?"

"If you like." Mulder was filled with a certainty nearly horrifying in its scope and intensity; that he couldn't let Krycek leave again, not this time. Not without resolving this spark that ignited every time they found themselves in proximity to each other. "I got one thing straight back there, though. One chance. Give me one chance, that's all I want."

Apprehension, hope, distrust and finally resignation crossed Krycek's face, swiftly following on each other's heels. "There isn't anything left to salvage," he responded, his voice low.

"If that were true, you wouldn't have come," Mulder pointed out.

"Why should I believe you?" Krycek was toneless, unemotional. But there was a hollow quality resounding behind his words, leaving Mulder with the unmistakable impression that he had long ago reconciled himself to never being given this chance himself.

"If you didn't want to, you wouldn't be here, Alex."

"This isn't about me," countered Krycek, ignoring the use of his first name —although Mulder could see that he had to suppress the inclination to be glad. "You're the one who's always pushing me away."

Mulder couldn't help a chuckle at this. "I'd say you've done your share of pushing me, here. What do you want? A passionate declaration? Should I go down on one knee, send you flowers? Come on, how plain do I have to make it?"

Krycek considered him thoughtfully, mistrust still apparent on his face. "It might help. You have a lot of catching up to do."

Mulder licked his lips, trying to keep at bay the wave of nervousness that Krycek might still leave at this point. Slowly, he got down on his knees, saying, "We both do." He looked up at Krycek, meeting his eyes, not daring to analyze the adrenaline rush that went through him in doing it, and the accompanying pounding of his heart.

Krycek opened his mouth but didn't say anything; he seemed to be teetering on the edge of either breaking away or following Mulder into this madness. He remained standing, however and closed his eyes, breathing hard. Bitterly, he said, "I don't want to play this game with you anymore. I didn't come here to play games."

"No games. No revenge. It's too late for us to change what's happened. I can't be anything but what I am. But I know you can't either. Let's just accept each other, now, as we are." Mulder heard the slightly pleading tone in his words and cringed a little.

Krycek's eyes narrowed and he let out a breath. "Why?"

"Come on," Mulder said, embarrassed. "Don't make me say it. For God's sake, I'm kneeling here at your feet, Alex."

Anger and then frustration went over Krycek and he sank to his knees as well, his hand going to the back of Mulder's head to steady himself. And then Krycek's mouth came crashing down upon Mulder's again.

It wasn't sweet this time; Mulder was surprised to find Krycek's mouth on his was demanding, hot, remarkably sure and then there was the expected and yet still shocking sensation of their tongues meeting for the first time, sliding against each other, slick, even hotter and more overwhelming than he could have imagined.

There was a startled moan and Mulder found he was blushing as he realized it was his own. Oddly enough, they were lying on the floor, Krycek on top of him, still kissing him with a fierce, wild possession -as if he expected Mulder to change his mind and was taking everything these few moments would yield.

Mulder pulled away, gasping, "Wait, wait... just...hold on. We—we're on the floor."

"So?" Krycek—Alex—was still atop him, moving purposefully down over his chin now to mouth at his neck, the sensation striking a deep, melting chord of excitement and liquid fire all through him.

"At least, let's—get to the couch," he managed, trying to get his hands on the floor to balance himself to get up.

But as Alex stopped and went still, finally moving backwards to pull himself away, he got to his feet and took a step back. Swallowing, Alex said, "This... is a mistake."

Groaning aloud, Mulder lay back, letting his head fall back and he sighed expansively. "Alex, what do you want? Why can't you believe that—that I want this as much as you do?"

Alex's eyes narrowed. "That's assuming that I want it."

Mulder sat up. "You're going to tell me you don't, after what just happened?" Mulder exclaimed incredulously, getting to his feet.

Alex tilted his head slightly and regarded him with a little frown. "I already told you. I want you. And I don't think you're ready for that." Alex sighed and looked away. "I don't think you'll ever be."

"Not capable, you mean," Mulder retorted, stung.

"You have yet to show me that you feel anything for me but hatred or contempt," Alex said, his tone hard.

"I want you," Mulder said, now angry himself, and out of sorts that he was being forced to defend himself, to try to prove his sincerity.

