"Mr Krycek," said a vaguely familiar voice. "This is Absalom. Do you
remember me?"
"Of course." Krycek's mind whirled with the implication of this call.
"Where's Smith?"
"He's...here. He said that we should inform you in the event of our
intercepting a specific individual on his return from the Colonists' ships.
Our work here, it's going well. But you should be aware that a certain
federal agent has recently returned. We picked him up about half an hour
ago. Smith feels this warrants your immediate attention. He says the man
is in danger. We were observed by an FBI agent."
Already hastily moving to pack and get out the door, Krycek said curtly,
"Thank you. I'm on my way. Where are you? The farm?"
"Yes."
"Tell Smith I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight out." He cut the
line.
Quickly making a few phone calls, Krycek threw his bags into the car and
then climbed into the driver's seat, where he dialed a number he knew from
memory.
Waiting, he forced himself to take calm, deep breaths. Soon, the line was
picked up.
Marita Covarrubias' cool, cautious voice answered. "Hello?"
"I'm en route to Montana. You need to get up there. We have a situation."
"A situation?"
"The FBI has interrupted a rescue operation and they're in the process of
busting one of Smith's compounds near Helena. He's got abductees there, the
ones the Colonists are returning, infected with that new virus. Mulder's
with them; he's infected too. We have to get to him before the FBI do, or
we're screwed."
There was a heavy pause. "Why do you need me?"
In disbelief, Krycek said, "Come on! It's our fault he was abducted. We
owe it to him to get him out of this!" He was confounded at having to
explain the obvious to Marita who, of all people, ought to already be aware
of the ramifications of Mulder's plight.
"That was your idea, Alex, to give him the location of that ship," Marita
reminded him in clipped tones. "I went along with it as the only viable
alternative to what Cancerman was suggesting. And I still believe that it
was an ill-informed plan. We acted too hastily. The world is not ready for
the information Agent Mulder so desperately wishes to give them. It is not
our fault the Colonists decided to take him this time."
Biting back a curse, Krycek hissed furiously, "Listen to me, if we don't get
him back we are ALL going to be up shit creek without an alien-human hybrid
capable of saving the situation. An active, infected Mulder-replacement
running around in the FBI is not something we need. And if you don't help
him, it's your ass as well."
There was another long pause. "Very well. I'll arrange transport and a
safehouse." Marita hesitated. "I hope you realize that there is only so
far I can help without betraying my cover. If they find out I did this,
they WILL neutralize me."
"It'll be a moot point if they neutralize Mulder," he rejoined, wondering
why Marita was prevaricating and reluctant to the point of stupidity. But
maybe she was scared. "I'll meet you at the airport in Helena." He angrily
cut the line without waiting for her to respond.
Damn it, damn her! He thought furiously. He was regretting the necessity of
borrowing on her resources, but she had access to older Syndicate hideouts
and information that he didn't, and with her U.N. connections she could also
find ways of aiding them that wouldn't draw the attention of any of the
current agencies or powers. He was beginning to wonder if she could be
trusted, though.
What the hell was wrong with her? After the guilt and shared frustration
both he and Marita had gone through after Mulder's abduction in Oregon, he
would have thought she'd be relieved to have a chance to remedy the
situation. Besides, they had no choice. They HAD to save Mulder.
They had to intervene before the FBI interrupted Jeremiah Smith and left
them with an infected Mulder, who would be worse than useless.
Feeling helpless at his inability to get to Montana and to Mulder fast
enough, Krycek gunned the engine and tore away from the curb with a squeal
of tires.
The Alien Bounty Hunter had left Mulder alive and well so many times in
their encounters over the years, Krycek had never realized it was precisely
because the Bounty Hunter recognized Mulder's latent abilities that lay
dormant, coiled within his genetic heritage of natural DNA remnants laden
with alien-human hybridized potential. The Aliens had hoped to tap it
themselves.
In the wake of Mulder's abduction at the Oregon site, Marita had uncovered
Department of Defense files she had gained access to. They revealed William
Mulder's and Cancerman's true investment in Fox Mulder: he was a
natural-born hybrid, like Cassandra, only the DNA was suppressed, activated
over time by the very energy signature and radiation produced by the
fragments of the Ivory Coast Ship...or being on board one of the Colonists'
craft. No doubt they had snatched Mulder only to discover that Cancerman
had beaten them to it, removing the valuable part of Mulder's brain in that
butcher's attempt to steal Mulder's fire for himself. And it was no wonder
Cancerman and Bill Mulder had opted to give Samantha up to them in the end,
over Fox.
To realize they'd actually handed Mulder, the hybrid with the power to stop
the Colonists' plans, over to the Colonists via the Bounty Hunter made
Krycek and Marita sick and they'd both been frantically trying to find a way
to recover him, to no avail. Following the progress of Scully and Skinner's
search in Arizona had revealed no luck on that front either. It was a grave
miscalculation that Krycek was still cursing himself for.
As he sped towards the nearest airport, Krycek was raging inside,
impotently. A fully-grown adult with the exact genetic traits that the
Syndicate had struggled so desperately to create in Cassandra was a prize
worth dying for... Or at least risking everything for. He'd thought Marita
understood that.
During the drive in the rental car from the Helena Regional Airport to the
farm where Absalom's group was gathering healed and recuperating abductees,
Krycek and Marita spoke very little. He was angry with her for her
reluctance to help and at her seeming selfishness in refusing to acknowledge
the importance of what they were attempting.
He concentrated on the road as the darkness closed around them.
When they arrived at the compound, Krycek and Marita were met by a member of
the group who quickly showed them into a small room where Jeremiah Smith sat
beside the still form of Fox Mulder. Absalom hovered nearby.
Jeremiah looked up as they came in. "Good, I'm glad you made it. We don't
have much time. They will be here soon."
Flicking a glance down at Mulder's gray face ravaged with scars on both
cheeks, Krycek frowned. "Haven't you healed him yet?"
Jeremiah shook his head. "I have removed the virus from his system and
healed his internal injuries, but he has been dead for some time. Because
of the severity of the decomposition and the viral change, it has taken all
my energy just to remove the infection. I have been unable to completely
heal his external wounds."
Marita was unable to suppress a horrified gasp at Mulder's appearance upon
closer inspection. "Will he survive?"
"Oh, assuredly," Jeremiah replied, looking down at Mulder. "He had a brain
tumor which I have removed also." Jeremiah looked back up at Krycek. "He
will be extremely weak. He will need medical attention and rest. If the
FBI takes him, he will be in danger from the Colonists, as that agency is
already infiltrated. Are you able to provide a safe place for him to
recover?"
Krycek nodded. "Yes. We'll get him out here and on the road. We've already
got a place for him. This brain tumor—why did he have it?"
Jeremiah glanced at Absalom briefly, both of them exchanging a resigned
expression. "I suspect it was a result of his body's attempts to compensate
for the surgery he received at the hands of the Syndicate doctors. I have
removed it, but I cannot guarantee that whatever caused it will not cause it
to occur again. You may have to run further tests. We have done all we can
for him and I have other returnees to attend to, so I hope you will not mind
if I leave him in your care now."
"Thank you for saving his life," Marita offered. "Thank you for all the
lives you are saving."
"It is a drop in the ocean, of all the sweat from our efforts," Absalom
answered.
"Indeed," Jeremiah continued. "We try to keep up with the Colonists as they
return the infected abductees, but there are too many of them, even with our
knowledge of the listed subjects from the Census Bureau's database. You
will have to be careful to keep this one safely hidden away until he is
recovered enough to defend himself from them. Meanwhile, I suggest you use
this in the occasion that you are attacked or discovered." He held out a
vial of what looked like ordinary water to Krycek, who took it.
"What is it?"
"Magnetite in a colloidal base," Jeremiah explained. "In the event that you
or Mulder are infected with the virus, simply inject this solution
immediately into the bloodstream and it will render it useless, provided you
don't wait too long for the viral changes to take effect. You may have some
time but not much, for once it takes hold you will need a much stronger
defense. That is something I do not yet have access to. It will also stop
the alien replacements upon exposure to it, externally."
"Magnetite?" asked Marita, shrewdly. "Ferrous magnetite?"
"In a pure, liquid form," Jeremiah nodded. "It is derived from a common
metal found here on your world, found in mineral springs in Wyoming and
Colorado. They do not yet know of it's existence, or that we know of it.
In a concentrated amount, it is the only way to stop them once they are
fully changed. And now, you must excuse me. The FBI will be here soon,
including Fox Mulder's colleagues. They will be most anxious to retrieve
him. I will transform one of the dead into his likeness and leave it for
them in the field. My energy is gravely depleted. We must hurry. The
Colonists may return, as they monitor the federal agencies and are bound to
learn of our efforts here."
Absalom accompanied Jeremiah Smith out of the room while two members of the
group helped Krycek and Marita to carry Mulder onto a stretcher and out of
the compound to the car where they had parked outside.
Once they managed to get back on the road, Krycek exchanged a glance with
Marita in the rearview mirror as they passed a number of vehicles on the
highway, all traveling at high speed through the night towards what
presumably was their destination: the compound. Luckily the FBI drivers
didn't recognize them. Krycek could swear he caught a glimpse of Skinner in
one of the vehicles.
It had been close; far too close for comfort. Krycek allowed himself a
brief exhale of relief, only to jerk as Marita choked out, "Look! Out
there."
Sure enough, in the dark night sky, in the direction she indicated and
adjacent to the highway behind and above them, a light was silently and
swiftly descending, also monitoring the FBI cavalcade's progress to the
compound. It came to a hovering stop and blinked off.
"Those idiots," Krycek growled. "They've led the ship directly to them!"
"Smith will be compromised," Marita observed.
Krycek's response was to put his foot down on the accelerator, hoping the
ship wouldn't think to investigate and intercept them as well.
Jeremiah Smith ordered Absalom to move the followers out. "They're coming,"
he said. "You can't let them find him."
Absalom helplessly watched as Smith went amongst them in an attempt to hide
his identity.
The Federal agents were already storming the farm and rounding people up as
Absalom desperately scanned the panicking members for the second Jeremiah
Smith. He knew that Smith intended to allow himself to be taken, in the
event of the FBI apprehending him or the Ship returning, to ensure the
second Smith would be safe. Certainly once the word got out that the FBI
had discovered them, the Ship would also come back. He had to ensure that
the other Smith made it to safety, and Absalom cursed that they hadn't
disclosed the Healer's existence to Krycek and Marita—who might have taken
the Alien Healer to safety along with Mulder. But as he tried to locate the
second Smith amidst the crowd as the SWAT team began seizing people, he
realized the Healer must have already made good an escape before they
arrived. At least he hoped so.
The time was coming when, as the Healers had enlightened him, the invasion
would take place en-mass. In the wake of the Colonists' attempts to invade,
a great wave of divine energy would arrive on the planet and time itself
would 'fold up', or so both Smiths had described. It was merely a matter of
keeping pace with the Colonists until the divine wave arrived.
Absalom found some comfort and peace in the fact that he had been right
about the invasion. He'd been right all along. Now he had his part to
play. Luckily, the dead man they'd been unable to save had been morphed
into the likeness of Fox Mulder. He wondered how much energy it had taken
out of Jeremiah with this last effort. He regretted the necessity of such
sacrifices on the part of the Healers, but he knew that the agent that they
were working to save was no less than the messiah, the same being who
carried the mystical properties all humans would need in order to survive
the viral apocalypse.
As Absalom was seized and brought before the FBI agents for questioning, he
relaxed, knowing full well that this time, it would be up to the other
groups scattered around the country to continue to rescue and heal the
returning abductees.
Now was the time when he would spread the word to all who might listen. Even
incarcerated, his voice would be loud; though his words might be whispered,
they would carry with a shout. He faced without fear the red-haired female
agent who addressed him.
Krycek stood by Mulder's bedside in the bedroom of the safehouse they'd
brought him to. He tried to focus on reading the medical report on Mulder's
condition. They had carefully selected a local doctor to have a look at
Mulder, in an attempt to give him what medical aid they could under the
circumstances.
Marita had really come through this time, arranging for a chopper to
transport the catatonic Mulder and the two of them to a remote location in
South Dakota.
By all accounts, the Colonists had taken Jeremiah Smith, a major coup for
their side, and Absalom was in FBI custody, no doubt running interference
for them all, under interrogation by the distraught Agent Scully and her
associates. Krycek wondered if he dared to utilize his hold on Skinner with
the nanobots to try to pull some strings, but it would look suspicious and
he doubted that Absalom would be safer if he was free once more, now that
he'd been targeted and identified. At least for now. Better that the FBI
believe, and thusly the Colonists, that the main group had been nullified,
while the other groups continued their work in the ongoing rescue operations
around the country.
He found it difficult to read though, and kept glancing down at Mulder as he
slept.
It was gut-wrenching to see the once-healthy, swaggering and dedicated man
laying there helpless with such obvious signs of torture still marking his
face. This was their great hope? Here lay the one person with the genetic
profile that marked him as a success and a savior. Mulder didn't look up to
much and the local country doctor's report stated as much.
"They've buried the altered abductee, the one Jeremiah Smith changed,"
Marita informed him where she stood in the doorway to Mulder's room. "It
was by all accounts a simple ceremony. He was buried beside Mulder's
parents in North Carolina."
Krycek didn't look up from the papers he was scanning. "Good."
Marita crossed the room to stand on the other side of Mulder's bed. "What
will you do with him when he awakens? You can't just keep him here."
Impatient with her, Krycek merely replied, "Watch me."
"Why him? Why not let him go? He's struggled enough. There are other
possibilities. Gibson Praise, for example."
Krycek looked up at this, wondering if she was being deliberately obtuse.
"Gibson Praise is still a child. Besides, he doesn't fit the correct
genetic profile. There's any number of wonder-kids out there, but not of
the same caliber as Cassandra was. Mulder is, at least in potential, and
he's fully-grown. He's our last, best and only hope. If we wait for
Scully's baby to get born, let alone survive to be old enough, it'll be too
late."
Marita looked over to where Mulder lay sleeping. "Are you going to tell
him? About Scully's pregnancy?"
"No, not yet. Otherwise he'll just run back to D.C. and all our efforts will
have been for nothing." He glanced back down at his papers, wondering why
Marita was choosing now to be difficult.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Alex. He'll figure it out—all of it,"
she pointed out.
He met her gaze coolly. "Not all of it. It doesn't matter at this point.
We're racing against the clock."
"How long can you keep this up? You can't hold him here indefinitely."
"Whose side are you on?" he snapped at her. "He has to be made aware of his
importance, of why everyone has expended so much effort on his behalf all
these years. He's been protected and groomed for this from the very
beginning. Even that smoking bastard recognized his value, to the point of
compromising the Project. Mulder was such a fucking nuisance, he's lucky no
one simply shot him years ago. And still nobody bothers to ask why, least
of all him!"
"I'm concerned about YOU, Alex. You're turning this into a personal matter.
You're still blaming yourself for the past. You can't convince him of
something he doesn't want to hear."
Alex went cold. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I think I do," she replied icily.
"Stay out of it," he warned her, bristling at this.
Her cold, blue eyes met his, unafraid, piercing him. "Very well. It's your
choice, Alex. This time, you're on your own. I won't be party to this.
It's tantamount to kidnapping. And he needs better medical care, more than
we can offer." She motioned with a nod of her head towards Mulder where he
lay unmoving on the bed, comatose.
"You're already involved," he reminded her, in a low voice of warning.
"Not any more." She turned to leave the room.
Krycek watched her walk away, suspicious now. "Where are you going?"
"Home," she said, a wealth of meaning in her reply as she paused in the
doorway.
Krycek exhaled, cursing the fact that Marita had to be thorny and
self-serving at a time when Mulder's life—and thereby the fate of them all
- hung in the balance. "Fine," he said, with a nonchalant lift of his chin.
"Go running back into the woodwork."
"What do you need me here for?" Marita asked candidly.
"He needs help," Krycek stated, trying not to grit his teeth.
"So hire a nurse," she replied, and gave him a twisted, knowing smile. "See
you in hell."
"Already been there," he muttered as she left the room.
I'm living in a world of fools, he thought to himself. No one wanted to
think about it. They just wanted to wait until their world came crashing
down around their heads. Well, he hadn't sacrificed everything just to
watch it all turn to ashes. He sighed, looking down at Mulder's sleeping
form.
But the uncomfortable truth of what Marita had referred to reared its head
now and Krycek wished she hadn't been right. She was, however much Krycek
wanted to deny it.
Mulder would never listen to him. Hell, Mulder was always too busy telling
him what an evil bastard he was, never staying alert enough to pay attention
to the facts and always leaping to conclusions. That if Krycek was there, he
was up to no good. That if Krycek was involved, he must be doing it purely
for his own sake. That Krycek was a monster, a murderer, a liar, blah,
blah, blah.
Bitterly, he regarded Mulder. The man never gave him any credit for having
achieved anything, let alone having saved his ass. If it weren't for him,
Mulder would never have been vaccinated against the Black Oil. What did he
get in return for it? A missing limb.
Well, he had better things to do than stand here next to the injured man,
waiting for him to wake up just so that Mulder could rail at him and argue
and hurl abuse. With a noise of impatience, frustration and annoyance with
the situation, Krycek left Mulder to sleep on obliviously. It was only a
matter of time before the man would revive. Then the dance would begin.
Krycek grimly acknowledged that maybe Marita had a point: he needed a nurse.
Someone else to take care of Mulder while he remained in that state,
requiring care that Krycek doubted he could even provide. With the one good
arm and his reputation as a tarnished villain in Mulder's eyes, Mulder would
be difficult to handle indeed. Then there was the whole 'kidnapping' angle.
Mulder would no doubt bitch at him for having abducted him. Mulder would
ask, which was worse: the Aliens torturing him or Krycek?
Krycek briefly considered letting Mulder just lie there in that bedroom and
rot. Leave him there in that bed to take his chances while Krycek got back
out in the political underground. But his conscience urged him to continue
with his chosen course of action. His conscience, and something else.
Something indefinable and dark, that sat secretly in the back of his mind
and whispered things he didn't want to think about.
Like how good it felt to finally have Mulder in his power, under his
control...at his mercy. Like how nice it was to consider that he might be
able to, at long last, get the man to listen to him for once. Like how
wonderful it would be to allow himself the luxury of seeing Mulder having to
need him and his help. And take it. Or not.
The road to hell truly was paved with good intentions.
Mulder tried to breathe, fighting his way through a murky, swimming cloud of
hazy, indistinct impressions. His surroundings faded in and out of focus,
revealing little to him of where he was. Certainly he wasn't still aboard
the Ship.
The Ship!
He jerked slightly, in horror and fear. The memories were harsh: cold,
glaring lights and bright, metal pain; naked and restrained with the sounds
of his own cries in his ears and nothing else...except the buzz of some
unearthly machinery that was far too close to him. He tried to cry out.
Suddenly, someone was helping him to raise his head, lifting his head enough
to rest it against another pillow, slightly elevated. It helped. Cool
water was offered through a straw, and he sucked it in, desperately,
wondering how he'd grown so dehydrated.
All too soon it was taken away, despite his feeble protests, which were
nothing more than hoarse croaks anyway from a throat that was rough from
disuse.
A voice came to him, soothing and mellow, and in spite of the fact that he
couldn't hear the words it helped him to relax. Drifting in and out of
consciousness, Mulder wondered with some flicker of thought: how had he
managed to come to this place where he was no longer naked, no longer in
pain and relatively comfortable? He was in a bed, that much was certain. A
hospital? It didn't smell right to be a hospital. And he wasn't in his own
bed.