"Yeah, that's loud and clear, Mulder," Alex said, his gaze pointedly dropping to the hard evidence of Mulder's jeans. "But that isn't really what I had in mind."

"What, you want me to profess my undying love? Get the flowers and poems ready?" Mulder asked, in a desultory voice. "I'd hardly call your behavior 'romantic'! You betray me, shoot my father, lead me into a gulag, then kiss me on the cheek at gunpoint, and I'm supposed to believe that your little heart's been breaking over me? Not to mention the fact that you save my life—but only in exchange for Scully's baby, and then try get Skinner to kill me." His fresh outrage at this last point swept coldly over him, forcing the heat and desire into the background once more.

"That's an impressive score card, Mulder, but it's getting a little old, don't you think? And for the record, I knew I couldn't get Skinner to kill you, anymore than I thought he would be willing to trade Scully's baby for the vaccine." Alex's voice had gone just as remote as Mulder's now, obviously retreating now that he'd tested the waters, and actually seeming a little glad that they were back out of the danger zone. "As usual, you take everything at face value where I'm concerned, and never give me the benefit of the doubt. Christ, you must think I'm dumber than I look."

But Alex's uncharacteristic volunteering of his claim hadn't gone unnoticed. Mulder stopped, and said, wonderingly, "I knew it. But then, why? Why drive him to shoot you?"

A ripple of regret passed over Alex at having said anything, obviously not believing it would do any good either now or in the long run to try to defend his actions or explain himself to Mulder.

"Unless you wanted out," Mulder continued, slowly. "Why would you want us to believe you were dead?"

Alex turned and moved to place his hand on the door handle. "I don't have time for this crap."

"But you couldn't stay away, could you?" Mulder said, going to him again and putting his hand on his arm, to stop him. "You missed me, too," he said, certain of this and willing to bet that stating it so clearly would garner some reaction.

He wasn't disappointed. Alex shrugged off his hand, violently. "You can tell me," Alex hissed. "Was this little scene preplanned, Mulder? Did you have this whole thing rehearsed, beforehand? Or are you just improvising?"

"Well, you have to admit, you're giving me mixed signals here, Alex. A few kisses, a little bump-and-grind on the floor, and with a couple betrayals and lies thrown in for good measure—it doesn't exactly paint a picture of true love to me, either," Mulder said, stiffly. But he couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice either, or his expression.

Alex paused. But the helpless anguish in his eyes couldn't be extinguished, no matter how flat he tried to appear. "The question is, what do you want? From me?"

"I told you! I want you!" Mulder exclaimed. "But if you won't believe me, then what the hell are we doing here?"

"Yeah, like I'm supposed to believe that," Alex said, scornfully, that customary sneer back on his face.

Wounded, and feeling defensive as well as angry, Mulder ground out, "I never asked you to betray me! I never asked for you to keep popping up in my search, or to keep feeding me lies! How can I believe this isn't another elaborate game to you, even now? Or that it's not just another lie? I missed you, damn it, and I didn't want to!" Mulder was shouting now. "You want to know how hard it is for me, every time you show up, with your goddamn smug looks while you flaunt the answers in my face, the truth to the questions I've been searching for all my life?! Fuck; Alex—you turn up out of nowhere, wave things in my face, feeding me scraps here and there and I can't believe anything you ever tell me! How am I supposed to suddenly believe that you care?!"

Astonished at his outburst, and yet not looking very surprised that it had happened, as if he'd been waiting for Mulder to break, Alex said, "What did you expect? Every time I've come to you, you've threatened to kill me! It's always fists first, questions later, and a lot of macho posturing with your gun and your self-righteous 'truth'." Alex continued, acidly, "You sit here sulking in self-pity, crying for the loss of your job, your precious truth, your family. Well, fuck; if we're going to compare sob stories, let's break out the booze and get down to it because we're going to be here all fucking night! I'd like to see you try to get through half of what I've had to bear, Mr. Silver-Spoon-fed, Oxford-educated, Golden Boy."

A red tide of rage had surged through Mulder as Alex had begun speaking but by the time he'd finished, it had dispersed, leaving an empty and lonely sorrow in its place. Sorrow and regret that neither of them had much capacity for forgiveness or trust left inside, even when the undeniable phenomena of their unrequited and enduring attraction had been so palpable between them earlier. But was it just a mutual, chemical attraction, or was it more?