His eyes still hurt and he kept them closed. Darkness soon followed.
He awoke after some immeasurable span of time to hear the voice again...a
man's voice, he realized now, hauntingly familiar but still soothing. It
sounded almost...far away. Distant. Like it should be an echo. But it was
clear. He still couldn't hear the words.
He relaxed, allowing his eyes to remain closed with the comfort of knowing
others were there. Another voice answered the first, and this time the
faint shock of recognition was almost enough to wake him up completely. He
remembered...seeing the clones of his sister and the other boys at the
hybrid farm in Canada. No, that wasn't it...the bees? No...Smith! That was
it. Jeremiah Smith.
But wait...He wasn't hearing their voices at all. The room was silent. He
was alone. He frowned, puzzled. It was as if he was hearing them even
though they weren't speaking. It didn't make sense.
Oregon! He'd been in the forest clearing, seeing how the red light beams
were distorted by that wondrous energy field...and then the Ship was above
them and he was seeing the other abductees in the light.
But that didn't make sense either. It didn't explain what he was
experiencing.
With a sickening lurch, he finally placed the memory of this weird auditory
ability. It had been when he was undergoing the attacks in the wake of his
exposure to the fragments of the ship that had been brought from the Ivory
Coast.
Oh shit, he thought. It's happening again.
He waited for the crushing pain, the crippling headaches as his brain was
seized by wild surges of mental overload from whoever's minds were closest.
He even tensed, waiting for the pain -
It didn't come...in fact, neither did. Not the pain or the attacks. Well,
that was a small mercy, in any case. He squinted, opening his eyes a crack,
blinking. It appeared to be late afternoon, and luckily the sun wasn't
shining directly through the open window. In fact, from the angle, he
judged the window faced east.
Where am I, he wondered, silently.
//You are awake,// stated Jeremiah Smith. //Your recovery is slow, as I
have not dared to interfere with your natural healing process. I have done
what I can for you. Forgive me, for we should have healed you fully. Yet,
there were complications. But you are alive, at least.//
What?! How...who...why...
Scully!
He tried to call her name but his voice was not even a whisper.
//You are safe. She is not here. It was necessary to remove you from
harm's way and keep you in a place of safety while you recovered. You are
still very weak. But you will be needed in the coming months, so take care.
Take this time to recover, Fox Mulder.//
Let me go! Where's Scully?! I want to see Scully. I can't move. Where am
I? What am I doing here? Smith? What the hell's going on?!
//This is...interesting.// Mulder received a strange impression of a wry
smile. //A curious side effect. We will return once you have recovered. I
suggest you stay here, and wait until one of us contacts you. Be aware that
they are looking for you; you will be in great danger if you return. You
will need to be discreet. Wait for our sign. You are in good hands until
then. Now I must leave. It is not safe for me to remain here, in light of
this revelation.//
The voice receded, leaving him alone to wonder if he was losing his mind.
Auditory hallucinations, perhaps?
But at this point, he didn't care and let himself drift off into a more
comfortable sleep, dark and quiet and without any worries. What was it
Smith had said? He was safe. For the coming months. Good. He was going
to sleep until Spring arrived. He slept less fitfully this time.
He was awoken several hours later by a sharp pang from the vicinity
of...somewhere in the house where he was located. Someone was upset. With
him. He could feel it. He could tell from the unsuppressed resentment and
anger in the silent voice. It was faint, in the background, like a faded
undertone. It was actually irritating not to be able to place who the voice
belonged to.
After the Jeremiah Smith clone left, Krycek sat down in the living room,
sinking into the couch with a sense of fatigue and relief. Damage control,
he thought. That's what it always comes down to. I'm always having to do
damage control where Mulder's concerned.
As he was leaving, the Alien Healer had informed him that Mulder was 'far
more special than anyone had considered', and had admonished him to not
allow the man to leave here until they sent word that it was safe for Mulder
to do so. When he'd asked, Krycek had been cryptically told that 'Mulder
was the future'. With a snort, he thought, tell me something I don't know.
He was already well aware of the ramifications of Mulder's genetic material.
They'd had Scully under continuous surveillance; Mulder's visit to her was
even on tape.
The stuff was so strong that even Mulder's innocuous, innocent and friendly
offering to Scully of that sperm sample he'd donated had taken root in her
barren womb. In her desperation to try to have a child, even considering
her unlikely chances, Scully conceived because Mulder's genetics could
apparently override even an infertile female environment, being highly
adaptable and possessing greater stamina, enough to spark a response from
that uterine environment. Krycek shuddered at the complications her
pregnancy was going to cause.
Krycek channel-flipped for a while, scanning the news programs of the
evening with a restless eye, half of his attention musing over the
possibilities of what they might achieve once Mulder was up and about, fully
recovered.
But still, the impatience that swelled within him at having to wait was
unabated. How the hell was he supposed to get Mulder to stay put—with him
in the house no less?! Mulder had a tendency to become violently irrational
in his presence. Sure, he had killed the man's father, and his relationship
with Mulder had ended in their brief partnership in the FBI under less than
pleasant circumstances, but it was hardly as if he hadn't made up for it in
numerous lesser ways over the years. He'd saved Mulder's life so many
times. They had been on the same side; why couldn't Mulder see that?!
Krycek sighed, wondering if he'd ever get Mulder to listen to his side of
the story.
And scowled at a feeble sound from the other room.
So it begins, he thought, noting with unease how a spasm of nervous dread
went through him at the thought of facing Mulder now.
Getting to his feet with very little enthusiasm, Krycek went into Mulder's
room.
The recognition in Mulder's open eyes blazed instantly. Krycek watched as,
predictably, Mulder's nostrils flared and a ripple of anger crossed Mulder's
face. Then, amazingly, it died.
Mulder licked his dry lips. "Krycek," he whispered. It seemed a statement
rather than an imprecation.
"Yeah. You're awake at last. How do you feel?"
"Thirsty," Mulder managed in a nearly non-existent voice.
Krycek sat down at the bedside and brought the tall cup of water with the
straw to Mulder's lips, and watched as he eagerly slurped the water down.
Krycek let him have more this time.
Finally, Mulder stopped, having nearly drained the container. Setting it
down by the bedside, Krycek asked, "Are you in pain?"
Mulder winced. Then he tried to move his arms, and managed to lift his
hand. He let it drop back to the bed. He seemed to be as weak as a baby.
Even weaker, in fact. "No, not really," he whispered, scratchily. His
sharp eyes searched Krycek's face though. "Why are you here? What am I
doing here?"
Krycek looked down, bracing himself for the inevitable tirade of insults,
taunts and hostility, then made himself look back up to meet Mulder's gaze.
"Convalescing. You were abducted when you and Skinner went to find the ship
in Oregon. You've been missing for a while now. We picked you up after you
were dropped off. The Alien Bounty Hunter was dropping off infected
abductees, to allow them to circulate in the general public as alien
replacements. Their timetable has been accelerated. But Jeremiah Smith and
his associates have been attempting to stem their efforts by getting to the
abductees after they're returned to earth. You were compromised, infected
with an alien virus and what genetic value you have was unrecognized,
obviously, or they wouldn't have brought you back. Smith was badly
depleted; he was exhausted and unable to heal you completely. He said
you're no longer infected but you'd be weak for a while. We can't allow
them to know where you are. So we had you brought here. In South Dakota,"
he added, by way of explanation.
"Where?" Mulder whispered again, "Where, in South Dakota?"
Krycek looked away. "Not far from Bear Butte."
"What day is it? How long have I been gone?"
Krycek sniffed, looking down. "You've been missing for months. It's
January now; the twenty-fourth."
Then, the predictable mewl: "Where's Scully?"
Krycek regarded him. "D.C., I expect. Why, should she be somewhere else?"
Mulder's eyes narrowed. "Would Smith still trust you if he knew you as well
as I do?"
That stung even though he was expecting it. Krycek retorted, "I was in the
right place at the right time. Again. I'm always saving your ass. And
considering that it's Scully's fault and that of your dear FBI that your
rescue was bungled practically at the cost of your life, I expect he's
willing to cut me some slack. Why don't you?"
Mulder didn't reply, just coughed a little and looked away, his eyes sliding
off to focus on the opposite wall.
But Mulder's next question surprised him. "Why did you bother? Why didn't
you just let them take me, replace me or whatever?"
"Because, believe it or not, I'm not the bastard you're always claiming I
am," Krycek answered, wondering why Mulder was actually willing to talk
rather than argue outright.
Mulder seemed to be satisfied with his reply though, and simply said, "You
got me into this in the first place. This wouldn't have happened if you
hadn't come to me with the location of the ship in Oregon. That wouldn't
have anything to do with it, would it? Simple guilt?"
Krycek tilted his head, watching him. "Sure. I owe you for getting you
into that. You were taken because I brought you your precious truth you're
always claiming you want. Now I have to make up for it. Weird isn't it,
how I'm always cleaning up after you?"
With another lick of his dry, cracked lips, Mulder smoothly whispered, "No
one asked you to. I wonder why you put yourself to the trouble."
Good question, Krycek thought. Why do I fucking bother? He considered the
best way to answer this. And wondered if he wanted to. Was it worth it?
Was any of this worth it? He slouched in the chair at Mulder's bedside,
wondering if there was any point in continuing the charade. Maybe the best
thing would actually be to call Scully and let her come collect her baby's
father.
What a priceless thought: the uniting of the most unlikely trio of a little
family imaginable. A mother still in the FBI who had sacrificed everything
for the beliefs of her partner; beliefs that she didn't even hold even as
she clung to her paradoxical Catholic and scientist doctrines.
A father who hadn't even got the job done properly and had jerked off in a
test tube while fantasizing over little gray aliens instead of giving the
woman what she really wanted: affection and a love she could call her own
rather than some absent, driven obsession she didn't share.
And a baby who was undoubtedly going to be the Anti-Christ. Or something.
Krycek didn't even want to think about that. The Colonists already knew of
Scully's pregnancy; no doubt the doctors at Zeus Genetics were rubbing their
hands at the prospect of getting samples even before the fetus left the
womb. Fucking parasites. Not to mention the complication of the buried
abductee in Mulder's grave, with Mulder's own headstone he'd ordered after
he'd come to terms with his brain tumor. Ah, that was it.
Krycek looked back at Mulder and said, "Quite aside from our personal
differences, you are important. You should know that Smith was able to
regenerate your insides. Your brain tumor is gone. He said he was able to
heal almost all of you except for restoring your vitality and your external
scars. He came back here intending to finish the job, except there was
something different—something in your genetic makeup that made it
difficult for him to intervene with the natural healing process. Or
something."
But Mulder was staring at him with an almost distant expression, apparently
digesting everything he'd just said. Mulder didn't even respond, just
looked away, breathing harder.
"Are you alright?" Krycek asked, growing concerned. He didn't really know
what to do in the event of some kind of episode or seizure. He could offer
moderate care and support while Mulder regained his strength but that was
about it. Unless Mulder sustained major injury or a bullet-wound, in which
case Krycek was certain he could give him field dressing and triage. But
for anything more complicated he was afraid he was going to have to call on
the services of that local doctor again.
Mulder swallowed and looked back at him. "Krycek...why are you here?"
"I was just asking myself that same question," Krycek replied wryly.
To his astonishment, Mulder began to laugh weakly, in a subdued and hoarse
voice. An unexpected and unwelcome warmth crept over him at it. Mulder's
next response did nothing to lessen it, either.
"Quite a pair, aren't we? It's ironic, isn't it?"
Confused and now a little suspicious, Krycek searched Mulder's expression
for any hints of sarcasm or hostility. He found none. And decided to
change the subject. "Are you hungry?"
Mulder slowly shook his head. "I'm still thirsty."
Krycek lifted his brows. "For someone whose back from the dead, I'd say
that's a fairly encouraging answer. I would've thought you'd feel like
shit."
"I can't feel much of anything at all. I can't even move my legs," Mulder
hoarsely stated.
Krycek got up, taking the tall cup with him. "I'll get a refill. I'll be
right back."
As he filled it with fresh, cold water in the kitchen, Krycek mulled over
the exchange so far.
Bizarre. Mulder didn't even seem that angry at finding himself here in
Krycek's power. But maybe he was still too weak to complain about it. Once
Mulder was up and about, Krycek knew it was over. There was no way he could
convince him to stay put. He'd have to talk fast, and he hoped they
wouldn't come to physical violence again. He really didn't want to end up
restraining him. He sighed and returned to the bedroom.
Mulder stared longingly at the water and Krycek placed the straw at his
lips. As Mulder gulped water, Krycek found himself watching dispassionately
until he realized he was enjoying it. He was enjoying the simple act of
being able to just...help. Without Mulder throwing punches or insults. A
curious tenderness arose in him, at the sight of Mulder having to accept his
help, needing him. He ruthlessly squashed it, but it simply popped back up
again, making him wonder if he was losing it. There was something so nice
in simply and quietly being here with him.
Why couldn't it be like this, Krycek wondered, as simple as this? But the
pain of the past and the complexities of their relative positions dispelled
his reverie. Mulder would always hate him and blame him for all the evils
in the world. For an intelligent and insightful man, Mulder was strangely
and stubbornly blind where he was concerned. Probably had something to do
with the shooting of the man's father, Krycek thought, caustically reminding
himself it was something he'd never live down.
When Mulder had drunk his fill, Krycek placed the water by the bed once
more.
With a slight frown, Krycek asked, "Do you need anything?"
"Just answers," Mulder whispered, more color in his face now.
Warily, Krycek countered, "What kind of answers?"
"Why did you kill my father?"
Ah, we're back to that again, Krycek thought acrimoniously and yet, he was
unsurprised. He'd expected that to come up fairly soon. "Mulder, I was
told to. I knew who he was and what he'd done and what he was about to
involve you in. I knew the risk he was willing to place you in simply for
the sake of his conscience. I was ordered to kill him and I did it because
really, it was him or you and me both." The regret came back to flood him
though, and there was no way he could express it without sounding like a
pathetic fool. He owned his actions; he took responsibility for them,
unlike some people he could mention. He'd be damned before he started
apologizing to Mulder simply to get the man to remain in relative safety
until Smith contacted them again.
Strangely, Mulder seemed appeased with his reply. Without taking his eyes
from Krycek's face, Mulder asked, "Why did you compromise Skinner with that
nanotechnology?"
"What is this, the third degree? You're not in any position to demand-"
"I'm not interrogating. I honestly want to know, to understand." Mulder's
voice was gaining clarity and strength. He was still hoarse and strained but
the whisper was starting to leave, replaced with Mulder's own voice. "Why
Skinner?"
Pressing his lips together, Krycek wondered what he had to lose at this
point, in any case. Mulder could have his fucking truth. He could go ahead
and choke on it, for all he cared. "Skinner was sitting on the fence. You
know what they say about that fence: the Devil owns it, as well as the other
side. He needed incentive to decide whose side he was on. And he was
useful. I had to get to him before the others did. You'll never have any
idea how much shit I went through over that. The smoking bastard was plenty
pissed for that move. And he wasn't the only one. The Tunisians, for
example. I'm a wanted man."
"Yeah, whole countries. Russia, America, Tunisia...You're popular. So who
are you working for now?" Mulder asked him, point blank.
"At the moment, I seem to be working for you. Isn't THAT ironic?" Krycek
rejoined, somewhat piqued at Mulder's apparent acceptance of everything he'd
said.
Mulder began chuckling, his dry lips cracking as he couldn't help stretching
them. He winced. "Your bedside manner sucks, Krycek."
But it was delivered in such a mild tone, and with such apparent
camaraderie, that Krycek was horrified to find that tender warmth creeping
over him again, destroying his composure. What the hell was that about?
Why was he so disarmed by Mulder's friendliness? It worried him.
An unfamiliar shaft of something long-suppressed came welling up from deep
inside of him, an aching regret that was tinged with something more.
Something painful. "I'll have to work on that, then," he replied,
distracted.
"Tell me this, Krycek. Why do you do it? Why do you kill people? How can
you do it?"
Krycek looked back at Mulder, wondering why Mulder wanted to ask him any of
this, let alone now. Why bother? Damn, maybe Mulder was starting to have
second thoughts. Maybe Mulder was trying to reconsider what he thought of
Krycek, in light of his obvious care and attention? Krycek frowned,
considering how to best answer him, as honestly as he could without
compromising any of his secrets. "The same way you have. It takes a wolf
to kill a wolf. You can't ask the sheep to do it."
"So where's the shepherd?"
"You tell me. You're the one looking for God. Someone had to have created
all this."
Mulder chuckled again, unnerving Krycek further. "I suppose you and
Jeremiah Smith are my guardian angels?"
Krycek snorted. "I seem to be here in the capacity of your bodyguard, yeah.
That, my friend, is irony." As he realized what he'd just said, Krycek
knew he'd said it candidly enough, without taking it for granted or with the
intent of making a statement that Mulder could rise to. But to have called
Mulder 'his friend'...It was only a figure of speech but suddenly he was
afraid he'd gone too far.
Krycek looked away. What the fuck was he doing? As if he should give a
damn what Mulder thought of him, after all. Blinking, he stood up. "This
isn't the first time I've helped save your life, you know. You have a death
wish. I wonder how many more times I'll have to do it." Looking down at
Mulder, Krycek added, "I'll be back."
As he left the room, Mulder's sudden, worried and hoarse voice came to him.
"Where are you going?"
"For some air," he muttered.
As he went outside to take refuge under the cold, night sky, Krycek wondered
why Mulder was acting so freaky. He briefly considered the possibility that
Mulder had been changed after all, but Smith had reassured him that the
regeneration was complete. Mulder was merely weakened. Mulder's own DNA
was actually rebuilding his system now, acting to heal the scars on Mulder's
face and abdomen.
It was getting to him, the easy way in which Mulder was treating him. He'd
expected more of a fight. And certainly none of the small amount of
courtesy and gratitude that Mulder appeared to have displayed, in his mute
acceptance of Krycek's help. He admitted in the next moment that he liked
it and was afraid of Mulder returning to his usual, customary hatred and
indifference. It was only a matter of time, after all.
Glumly, he resigned himself to the inevitable. As soon as Mulder was no
longer in his power and needing his help, they'd return to the old ways with
Mulder hating him.
Krycek wondered why he even cared. It wasn't like Mulder meant anything to
him. Not personally, anyway. But even as he tried to tell himself that, he
knew he couldn't really believe it. And he finally had to accept the truth:
he wanted to have this hope, that maybe he and Mulder could achieve at least
some kind of understanding. It was something he'd never imagined would be
possible: reconciliation with the man who hated him more intensely than
anyone else had in his entire life.
He sighed, staring up at the stars that twinkled enigmatically and
unhelpfully in the winter sky.
He was still reeling from the knowledge that Scully was pregnant. Krycek's
silent thoughts had been most illuminating in the pauses between his angry
replies.
He'd attempted to 'listen' to that other voice of Krycek's, the silent one
in Krycek's mind. But it had been curiously quiet throughout their
exchange. It seemed he could only hear it when Krycek's train of thought
was undisturbed. But that little question and answer session had still been
wonderfully revealing.
He'd expected Krycek's subconscious to be apparent, and it had been. He
hadn't been disappointed on that front. He'd expected all the things he'd
ever wanted to know about Krycek to be revealed even as Krycek lied and
obfuscated through all his answers to Mulder's questions. But instead of
learning about all the things Krycek kept hidden, Krycek had surprised him
with his lack of dissemblance and a very honest anger and frustration. A
readiness to fight back, verbally, to the point of challenging him even when
Mulder didn't really want to respond. In fact, neither of them wanted to
fight but Krycek assumed he would want to.