"Okay, okay. You may have a point, there." Dissolute, Mulder said miserably, "All I know is that both of us have died and come back, and we still haven't learned from it. I don't want to waste what's left to me, at this point. However long I've got. I don't want to lose you again without having healed the past—or at least having tried."

Alex swallowed thickly and muttered, "My thoughts exactly."

"So let's get back to the booze and stop screwing around. Or start. Or something." Mulder couldn't help an involuntary grin at this.

Alex pressed his lips together in exasperation and cast a glance about the room. "Don't tell me you expect to have some kind of normal conversation."

Mulder went back to the table and picked up his beer; Alex's too. He handed it to him. "Here. Let's start over, okay? We won't talk about the past, or the future, or our plans, or their plans, or anything else."

Alex lifted his brows. "What do we talk about, then?"

"Do we have to talk at all?" Mulder sat down, heavily, wearily.

Alex stood, absently drinking, appearing to be considering the relative sanity of taking Mulder up on his invitation to simply sit with him.

He seemed to come to the decision that it wouldn't hurt anything, for he took off his jacket once more and sat back down.

Mulder had to squash the sigh of relief that he nearly let out. Jesus, at last. "D'you want to watch something?"

Alex briefly shook his head with a slight frown. "How long do you intend to be here?"

Mulder shrugged. "Depends. How long are you going to stay?"

Alex didn't reply, merely finished off his beer and got up. "Want another?"

At Mulder's nod, he stalked off to the kitchen once more. Mulder's eyes followed him out of the room.

Mulder found himself resolving to not nettle Alex when he came back. He was sure that Alex cared more than he wanted him to know. Oddly, he had to admit to himself that he felt the same way. Hell, maybe they always had. The future suddenly revealed itself as a bright vista in his mind's eye; a careful, precarious alliance with the two of them cooperating instead of fighting. Mulder found he was tired of the battles. He fought more out of habit than anything else, except for the insecure need to defend himself from Alex's insidious ability to manipulate him, every time. But if he was honest with himself, he knew that Alex didn't actually want him dead—had saved his life and was vulnerable to Mulder's barbed repartee as always. Maybe there was something they could recover after all.

They couldn't trust each other, but maybe they could agree not to immediately try to beat the other to the offensive position.

By the time Alex had returned with two ice-cold beers that he'd already opened and had handed one to Mulder before sitting back down, Mulder was sure he could convince Alex to stay.

"Thanks. You know, I was thinking that we could probably accomplish a lot more if we were working on the same side, for a change." Mulder's voice was deceptively mild.

Alex shot him a pitying look. "As if we could expect something like that to last."

"I'm not saying we should pretend that we can trust each other. I'm just thinking we'd be more effective if we joined forces, is all."

"Mm. There is that. But you know, this 'trust' issue keeps rearing its ugly head, doesn't it?" Alex asked, dryly.

"Neither of us wants to die again, Alex. I'll trust you not to kill me, and you can trust me not to shoot you, okay?"

Alex shrugged. "Betrayal, blackmail... I don't suppose you'll be looking for a way to give me a taste of my past sins, then."

"I'm calling a truce." Mulder snickered into his beer. "I'll settle for an apology. A real one."

"You'd believe me?" Alex grinned back at him.

"Traitor." Mulder was still smiling.

"Sucker."

"Bastard."

"Actually, I'm not. But I could say a few things about your parentage," Alex replied, smoothly.

"Invertebrate scum-sucking son of a bitch."

"Hey. Leave my mother out of this," Alex warned. "She wasn't involved—she was a nice person."

"Yeah? What a coincidence. So was mine."

Alex snorted. But he didn't elaborate on why he found this statement unbelievable.

Mulder sat up. "You know, there's something we're going to have to face. Full disclosure. If we both lay all our cards on the table, everything we've got, then we can proceed from there with a clearer idea of where we both stand."

"The full Monty, eh?" Alex was smirking.

"I've made it a personal endeavor of mine to never turn down anyone with exhibitionist tendencies. If you want to unburden your woes, I'll listen. You can even cry on my shoulder."

"That's so thoughtful of you, Fox. Really, I'm touched. " Alex took a swig of his beer. "You can go first," he said, pointedly.

Mulder opened his mouth, paused for effect and then chuckled. "Alex, I get the feeling that there isn't anything I could say that would surprise you. I'll bet you already know my life story, my favorite color, when I lost my virginity and whether I'm a lefty or a righty." Mulder threw him a look, daring him to reply.

"Lefty." Alex's lip was turned up in a knowing smirk. "You forget, I was partnered with you in the beginning."

"I thought you were checking me out," Mulder said, triumphantly.

Alex choked on his swallow in mock amazement. "Are you kidding? I wasn't sure how much more obvious I was going to have to be without simply jumping you."

"And after?" Mulder queried, referring to the times they'd met up after Alex's departure from the FBI.

"Mulder, —" Alex stopped short and gave him a look of authentic disbelief. "I'm beginning to think you wouldn't have got the message unless I'd nailed you there on the floor of your apartment instead of just kissing you. Christ." He shook his head. "You really don't get laid that often, do you?"

"At least I wasn't so hard up that I thought I had to make do with Byers," Mulder retorted, feeling needled.

Alex stopped and stared at him. "God, it really worked, didn't it?"

"What worked?" Mulder snapped, knowing that whatever it was, it had.

Alex merely smiled tolerantly, watching Mulder. Alex waited, lifting the beer to his lips again.

Swiftly, the realization of what Alex had done swept over Mulder and he said, "Poor guy. He didn't stand a chance, did he?"

"Believe me, he got more out of it than you give me credit for." Alex looked away, regarding the coffee table. "I didn't hurt him."

But the turn their discussion had taken had left Mulder with an uneasy erection again. "You can tell me, Alex. Did you bottom for him?"

"I don't kiss and tell," Alex replied, shortly, obviously not wanting to talk about it.

Mulder licked his lips and took a further swig. "Was he any good? You can tell me that at least, can't you?"

Alex's eyes narrowed. "If you want to know if I'm any good, you'll have to find out for yourself, won't you?"

That was really what Mulder was getting at, and having Alex call him on it sort of left him feeling deflated. "What will it cost me?"

Alex snorted lightly. "Your soul, what else?"

Mulder grinned. "Is that all? No passionate declarations or signing away of my integrity, my inheritance—or my porn collection? I'll tell you what though; I was thinking of selling this house. I'll settle down with you here if you'll agree to go picking out curtains with me. Laura Ashley, Martha Stewart... we'll redecorate."

Alex growled, "You really do want to humiliate me, don't you?"

Mulder moaned slightly. "Stop it; you're tormenting me. Don't say things like that."

"I think I preferred it before, with you on your knees in front of me, actually." Alex was looking at him thoughtfully.

Mulder's mouth was pleasantly dry now, and that warm, melting sensation had returned along with the slight glow of the alcohol. "Don't tempt me."

"Tempt you?" Alex leered. "I'm ordering you."

About fucking time, Mulder thought with some relief. "What makes you think I'll bottom for you?"

"Well, I do recall some mention of a 'price', not a few minutes ago. Besides, you should be so lucky."

Mulder raised his eyebrows. "You do have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?"

"Well, we are talking about Fox Mulder, here: the Agent-least-likely-to. I don't think you have any idea just how many hopes you've crushed over the years. Did you know that some people think you can't get it up except for alien grays? You should have heard some of the jokes floating around after your abduction."

"Is this some kind of roundabout way of trying to tell me you want to probe me, Alex?" Mulder finished the last of his bottle and put it on the table next to the first one. He got up. "I need another. How about you?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah." As Mulder regarded him briefly before going to the kitchen, he noticed that despite Alex's attempts to appear unshaken, his eyes were noticeably dilated and he seemed to be slightly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat.

As Mulder brought out the last two beers from the six-pack they were going through, he considered the options. The sofa? Too shallow, uncomfortable. His mother's bed? He shuddered. No way. It just didn't feel right. The spare room where he was staying? Maybe. That seemed to be the best option, although the bed was a little small. It was only a double, and neither he nor Alex could be called diminutive. Still, it was something. Now, how to get him in there? He tried to examine exactly when he'd decided that he wanted nothing more than get Alex naked and into bed... He shook his head. He couldn't determine when it had happened. Just that it was the only thing he was certain of, now.