Which was...only natural, considering what Mulder had felt about him before.
Mulder had imagined seeing images in Krycek's mind of people he had killed,
secrets he knew; dark, dangerous and treacherous knowledge bought and paid
for with blood.
But in looking into the man's mind, Mulder had found instead a curiously
remorseful background composed of desperation in the face of insurmountable
odds, a measure of guilt, many regrets and...longing. A sense of futility
that Krycek possessed, that arose whenever he and Mulder were in each
other's proximity, that Mulder would never understand, would never want to,
and that Mulder would always judge him for the past without even a clear
understanding of why he'd done the things he'd done, or what was going on
around them. A judgment based entirely on past events that Krycek knew had
hurt Mulder and that he could never make up for.
It was a fantastic revelation, to know that Krycek was afraid of him for
some as-yet-undiscovered reason that even Krycek himself hadn't managed to
work out. He still held the reins even though he was completely at Krycek's
mercy. At least until he could get to his feet.
Mulder experimentally wiggled his toes. Yep. Ankles? Check. Knees?
Whoops. Not yet. He sighed. He was going to continue to need Krycek's
help.
He might as well make the most of his situation. It wouldn't be long, after
all. He could feel his legs now. And he was feeling a lot better all over,
in general. He glanced at the clock by the bedside. By midnight, a few
hours hence, he'd probably be able to try to stand.
All of his problems, the FBI, the aliens, his whole life; it all seemed so
far away right now.
Smith's words to him returned: 'rest, recover, stay safe.' Yeah, it was
good advice. He wondered if he had any implants, and then wondered if that
was the least of his worries considering that virus the Bounty Hunter had
infected him with. At least he was alive. There was something nice about
knowing that he was here without any obligations. He felt free. Hell,
maybe that was why Krycek preferred to dance around playing everyone off
against each other. Krycek wasn't tied down with responsibilities even to
himself.
Mulder had to agree that part of this new situation he found himself in
appealed to him. And Scully...a twinge of shame went through him at the
thought of her. She would be worried about him. What was it he'd picked up
- they had BURIED him?! Jesus. Krycek was right. What the hell was wrong
with them? It galled him to acknowledge that Krycek had been right about
several things so far. Including the FBI's blatantly ignorant and
uninformed incompetence surrounding the work the Smiths were doing around
the country. But then, the FBI had never been very open-minded about much.
Which explained his basement office.
Mulder resigned himself to working on the outside. Surely it would be
better than constantly being snubbed and 'put in his place' by lame-brained
bureaucrats who couldn't find their own dicks in the dark, let alone the
truth even if it came up behind them and bit them on the ass. And bite them
on the ass it would, if what Smith had intimated was anything to go by. And
what was that Smith had said to Krycek: 'he was the future'...What the hell
was all that about? He had to ask Krycek. Getting answers from Krycek so
easily was a tremendous boon. He was just grateful he didn't appear to be
suffering those painful attacks this time.
And, he had to admit to himself, it was heady, this ability to read Krycek.
It was exciting and stimulating and even a little terrifying, it was so
easy. It wasn't at all the disgusting adventure through the mind of a
psychopath that Mulder had feared. It was even fun. Cautiously, he reached
out again, listening. Sure enough, he could hear a weird, distant sound
inside his mind. Krycek's thoughts were a jumble of confused
considerations.
Jesus, Mulder realized, I've got Krycek completely rattled with just a few
minutes of non-violent discussion.
The implications of this quickly enabled his spirits to soar. Imagine what
he could achieve with Krycek if he were even nicer to him. Krycek's
sauntering machismo and serious, tough defenses would shatter. There wasn't
anything Krycek would be able to hide from him. Excellent. Krycek thought
he had Mulder right where he wanted him; the man had another thing coming.
Krycek couldn't play him anymore. Mulder allowed himself a gloating moment
of triumph over that.
Tuning in again, Mulder could sense a growing unease coming from Krycek.
He was fucked. He was so completely and utterly fucked.
Here he was, stuck in the middle of nowhere with an injured Fox Mulder who
was behaving out of character—and Mulder was acting as if he were the one
in charge, in control of their situation. Krycek had found himself buying
into it before he knew what was happening. He couldn't blame himself for
it, considering Mulder's value and importance in the future. Mulder was
going to start to see it, too—that Krycek believed it himself. He couldn't
allow that to happen. He had to retain some kind of hold on his position.
But the circumstances were starting to weave a dangerous spell on him.
He knew he might have to be prepared to hunker down for weeks if necessary,
and that Smith was counting on him to keep Mulder out of the line of fire
until the Healers could regroup with a stronger arrangement. The sheer
horror at the thought of having to stay here with Mulder for an interminably
long period of time was almost enough to make him want to bolt.
It was insane, to want Mulder to trust him. To expect Mulder to trust him.
Particularly after all the water that had gone under the bridge in all their
years of sporadic encounters that always ended in violence and bitter fury.
Angrily, he considered Diana Fowley. Mulder had let that woman betray him
to Cancerman over and over again, yet he blamed and railed on at Krycek for
being a 'traitor'. Probably he cut Fowley the slack because they'd been
lovers. An unwanted shaft of jealousy cut through Krycek's insides at this
thought. Fucking bitch, he thought with uncommon vehemence. Probably
Mulder forgave her simply because she was a woman.
Why do I care? He wondered, quietly. I don't care, I don't.
But as he went back inside the house after a last, long look at the distant
lights of houses far away in the darkness, he knew he did.
He was so fucked.
Jeremiah Smith had told him it would be all right to feed Mulder lightly
when he awoke, if he got hungry. Krycek considered making soup. Jesus,
he'd have to feed it to him.
How fucked up was that?! A one-armed man feeding a resentful, resurrected
invalid who couldn't move and who hated his guts, and considered him his
mortal enemy.
Who always claimed that he was covering up the 'truth' that the rest of the
world had a right to know.
With considerable irritation, Krycek pondered this. Why did Mulder always
claim that people had a right to know the truth about extraterrestrials?
Without any psychological preparation, too? To have to undergo a shift of
worldview that radical and severe would send the general public into panic
and shock. What right did Mulder have to decide that for them? When the
public didn't even WANT to know?! Why the hell did Mulder think people
called him 'Spooky' behind his back and laughed at him for believing in
'little green men'? People didn't want his truth!
And how personal was his agenda: wanting to prove himself correct and all of
it derivative of his search for his sister? To be able to say, 'I told you
so' to the world—it was the highest form of hubris. All over the truth of
an extraterrestrial menace that would have people stampeding like herds of
wild animals to try to find safety.
No one had ever actually claimed Mulder couldn't have his truth. Least of
all him. Krycek could even sympathize on that score. But Mulder couldn't
handle the truth. Certainly the public couldn't, and even paid the
government to keep them safe from such frightening knowledge so they
wouldn't have to think about it.
The world has a right to know. What a laugh. Did the world want to know,
Agent Mulder?
He entered Mulder's bedroom, intending to confront Mulder with this, only to
find that Mulder was asleep.
Regarding him, Krycek noticed the cover had slipped down and the chill
January air was beginning to bite in the room.
He turned up the heat, and then went back to the bed, and pulled the cover
back up to Mulder's chin before he realized what he was doing. Tucking
Mulder in for the night...Christ. He really was losing it.
Shaking his head, he turned out the lamp in the room, and had made it to the
door when Mulder's strained voice came to him, "Don't I even get a
goodnight kiss?"
Krycek grinned and turned to face him. "Maybe once your cheeks are all
better. I don't think even your mother would kiss you looking like that."
Mulder murmured something.
Krycek frowned. "What?"
Mulder cleared his throat and whispered louder, "I said, don't go." He
paused for several heartbeats. "I've been asleep for too long. Too much
has happened. Just...sit with me here for a while?"
Krycek swallowed. The way that Mulder asked was too appealing, too
obviously vulnerable and needing him. But it was frightening, how badly he
wanted to. He let out a breath of frustration.
He really was totally and completely fucked.
With another sigh, he went back into the room to turn the lamp on again, and
then sat back down in the chair. As an afterthought, he folded his arm over
his chest, his hand going absently to rub his shoulder.
"Thanks," Mulder said. "I just don't want to be alone."
Considering all that Mulder had been through, Krycek wasn't surprised.
"Sure." He licked his lips, suddenly uncertain of what to do or say.
Damn it, he wasn't a nurse. Marita's words before her departure came back
to him; but he couldn't afford to have anyone knowing Mulder was here. The
local doctor was already a liability. His mind whirled as he tried to think
of something to talk about. Asking how Mulder was doing was more likely to
upset him, by bringing up painful memories and fears, rather than comfort
him. He just prayed that Mulder wouldn't need help using the bathroom
anytime soon. He'd been drinking quite a lot of water.
He wondered if he should offer Mulder some salve for his face, or if he
needed any medication for pain. But Mulder had said he wasn't in pain, he
just felt weak. He was starting to feel completely useless.
Glancing over at Mulder as the man lay immobile upon the bed, Krycek
wondered at Mulder's crack about the goodnight kiss. Surely...Mulder hadn't
been referring to...that night...Mulder's apartment...Wiekamp...
Mulder spoke. "I've been thinking about all the times you've shown up in my
life. Since Hong Kong. You always give me another piece of the puzzle, for
whatever reasons of your own. And I always believe you. And then you
always disappear, having achieved whatever external effect you meant to
instigate at my expense. And I always go along with it."
"However reluctantly," Krycek added sardonically.
"Yeah," Mulder agreed dryly. And he gave Krycek a little smile. "So you
might as well tell me, Alex. Why do you do it?"
Krycek stared back at him. "Which? Do what?"
"The whole thing. The whole song and dance: you show up, throw me some kind
of riddle, and then you vanish again—just when I've started to trust you.
Why?"
Krycek started. "Wait—what? You trust me? What do you mean, you start
to trust me?"
Mulder tongued the inside of his cheek, thoughtfully regarding Krycek.
"Every damn time. I want to trust you, but you never give me enough reason
to. You always end up playing me rather than giving me something I can work
with. And then you have the nerve to get all up in arms about the fact that
I get angry with you over it. You don't exactly help your own case, I have
to say."
Krycek looked away, surprised. Un-fucking-believable. As if all he lived
for was tormenting Mulder. "It wasn't personal, Mulder. It was never
personal."
"It was always personal," Mulder contradicted, slowly. "It was for me."
Krycek didn't reply. He didn't know what to say. He felt like he'd been
caught presuming either too much or not enough. "What do you want?" he
demanded suddenly. "What do you want me to say?"
"Hm, touchy," Mulder commented. "I'm just asking, here."
A fresh wave of anger rose inside him and he bit back a heated retort.
Insufferable bastard, acting all holier than thou and patronizing...it made
him want to speak his mind and let Mulder know all the dirty, terrible
secrets his Daddy had kept from him. About Samantha, his sister. About the
fact that the smoking bastard had been her father and Teena had never told
anyone, least of all Fox.
But no, he couldn't afford to do that right now. Besides, regardless of
what Mulder might believe about him, he had no wish to be cruel or even
unintentionally hurtful. Instead, he contented himself with saying, "Maybe
if you weren't such an asshole about it all the time, I'd stick around
longer afterwards."
Mulder sounded incredulous. "My asshole behavior, after you stabbed me in
the back? Krycek, do you have any idea what you're implying? You SHOT my
father, and not even in a crime of passion or altruism—you just pointed
the gun where the smoking bastard told you to. Not to mention stabbing
everyone else in the back. You just got through telling me that you were
public enemy number one—the Russians, the Tunisians, the
Americans...remember?"
Krycek looked over at him. "You said it, not me. Besides, you're assuming
that I don't have any purpose for what I do. Why the hell would I be
working with Smith? And why would he trust me?"
"That is a damn good question," Mulder said. "I know you work the angles,
it's what you do. I don't have a problem with that. It's HOW you do it,
Alex."
"I know," Krycek replied, coldly. "So tell me, Agent Mulder, what would you
do in my place? If you were in my shoes?"
Mulder licked his lips, his eyes shuttering and looking away. "I can't tell
you, because you'll just get upset and right now, I'm kind of dependent on
you."
"There is that," Krycek agreed. "Must be a real bitch, having to accept my
help."
Curiously, Mulder smiled. "It's not that hard. I prefer it to having you
screw me over again. But then, the night is young."
"I'm not here to screw you over," Krycek growled. "Damn it, Mulder, I saved
your life. It's something I always end up doing. And yeah, okay, so I
fucked up with the Oregon lead. I'm paying for it right now, sitting here
playing Florence fucking Nightingale with you when I could be out there,
getting the job done. All you've ever done is whine about the truth and
chase after ghosts, swamp gas and Bigfoot, when you're not sticking your
nose into government projects and nearly getting yourself killed."
Mulder was quiet for a few moments, but Krycek could practically hear the
wheels turning in Mulder's head. "Are you coming on to me, Krycek?" he
finally asked, with a note of disbelief.
Krycek frowned. How the hell had Mulder managed to get THAT from what he'd
said?!
"Because, you know, I haven't played doctor with any of the other boys and
girls in a long time; and I don't know if I'm up to it right now anyway,"
Mulder continued. "Maybe later."
Krycek stared over at him, wondering how Mulder had segued into this. Then
again, Mulder always did have a quirky way of turning everything into some
kind of crude sexual innuendo. He let out a frustrated breath.
"As I said, the night is young," Mulder added.
"I'm getting the impression you're the one coming onto me," Krycek stated.
"You always do this. You always take the level of conversation down to high
school humor."
"I'm sorry if I offended you," Mulder said, without the least indication of
sincerity. Then he grinned at him. "I'll make it up to you, as soon as I
can move."
Krycek shook his head, as if trying to clear it. Fantastic. It was
fantastic. Mulder really had gone round the bend this time. Must be the
shock, he thought, of finding himself here at Krycek's mercy after being
abducted by aliens.
He considered this. Curious, he turned back to face Mulder. "What do you
remember about being aboard the Ship, anyway? Did you learn anything? Or
did they keep you unconscious the whole time?"
"Talk about killing the mood," Mulder muttered.
Krycek shrugged. "Hey, I'm just talking, here."
"I know. Thanks. This is actually one of the nicest things you've ever
done for me, you realize." Mulder's voice was suddenly suffused with
genuine feeling.
Krycek swallowed as the unexpected, simple words caused a resurgence of that
tenderness to go through him. "Yeah, right," he said, dismissively. "I
would've thought you'd be more appreciative of my efforts to get you
vaccinated against the Black Oil."
"I would have preferred a single injection rather than being strapped naked
to a cold slab with chicken wire and having Black Oil poured on my face,
thanks," Mulder replied, gamely.
Krycek flinched in spite of himself. He hadn't meant for any of that to
happen.
Damn it, why couldn't Mulder see that sometimes he was his own worst enemy?!
But Krycek wasn't going to argue about it. It wasn't worth it. They had
more important things to consider anyhow, in light of Mulder's genetic
heritage and his importance to the Hybrid Project. "You were important. I
knew that we had to get you vaccinated, whatever the cost. And it was
necessary, to flush out the Syndicate's little side projects down there, in
Florida."
"Yeah, I remember. Boca Raton, in the nursing home," Mulder agreed.
"Still, just talking about it makes me sick."
Krycek sighed through his nose. "Yeah, me too."
They sat in comparatively comradely quiet for a few minutes, each lost in
their own thoughts, as Krycek wondered if there had been any other
alternative. God knows he really wished it could have gone differently.
He'd lost his arm, for fuck's sake. Surely Mulder could consider it quits.
It wasn't even in the same realm of tit-for-tat, losing his arm.
"I'm sorry you lost your arm. I didn't wish that on you," Mulder spoke up,
breaking the silence and referring directly to what he was thinking in what
Krycek considered Mulder's spookily trademark intuition.
Looking down at the carpet, Krycek murmured, "Thanks." Slightly mollified,
Krycek asked, "Are you hungry? If you feel up to eating yet, I could make
some soup."
"Why don't you ask Smith to heal your arm?" Mulder asked.
Krycek didn't want to reply. It would reveal too much. He was scared of
asking Smith to do it. But he'd be damned before he told Mulder that. "I
haven't had the time. Besides, it's better that he keep saving abductees
rather than expending energy and valuable time regenerating people's limbs."
"That's impractical," Mulder declared. "You'd be more useful if you'd allow
him to heal you."
"It's none of your fucking business," Krycek stated calmly. "Do you want
some soup or not?"
"Okay." Mulder's placid reply sounded as though he was giving in, if only
to appease him.
Krycek got up from the chair and stalked out, wondering why he was doing
this in the first place. He shouldn't be here. God, the next few days were
going to be unbearable.
He wasn't used to forced inactivity. It was like being imprisoned. Which
was close to being trapped in the silo again, and...Panic welled up and he
fought it back to the depths of his consciousness once more. Shit. He
found himself holding onto the kitchen doorway for strength as black spots
swam before his eyes.
Must be some kind of weird panic attack, he thought. He shook his head to
clear it and rubbed his eyes. Damn! But he'd never had a claustrophobic
attack like this. It had always been on the inside of him, inside his
feelings, choking him with the memory rather than being an actual wave of
dizziness.
He tried to ignore it and began preparing soup for Mulder.
Sitting up, Mulder swung his legs over the side of the bed, fighting back
nausea and dizziness. At least he could move again though. He had to piss,
urgently. He tried to judge the distance from the bed to the door and
wondered how much farther the bathroom was located from where he was.
Krycek's sincere concern for him was touching, but Mulder didn't think he
could go through the humiliation of asking him to help him to the bathroom.
Not with the thought of it humiliating Krycek as well.
And how surreal was that? His greatest nemesis, who he'd hated with a
passion for so many personal and larger reasons, was helping him to recover
out of some weird sense of debt for having got him abducted...after giving
him the proof of the truth he'd been looking for all these years.
He stood, waiting for his knees to give out. They held. Wow. He could
stand! Mulder smiled. Then winced as his t-shirt rubbed against his belly.
Lifting it gingerly, he sucked in a breath at the horrific scars that lay
there, marring his abdomen. He had to sit back down again.
He couldn't remember when it had happened. Which was another small mercy.
Damn.
Now he really wanted to get to the bathroom, to check the mirror. Krycek
had said something about his face. His cheeks did hurt. He was afraid to
touch them.
He carefully managed to walk to the door, leaning against it for support.
Peering around the corner into the living room, he heard Krycek in the
kitchen. He caught sight of the bathroom and began to make his way towards
it, leaning against the wall along the way.
But when he got into the bathroom and caught sight of his reflection, he
gasped.
Shit. He looked like a zombie extra from 'Night of the Living Dead'. His
hair was wild; his face had an unnatural pallor and his scars...Jesus. A
flashback of fishhooks pulling and stretching his cheeks shot through him,
and he looked down at the sink with a grimace.
Now that he was up and about, he didn't feel dizzy. But as he lifted his
shirt to look at the scars there again, he couldn't help wondering why a
race of beings whose medical technology was so much more advanced than
Earth's would be unable to perform surgery without leaving scars that looked
like a pre-med student's attempts to do an autopsy while drunk on hooch and
jungle juice at an after-finals bash. Except of course, they hadn't left
him alive.
They never intended to. He'd been...a test subject. And had been dumped
back down on the cold ground in an emotionless move in a deadly game of
'planet invasion'...and somewhere in that cemetery in Raleigh, North
Carolina, in that cold, cold ground, buried in his stead, was another dead
abductee. Someone who hadn't made it.
The need to vomit overtook him and he managed to get to the toilet in time.
Dry heaves racked him and nothing came up except watered-down bile.
Shaking, he held onto the toilet bowl.
After a few moments deep breathing, he managed to calm himself enough to get
up and rinse out his mouth, then he carefully splashed his face and eyes,
and wet his hair. Combing it with his fingers, he regarded himself sadly.
Whatever his personal disagreements he had with Krycek over the past, one
thing was undeniably crystal clear: he needed his help. For the moral
support of having another human being there, if nothing else, however
paradoxically the term 'moral' might apply in Krycek's case.
He emptied his bladder then, and flushed the toilet. As he was doing up the
drawstring of his sweatpants, Krycek suddenly appeared in the doorway, his
hand on the doorknob.
"What the hell are you doing?" Krycek sounded upset, glaring at him
accusingly.
"I needed to take a leak," Mulder said mildly.
"You shouldn't even have got up, let alone be walking around," Krycek
groused at him. He sounded angry, and the worry and care in his mind and
his feelings went a long way in making Mulder feel better.
"Now you sound more like a nurse," Mulder commented. "It's an improvement,
anyway." He washed his hands.
"Next time, wait for me, alright?" With a sigh of frustration, Krycek said,
"Can you make it back okay? I've got a bowl of soup for you."
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks." Mulder turned off the bathroom light as Krycek
stepped out of his way.
Making his way back to the bedroom, Mulder sat down on the edge of the bed,
beginning to shiver from the cold. He had no socks and the t-shirt and
sweats really weren't enough to keep him warm. Why was it so cold? Oh,
yeah. It was winter.
Krycek appeared in the bedroom doorway, this time with a bowl of soup and a
spoon, balanced on a tray. There was a glass of water, too.
Mulder was surprised there wasn't a vase with a rosebud.
He sat in the bed, moving the pillows into a sitting position against his
back for support and pulling the covers over himself. He tried
unsuccessfully to suppress a shiver but Krycek saw it anyway.
Krycek put the tray down. "I'll get you a sweater." He wasn't long and soon
Mulder had a sweater on and Krycek was handing him the tray.
Krycek sank back into the chair beside his bed while Mulder carefully began
spooning the soup into his mouth. "Campbell's chicken soup?" Mulder asked.
"What else?"
Mulder stared at him. "Don't I even get any crackers? Or Jello?"
Krycek lifted his brows. "Only if you're good."
"Oh, I'm good," Mulder reassured him.
"Keep the soup down and we'll see," Krycek said, making no signs of getting
up. Then he yawned.
Mulder stifled an answering yawn. He didn't want to hurt the wounds on his
cheeks.
Krycek looked at him with a little frown.
"What? What is it?" Mulder asked.
"The scars—they're healing already," Krycek said with some amazement.
"That was fast."
Mulder looked down at his soup. "I'm glad I didn't see them before, then."
Krycek was searching his face, not looking at his eyes but focusing on the
scars. "No, it's true. They're healing really quickly. I don't think
it'll take much longer." He bit his lip, reflectively.
In between bites, Mulder said, "So tell me why I'm so important as to rate
all this trouble. Why are you going to such lengths as to collaborate with
the Smiths?"
Krycek started. "'The Smiths'?" he repeated.
Oh fuck. Mulder shot him a look. Krycek didn't know. He scanned that
quiet voice of Krycek's inner mind—ah. He did know of the multiple Smith
clones. He was just surprised that Mulder knew. "Yeah, Jeremiah is
scattered throughout the country. Scully and I found he had numerous clones
all over the place."
Krycek looked down. "I thought you'd just dismissed it as numerous
identities, as the FBI did."
"Come on," protested Mulder. "I've been paying attention. Clones. Cloning
facilities. He showed me clones of my sister and others too. I know they
can't reproduce properly without the aid of cloning technology, hence the
Hybrid Project. But you still haven't explained to me why I'm so damned
important."
"Mulder," Krycek began, not wanting to overwhelm him. Which Mulder found
considerate but also irritating, because he wanted to know. Now. "You are
the Hybrid Project. Or least, the most successful one so far." Details
swam in the forefront of Krycek's consciousness, in a picture of
comprehensive information regarding Cassandra, his sister Samantha, his
family and their history...even Scully and the baby. Mulder took it all in,
this flash of revelation, and considered it. Interesting.
"You weren't artificially constructed and tinkered with, as Cassandra was.
They thought you were a failure because your powers weren't...immediately
turned on and apparent. You were born with it. And not even switched on,
like Gibson Praise. His DNA matches a different set of strands—his
parentage was unique. There are plenty of kids out there that have this;
they're all members of the Project but you... You had an off-switch. Your
DNA contains the gene sequence that's like a universal key. With the right
know-how, the Aliens—Colonists, Healers and Rebels alike—could apply it
to every human on the planet. You're a natural prototype, because you carry
the human blueprint. That's why the ship fragments affected you the way
they did. Apparently, the Smiths have known this all along. I didn't even
find out until they told me. You're the key to it all. The whole thing.
The Conspiracy, the Project, the future," Krycek shrugged.
"Damn," Mulder murmured, impressed. "I was the truth I was searching for,
all this time. It was in me."
"Except for that smoking bastard's meddling, you were perfect. But he
really fucked it up, when he did that surgery on you. That's why you had the
tumor. Smith said your brain was trying to compensate for the fact that
you'd had parts of you removed."
Shrewdly, Mulder said, "But Smith removed the tumor and restored my brain to
full capacity."
Krycek looked up quickly at this. "Then...that means you're whole."
"I guess so." Mulder went back to eating his soup.
"So that's what Smith meant," Krycek pondered. "He wasn't specific, he only
said he had removed the tumor. He didn't tell me he'd restored you to your
natural state."
"Maybe he didn't know if he'd managed to or not," Mulder suggested,
remembering Smith's mental 'words' to him before. A 'curious side effect'
indeed. His eyes narrowed, as he considered how jumpy Krycek already was,
with him. If Krycek discovered that his powers had now elevated to
fully-fledged Gibson-Praise status...he was likely to freak. Not to mention
everyone else.
He considered this. No reason why he should tell anyone. That must have
been what Smith meant by being 'discreet'. After all, no one knew the
Smiths' telepathic powers were so strong. They didn't need to know. Like
Krycek's little hissy fit before, when he'd been grumbling to himself about
Mulder's beliefs that the 'world needed to know'. Hm. No one needed to
know. He finished the last of the soup.
"See? I've been good. Now can I have Jello and crackers?"
"There isn't any," Krycek said, absently.
Mulder pouted, looking down at the bowl. "Well, what else do you have?"
Krycek licked his lips again, in a nervous mannerism that Mulder couldn't
help wondering if the man realized betrayed so much, in simple body
language. Krycek's gaze met his, briefly. "I guess I could make you a
sandwich. Let's wait a while though, huh? And see if you can keep the soup
down?"
"Okay." Mulder was curious and he unobtrusively scanned the surface of
Krycek's thoughts. He wasn't prepared for what he found.
Why did Mulder have to be pleasant? Why wasn't he doing his usual routine?
He was making it so hard for him to carry on, here.
Krycek felt awkward and clumsy. He didn't know how to take care of him.
Mulder was right; why was he doing this? He wasn't cut out for it. He
wasn't a caregiver. He wanted to rise to the challenge. However, the need
to prove that he could do it was warring with the anxiety that had settled
like a lump in the pit of his stomach.
He wasn't in charge of the situation anymore. It was going exactly as he'd
feared: as soon as Mulder was awake, there went his control.
His palms were sweating and he found his breath was coming short. He no
longer knew what tack to take with Mulder. He was so used to the negativity
in their exchanges that he was completely unprepared for how to handle
Mulder's civility. He tried to harden himself against Mulder's infirmity
and need.
It was frightening, how much he wanted to help Mulder and be here for him.
Not out of any sense of debt or owing him for having got him into this
predicament. No, it was purely a sentimental reason, the need to have
Mulder...like him.
To have Mulder like him? It was absurd to even contemplate it.
He couldn't afford this. Not now. Not right now. He grimly pressed his
lips together, clenching his teeth.
Beside him, Mulder cleared his throat. "I'll-" get you that sandwich, he
started to say, but Mulder began speaking at the same time and the first
syllable died on his lips.
"Alex, I want you to know that I am grateful for what you're doing for me.
Thank you for taking care of me. I know you and Smith and the others
must've put out a lot, and put a lot on the line to get me here. Thank
you."
Krycek forced himself to calmly return Mulder's gaze. "You're welcome."
"I guess it's true. We can never go home again," Mulder mused. "Where's
your home?"
Krycek shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"Well, all right. They do say home is where the heart is."
That was obscure enough that Krycek flicked a cautious glance at Mulder but
he seemed to be lost in thought, rather than actively making a point.
Strange though, he would've thought Mulder considered him incapable of
having a heart. Abruptly, he yawned again.
"My stomach's fine," Mulder remarked. "Can I have that sandwich?"
"Yeah. Give me a couple of minutes," Krycek murmured, getting up. He was
grateful to have the opportunity to have some more time alone.
Once in the kitchen though, he couldn't help wondering what the hell had
happened. It seemed like the intensity of their usual friction had
dissipated, and he didn't even really know why. Maybe Mulder needed him and
so he was playing along. But Mulder seemed to be taking it all too well in
his stride to just be playing a game with him. But really, how well did he
know Fox Mulder? The man was brilliant; more than capable of outsmarting
him once he put his mind to it and was no longer incapacitated by his own
emotional irrationality.
He put the pack of processed ham slices down on the counter. Damn. That
had to be it. Hardening himself against falling for Mulder's 'sick
convalescent' act, he reminded himself that the man had every reason to want
to see him dead. He hadn't exactly forgiven him for the death of his
father. Or anything else.
"What kind of cheese are you putting on that?"
Mulder's voice made him spin around to face him. "Jesus," Krycek breathed.
"What are you doing? Why are you up?"
Mulder shrugged and carefully walked over to the kitchen table, sitting down
at it. Propping his elbows up to rest upon it, he settled his chin atop his
interlaced fingers. "I've been in bed long enough."
Krycek turned back to the sandwiches. "Ordinary cheddar. It'll have to
do."
"Okay." Mulder seemed to be in a good mood.
Embarrassed at reacting in such an obviously startled manner, Krycek
finished making the two sandwiches. Setting one plate before Mulder and the
other in his own place, he went to pour a cup of coffee for himself.
"Coffee?"
Mulder shook his head. "No, thank you." Mulder began eating the sandwich
with careful bites.
Krycek sat down with his coffee and considered Mulder as he took his place
at the table across from him. "Your scars are healing fast now," he
observed. "I'm seeing a difference even in the last few minutes."
"Yeah," Mulder agreed absently, through a mouthful. He swallowed. "I'm
feeling better. So tell me something, Alex. What are we supposed to do for
the next few weeks until one of the Smiths returns?"
Krycek shrugged. "Whatever."
"Maybe we could get to know each other better," Mulder suggested with a lift
of his brows. "After all, why not take the opportunity?"
Krycek put down the sandwich he was about to bite into. "What the hell is
going on here? I mean really, Mulder."
"What do you mean?"
Krycek threw him a hard look. "You know damn well what I mean. This, this,
ACT you're putting on here!"
Mulder looked puzzled. "What act? What act do you think I'm putting on?"
With a disgusted shake of his head, Krycek didn't grace this with a reply,
merely picked up his sandwich and began eating it.
"I'm just as surprised to be here as you are," Mulder countered, taking a
bite of his own sandwich and chewing for a little while before continuing.
"In fact, I think I have every right to be more surprised, considering who
I've found myself with in the middle of nowhere. Seeing as I was dead, I
think I'm handling all of this relatively well."
Krycek scoffed, "It'll be a miracle if we don't kill each other."
Mulder corrected him with disapproval. "There are more positive,
constructive ways of working out disagreements."
Krycek looked up swiftly in disbelief. He blinked at the unmitigated GALL
of the man to say this, after all the times he'd hit him in the mouth and
beat him, attacking him bodily on sight. He was speechless in fact, his
lips parted in mute indignation.
"Well, there are," added Mulder, returning to his rapidly disappearing
sandwich.
Taking a gulp of coffee, Krycek ignored the burn of the hot liquid and
swallowed it down in an attempt to regroup his thoughts. Unbelievable. And
Mulder had to know he wasn't just going to take this lying down. He had to
call his bluff now, on principle. "Such as?" he inquired.
"We could channel all that pent-up frustration and anger into something more
useful, such as basketball or some other sport. Running, even."
"You're in no condition," Krycek pointed out.
"I will be, soon enough. And there are other ways, too," Mulder continued,
mysteriously.
Krycek continued to chew on his sandwich, waiting for Mulder to pull out his
ace. But he didn't. Mulder just sat there, finishing the last of his
sandwich and looking longingly over at the fridge. Finally, Krycek made a
gesture of surrender. "Help yourself. If you're really that hungry, maybe
your body needs it. Must be part of the rapid regeneration phase or
something."
Mulder got up, went to the fridge and began removing items.
Krycek contented himself with sipping from his coffee and watching as Mulder
pulled out far too much food. Hell, let him stuff himself, he thought.
Maybe he'll sleep it off and I'll have a chance to have some downtime from
this. But it worried him that Mulder was recovering so fast. He wouldn't
have more chances to help him, to allow himself to indulge in that secret
pleasure of just...caring for him. Of Mulder needing him. Mulder wouldn't
need him anymore. It hurt, a lot. He was surprised at how much.
"We could always play cards. Or Scrabble," Mulder threw casually over his
shoulder at him. "Did you bring anything to pass the time?"
Krycek watched with a curious frown. "Are you going to eat all of that?"
Mulder shrugged. "Possibly. How about videos? Or do we get cable here?"
Krycek stared down into his cup of coffee. "I wasn't exactly planning on
just sitting around here jerking off. There are plans to be made, things to
sort out. Work to do."
"That's okay. I'm sure I'll find something to do. I'm used to jerking off
in my spare time." Mulder brought a plate to the table and sat down. Cold
fried chicken, potato salad, macaroni salad and a muffin. Protein and
carbs. Yeah, no doubt about it, Mulder did need the energy.
Krycek didn't deign to reply to that last wisecrack though.
"Is this getting to you?" Mulder asked, tilting his head at him. "I can
stop. I'll be good. I guess even small talk isn't very safe, where we're
concerned."
It was the last straw.
As if HE were the one who couldn't handle their relationship.
Krycek jumped up, pushed back the chair and left the room. He didn't even
care that his departure seemed to prove the point. He grabbed his leather
jacket and stormed out of the house. He needed the cold to settle into his
bones and dampen the hot agitation running through him.
Fuck Fox Mulder, he thought, with less ire and more a kind of doleful
despair. It was as if Mulder was indeed channeling all his usual
negativity, only instead of fists it was barbed, barely-disguised sarcasm,
all the while dressed in a 'poor me' outfit. As he shrugged into his jacket
against the cold, he noted the rising wind that sent icy gusts blowing
against him. He was cooling off rapidly.
Maybe Marita had been right. Maybe Fox was right. They both were. It was
personal. He was taking it all too personally.
The moon was rising white and big in the clear sky. As he stared at it, he
found a measure of calm. He forced himself to take breaths of the cold air
as it burned his lungs. It would do him well to remember that, even while
Mulder picnicked on his fridge and his composure, Mulder was the key to
their future plans. He couldn't allow their mutual antagonism to get in the
way of that. In spite of the fact that it was saving him a lot of trouble
that Mulder was recovering so quickly, he wished the man had been bedridden
for a while longer. Gloomily, he went quietly back into the house.
Taking off his jacket once more, and this time his boots as well, he
listened. The house was quiet.
He hadn't been gone very long but the kitchen was dark. A pang of misgiving
went through him and he went to Mulder's bedroom. Mulder was sitting on the
bed, back under the covers, with his plate of food in his lap. A glass of
Coke sat on the bedside vanity.
"Was it something I said?" Mulder asked him as he looked up and saw Krycek
there.
"I'm thinking of hiring a competent nurse to take care of you and getting
the hell out of here," Krycek responded, noting with some satisfaction how
Mulder's eyes widened and he looked taken aback.
Then, Mulder's face hardened and he looked away, returning to his food.
"This has got to be the most insane idea I ever had," Krycek continued. "I
don't know why I thought it would work." Not to mention that he'd thought
Marita would be around. A woman's touch was usually better in situations
like this. But he didn't say anything. He didn't want to bring it up and
possibly open up another can of worms for Mulder to dissect.
"Do you want to talk it over?"
"Not really." Krycek stood there, apprehensively wondering what route
Mulder was going to go: the helplessly pitiful invalid who 'needed him' or
the casually disregarding cold bastard.
Mulder did neither. He put down his fork and looked at Krycek with an
unreadable expression. "You could give me some kind of guideline here, as
to what you expect from me. First you tell me that I'm worth risking
everything for, that I'm the key to the future and then you're complaining
that I'm not being consistent—that I'm just an asshole. I'm trying to
keep my spirits up, and not at your expense. Like I said, Krycek, your
bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired."
"I'm not your babysitter," Krycek snapped.
"No, you're..." Mulder stopped.
Krycek waited. And waited some more. "What?"
Mulder picked up the fork again and began eating once more. "You're a
conundrum. The Krycek Conundrum. I can't figure you out. And you aren't
helping either. What do you want from me?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing," Krycek countered.
"Okay, let's just get this straight first. You saved my life and brought me
here to recover, because you owed me for leading me into that trap in the
first place. But now I owe YOU for helping me here above and beyond the
call of duty. Have I got that right?" He forked a mouthful of potato salad
into his mouth. "And I don't need a nurse. You can go, if this really is
too much for you," he said carefully between chews.
Stuck, Krycek said, "Just...why do you...why do you HAVE be such an asshole?
Why can't you...I don't know, be courteous? What else do I have to do to
prove to you that I deserve to be treated like a human being?"
Mulder frowned at him. "Alex, I haven't been treating you badly. Ever
since I woke up, you've been throwing down the gauntlet at every turn. I
think it's all in your head. You keep expecting me to hate you and I think
it's scaring you that I'm not. And I don't," Mulder emphasized. "I am more
than willing to admit that I don't hate you, that you've surprised me here,
both with your humanitarian efforts and the fact that the Smiths trust you
to the point of leaving me in your care."
"So, basically, what you're saying is: all this is just me overreacting,"
Krycek stated.
Mulder sighed. "This is a nice twist on it all. Don't you agree? Here I
am, completely at your mercy, and I have to convince YOU that I trust you?
Rather than the other way around, with you convincing me that you can be
trusted."
Krycek looked down at the carpet, wondering if he'd indeed overreacted. He
was beginning to feel odd, as if he'd undermined his own reputation by
behaving so impulsively. Yeah, Mulder was right. He was touchy.
High-strung, in fact. But it was just so out of character for Mulder to be
so...accepting. He swallowed and let out a breath. "Okay, okay. You're
right." He pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. He was tired. His
head was starting to hurt. "The stakes are too high. I can't let you leave
here."
Mulder raised his brows. "Does it look like I'm trying to leave?"
"Are you going to?" Krycek shot back.
Mulder smiled at him. "No."
"Why not?" Krycek asked, instantly suspicious. "Hell, I would."
"Really?" Mulder asked, inexplicably. He motioned with his fork. "Come on,
sit down. I promise not to bite."
Feeling even more stupid than before, Krycek took his place in the chair
beside Mulder's bed. He crossed one leg over the other and rubbed at his
shoulder. It was starting to ache. The cold didn't help.
"Didn't Scully run any tests on the facsimile of me that you guys left for
them to find?"