Suppressing the sudden slight cold twinge of anxiety that panged through his stomach he went back into the living room but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Alex hadn't moved and had remained in the armchair.

The tension in the room seemed to have jumped up by several notches between them. Mulder found himself feeling like a nervous teen on a first date. There had always been the innuendo, the not-so-well-disguised sexual references and the unspoken awareness of the chemistry between them but he didn't want Alex to think he just wanted to rut on the floor again. It admittedly meant more to him than he wanted to say. Alex had already said as much to him earlier, but their past was still a minefield that was best left alone and the future was too dangerous with the whole trust versus truce issue looming...

Mulder deliberately sat in the corner of the sofa closest to Alex's chair this time. And held out his beer bottle for a toast. "To our mothers, without whom we wouldn't have met."

Alex regarded him a little puzzled. But he brought his own bottle to Mulder's with a clink. "I've always thought you were strange, but I never agreed you were spooky, until now."

"What? What's wrong with drinking to our mothers? I'm sure yours was a stunner."

Alex's brows lifted alarmingly high. "Really. How d'you figure?"

Whoops. Hadn't meant to say that, actually. Oh well. "Well, just look at you," Mulder said, trying to cover his sudden embarrassment. Somehow he felt as though complimenting Alex might be misconstrued as coming on too strong, superficial, or even indicative of a ploy of some kind. He hadn't actually said anything remotely kind or flattering to Alex in years. In fact, he couldn't remember ever having actually said aloud any of the nicer things he'd ever thought of him.

"Are you giving me a compliment, Mulder? This is way out there in the Twilight Zone, now."

"I'm just getting started," Mulder smiled at him.

"Please, stop before I go into sugar shock," Alex complained, sarcastically. But Mulder saw that it was based on the fear that he didn't mean it, or that he did... in fact, both were disturbing to contemplate. Interesting.

Mulder realized he had to compliment him more often if he wanted to have the upper hand. The insults had always given the ground to Alex. His smile broadened. "Well. You are a sweetheart inside, aren't you? I think I'm finally seeing past your tough, leather exterior." He blinked. "Actually, the leather isn't bad. It does a lot for you."

"Are you drunk or something?" Alex was watching him with more suspicion now.

"Not at all. I'm finally understanding the truth about you. You're really just a soft, marshmallowy creature, aren't you, Alex?"

"Except where it counts," Alex reminded him.

"You know, it might help if you made up your mind. Do you want me to be insulting or not? Up 'til now, I thought you got off on it. Then you made out like I was going too far. But when I sweet-talk you, you don't like that either," Mulder complained.

"Maybe you talk too much. Maybe you could find something more useful to do with your oral fixation," Alex pointed out, quietly.

"Sure, Alex. We can go into the bedroom whenever you like."

"Why? Is there something you haven't told me? I thought we were alone out here." Alex's eyes twinkled along with his grin. He didn't realize it, but it actually made him look a lot younger.

"We are—apart from any residual bugs left lying around. It's my mother's house, after all."

Refusing to rise to the bait of Cancerman's past Syndicate surveillance of the Mulders, Alex leaned forward to put his last empty beer bottle on the table. "I'm going to use the toilet."

"Help yourself."

Mulder took advantage of Alex's absence to slip into the spare room and turn down the covers. And make a few little preparations.

But as quickly as he'd disappeared, Alex was standing in the doorway, saying, "Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we?"

Mulder spun around, startled although he'd thought there was a possibility Alex would follow him. He shrugged. "I prefer the sofa. I thought you might be staying, what with the beers you've had."

"We had three apiece. You think I can't hold my alcohol?"

"Don't get snippy," Mulder said, with a half-smile. "I was trying to be nice."

"I think I like you better when you're honest."

Ouch. That hurt. A little. "Why do you think I'm not being honest?"

"Well, unless I'm mistaken and that's a gun in your shorts, I'd say you had other plans for this evening." Alex sauntered into the room, slowly, and came to stand before him, at the side of the bed. He waited. "It's your call this time, Mulder."