Mulder's question came out of the blue. "Even if she did," Krycek replied
thoughtfully, "the results would be inconclusive due to the cell damage from
the radiation and energy field aboard the Ship."
Mulder nodded. "Good."
"Why?"
"Well, I was just thinking that my disappearing act couldn't be more perfect
really, with everyone witnessing my burial."
Krycek looked down. It really had been too narrow an escape.
"I'm still a mite sketchy on the details though. What is it I'm supposed to
do, now that we know I'm the blueprint for change?" Mulder mused.
"Take better care of yourself?" Krycek offered obliquely.
Mulder gave him a sharp look. "If you can be sarcastic, why can't I?"
A flush went over him and he wished he had held his tongue. It seemed
civility was a two-edged sword. Besides, Mulder had been right. He'd been
all too quick to take offense.
"Look, I know this isn't easy," Mulder commented. "For either of us. But
if I'm going to try to behave, you should too."
Krycek let out a breath. "All right." He ran a hand briskly through his
short hair. "I don't actually know what the Smiths have in mind. The
Healers have got some idea about altering the genetic structure of everyone
somehow, in accordance with the blueprint you're carrying. It balances the
human parts of you with the alien parts, effortlessly. Apparently it's
built into everyone's DNA, just waiting for the right stimulus."
"So we sit tight here, until they contact us," Mulder supplied.
"Yeah. Apparently."
Mulder shrugged with a little moue of resignation. "Okay. So that just
leaves us with one problem."
Krycek waited, this time trying to watch his tendency to take what Mulder
said in the context of barbed repartee.
Mulder speared the last of his potato salad with his fork. "How are we
going to learn to get along here? Can we become friends after all the shit
we've been through?"
Krycek shouldn't have felt any surprise, but he did. "Friends?" he
repeated.
"You know, associates, partners, whatever. Yeah, friends."
"You think that's viable? I mean, you'd have to get over your grudge against
me for all the evil deeds you've been imagining I carry out when you're not
around."
Mulder's eyes narrowed. "And you'd have to apologize for killing my father
and stabbing me in the back."
"And you'd have to apologize for hitting me, for beating on me all those
times."
"And you'd have to explain to me why you kissed me that night, in my
apartment."
Krycek went cold. "What?"
Mulder shrugged again. "Well, think about it. Maybe we don't need to
become 'friends', per se. We could be lovers instead. Or any number of
alternatives. Frankly, I'd find that one more realistic, considering the
nature of our relationship over the years."
They were so far out of the realm of small talk that he couldn't even joke
about it with some loose remark about Mulder coming on to him. Krycek
failed to see how Mulder could possibly say such a thing with that amount of
seriousness, without having considered it prior to their shared situation
here. Without having thought about it. Had Mulder really thought about it?
Mulder was polishing off the remnants of his dinner.
Krycek found himself truly speechless, and not for the first time that
night. Obviously Mulder had taken that kiss way out of context, totally out
of perspective. He'd read far too much into it. Or had he?
Krycek found himself wondering what he really had meant by it. He'd meant
it as a Judas kiss, a sort of 'fuck-you' gesture whilst simultaneously
trying to impress upon the man his utter and complete seriousness about what
he had gone there to tell him. Even to the point of kissing him. But it
wasn't like he'd kissed him on the mouth. It wasn't like he wanted to.
He cast a glance back at Mulder, suddenly imagining what it would be like to
kiss him. Properly. Mulder's mouth...those lips...
Mulder looked over at him and he snatched his eyes away, wondering what the
fuck Mulder thought he was doing to actually suggest it.
Lovers? It was a joke. It had to be.
"Come on, surely you've thought about it," Mulder urged in that same, calm
voice. "I have. I couldn't NOT think about it, after that. I figured you
were yanking my chain again. Then you went and infected Skinner with those
nanobots and I assumed you really had been fucking with my mind."
Krycek looked down again, licking his lips, feeling trapped. "You...and
Scully," he began.
Mulder started laughing quietly. "Why do you think I did it in a test tube
instead of the old fashioned way, bearing roses and a bottle of wine?"
"To preserve the sample," Krycek pointed out, wondering when the world had
decided to turn 180 degrees and stand upside-down. With every step deeper
into this conversation, Mulder was pulling him headlong into the Twilight
Zone. A place where everything Krycek thought was true was actually not.
Suddenly he resented Mulder, as he couldn't take anything for granted
anymore.
Mulder shook his head. "She and I are more brother and sister than anything
else. Don't tell me you fell victim to the bets and gossip circulating
around the Academy cafeteria at Quantico?"
Krycek began to feel sick and uncomfortable. What the hell was he doing,
even sitting there entertaining the possibility that Mulder was serious?! It
was ludicrous. Wait a minute, why was HE sitting there suggesting it in the
first place?
Mulder had only said it was far more realistic than even considering their
relationship as a friendship. Which didn't say much for their friendship,
when it came down to it. He scowled.
Mulder tilted his head to the side, regarding him. "I could see it. You
and me."
Krycek let out a chuff of scorn. "Right."
"No, seriously. You're a good-looking man."
Krycek gave him a withering look. "You're delirious."
Mulder shook his head. "You're disappointed that I haven't stayed weak and
bedridden, aren't you? Well, this would be one way of guaranteeing that I'd
stay in bed. Willingly."
Krycek blinked at him, amazed that Mulder could speak of this so casually.
"You actually expect me to believe you'd cooperate with me—if I slept with
you?"
"No," Mulder corrected. "If we became lovers. I'm not suggesting you whore
yourself. I'm saying that we could be good together. It might help clear
up the animosity we've always had between us, due to the friction and
tension. What, you don't see it?" He looked mournful. "You think it's a
leap?"
Krycek let out a breath. "I think it's completely out there. I think you
really have lost your mind this time." But his cock disagreed with him,
stirring in his jeans.
Damn. Why the hell did Mulder always have to be right?
Mulder had to stifle a reaction as a surge of triumph went through him.
He'd got him. He'd hooked him! Very interesting, indeed. He'd suspected
that the reason Krycek couldn't leave him alone all these years was because
he had a thing for him. It was turning out to be a most illuminating
awakening.
"I don't think so," he replied. "But I'm starting to wonder if you've lost
your nerve."
Krycek stared at him, manfully trying not to take offense.
Mulder slid the plate over to the vanity and picked up the glass of Coke.
"Or maybe it's the whole gay thing that's putting you off."
Krycek made a noise of exasperation. "I'm bi."
Mulder looked over at him. "You are? I mean, I always figured you might
be."
Krycek gave him a sardonic look. "I never expected you to be."
Mulder skimmed over Krycek's mental field. The emanations coming off the
man were nearly vibrating with the suppressed tension. It seemed he'd
really struck a nerve. "I am," he said, buying himself some time.
Krycek looked away, but now Mulder could feel the arousal coming off him in
waves, along with the hope, which were both followed swiftly with a sense of
loneliness and loss.
Shit. It nearly took his breath away. Krycek was so primed, so ready for
it, it would take very little effort to seduce him.
All this time, the key to understanding Krycek had been right in front of
him. The key into his heart, his mind...the way of getting to Krycek that
had always eluded him.
Mulder stared at the opposite bedroom wall, wondering if he really wanted to
go that way. Hell, he'd done far more foolish things during his long,
not-so-illustrious career. But he really wasn't up to it right now. Even
with the rapid regeneration that his body seemed to be going through. He
felt good inside; all was copasetic. But he felt physically weak all over,
probably from the energy it was taking to regenerate, and his wounds on his
belly and face still hurt.
Krycek's arousal was starting to affect him as well, but Mulder didn't think
he could get him to suck him off, considering how suspiciously Krycek was
taking his suggestion.
Sure enough, Krycek asked, "This isn't about preferences or orientation. Or
even availability. It's about you and me. Which is...nuts. Totally out
there." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
"Why is that?" Mulder asked. "Because it appeals to you, or because of the
commitment involved?"
"Because you've hated me far too long for me to believe it," Krycek replied
bluntly.
"Ahh, we're back to that, are we? You don't trust me."
Krycek stood up, picking up the plate from the bedside unit and said in a
low voice, "Get some rest. I'll be in the other room if you need anything."
"Alex," Mulder called as he began to leave the room. "About that goodnight
kiss: my cheeks may be sore but my mouth is fine."
Krycek stared back at him. "Sweet dreams," he said, meaningfully. And shut
the door behind him.
Mulder chuckled to himself. Always running away. Krycek was always,
without fail, leaving him; going out the door in order to save face.
Trouble was, he had Krycek's number now, he mused gleefully. He could still
feel Krycek's turmoil as the man moved about in the kitchen, placing dishes
in the sink and washing them.
Krycek had a point. Why was he even suggesting it as a viable option? But
it was too obvious to him, what they'd both been dancing around for years.
It was true that he'd been mostly humiliated and embarrassed to have fallen
for Krycek's 'little green agent' act, with those awful suits and gelled
hair. But it had been more than that. They'd always had this chemistry
between them. It was that same chemical attraction that had driven Mulder
to extreme fury, exploding in Krycek's presence with righteous indignation
and violence.
He sighed to himself as he realized that this time, Krycek was right. The
ball was in his court, to prove his trustworthiness. Mulder had the
undeniable proof of Krycek's non-duplicity in his part in this situation in
the personage of Jeremiah Smith. The Smiths would not trust Krycek if he
weren't on the level. And now Mulder was well aware too of just how
powerful the Smiths' telepathic range was. If Krycek were intending a
betrayal of them all, they would have picked it up.
Mulder's own growing mental ability had revealed most satisfactorily tonight
just how off-balance Krycek was, and how honestly he was conducting himself.
Incredible. An honest Krycek. Whoever would have believed it?
He'd pushed Krycek so far though that he feared Krycek might end up leaving
after all. He leaned back against the upright pillows, settling into them,
sipping at the Coke. And focused on homing in on Krycek, at a distance.
It was just like watching from a remote view.
It was becoming effortless to do it, and he was learning how to do it in
stages, too. He could scan just the barest edges of his mind, or home in
full-strength to delve into the corners where even Krycek didn't usually
look. The man was an open book. And there was no way Mulder could let him
know that he DID trust Krycek now simply because he knew there was no way
Krycek could deceive him; not without completely destroying any hope of
Krycek trusting him out of sheer fright at Mulder's mental ability to read
him. He'd have to make do with the victory of knowing Krycek couldn't lie
to him.
Ever again.
He received the distinct impression of confusion, pain, yearning and anger.
And arousal.
Krycek was climbing into the shower. In sudden anticipation, Mulder gulped
the last of his Coke and put down the empty glass.
He picked up the sensation of cold air and then water on bare skin, making
him shiver involuntarily. Then heat; wet, slick heat and water washing away
the cares and pain. And full arousal, stronger than before. Sudden
pleasure cart-wheeled through Mulder's insides.
Jesus. Krycek was beating off in the shower.
His hand went to his own stiffening cock even before he could think about
it. Unable to help his own voyeuristic thrill from the feedback of getting
off on the impressions that veered through Krycek's consciousness, Mulder
was soon lost in the drowning whirlpool of lust.
Krycek's eyes were closed but it only served to sharpen the visual images
and details: Mulder laying asleep, defenseless, flashes of him eating, the
unconscious sensuality of the fork going into his mouth and the way he'd
been licking his full lips as he ate, the tension in the room, the
tenderness that overwhelmed Krycek at being able to help Mulder lying there
so weak and helpless, his own taunts ringing in both their ears—'goodnight
kiss'...'my mouth is fine'...'lovers'...'the whole gay thing'...'you're a
good-looking man'-
That last echoing thought, the remembrance of Mulder's voice in Krycek's
head finally pushed him over the edge and Krycek came.
Mulder gasped as he came with him, his climax breaking over him in tandem
with Krycek's in the shower. And to his dismay, he found a burst of emotion
quickly following on the heels of his orgasm, hot tears springing to his
eyes that stung his scars on his cheeks where they ran wetly over the broken
skin. He couldn't even tell if they were Krycek's tears or his own. Maybe
they were both.
Chastened, Mulder tentatively 'reached' back out to Krycek, only to find
that he was already trying to regain his self-control, finishing his shower
with practical efficiency.
Mulder sat up, waiting to see what Krycek would do. Wondering if maybe,
just maybe, he might come back into the room. After all, Krycek wanted to.
Krycek went to the other bedroom and pulled on a shirt and sweats before
climbing into the bed and settling in to sleep.
To Mulder's extreme disappointment, Krycek soon drifted off to sleep from
sheer exhaustion.
It was a long time before he was able to get to sleep, himself.
Mulder awoke to hear robins chirping outside the window. The sun shone
warmly through the window, the light blurred as it filtered through the
condensation on the inside of the pane of glass.
He could smell coffee. There was a funny taste in his mouth and with a
scowl, he sat up and looked around. There was a change of clothes for him
on the chair.
He decided to have a shower first. The kitchen light was on but he didn't
see Krycek. But he got his first shock of the morning when he caught sight
of his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
His cheeks were healed to the point of showing only the faintest tracings of
scars. Lifting his shirt, he saw with relief that his belly wounds had also
closed completely, the skin sealed over. Damn, he mused, this rapid
regeneration thing was awesome. He'd healed overnight in what would have
taken weeks.
He climbed into the shower and was suddenly assailed with deja vu. The
memory of Krycek jacking off under the spray last night was vivid, along
with the feelings it evoked in its wake. He knew now that the emotional
release had not been his own.
Thoughtfully, he cleaned himself under the fresh water and dried off
quickly. Dressing, he went into the kitchen to help himself to coffee.
Krycek came in the living room door, carrying a brown paper bag. Mulder
looked up at him from the kitchen. Krycek regarded him for a moment, then
put the bag down by the door and went back out again. He returned with
another bag and then locked the door.
Bringing both bags into the kitchen and placing them on the counter, Krycek
stated, "You look better. They've almost completely healed."
"Yeah, this whole blueprint thing has some nice advantages."
Krycek began taking out groceries and putting them away. He didn't look at
Mulder again.
Curious, Mulder sent out a quick mental tendril. God, it was so easy to do.
And it felt almost pleasurable.
But his enjoyment was short-lived. Krycek was guarded and cautious, having
thought it all over during his venture out to get supplies.
Sure enough, Krycek leaned against the counter and slowly said, "I've been
thinking about last night. About your suggestion."
Mulder calmly sipped his coffee and waited, watching Krycek without giving
anything away. But he could feel Krycek's nerves tensing as Krycek tried to
convince himself that he was doing the right thing.
Krycek continued, "I don't see how a personal truce we might have formed is
contingent upon any kind of intimacy. I don't know what sort of game you're
trying to play but there are more urgent priorities to deal with. There's
more at stake here than your personal feelings, or mine."
Mulder had to respond to this. "I refuse to allow anyone, least of all you,
Alex, to back me into a corner and intimidate me with my oh-so-valuable
genetic heritage into joining this little resistance movement of yours. The
Smiths are doing their part; so are the Rebels. Everyone's got a piece of
the pie and all the factions say they're working for the good of all, when
really it's their own self-serving interests they're working for. I fail to
see how my efforts are necessary at this point. Maybe you did the right
thing to intercept me when the Ship returned me, to keep me from being
replaced in a key position at the FBI, but you're hardly in any kind of
position yourself to coerce me into helping."
Krycek was stunned. "Coerce you?" he repeated, almost derisively.
Mulder nodded. "Just because I'm this 'blueprint' doesn't make me your
puppet. I won't dance to your tune, and trotting out your disapproval of my
making light of my presence here under the guise of urgent priorities isn't
going to cut it. You'll have to try another approach."
"Of all the egotistical, selfish..." Krycek began. The anger and
determination was invigorating as Mulder felt it keenly run through him by
proxy. Krycek bit off the rest of his statement and said instead, "Don't you
get it yet? The whole idea of factions and resistance is irrelevant.
There's only one issue here: the fate of the planet. Whatever agenda anyone
else holds is meaningless if they aren't working towards stabilizing the
direction this is all going, on some other course than Colonization. This
is bigger than you, me, all of us. It's fucking interstellar, Mulder. For
god's sake, this is the truth you've been demanding for years. It's a war.
We're at war."
"Spare me the 'pull my head out of the sand' speech. I've seen too much.
I'm afraid you've got a liability on your hands. Give me one good reason
why I should agree with you. I'm not saying I don't believe you, or that I
don't trust you. Or the Healers. But I'm gonna need something more than a
passionate declaration from you that I should just throw in my lot here with
you, Alex. So let me have it. Give it to me." Mulder folded his arms
across his chest and sat back in the chair, waiting.
Krycek was furious. To his credit, he barely showed a sign of how he really
felt, keeping his composure with a cool indifference. But Mulder knew it
was only a mask, now. One that Krycek tended to don when he was around him.
"I should have known," Krycek said. "The search for your sister, your
resolve to find the truth, the FBI...It was all just a means to an end."
Mulder took affront at this. "What end? What are you implying?"
"Imply, hell. I'm saying you've been using everyone and everything as a way
of trying to get people to take you seriously. Good thing your Daddy helped
you get into the FBI, otherwise you'd just be another one of those new-age
UFO nuts, running around wearing a tinfoil cap, jabbering about Space
Brothers and the end of the world."
Mulder sat back farther in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.
"After careful consideration, Krycek, I have to say that your negotiating
skills suck, too. It's not that I don't understand the gravity of the
situation or the odds facing us. I just don't see why I should have to play
along with you. Why should I play it your way?"
"Because," Krycek spoke, as if to a child, "to place yourself at risk is to
negate your comprehension of your importance."
"I wasn't saying I was going to endanger myself. Where the hell are you
getting that?"
Krycek looked up at the ceiling before letting his eyes drop back to
Mulder's with a sardonic expression. "You're just wanting me to provide you
with a justification for yourself to live with. Because throwing in with
me, one of the Devil's Own, is a bit much for your conscience. It's too
much to admit that you've hit rock-bottom and I'm the only one who happens
to care enough to offer you a helping hand. My only remaining hand, at
that. It's okay, Fox, you can admit it."
Mulder licked his lips and lifted his chin. "I get it. You're interested
in my body, not my trust, or my beliefs—or even my cooperation. It's the
hardware you're after here, just like them." He motioned vaguely upwards,
towards the open window and the sky. "No one gives a damn about my mind or
my feelings, it's purely the DNA you want. So why don't you just take a
fucking scoop-mark out of your pound of flesh and let me go?"
Disgruntled, Krycek didn't respond, just glared back at him. Mulder quickly
skimmed over Krycek's thoughts.
Is there any way to shut him up? Maybe I ought to just shoot him, Krycek
wondered. A gag. I'll gag him. And threaten to shoot him if he doesn't
shut up and put it on. In the left arm. Yeah, that would be fitting. I
could shoot him and he'd probably heal so fast no one would ever know.
That's it.
The image of Mulder gagged and unable to let loose with the usual stream of
logical yet somehow self-piteous and self-absorbed comments was very
appealing, at the moment.
Mulder cleared his throat and sat up straighter, his expression changing
swiftly to one of wariness.
Maybe he knew he'd gone too far. Krycek didn't reply, just continued to
look at him.
Mulder sat with his hands together, laid before him on the surface of the
table. He looked up at Krycek. "What do you want from me?"
"Not a damn thing," Krycek reassured him.
Mulder sighed through his nose and regarded his hands. Slowly, he answered,
"How about if I promise to stay put? That way you won't have to stay here
putting up with me. You could leave, knowing you have my word that I'd
remain until Smith arrives."
"Nope, sorry, Fox. You're stuck with me, as I am with you. I have the
responsibility of guarding the money...lucky me."
Mulder looked up and met his gaze, squarely. "Fine." He got up, pushing
the chair back, and stepped away, leaving the kitchen without a backward
glance. Krycek watched him go into the living room, sit down on the couch,
pick up the remote and start channel-flipping.
Krycek remained where he was, left with the pieces of their conversation as
he attempted to find out where he'd gone wrong. Then he cursed himself for
assuming he had done anything wrong in the first place. Mulder was
insufferable, it came down to that. It was that simple.
So why did he feel like shit? Why was he left with the uncomfortable
impression that he'd failed to meet Mulder's expectations?
Surely Mulder couldn't be so blithely certain of his own charms that he
expected Krycek to just fall over backwards at the suggestion of sleeping
with him, on a permanent basis no less, in exchange for his cooperation with
this? Because that was what it came down to, actually.
Krycek tried to swallow his anxiety, watching as Mulder continued to sit
before the television, flipping.
Why was he even considering Mulder's suggestion? And why was it so
disturbing? It wasn't that he was repulsed by the thought.
Mulder was admittedly attractive. Probably the most attractive man Krycek
had ever had the good fortune to meet. He wasn't just easy on the eyes; he
was superb.
But the past was too tangled and Mulder's own hatred of him had been too
outspoken and overstated over the years for him to just trust this sudden
change without any qualms.
What HAD changed? Somehow the whole born-again aspect didn't quite fit;
surely Mulder wouldn't have decided he was so hard up, so eagerly desperate
to get laid that he had to come on to Krycek, his arch-enemy?
Krycek pondered this. Sex was all very well; it didn't really signify that
big of a deal. It was the inherent emotional cost of such a relationship
that scared him. He realized he was afraid of how far he was willing to go
along with Mulder's idea because he actually, deeply, secretly wanted to,
and could explain it away to himself that he was doing it because Mulder
wanted it. Wanted him.
That hurt too: Mulder didn't like him, but he wanted him. His father's
killer, as Mulder was oh-so-fond of pointing out every damn time their paths
crossed.
Mulder was wrong, Krycek thought with a sudden bite of anger. He was indeed
suggesting Krycek whore himself—in order to keep Mulder interested.
Fucking bastard.
He should have seen this coming. All those times Mulder had hit him,
calling him names, keeping him in his place...It all added up in the end.
Mulder had a hard-on for him and was struggling with the moral dilemma it
presented. This was Mulder's bright idea of working it out? That they fuck
each other? Rather than fight?
As if Mulder was willing to stoop to his level in exchange for helping them
- merely out of gratitude for having saved his life. Again. And not even
because Mulder really understood the issues, or the risks or even the
sacrifices they had all made over the years, even Mulder's family; no—
instead it was for some idealistic notion Mulder couldn't relinquish. That
fucking Krycek would somehow both purge Mulder of the desire and any damage
to his conscience or morality, while at the same time purging Krycek of
evil.
Krycek decided he'd found himself a perfect living hell. Detaching from
where he stood by the counter, he went through the living room, passing
behind the couch where Mulder sat unmoving and staring at the TV, and shut
himself in his bedroom. With a sigh, he sat down on the bed and picked up
the cellphone.
He hadn't been exaggerating to Mulder about the work that needed to be done.
There were still arrangements to be made, contacts to massage, accounts to
transfer...
Krycek was relieved to have such a busy day ahead of him, to help him keep
his mind occupied with something other than thoughts of Mulder, and what it
would be like to kiss him. What it would be like to lick at those full
lips, or to have those same lips licking their way down from his navel to...
He shook himself and dialed the first number.
Mulder glowered at the television screen, barely acknowledging what it
presented. He was worried about his preoccupation with 'listening in' on
Krycek.
He couldn't stop doing it. It was becoming an addiction.
There was something so perfectly justified in continuing to do it, as Krycek
had lied to him for so long, so many times, even by omission, that he didn't
really feel any remorse about it.
He could also justify it to himself as necessary to practice and hone the
ability on the one available, external mind in his environment. It wasn't
like he was in a crowded place this time, having his mind squeezed and
warped with sharp pain and seizures as people's thoughts tumbled over him in
cacophony.
But he couldn't hide from himself. He knew it was precisely because it was
Krycek that it was alluring. The deep satisfaction of knowing that Krycek
could no longer hide anything from him, even his most secret fears and
desires.
He couldn't help hearing the man, in fact, and for a while Mulder tried to
tell himself that he had no choice, seeing as he and Krycek were stuck here
together, but to accept that he would keep finding himself assailed with
stray thoughts about him as Krycek conducted his affairs behind that closed
door.
Mulder squirmed in place on the couch, as slouched as he was, and tried to
explain away the thrill THAT gave him. Krycek couldn't stop thinking about
him. Not only was it a tremendous ego-boost, it was downright voyeuristic—
which titillated Mulder to no end. It was like getting free porn and secret
files downloaded from Krycek's life story all at the same time.
And it was too easy. It was effortless now.
He could even parallel process, keeping an eye on the news and listening to
Krycek's thoughts. He kept track of the calls Krycek made, drifting in a
half-doze as music videos and football scores paraded before him. And all
the while, there was that sweetly anxious thrill of nervous desire that kept
surfacing again and again as Krycek's mind flitted over the possibility of
having sex with him.
It was more than exciting, it was also oddly comforting, to know that he'd
managed to reach so far past Krycek's psychological defenses that Krycek
wasn't just radiating physical craving and curiosity but emotional longing
as well.
The one thing that made him loathe himself however was the knowledge that
Krycek had been right, after he'd left the kitchen. He was suggesting
substituting sex for their usual skirmishes, in exchange for his
cooperation. It wouldn't be fair, regardless of what Krycek had done to him
in the past. He couldn't actually stoop to that, whether Krycek deserved
that kind of treatment or not.
Mulder sighed. The problem was: the only way out of that particular dilemma
was if they did in fact become lovers instead, in an attempt to build a
working relationship since the hope of a real friendship was rather
compromised by the residual tension of the past. Mulder himself didn't have
a problem with it, to his own surprise. But he knew beyond the shadow of a
doubt that Krycek was terrified of that kind of commitment, particularly
with him.
How to get Krycek to trust him. How, how, how. He mused on it, mulling it
over in his mind as Krycek battled with his own inner demons, pulled this
way and that by practical concerns, resources, arrangements and arousal.
At that moment, a particularly bright, stark visual image flashed before him
from Krycek's inadvertent musings: Mulder, naked on that bed of his but this
time face-down, his arms up over his head almost in supplication, with
Krycek's hands on his ass, spreading him. Krycek gulped and tried to focus
on finishing the emails he was sending via the laptop he'd hooked up to the
modem connection in the bedroom.
Mulder swallowed. The provocation of seeing what Krycek wanted to do to him
was almost enough to send him in through the bedroom door. Only the
knowledge that they'd probably end up fighting was sufficient to keep him on
the couch.
Finally, Krycek stopped. The bedroom door opened and Mulder tensed,
carefully not looking up and over at him, keeping his attention on the TV.
Krycek let out a breath, standing there momentarily looking at him. He went
into the kitchen.
Mulder checked the time. It was nearly two pm.
Krycek's mood shifted; the flavor of his mind was now colored with a
different shade. He was suppressing the sexual reflections and was actually
more preoccupied with trying not to worry about Mulder's temper and current
state of mind. Mulder received an overwhelming surge of fear and adrenaline
from Krycek. Who was thinking that perhaps Mulder was really angry with him
and had retreated into a complete shell of indifference. Krycek was
simultaneously afraid, irate and concerned for him. As well as wanting him.
The power Mulder felt at this was delicious; it tasted so good...The energy
of it was hardly unpalatable. The mixture of Krycek's fear of him and
suppressed desire for him was a cocktail of unspeakably delightful pleasure.
It went way beyond illicit, perverted and forbidden. It was so wonderful
in fact, he didn't feel the slightest need to reassure Krycek.
That was when the warning bell went off in his head. He couldn't torment
Krycek and enjoy it. It was one thing to play cat and mouse with him, it
was another to feed off the fear. The narcissistic voyeur in him had to
admit that he was indeed addicted now to Krycek's mind, but he wasn't so far
gone that he got off on torturing him or causing him pain. It helped
somehow to also recognize that the only reason he'd beaten the man before
was out of the desperate need for something that made sense, some way of
getting hold of him.
Damn, Krycek was right. He DID have a hard-on for him, and always had.
Self-discovery was a wonderful thing. Now that he realized he really did
want Krycek, nothing was going to stand in his way.
He got to his feet, stretched, and went into the kitchen.
Krycek stood by the table with a bottle of Coke. A glass bottle, Mulder
noted. He preferred those himself. Krycek glanced up at him, giving away
nothing in his expression.
Mulder had to fight to remain impartial and unexpressive, himself. Because
the excitement was ramping up once more in Krycek at the simple fact that
Mulder was in the room with him.
An almost physical hum was singing in his blood and he felt his heart
beating faster. Or was it Krycek's?
Krycek was looking defiantly at him. Mulder gave him a small smile. "I'm
sorry. For, you know, before."
Krycek's brows climbed. "You're 'sorry'?"
"Yeah. I was an asshole, you were right." He sat down at the table and
rubbed his face, carefully avoiding touching the fading scars.
Krycek looked down but Mulder felt a corresponding flare of chagrin and
relief from Krycek at his words.
He continued, "I'm sorry I went back on my promise to you last night; that
I'd behave. I'm still catching up here, with all that's happened to me so
far, and everything I've missed. Not just since I've been gone either, but
all along."
Krycek seemed to accept this. "Sure. It's understandable, considering."
He stood up and took a breath. "I got us some microwave dinners. I figured
it would be easier. And faster."
Mulder got up. "Sounds good to me. Let's do lunch. Then I'd like to take
a walk. Get outside, find my bearings, check out the lay of the land."
Krycek didn't move to help, standing in indecision and chewing on his upper
lip.
Mulder got the impression that Krycek was wondering how much of what Mulder
had said was merely to placate him.
Mulder removed two boxes from the freezer and peered at the microwave times
for cooking. Absently, he said, "I mean it, Alex. You have my full
cooperation, no questions asked. The trust has to start somewhere. And I
already know you're on the level. It seems almost too easy: sit here with
you until they tell us when we're needed and keep myself out of trouble.
Boredom is probably our greatest enemy, at this point."
He looked up at him, and began tearing open one of the dinners. "Chicken a
la orange with wild rice. That good for you?"
Krycek let out a pent up breath. "Okay."
Mulder paused. "Okay for the chicken, or for the trust?"
"Both," Krycek said, tightlipped. Mulder could feel the caution and the
hope in him though.
Mulder returned to the microwave, putting the frozen meal into it and
setting it on high. He could feel Krycek's eyes burning a hole in the back
of his head. Turning around, he folded his arms and leaned against the
counter, in an unintentional mimicry of Krycek's stance against the counter
behind his side of the table.
With a lift of his chin, Mulder asked, "Everything alright? With your
contacts?"
Krycek flicked him a glance at this and then his eyes returned to the table.
"Yeah." He was afraid to look at Mulder at all except when he thought
Mulder was unaware of it, and he also wanted to know if Mulder was going to
drop the whole idea that they become lovers. Mulder picked this up from his
thoughts and realized Krycek was actually disappointed. He had to stifle a
grin at this.
Krycek jammed his hand in the pocket of his dark jeans in a self-conscious
gesture of trying to find somewhere to put it. He still didn't look at
Mulder.
Mulder knew he had to take pity on him. Noting the remaining time on the
microwave, Mulder said, "I shouldn't have suggested trading sex for my
trust. It wasn't worthy of what you're trying to accomplish, or of my own
self-respect. I want you to know that I retract it, completely, and I won't
dishonor either of us by doing that again. Hey," he added with a lift of
his shoulders, "I guess we have to learn as we go, you know? I'm sure we'll
get it right eventually." He smiled. And watched Krycek struggle to
restrain the bolt of disappointment and paradoxical appreciation at Mulder's
words.
The sensation was ruined in the next second though, as Mulder felt a flood
of regret and shame wash over him, emanating so keenly from Krycek that he
almost gasped. Krycek didn't believe he was worthy of Mulder's trust.
Krycek's repeatedly seesawing oscillations between indignant anger and
remorseful need were becoming painful.
And Krycek still wouldn't meet his eyes. He merely licked his lips and
muttered, "It wasn't what you said, it was the way you said it."
Mulder nodded. "Yeah, I get that. But that's precisely it, isn't it? My
intentions weren't exactly honorable. I have to say I didn't realize I had
gone too far, trying to pressure you into some kind of altercation or
ultimatum. It was hypocritical of me, after I'd already said it would be
good if we became involved as a way of clearing up this friction we have.
That's what happens when sex and love get confused along with friendship, I
guess."
Krycek glanced at him, frowning. Fuck, those eyelashes of his were long.
Mulder sought refuge in the microwave as it dinged to alert them it had
finished. Suddenly, he didn't want to feel Krycek's suffering anymore. In
fact, he wondered what it would take to make him smile.
He realized he was playing God, and felt a sensation of real shame himself,
at the way he was toying with Krycek's feelings.
From behind him, Krycek said, "Seeing as we don't have any of those things,
it's not really important, is it?"
Mulder knew Krycek was stating the obvious, and in a practical sense Krycek
was right. They didn't have sex, love or friendship and were both still
getting hung up on Krycek's anger and his own inability to accept Krycek's
equality.
He hissed at this realization, covering it with a show of shaking his
fingers as the heat burned them from the hot meal as he tore off the plastic
film.
Equality? With Krycek? Damn it. Mulder sighed. And shoved the other meal
into the microwave.
Turning back to face him, Mulder stated calmly, "I'd like all three. It's
not something I ever thought would be possible. Not for me. If we could
get along here, I'd see that as an improvement, and I'm willing to give it a
go. But I have to admit I'd want more. I already do."
This had the effect of paralyzing Krycek, who actually couldn't disguise his
shock. Blinking, he repeated, "Sex, love...and friendship."
"Actually, a friendship based on love, and to be lovers because we are
friends."
Krycek visibly swallowed, his eyes now looking everywhere but at Mulder. "I
can't see our relationship ever progressing to that level. There's too much
in the way. It's very optimistic of you but frankly, I don't think you're
capable of it and neither am I."
"You don't think I'm capable of being your friend?" Mulder inquired, gently.
Krycek hesitated, the imperceptible tremors in him visible to Mulder's sharp
eyes, in the tips of his fingers and in the way Krycek held his mouth, the
way he was breathing harder.
Mulder knew he had to tread carefully now. "I'll prove it to you."
Krycek relaxed. He met Mulder's eyes now. "Yeah?" Krycek's reply was
perfectly executed. He had found his feet once more.
Only Mulder could hear and see the silent shift within Krycek's mind: he had
crossed over into complete denial. Krycek thought Mulder was believing his
own bullshit and had totally forgotten that he had a tendency to eventually
swing back to hating him and treating him with suspicion and disgust.
Mulder's heart sank within him. He refused to acknowledge defeat. He gave
Krycek a wry, self-effacing smile. "Just give me some time. How much time
do you give me, to prove it to you?"
Krycek smiled back, the smile not even reaching anywhere close to his eyes,
a barest smile that let Mulder know he was humoring him. "Take as long as
you need."
As Krycek's gaze slid away from him this time, Mulder knew himself to be
dismissed. He absently tongued the inside of his left cheek, thoughtfully.
It was completely healed. That was a boon.
The microwave dinged again and Mulder jumped slightly. He wasn't the only
one. Krycek stiffened into alertness and stared at it, then at him, before
returning to stare at the table.
This was not going well. Mulder took down two plates and heaped the
contents of both meals onto them. Retrieving two forks, he laid it down for
them both and then went to the fridge. "You got beer," he remarked,
delighted. "D'you want one, as well?"
Krycek murmured, "Yeah, thanks." He slowly sat down at the table.
Mulder twisted the caps off both bottles and took his place at the table.
Sitting across from Krycek over the too-small table with the tension between
them, Mulder said, "Bon appetite."
He lifted his bottle in a slight toast, and raised it to his lips, noting
with satisfaction that he managed to not even look at Krycek while doing so.
He still got the hit from the mental awareness, too, of knowing and
feeling Krycek's eyes were watching him covertly before sliding away again.
But Krycek had noticed, and had watched the way Mulder's lips covered the
opening of the bottle...A little stab of arousal reached him from Krycek's
discomfited mind.
Krycek's eyes glittered. "Friends, huh?"
Mulder smiled at him and picked up his fork. "Yup."
"This'll be a change," Krycek noted, toying with the contents of his plate
with his loosely held fork.
Mulder munched on the chicken. "It's not bad, Alex—why don't you dig in?"
he suggested.
Krycek radiated a little wave of irritation towards him, but he didn't do or
say anything that might suggest he felt it.
Mulder swiftly changed his approach to counter it. With as sincere a tone
as he could muster, he asked, "Do you think I should go out alone? For my
walk? Or do you think you ought to accompany me...you know, for security
reasons?"
He knew damn well that he'd probably pick up the mental presence of anyone
else he encountered outside, but he was feeling the need to reach out to
Krycek now, to reassure him that he wasn't playing another game with him in
any attempt to trip him up or get him to let down his guard.
Krycek regarded him distantly. "I think you're fairly safe on your own. No
one knows where you are."
"Let me rephrase that, then. Will you walk with me?" Mulder asked, before
taking another bite of chicken.
Krycek lifted his eyes to meet his, and Mulder stopped chewing. "Friends—
or lovers?" Krycek asked, this time not taking his eyes away.
Mulder managed to swallow and had to take a swig of beer in a suddenly dry
mouth. Krycek was calling him out. He could sense it from the way Krycek
was waiting to see what Mulder would do, how he'd react.
"You choose. I'm happy with friends, but I'd prefer lovers," Mulder
answered evenly.
Finally Mulder managed to catch on to why Krycek wasn't eating. He felt too
self-conscious to. And had no intention of accompanying Mulder on any walk.
He not only doubted Mulder's ability to commit to anything, he doubted his
own.
Krycek took a long drink from his beer.
"Your food's getting cold," Mulder pointed out.
"Fuck," Krycek carefully said, "the food." And he took another drink. "And
fuck taking romantic walks together, too."
Mulder found himself chewing more slowly, and apprehensively scanned
Krycek's emotions.
Krycek was certain now that Mulder was jerking him around. He was disgusted
with his own neediness and his vulnerability to Mulder's unbelievable
suggestion of friendship. His bitterness was settling inside of him with
resignation and disillusionment. He was horrified that he'd actually gone
down this road with Mulder as long as he had, that he'd even started to buy
into the whole 'lovers' game Mulder was stringing him along. Krycek knew
there was no way in hell Mulder was authentically interested in him.
Time. Krycek needed time. Mulder continued eating. "Alright," he said,
quietly accepting this.
Krycek coldly regarded him. "And fuck you too, Mulder."
Mulder sat back, sucking in a breath. He put his fork down. "What is your
problem?"
"I should be asking you that, I think. Where the hell do YOU get off,
assuming I'm supposed to be overjoyed at the thought of getting screwed by
you? Am I supposed to feel honored that you'd lower yourself to my level?"
Krycek's tone was caustic, attempting to cover what Mulder could see quite
clearly was crushing disappointment now that Krycek had decided it was all a
game.
Mulder mildly answered, "I was thinking you'd be screwing me, actually. But
you're right, I guess it wouldn't really make sense, considering how things
are going. We can't make this work, can we?" He asked with a lilt of hope
in the words, hoping that Krycek would catch on.