Without taking his eyes off Alex's, Mulder began to get undressed. With a grin, Mulder began, "I don't know if you—"

He abruptly found Alex's hand on his mouth, shushing him. "Mulder, before you put your foot in your mouth again, try to think what else you might prefer."

At a time when he didn't have both alcohol and desire singing in his bloodstream, and he wasn't thoroughly distracted with the warm sensation of Alex's fingers against his lips, Mulder might have stepped back and made another one of his famed, dead-pan, backfiring comebacks. As it was, he just opened his mouth and caught Alex's middle finger gently in his teeth, and began to nibble... Then he began to suck on it, using his tongue to taste the faint salt-taste of his sweat. The errant thought wandered across his brain: had Alex washed his hands after—

Alex drew in a shuddering breath and then Mulder, shirtless, in just his jeans, found himself being borne backwards onto the bed, forced off-balance with Alex on top of him.

Mulder chuckled in spite of himself. "Who's the impetuous one, now?"

"Shut up, Mulder," Alex breathed, before bending his head again to ravage Mulder's mouth with his own.

Mulder brought both his hands up to lay them on either side of Alex's face, returning the force of the passion Alex was displaying almost desperately. He could feel and hear Alex's heart beating loudly, which made him focus on the fact that Alex's chest was covered. He dropped one hand down to pull the dark sweater up, and then pulled the t-shirt out from the jeans it was tucked into. Then cursed the move as Alex abruptly pulled away from him and stood over him. There was a pause and then Alex moved away. But he was worried about nothing for Alex merely went to the light and turned it off, and then came back towards him while pulling the sweater over his head.

Mulder quickly shucked his jeans off, and his shorts, before sliding between the sheets of the bed and moving over to make room for Alex.

Standing in the darkness of the room, barely lit by the light from the covered window, Alex didn't speak, just removed the rest of his clothes. And probably his prosthetic, too. At least, the sound of Velcro came to Mulder's ears and he assumed that's what it was.

Mulder was glad he'd surreptitiously secreted the condoms and the little tube of lubricant under the pillows when he'd come in before Alex had finished in the toilet. Everything was going smoothly, so far.

Alex joined him on the bed, getting in on Mulder's right, and the mattress dipped slightly under his weight before he settled down beside Mulder. Turning and putting his arm easily around him, almost casually draping it on him between his arm and his side, Alex said, "Just keep in mind that I'm not bottoming for you."

Mulder couldn't help a gulp at this. He was actually nervous about being penetrated. The ominous reality of it was freaking him out a bit. More than a bit, if he were honest. He cleared his throat. "Then we're in a stalemate, because neither am I."

He could hear the grin in Alex's voice in the dark. "A compromise then." And he felt Alex feeling about under the pillows.

Mulder felt the heat color his face as Alex found the lube and condoms and said, "Well, well. What have we here?"

"I thought one of us might get lucky."

"Then isn't it lucky for you that we both did." But Mulder could still hear the humor in his voice.

"So, what's this compromise you have in mind?"

Alex dragged his hand down over Mulder's hip, down to his flank and then behind to clasp his left buttock. Alex moved in closer until they were pressed close to each other, feeling the mutual cool sensation of slightly dampening skin.

The awareness of this magnetic, drowning whirlpool that sucked the ability to think right out of his head was the only thing Mulder could recognize, barely comprehending Alex's response. Alex was saying something. The feeling of Alex's body, hard and supple and entirely exquisite against his own, obscured all other considerations. His mind spinning, he managed, "W-What? What'd you say?"

And then Alex was chuckling under his breath against him, a delicious little shaking followed by the velvety, silken rasp of Alex's voice in his ears, "I said, I'm going to make this the experience we've both been waiting for."

Mulder was still apprehensive. "Meaning what, exactly?"

Alex stopped, his hand still on Mulder's ass, his arm around him, his knee sliding up between Mulder's legs to rest against his crotch and the underside of his erection, against his now over-sensitive and drawn-up balls. "Stop worrying."

Mulder said, wonderingly, "I guess I'll just have to trust that you know what you're doing."

It was the wrong thing to say. Mulder regretted saying the word as soon as it left his mouth. Trust. It echoed between them with all the heavy weight of too many years and too many fights, close encounters and harsh words.

Afraid he'd gone and done it again, Mulder tightened his hold on him. Brokenly, he said, "Alex—I want you. Please."

"It can't be easy, can it?" Alex asked, roughly, and it was clear he wasn't really asking a question at all. He didn't move.

"Don't you dare leave me like this," Mulder warned him, keeping his arms around him and trapping Alex's leg between both of his own.

And it should have been easy, in the dark, close and the friction heating up so greatly between them that their skin was getting slippery against each other. With a lost and rather despairing groan, Alex appeared to acquiesce against him with a return of the same pressure of his own hold and held Mulder tighter, if such a thing were possible.

Mulder swallowed, suddenly aware that he understood exactly how Alex must feel. He felt just as scared, himself, just as unsure about the relative wisdom of what they were doing. Or the possible repercussions afterward. He wouldn't be able to pretend that he hadn't wanted this, and it was all just going to hit the fan. As for Alex—no doubt he was afraid that Mulder would yawn afterwards and say, thanks for the great sex, I'll see you around maybe.

Alex cleared his throat. "Look, Fox, if you're getting cold feet—"

Mulder interrupted him. "If I do, you can keep them warm. I'm not a coward."

"Sure. But just so you know, I want this," he squeezed Mulder to accentuate what he was talking about, " as much as the sex, okay? It was never just about screwing around with you."

"I know, you've said that before."

Alex bucked his hips against him, bringing both their hard cocks into contact, draining Mulder's brain of thought. "Then it's your call this time, lover boy." He leaned to catch Mulder's arm with his mouth and bit him slightly, immediately washing it with his tongue.

"What's this compromise you were talking about?"

"Oh, that." Alex grinned in the dark again and he pushed Mulder over onto his back.

"Whoa, Alex—I'm not bottoming either. You said it was a compromise."

Straddling Mulder's upper thighs, Alex said, "You are going to have to trust me on this one." His hand on Mulder's cock was nearly a revelation in its own right.

Mulder saw stars, accompanied by a low moaning—again, it was his own. He was drowning, this time. Alex's skin was like warm satin; the sensation of strength and softness combined was enough for now to shut out any residual fear of intimacy with this particular man.

There was a rustle of movement and then Alex's hand was on his cock again, this time unrolling a condom onto it. The realization of what Alex planned sent a shaft of unwanted tenderness through Mulder's heart. Despite the deftness of his movements, Alex's hand was shaking. It was withdrawn as Alex took up the lube and then applied his slicked hand to Mulder's sheathed cock.

The gentle but firm touch was drawing the pleasure up higher and higher... Mulder worried he'd just shoot into Alex's hand. Everything else seemed to have disappeared; all that was left was each heartbeat following the last, the comfort of dark helping with a discreet veil over respective accusations of the past.

Mulder was gasping as Alex moved up to impale himself slowly, God, too slowly... Mulder realized Alex was giving to him even in this. He always had. That swift twinge of—something—affection? tenderness?—cut through Mulder again and he found he could no longer pretend that he didn't know exactly how Alex had felt towards him. From the beginning, even...

It was too much, too soon. And not enough. And it would all be over too quickly. But he was helpless to do anything but lie there as Alex finally came to a halt, pinioned on him, leaning over in a curious mixture of pain and pleasure. It was hard to tell if this was too easy because they weren't fighting it anymore, or if it was difficult because the combined weight of guilt and longing brought down out of the past years was now inescapably present.

Maybe we waited too long, Mulder thought absently, wondering also if he'd last much longer. Alex was slowly riding him, fucking him in a reversed and perfect decadence of possession.

Mulder found himself wishing he could see Alex's face, and cursed his earlier fear of this union. They'd been wanting each other for so long—what the hell had been the problem?! They could have been doing this for years now. It was clearly separate from judgments of their respective actions and affiliations. He made a silent assertion to do this with the lights on, from then on, as many times as possible.

And then there was absolutely nothing left to do but hold on to some shred of sanity as the increasingly hard and thrusting motions Alex was making absorbed Mulder into his body, each forced slide forward into him sending shattering little rivers of pleasure to crash around in their bodies.