Krycek made an exasperated noise. He met Mulder's eyes with a challenge in
his own, now. Mulder felt it penetrate right into him. "You want me to
fuck you, Mulder?" Krycek asked, in a deceptively quiet voice. "Hell,
whether we're friends or lovers is a bit redundant. If you really want me
to."
Mulder licked his lips, once, staring back at him. He noted how a tiny dart
of misgiving ran through Krycek, as Mulder didn't look away. "Only when you
want to, Alex. Only when you want it, too."
Krycek stiffened, taking it as a ploy on Mulder's part, to get Krycek to
trust him enough to admit he wanted it, then use it against him. Mulder
quickly added, "I just mean that I want it only if you want it, if that's
what we both want. I'm not gonna stop thinking about it, and I'm not sure I
can. But the offer is open, whenever you feel it's the right thing to do.
And before you go leaping to any more conclusions, no...I don't mean that
our friendship is contingent on it, either. I'm just saying that it's there
and it isn't going to go away. It's always been there. You and I...we've
always had this between us. Personally, I don't think that just fucking is
going to resolve it, either."
Krycek lifted his brows at him. "Oh? And what would you suggest?"
Mulder gave him a slow, warm smile. "Well, that's kind of why I thought we
could be lovers. So we could work it out over time, in both a friendly and
a sexy way."
Krycek matched his stare with admirable mettle. "I'm supposed to believe
that all is forgiven? After all these years?"
"You saved my life," Mulder pointed out, picking up his fork and eating
again. "So, yes."
Krycek thought this over with another long swig from the beer. "Okay, Fox.
I'll eat with you, and take walks with you, and even fuck you. Hell, I'll
even sleep with you and shower with you, if you want. We can be each other's
new best friends." The sarcasm was cutting.
Mulder's face was split with another smile. This time it took longer and he
didn't look away. "Good," Mulder said quietly. "I'm glad. Cheer up, Alex.
You might even enjoy it."
Krycek could have taken offense at this, imagining it was condescending, but
somehow it didn't seem worth it. He let it go. And began to eat instead.
Mulder seemed relieved. "What made you choose this location?" he asked,
obviously attempting to steer their discussion into safer waters.
"I didn't. Marita did."
"Marita Covarrubias?" Mulder sounded impressed.
Krycek sniffed and continued eating.
"Wasn't she an old flame of yours?" Mulder asked.
"What's it to you?" Krycek returned.
"She's fine," Mulder stressed in a tone of admiration. "I always thought
she had a very elegant air about her. You know, posh. Distinguished. You
have good taste."
"Mulder, I'm a sure thing. You don't have to try to flatter me."
"I wasn't. I meant it. You know, people called Scully the Ice Queen, but I
always thought that title should go to Marita. She's like a far-off
mountain peak, cold and beautiful and somehow out of reach. You know?"
Krycek snorted, remembering how Marita had screwed him over, so many times
in so many little ways. But he didn't say anything. He didn't want to
raise the whole issue of betrayal again. After all, Mulder would probably
make the correlation that Krycek had deserved it, for his own betrayal of
Mulder back when they were partners. God that had been so long ago. Krycek
felt a measure of wistfulness at the thought. He had been so clueless. He
sighed and shoveled rice and green beans down without really tasting them.
Mulder had finished eating and was near the bottom of the bottle. "I'm not
feeling this at all. I'm going to have another."
"You might want to take it easy on that stuff. You don't know how it will
affect you," Krycek reminded him, concern rising as he remembered Mulder's
recent condition had only changed overnight. They still had no idea whether
Mulder was completely recovered. Those wounds on his abdomen had been
nasty.
Mulder shook his head. "It's okay. I think I'm still regenerating. My
metabolism is way up. I can feel it. I think I could handle a six-pack
without any trouble."
Krycek continued eating. Soon he was clearing the plate. Mulder said from
the direction of the fridge, "Do you want another? Not that I'm suggesting
you keep up, or anything."
"Sure, why not?" As Mulder came forward with the opened bottle, he realized
Mulder must've done it for him again, knowing that he found it harder to
open them with his one hand. He accepted the bottle from Mulder with a
flush of embarrassment. He hadn't let it bother him much, and hadn't even
let himself think of his missing arm at all even here with Mulder, alone...
But now, he found it bugged him. The thought of their imminent, intimate
union brought up a number of painful, difficult issues.
"Let's leave the dishes in the sink. And go for that walk," Mulder
suggested.
Krycek got up, placed both plates in the sink and followed Mulder out into
the living room with his beer. Together, they put on their jackets, Krycek
providing a spare one for Mulder, and they walked outside.
The sun was bright, obscured by sheets of high white clouds. Surveying
their surroundings, Mulder remarked, "We're not exactly in the middle of
nowhere, you know. You mentioned Bear Butte, and that's the equivalent of
the Plains Indians' Mecca. It's like their church. Many of the tribes
consider it their spiritual center."
"Well, we're also in hiker's paradise, so you have plenty of space to run,"
Krycek pointed out as they moved away from the house.
"This place must be one of the old Syndicate's vacation homes, yeah?"
"Something like that," agreed Krycek.
Their boots were crunching on the icy gravel of the driveway as they made
their way down the dirt road. The pine trees soon gave way to a wonderful
view that stretched out across flat, grassy plains with distant snow-covered
mountains on the horizon.
The wind rose however, burning the exposed areas of skin on his neck and
face, and especially his ears. He hunkered down into his jacket as best he
could and glanced at Mulder, who didn't seem to be feeling the cold at all.
Concern rose up and he asked, "We'd better take it easy. It's your first
day up and about."
"Don't worry, Alex. I'm fine." Mulder's cheer didn't dispel his doubts.
Mulder took a long sip from his beer.
"You were dead for a long time. The only thing keeping you preserved was
the virus," he reminded.
Mulder gave him a sly, little smile as they left the house behind. "I feel
better than I have in years."
He looked better, too, Krycek thought with an admiring sideways glance at
Mulder. With the fresh outdoors surrounding them and the sun shining on his
hair, the cold bringing some pink into his face, Mulder was-
Beautiful. Alive.
Krycek abruptly felt his jeans were too constricting and confining.
Mulder halted and Krycek had to take a step back. "What is it?" Krycek
finally asked.
"Why did you leave?" Mulder's voice sounded plaintive in spite of his
efforts to mask it with a tone of wounded accusation.
Krycek stared back at him. "What? When?"
"In the beginning. When we were partners. I found the cigarette butts in
the ashtray of your car. You weren't a smoker and they were Morleys. It
was like a kick in the teeth."
Krycek flushed. "OPC ordered both of us to take that lie detector test,
Mulder. Come on. That whole Duane Barry debacle; the Smoker knew there was
no way my story was going to pass. No matter how good I might have been at
lying through my teeth, which did get kicked I have to add, there wasn't any
way you were going to fail it. It would be yours against mine when my story
failed. So he pulled me out. The cigarettes in the car were irrelevant
because I was already compromised. And while we're at it, why don't you
reassess your assumptions about Duane Barry, again. Yes, I did as I was
told. Yes, I gave him Scully's address. But damn it, Mulder. You have a
problem reining in your temper. You attacked the guy. He WAS gagging when
I went in there. There were two operatives there to cover the operation
that you nearly got yourself killed for." Krycek was angry now. "I didn't
kill him. And frankly, I'm tired of you constantly hammering me about my
sins every single goddamn time we meet!"
Mulder was staring down at the ground but when he lifted his eyes, his
expression revealed an unusual mischievousness. "Kiss me," he said.
All the reasons that it was such a bad idea were shoved aside by the impulse
to do just that and with an inward shrug, Krycek stepped close to him and
leaned in to place his lips to Mulder's. So Mulder wanted it this way?
With them arguing? With Krycek all heated up? What, did Mulder think that
the only way they could do this was if they were fight...fighting...Oh.
Cold, sweet and ripe...Mulder tasted of beer and warmth even as his lips
were cold from the wind. He wanted to grab Mulder and bend him over with
the force of the real thing but it was shockingly easy and comfortable
enough just to make do with this barest touch of their mouths together.
It was Mulder who reached up a hand to Krycek's neck. Mulder parted his
lips, letting his tongue lick lightly against Krycek's mouth. Krycek almost
whimpered. A quiver of excitement went through him, all the way down. It
pooled in his belly and clenched inside him. Krycek found his eyes closing
as Mulder's other arm went around him and he couldn't help relaxing against
him. He nearly dropped the bottle of beer.
He was so fucked. It was true. He'd always known Mulder was special to
him, but he hadn't realized just how much. He'd never dared to think about
it. The anticipation and the desire were joined now with dread and doubt in
the pit of his stomach.
Mulder pulled away, searching his eyes. "I want this; I want you."
'I Want To Believe'...Mulder's famous office slogan on that poster in the
basement flared briefly in Krycek's mind's eye. Wryly, he decided against
saying anything. Just leaned forward once more to capture Mulder's lips
again.
Oh, God, yes. It wasn't enough, this single taste. He was going to need
more. A lot more. He pulled back, clearing his throat. "Are you sure
you're up to it? What about your scars?"
With a half-smile, Mulder lifted his shirt beneath the jacket. "See? All
clear."
Startled at how fast the scars had become just thin white traces, Krycek
stared. Then he realized Mulder was showing him his belly, and he couldn't
help admiring Mulder's body, the way the gooseflesh on his skin rose in the
cold.
Mulder let the shirt drop and said, "Maybe we can skip the walk and get
right down to business." He turned away to regard the view and took a long
swig from his beer.
Krycek took the opportunity to do the same, using the moment to try to
collect the pieces of his mind back from where they'd been shattered by that
single taste of Mulder's lips. That tongue. He shivered. Mulder was
right. After all, why not seize the moment? Grab what life was offering?
It was all he'd ever have, anyway. Live in the now. Or was it the Tao?
Who cared. At least he'd have this, when the shit hit the fan. At least
he'd have this beautiful, brilliant memory to hold onto in dark days and
nights ahead. At least he'd have the knowledge that he'd touched him, had
actually held Mulder and not in some parody of feeling during a scrap or
with Mulder hitting him, reviling him...At least he'd have him.
Krycek was starting to see that it was worth any cost to his pride,
reputation or self-esteem. Whatever Mulder might think of him afterwards,
he'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing that he'd tried.
Mulder looked thoughtful as they began to walk back up to the house.
Yet, Krycek couldn't help wondering, "What about Scully?"
Mulder stopped in surprise. "What about her?" He stared back at Krycek,
peering into his eyes. Krycek had to force himself to not flinch or look
away from the suddenly penetrating gaze. "I thought we covered this last
night. You seem to have a misconception about how close we were. She was
always telling me I was wrong, but for all her religious beliefs and
scientific principles she could never prove it. Neither her science nor her
religion could ever explain or discount the phenomena we investigated as a
matter of course for nearly a decade. We usually ended up with more
questions than answers, to be honest. I'd say that speaks for itself. Yes,
we were close. Yes, we placed ourselves in great jeopardy for each other.
It doesn't mean we were joined at the hip, as you seem to be inferring."
Krycek licked his lips, distracted by the way Mulder's face lit up with that
steady, inner fire when he discussed that aforesaid phenomena. For all the
droll, drier than brushwood, laconic attitude Mulder affected, he was still
so crazy and gorgeous when he got all passionate about the X-Files.
Mulder abruptly grinned at him and leaned over to kiss him again. Krycek
sighed against his mouth this time, and relished the feel of those full lips
on his. Right. The past be damned; this time was his. He was going to
seize this chance with Mulder and the rest of the world could go to hell.
It already was, anyway. It could all go to hell while this conflagration
burned away the past between them. He could feel his heart pounding as the
kiss went on... and on. He began to feel lightheaded.
When they parted, Krycek noticed that Mulder wore a slightly smug expression
and he couldn't help wondering why. But Mulder merely accompanied him back
up the driveway.
Neither of them spoke, it was almost as if they had a tacit agreement to see
it through now. They were committed, whatever the outcome.
Krycek tried to shake the nagging feeling that he wasn't going to be able to
let go when the time came, however.
Oh, Krycek was SO his. Mulder couldn't stop the sensation of glee from
showing in his expression and he knew Krycek had seen it. But at this point
he didn't give a damn. No more games. No more fighting. No more lies.
Mulder had the extremely comforting idea that everything had been leading up
to this point, where their mutual paths converged at this out-of-the-way
juncture. It was a fait accompli.
He opened the door and let Krycek precede him back inside, then went in and
locked it behind them. Krycek was pulling off his jacket and boots. Mulder
did likewise, noting that now that they'd come back inside, Krycek's tension
was mounting along with his anticipation. This whole telepathy thing was
coming in enormously useful, so far.
"Don't worry, Alex. I'm not going to back out of this. Not now, and not
later, either." He meant it to reassure Krycek, but Krycek merely
straightened and looked at him with slightly disguised surprise.
Krycek didn't reply, just breathed in and then let his breath out again
without any idea of what to say.
Mulder nodded and stepped in close to him again. Putting his arms around
his waist, he pulled Krycek into an embrace and let his chin rest over
Krycek's right shoulder. "It's about time, don't you think?" he murmured.
Krycek's low voice vibrated through him, both in his mind and throughout his
body as they stood pressed to each other. "Yeah. I guess we always were
moving towards this, weren't we?"
But Mulder could tell Krycek was only trying to fill the silences and answer
him, as rhetorical as this self-conscious reply was.
He couldn't help a smile. It was a revelation for him to realize that now
he had the power to hurt Krycek, he had absolutely no desire to do so. And
had the wonderful task of proving that to him.
With a squeeze to punctuate his words, he murmured, "Let's go to your room."
Krycek stepped back, not letting his hand fall from where it rested on
Mulder's hip. "Actually, your bed is queen-sized. Mine's just a double.
Yours is better. For this."
The arousal and tension was mounting in Krycek so keenly that Mulder almost
gasped. "Let's go then," he said, urgently.
By the time they made it into Mulder's bedroom and began stripping off their
clothes, Mulder had entered that no-man's-land of timelessness from the
combination of his own feelings plus Krycek's, where everything was frozen
in place except for the two of them, wanting each other, and the buzzing,
humming heat between them that seemed to indicate that they should touch
each other as soon as possible. Mulder HAD to have him. Now.
Krycek was naked, and was climbing between the sheets of the bed from the
other side. Mulder licked dry lips and hungrily regarded him.
As Mulder stared at him, Krycek asked self-consciously, "What do you want to
do?"
"Everything," Mulder replied, distractedly. "I want to touch you. And lick
you all over. I want to taste every inch of you. I want to know that
you're mine. Completely mine."
Krycek's eyes narrowed and he said, "I didn't bring lube. But there's a
bottle of lotion in the bathroom, for dry skin. It'll do."
Mulder promptly wheeled around and went to the bathroom, ignoring the cold
as it seeped into his feet and ankles, rising up his calves. He located the
lotion and returned to the bedroom. Sliding between the covers with the
bottle, he pushed it up under the pillow. He was so hard now that it almost
hurt.
Krycek was turned on his left side, his prosthetic off and his stump hidden
against the bed. He was worried about what Mulder might say.
Mulder shook his head briefly. "It's alright. It doesn't bother me, if it
doesn't bother you."
Krycek considered this and answered, "Fine. Look, Fox, you don't have to do
this if-"
Mulder cut him short by leaning over quickly and kissing him hard on the
mouth. With wet licks of Krycek's delectable lips, he managed, "I want this
and I want you. Let me have this." He moved against Krycek, letting
himself enjoy the sensation of Krycek's body against his own.
Krycek actually relaxed into him. Relieved, Mulder took the opportunity to
kiss him longer this time, deeper, slower, enjoying Krycek's mouth, the hot
tongue that met his with liquid softness. Oh God, the thought of that
tongue on his cock...
His erection gave a twitch at this. He wanted to sixty-nine with Krycek.
And he wanted a blow-job, too. But there was plenty of time. They had
days, if not weeks, to try it all, to get to know each other intimately. He
smiled against Krycek's mouth and then let his mouth move down Krycek's
chin, to his neck, sucking and laving with his tongue at the flesh there.
Krycek shivered involuntarily at it.
Mulder pushed slowly against him, until Krycek lay on his back with Mulder
on top of him. Unable to help himself, Mulder thrust slowly against
Krycek's upper leg, letting his stiff cock slide against Krycek's body. In
fact, he couldn't help repeating it, with an undulating motion. It felt so
natural and so good to do this. To be here with him.
And then he opened his mind to what Krycek was thinking and feeling,
allowing the pleasure and the tension inside Krycek to wash over him.
Krycek could barely contain himself. He wanted to move also, to touch
Mulder, but he also didn't want to stop Mulder from dictating the pace and
the moves.
The warmth and fragrance of Krycek's skin was unbearably delicious. He ran
his hands over him, up and down, caressing admiringly with the knowledge
that Krycek was his, HIS! He felt almost like a cat with his prey. And
grinned down at Krycek, who met his eyes.
Krycek was wondering about performance, and the act of sex itself. He was
wound so tightly inside, worrying about whether Mulder would be able to
enjoy it...
He shook his head a little and whispered, "Don't worry, Alex. Stop
worrying. You can trust me. I'll prove it to you."
And to emphasize his words, Mulder rose up on his knees and began to kiss a
slow trail from Krycek's chest to his belly, and down to his dark curls of
hair where his cock jutted towards Mulder. Krycek's hand reached up quickly
to grab at the pillow, his fist clenching around his handful as he sucked in
a breath.
Mulder was surprised to find that the whole 'gay' thing didn't bother him in
the slightest. In fact, if anything, he felt he knew this territory
already, seeing as Krycek was a man. He realized it must be true, that two
lovers of the same sex had the advantage of knowing what the other would
like, as opposed to fumbling in the dark when it came to the specifics of
het exploration and the extraordinary differences of what women liked.
He was already addicted to Krycek's presence and his mind and feelings; now
he was addicted to his body as well. The smell of Krycek's arousal and the
effortlessness with which he was able to coax responses from Krycek's body
with the mere touch of his hands upon him was wrapping him up in a
dream-like bliss.
Mulder wanted to stay here forever like this, just the two of them.
Finally, retirement was paying off. Scooting down further, he licked at the
head of Krycek's cock, rewarded with a healthy, open-mouthed and incoherent
moan.
The pleasure of it was satisfying, but Mulder was shocked to feel it
himself, through Krycek, almost as if he had licked himself. It was almost
disorienting.
He did it again and decided that it was most unusual but definitely not
something to pass up: the opportunity to experience not just this first
taste of Krycek's cock but also the sensation of blowing himself—it was
indescribably awesome. This was turning out to be a day of firsts.
As Mulder took Krycek's cock into his mouth, licking and sucking, Krycek
tried to stall the writhing movements his body nearly made. Mulder felt his
own muscles spasm in sympathy.
Krycek was making a keening sound, not even bothering to try to say
anything.
Mulder decided he liked doing this to Krycek, and that it was better than
sunflower seeds any day of the week.
When he had sucked on Krycek for a while, he lifted his head and looked up,
letting his hands rest on Krycek's hips. "I want to fuck you. Are you
alright with that?"
Krycek was speechless and breathing hard, staring back at him. Krycek's
mind was whirling. "Uh, yeah. Sure." Then he frowned, wondering if Mulder
knew what he was doing. Doubt and sudden fear shot through him and Mulder
smiled at him.
"Hey, it's okay. I'll go easy."
"You better," Krycek warned, his mind filling with memories from past times
with other male lovers who hadn't really known what they were doing.
"You're not exactly small."
Reaching up for the bottle of lotion, he opened it and squirted a small
amount onto his cock, sitting up and allowing the covers to slide away.