He was part of Alex now. To be held in that tight, hot, pulsing channel was somehow the center of his world but everything else seemed too real, the open-mouthed cries and harsh breaths that Alex was making, the shaking, the thin trickle of stray droplets of sweat... Mulder couldn't take anymore and was holding onto Alex's hips while he drove upwards into him again and again, fiercely, his own voice somehow terrifyingly loud in his ears.

The rush of gratification that swept over him rocked all his presumptions of what it would be like. It was sweet, and so hot, so good. Addictive. And the sounds Alex was making as he followed him into his own climax were even sweeter.

He couldn't tell which of them had won or lost. Discarding finally any preconceived notions of what he wanted, Mulder lay there, spent, his softening cock twitching even now from the feeling of Alex laying on top of him, the slick evidence of Alex's orgasm trapped between them on Mulder's belly.

"Fuck," Alex muttered with feeling, lifting his head in the dark and catching his breath.

"Yeah," Mulder agreed. "And that's an understatement," he added, letting his hands rest on Alex's back to trail over his skin.

But Alex was quiet, and Mulder could tell that he was too quiet, so he gently asked, "Hey. You okay?" He let his hand wander over to admire Alex's chest, and the smoothness there that yielded a sensitive nipple.

Alex sank down to rest beside him, carefully, on Mulder's right. "I'm not sure. That depends on you, doesn't it?"

There was too much unsaid, there. Gathering Alex to him, into his arms, Mulder kissed him on the forehead. "How can I bribe you to stay? Do you want to stay?"

"Always."

But Mulder got the feeling yet again that there was something Alex wasn't saying, something he was afraid to say. He sighed, quietly, through his nose. Snuggling up against him under the covers, he pressed a more lingering kiss on Alex's neck, breathing in the scent of him. "Then you're always welcome." He cleared his throat and swallowed. "Alex?" He waited.

There was merely an answering, "Hm?", quiet, subdued, thinking.

"I think I'm addicted to you." Mulder stated as a confession. It was, after all.

Alex sighed, almost resignedly, the breath tickling Mulder's cheek, by his ear. Then Alex caught his ear lobe between his teeth and began nibbling on it.

Mulder squirmed involuntarily. "Why... do you always end up biting and chewing on me?"

"I'm not, I'm tasting you. There's a difference." But Mulder could hear the smile return to Alex's voice at last.

He breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the after-sadness had passed. "Will you stay, then?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Mulder tightened his hold on him. "No."

"Then I will."

Something akin to gratitude went over Mulder at this; and it was laced with tenderness and trust. He didn't care to analyze it, specifically. He just liked the feeling. It was what it was. But for once, he felt he could simply allow the future to come.

Finis

xx

Jamiwilsen@hotmail.com

TITLE: Playing With Fire: 1-Vivaldi/2-Mahler/3-Tchaikovsky
WARNING: Contains major spoilers for the end of Season Eight, as well as minor and major spoilers for the entire series.
DISCLAIMER: If CC took better care of these guys, than WE would be out of a job. [g]
ARCHIVE: RatB, NickZone-The Alex Annex, DitBasement, LGM Slash Archive.
PAIRING: M/K, B/K
RATING: NC-17 for m/m slash, language (you have been warned).
SUMMARY: Byers' new contact is not what he seems. Byers attempts to understand Mulder's psychological problems. Mulder tries to deal with his psychological problems. Krycek is sick and tired of Mulder's psychological problems... ad infinitum.
SERIES: A new attempt to repair the DAMAGE done to my heart and soul by CC in Season Eight. [heavy sigh].
BETAS: Jennie and Candace [without whom I don't know what I'd do!]
SPECIAL THANKS: To Lorelei, Shelley and Cattnip, for being there for me!! And to Sebastian, for inspiring me.
DEDICATION: To Sue, who needed cheering up and sweetness.
Note: This song inspired me so heavily for this fic!!! I think I based the whole fic on it, except for the Madonna lyric ref. [g]. I was listening to the album the entire time I wrote it. Suggestion: try listening to this song while watching the lovely-lovely scenes from Dead/Alive with Doggett/Krycek in the car park—I DARE you. heheh! ::fans self desperately::

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