Krycek was shivering both from cold and heated suspense. Licking his lips,
Krycek suggested, "Let me turn over."
Moving out of his way, Mulder let him roll over onto his stomach. Pulling
the covers back up over them, he then covered Krycek with his own body,
taking up position over his back, allowing his ample cock to rest against
the crack of Krycek's ass. Leaning on his left elbow, he maneuvered the tip
of his cock against Krycek's asshole. Krycek spread his legs farther apart.
"Do I need to stretch you first?" he asked, wondering when the last time was
that Krycek had done this.
Krycek considered this. "Well, just go slow. Very slow. I mean, at first.
Okay?"
Mulder reached down a hand to caress from Krycek's waist all the way down to
his thigh, then back up to his firm buttock. "I want to touch you," he
whispered. He really was enjoying the delight he found in touching him, the
beauty of the sensation and the power of it, the possession. The act of sex
itself was almost secondary to the heady combination of Krycek's feelings
and mental thoughts, his own enjoyment of this act with Krycek, and the
release of it between them.
Krycek closed his eyes and Mulder could feel the longing and the happiness
at the pleasure of Mulder touching him. Mulder loved feeling the thrill of
the dark, sweet desire that ran through Krycek as his finger slowly
penetrated him.
And the sensation of Krycek's ass—the silky heat of him inside, the
wonderful clutching around his finger, it made him crazy and he wanted to
just keep touching him like this, eliciting the most astonishing range of
sounds from Krycek.
But despite the pleasure of it, he could still feel a lingering fear in
Krycek, at how it might hurt when Mulder finally took him. He pressed his
lips to Krycek's smooth back. "I won't hurt you," he assured him.
Krycek relaxed further, even allowing his ass muscles to slacken slightly
around Mulder's finger. Mulder pulled it out, loving the way Krycek enjoyed
his touch, wordlessly. With a secretive grin behind Krycek, unseen, Mulder
wickedly began to encircle his fingertip around Krycek's opening. He loved
the sensation that tumbled through Krycek because of it: a beautiful
pleasure of combined sweetness and excitement.
Krycek had apparently always loved Mulder's hands, his long fingers, and had
tried never to look at them too long, both afraid of what Mulder would say
if he noticed, and what it actually meant that he liked looking so much.
But then, Krycek had always had to stifle his admiration of Mulder...
Mulder realized Krycek was waiting now, too. He wanted to feel Mulder
inside him. All the way.
He was ready, Mulder decided. Mulder still felt a little fumbling and
awkward as he managed to press the head of his cock against Krycek's waiting
hole once more. But this time, the lips of Krycek's anus seemed to open
slightly around the head of his cock, flaring invitingly around him, and he
let the momentum of that willing ass suck him into Krycek's body at least an
inch.
He stopped, feeling the burn of it even as Krycek did. Krycek tensed under
him. The sensation of fucking and being fucked simultaneously made his own
ass clench with the oddness of it, but he couldn't help trembling slightly
as he knew he was so committed to this it was a foregone conclusion.
Fantasies and ideas rocked him. He wanted to try this in every single way
imaginable: being fucked by Krycek while feeling Krycek fuck him, and the
idea of a double sixty-nine, it was like imagining a feedback loop, a closed
circuit of shared pleasure... There wasn't even any room to feel bad about
keeping his ability to read Krycek from him, so privately and intimately.
He waited until Krycek moved against him, and actually took half an inch
more of Mulder inside of himself.
"More?" he inquired, gently. He was a bit staggered at how lucid he was
able to remain here, in spite of how his mind was flooded with sexual need
and even desperation to push into Krycek all the way.
Krycek nodded, obviously not trusting himself to speak. Mulder could hear
his silent inner voice wanting to beg for more.
Mulder felt like he was a child on Christmas morning; handed all these new
toys and presents, all at the same time. Gee; telepathy, Krycek's heart on
a platter, the use of his body for sexual explorations and a wonderfully
intimate emotional bond, all at once? Who knew? Getting abducted and then
resurrected was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Mulder leaned down now to rest his full weight against Krycek, enjoying
holding him down against the bed, resting upon him. Spooned, they were
joined in so many ways, more ways than he could even share with Krycek.
The completeness of it was abruptly overwhelming and he was able to stave
off the immediate desire for fast action and wild fucking in lieu of
exploring this amazing discovery. He felt whole at last, and it wasn't a
cliche. Keeping a careful hold on his examination of Krycek's progress
through this, and his own handle on the situation, he allowed his cock to
slide deeper into the tight, hot depths surrounding it.
The swift pleasure that Krycek felt was almost blinding when felt in
parallel with his own sensations at this, and Mulder groaned aloud in spite
of himself.
He began a slow, rising and falling rhythm to carry him against Krycek's
body, with his hips, not pulling out of Krycek's ass at all but just
pressing hard into him with each thrust. It ended up carrying him all the
way into him, up to the hilt, pressed into Krycek all the way to his balls.
His cock was lodged so deep inside now that their balls were pressed
together, and he sighed, allowing himself to relax against Krycek's back
where he lay draped over him, tucked in close.
Krycek was feeling lightheaded and surreal, afraid to speak lest he break
some kind of spell that seemed to lay over them. Mulder could relate; he
was feeling rather out of it, himself. At this point, he wasn't even sure
he DID feel it, and that he wasn't just confusing his own senses with
Krycek's.
But there was that building urgency within both of them that urged him to
move a little harder now, against Krycek.
With a stronger surge into him, Krycek gasped aloud, the sound taking them
both by surprise as Mulder held onto his upper arms for leverage and
repeated it. It hadn't been a fluke, for Krycek moaned this time; the noise
was forced from him as Mulder's cock slid so far and deep, so hard into him.
Krycek was trying to not whimper under him, desperate entreaties, but his
mind was filled with the pleas: need you, want you! Do it to me. Hard. Now!
Krycek was nearly shaking under him with the need to come, but he was afraid
to ask Mulder to stop and reposition them both. Mulder decided to try a
little experiment. He opened a tiny portion of his mind up to Krycek and
experimentally tried to 'send' a tendril of feeling back to him, the part of
him that identified with the sexual pleasure and affectionate satisfaction
Mulder felt for him.
Sure enough, Krycek felt it. And assumed it was his own.
Wow. He could send 'feelings' and 'thoughts' and Krycek wouldn't even know
they didn't belong to him originally? The ethics of this strange situation
eluded him for the moment and he decided to figure it out later. He
concentrated instead on sharing the pleasure between them, allowing Krycek
to feel the extremely fulfilling surges of sensation from his own rising
lust and enjoyment.
He began to drive harder into Krycek now, letting this oddly orchestrated
union carry to a higher conclusion. Krycek was panting under him, trying to
let himself just give up to the beauty of the moment. But there was a small
jarring note of dissonance in Krycek's mind that tainted the experience for
Mulder.
He was loving it too much. Krycek liked it so much that he was afraid that
it had ruined his ability to think rationally where either he or Mulder were
concerned. His judgment was impaired beyond belief because of this.
Mulder had to reassure him somehow. Kissing him again, Mulder said quietly,
with gentler thrusts into him, "You're mine, Alex. You're mine, now. I
won't let you go this time. You don't have to worry about the future. Just
let it all go. Let yourself go with me. And trust me. I want this, I want
you."
And he decided to let Krycek feel all the silent, unstated acceptance,
forgiveness and affection that he felt towards him in this moment.
Confused, Krycek's mind didn't know how to interpret this sudden influx of
emotional sensation, didn't know where it was coming from, and translated it
finally as relief and happiness. He relaxed completely and his body jumped
into overdrive because of the twin stimulation he was receiving of both
Mulder's cock inside his body and the feelings Mulder was experiencing of
being embedded in him.
Krycek was so happy, feeling so fortunate even to have this small, single
taste of being with him, that it nearly brought tears to Mulder's eyes. He
knew Krycek would never complain, would try to keep it from him, both for
the preservation of his own dignity and to not burden Mulder with it. But
Krycek wanted him for good. Hoped that he'd meant it. And the early, mild
discomfort of entry had still been exciting for Krycek, even as it gave way
to the totally mind-blowing joy of having him, MULDER himself, Fox Mulder
coring him out with that beautiful, big dick... Completing him, owning him,
taking him...Fucking him... oh God, Fox, please... yeah...FUCK, yes...
Mulder gasped at this, making shorter thrusts now that didn't lessen the
intensity but increased it for both of them. Shit, it was far too easy,
fucking Krycek. He was going to have to do it often. Regularly. He
promised himself that he would.
Krycek was feeling so full and stretched that he finally did let himself go,
giving himself up to whatever Mulder wanted to do to him. The inherent
surrender wasn't just physical; for Mulder, he felt the resonance of all the
little accompanying emotional and mental sensations that Krycek felt along
with it, and he moaned loudly, almost in pain at how good it was, so
delicious, to feel Krycek—not his body, or mind, or feelings...but all of
him.
Shooting spikes of shared pleasure shafted them both as Mulder felt their
combined bodily reactions to the raw, sexually charged animal need to just
fuck, over and over and over...
The pressure started to build so fast that it was startling and Mulder
couldn't stop it even if he'd known how.
All the tension between them, all the heat and mutual lust that they'd both
tried to desperately suppress both with each other and in themselves, began
to erupt, bubbling and boiling up through the one outlet they'd avoided all
these years through violence: ecstasy. Krycek's strangled cries were
healing to hear, even as he felt Krycek emit them, felt them both from
within the man's mind and from the body he was resting upon.
Shared ecstasy like lightening and rivulets of electric pleasure were
shooting and swimming through their bloodstreams and Mulder didn't know
where he ended or Krycek began... what body was whose anymore, or who was
thinking what. It all merged into some weird-ass, amazing explosion.
Mulder's brain stem was frying, and the endorphins were leaping and
cavorting wildly throughout them both as he felt Krycek start to shudder and
come under him, helpless against the tide of this strange, white peak.
Mulder found he was emptying himself into Krycek with disjointed cries, his
body pounding into Krycek's against his volition at this point, and even
before he could register that he was about to, he found he was coming, he
was so lost in Krycek's climax and the way it had triggered his own.
It was overload. Overload so intense he nearly whited out entirely,
desperately crying out hoarsely as he shoved a few more helpless times into
Krycek's peaked out body.
Sweat covered them, and Mulder found himself panting as he drooped over
Krycek.
Krycek was out, his mind and body both so satiated that he didn't care to
move or speak. It was all he could do to remember to breathe.
And Krycek was happy; that much Mulder could tell from the link that he
still hadn't severed. In fact, now that it was there, he didn't much want
to break it at all.
With a sad lump in his throat, Mulder realized that he was so addicted to it
in fact that he couldn't bear to try. He didn't want to have to initiate
some half-hearted attempt to explain what was happening, but he also
couldn't bring himself to stop. This connection to Krycek's mind and heart,
his inner being... It was too good.
He felt the first real stirrings of fear and misgiving at this.
Krycek had thought he was fucked... and in fucking Krycek now Mulder knew
that it was really him. HE was the one who was fucked, and so completely it
wasn't funny. He was as reluctant to break the mental bond between them he
still felt, as he was reluctant to actually pull out of Krycek and move away
from him physically.
It was a horribly apropos catch-22: if he told Krycek, he ran the risk of
losing the very thing he wanted; but if he didn't tell him, he ran the risk
of Krycek discovering, by whatever means, and he'd lose him anyway. And all
the combined weight of all the times he'd hit Krycek before suddenly came
caving in and crashing down around him inside his head. THIS was what he'd
always wanted; this was what they'd tried to keep away.
Fuck. Maybe Krycek was right. How could this last? For either of them?
He really was fucked. They both were. At least it felt good while it
happened. He hadn't lied. He really was committed now.
Mulder didn't seem to be wanting to move anytime soon. This suited Krycek
just fine. He wanted to lie there, pressed to the bed under Mulder, impaled
and satisfied after one of the most outrageous orgasms he'd ever
experienced. Sure, every orgasm was always a religious experience; some
were better than others and there were always positions to consider;
fantasies and specific places and people flitted to the forefront of his
mind. But it was almost a cliche or something; that this would be the best
sex he'd ever had. And with Mulder, of all people, who'd hated him for so
long. One moment he'd been needing Mulder's hand on his cock and the next
he'd been assailed with pleasure so intense he almost found it painful. He
couldn't remember ever having come so hard with another person. Maybe ever.
He took a breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the lassitude of the
afterglow as it still sang inside of him. He just wanted it to last. He
hoped Mulder did too. He wondered if Mulder had any idea how unsound and
ridiculous their situation was. It was bound to be tested and challenged by
the vicissitudes of life and the world, later on. It was so new.
Mulder's rumbling voice was loud in his ears and so completely unexpected
that he jumped. "Alex, I don't hate you. I think I stopped hating you a
while ago. Years, I mean. But I just want you to know that just because we
had great sex just now, and I mean really great sex, I'm not gonna up and
leave and act like it didn't happen." With another one of those melting
kisses against the back of his neck, Mulder continued in a dreamy, relaxed
tone, "I think I've had feelings for you for a long time. Maybe from the
beginning. Maybe that was why it hurt so badly, at first. I think- that's
why I used to hit you. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but..."
"Actually, it does. Come to think of it, it's been right in front of us all
along," Krycek interrupted, introspective at first and then finding himself
faintly amused at the irony. He HAD noticed, except he couldn't afford to
ever allow himself the time or the space to really think about it properly.
Especially not with so much at stake.
And then he felt a corresponding sinking sensation follow on the heels of
what he'd agreed here with Mulder, both in doing this and in acknowledging
what they'd been avoiding. This...relationship. He swallowed in a dry
mouth, suddenly feeling overfull, in spite of the fact that Mulder's prick
was already softer inside him. All the reasons why this was SUCH a bad idea
were starting to holler inside his head.
Mulder began to talk again. "I want this. I meant what I said. I mean it,
Alex. I need this. I need you," he ended, in a softer and what sounded
like a pleading tone.
Jesus. Miracles will never cease, Krycek thought to himself. Mulder
begging? Mulder wanting this? Wanting him? Needing him? He almost felt
trapped by the panic that resulted from believing it in the aftermath of
their shared orgasm and first-time of having sex with each other.
But Mulder didn't move except to tighten his hold on him and kiss him again,
lingeringly. "Want you, Alex."
And the quiet way he said it seemed to remove some of the fear and doubt.
Krycek suspected that they really had gone too far to go back, this time.
And a rising, swift opportunistic part of him gloated in the fact that he'd
got him, he'd got Fox Mulder. Oh, yeah. So good. It was so special. Even
Dana Scully hadn't got him. Krycek couldn't help the juvenile, smug
satisfaction rising at this realization and he smiled where his face lay
turned to the right, enjoying the way Mulder was getting all possessive and
needy. This was going a long way in healing some of the pain he'd always
felt around Mulder.
Maybe he could return the favor. After all, Mulder sounded a little
uncertain about what Krycek wanted. He cleared his throat. "I want you,
too, Fox." He found he was a little horrified at himself for actually
declaring this. It was a little too easy.
He heard and felt Mulder bite back a reply and he almost laughed out loud as
he realized Mulder was about to correct him for using his first name.
Dryly, he added, "I can't believe this is really real. You and me. You
gotta admit, this is way out there."
Mulder chuckled against him. "You don't know the half of it."
Krycek frowned, not knowing what the hell Mulder meant. "So, I guess this
means we're partners, now. In every sense of the word."
"More than you'll ever know," Mulder said, in a voice that seemed to hold
much promise and even a hint of secrets.
Krycek began to wonder. "What are you planning?"
"Planning?" Mulder asked with an air of innocence.
"Whatever it is, I don't want to move," Krycek replied, content for the
moment to let it go.
"You don't have to," Mulder assured him with another of those lovely kisses.
He loved the sensation of Mulder's full, warm lips on him. Obligingly,
more kisses moved over his neck, as Mulder crept slightly upwards upon him,
to kiss his cheek.
"I didn't know how much I wanted this," Krycek started, not knowing how to
express what he was feeling.
"You don't have to explain. I feel it too," Mulder said, with a kiss on his
ear.
Krycek decided to let himself trust Mulder, against all his instincts and
ingrained judgment of the combined danger of their circumstances, of the
surreality of it all. He decided instead to do as Mulder had suggested,
just let go and be. Be here with him. With Mulder. Where the two of them
could simply...love.
That was it! Love. Jesus, what a concept. He almost laughed crazily at it.
He and Mulder...loving each other. It was nuts. But it was true. He knew
now he'd always loved him. He'd just been so convinced it couldn't happen.
And that he'd never have a hope in hell.
Mulder was holding him close and smiling against him; he could feel it where
Mulder's cheek was pressed against his own.
"You're mine, Alex," Mulder informed him again, smiling still, in a fond
voice.
"Sure. The past is gone. Dead." Krycek hoped the flippant tone he'd taken
wouldn't be received in the wrong way.
But Mulder just chuckled against him and sighed, lazily. "We should
probably both wear shades. For that bright future that awaits."
Krycek smirked. "So here we are, in a love nest."
"Ours not to reason why," Mulder pointed out. "I'm seriously starting to
believe in fate and destiny, here."
Krycek began to wonder if they really had a hope in hell of making this
work. He wanted it to. There were so many reasons he personally had to
still harbor a grudge against Mulder, to not trust this, not trust him. But
he wanted to. It would be so much simpler. And cut through so much pain.
Mulder said, "Just go with it. And remember, what's mine is yours."
"Great. Your ass is mine," Krycek murmured, already feeling the drifting of
sleep tiptoeing over him.
"As well as the rest of me," Mulder promised him, pulling the covers up over
them. And then, out of the blue, Mulder added, "I do love you, you know."
"Love you, too, Fox," Krycek said, wondering how easy it still was to say
it. He liked saying it. He was looking forward to being able to say it
again. When he woke up.
As he yawned and began to slip away, he wondered too why it was that he was
so tired.
For now, he was content to make it up to Krycek by giving him exactly what
he wanted.
Krycek wanted love? No problem.
For some reason, it seemed like the most rational solution for both of them.
Mulder sighed against Krycek's now-dozing form and let himself begin to
drift to sleep also, content in the basking comfort of the mental and
emotional bond he had with Krycek.
It was true; the future was bright. Maybe all those romantic poets weren't
idealistic fools, after all, he thought. Love does conquer all. Besides,
who was more an idealistic fool than he? If someone as practical,
self-serving and pragmatic as Alex Krycek could believe in love, in him, and
what they had together, maybe it was realistic enough after all.
It was worth it, just to have an end to pain. To loneliness. To wanting
love and not finding it. To finally have it and hold it in his hand.
He drifted off to sleep with a lingering smile on his face.
End...for now.
Liquid Sky
by Jami Wilsen
As his phone chirruped, Krycek snatched it up. "Yeah?"
Interesting. One moment they were getting to the bottom of what the hell
they were both doing there; then in the next, Krycek was suddenly bolting
from the room like a scalded cat. Mulder wondered what he'd said. In the
next breath, he realized he wasn't calling the man names and accusing him of
being a murderous, lying son of a bitch and a cowardly traitor. As usual.
That must be it. That had to be the reason why Krycek was scared. Krycek
didn't even really appear to understand why he was afraid, too, which made
for difficulty when Mulder tried to make sense of it.
Wow. Incredible. He had sent Krycek to sleep just by thinking about it,
just by suggesting that he felt tired. Mulder wondered how the hell he'd
ever explain any of this, and decided it was going to have to be kept hidden
from the world, and most especially his new lover. His conscience suffered
a measure of pain over it, but he realized he could always feign an
awakening of his 'latent' abilities later on if need be.
