Fox is...a messenger of danger, sickness, or possible death, Mulder awoke to find Alex lying half on top of him, snuggled up tightly with his
arm draped over Mulder's waist and face buried against Mulder's neck. He shifted
position and Alex startled awake. Gladness and relief broke over Alex's face as
he realized it was Mulder holding him. Alex's expression, and how cute he looked
with his hair all disheveled from sleep, almost melted Mulder for a minute. Then
he remembered the night, and his annoyance returned. He dislodged Alex and
headed down the hall to the bathroom.
When he returned Alex had curled up in Mulder's spot on the bed. Mulder leaned
in the doorway. "Hey Krycek." Alex rolled over to look at him. "How come you
pull away when I try to sleep next to you at night, but then in the morning
you're wrapped around me like some kind of human vine?"
Alex flushed slightly, looking away. He rubbed a hand over his face, then
flicked a glance up through his lashes at Mulder. "Cause I know you like it, and
then you'll make me breakfast." That wolfish grin again. "Throw in a blowjob and
I'll let you analyze my dreams some more."
Mulder walked out of the bedroom. How could he have forgotten how deceitful
Krycek could be? He knew how to push all Mulder's buttons, that was for sure.
Alex's assertion that he snuggled up to Mulder only because Mulder wanted it was
especially galling, as Mulder had never made a big deal about cuddling. Sure, he
liked holding Alex in his arms—smelling his hair, rubbing up against his
ass—but it had never bothered him when Alex needed space. To hear that what
he had taken as some measure of affection and trust on Alex's part had been just
another occasion of deviousness enraged Mulder.
Or, who knows, maybe that was a lie as well. Mulder's head was starting to hurt
again.
Alex padded into the kitchen. Despite the slight smirk he still wore, he looked
tired and edgy. Mulder stood aside as Alex walked past him, letting Alex get
between him and the refrigerator. As Alex reached to open the refrigerator door,
Mulder grabbed his wrist, swiftly pulling Alex's arm up above his head and
pressing hard against his left shoulder to pin him against the refrigerator.
Alex tensed, straining against Mulder's hold. "What're you doing, Mulder? Get
off me."
"So you want to play mind games, huh, Krycek?" Mulder demanded. With his arm
trapped, Alex was unable to push Mulder away. Mulder felt unaccountably excited
by Alex's helplessness. He could feel himself getting hard, although Alex was
not.
Mulder pressed closer. Alex relaxed his stance a bit, lifting his chin. Mulder
leaned in towards him—and Alex twisted suddenly, yanking his arm down and
bringing his knee up into Mulder's crotch.
"Motherfucker!" Mulder doubled up for a moment. Alex shoved him backward,
wrenching his arm free. He stepped away from Mulder, rubbing his left shoulder
where he had twisted it from under Mulder's grip.
"What the fuck was that all about, Mulder?"
Mulder clutched his sore balls, suppressing a strong urge to smack Alex across
the face, hard. "What it's always been about, Krycek. You lying to me, playing
games."
"Go to hell." Alex turned and stalked off to the bathroom, slamming the door.
Mulder made coffee. His head was aching. He took an Advil and rubbed his
temples. Alex came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. Without speaking to
Mulder, he grabbed some clothes from the cot and went into the bedroom to dress.
Alex acting so pissy and modest worsened Mulder's already foul mood. Head
pounding, stomach roiling, he sipped his coffee and wanted to smash the cup
against the wall.
Alex emerged from the bedroom completely dressed, his prosthetic arm strapped
back on. He moved to pour himself a cup of coffee, and Mulder saw the telltale
shape at the small of his back.
"You have your gun on? Got some trust issues there, Krycek?"
"Trust issues? I—I make a fucking joke, and you call it mind games and
attack me?" Alex's voice rose. "And what's with this 'Krycek' shit all of a
sudden? Since I had my dick up your ass last night, I think you can call me
Alex."
"Yeah, well, since you had your dick up my ass, as you say, I think you could
show me a little fucking respect, and trust! Or just sleep next to me without a
lot of crap." He moved closer to Alex, getting in his space. Alex backed up a
little, watching Mulder warily over the coffee cup.
Mulder forced himself to tone it down, to speak more calmly and reasonably.
"Why can't you just talk to me, Alex, and tell me the truth, instead
of—"
Alex turned, as though looking for a way out. Finding none, he paced about.
"Fuck, Mulder...I'm not Scully, okay? I know you're used to talking to her night
and day...I'm not like that! I work alone—I live alone—I've been on my
own pretty much my whole life. These things take time, Mulder. I—I'm not
used to being in a relation—I'm not used to having a—a partner."
Mulder leaned against the counter, folding his arms. "Or maybe you're just not
used to being in an honest relationship."
Alex looked down. "Maybe not," he said quietly.
Paradoxically, Alex's resigned acquiescence only served to enrage Mulder
further. "It's always lonely little Alex against the world, always running,
always fighting, never resting, never trusting. A one-man crusade to save
humanity."
Alex smiled sardonically. "That could apply to you, too, Mulder."
"Except that I do have a partner."
Alex regarded him in silence.
"I trust her, and she trusts me." He saw the flash of hurt on Alex's face,
before Alex quickly looked away. "But I wouldn't expect you to understand that."
Alex turned back, his eyes hard. "Well, if I'm such a worthless, untrustworthy
piece of shit, how come you're in my bed all the time begging to fuck me?"
"Because you're so fuckable." Mulder drawled out the word contemptuously,
watching Alex flinch at that. "Jesus, Krycek, you're making this out like it's
some big romance...it's a way to pass the time, blow off steam, so we don't end
up killing each other here."
Alex stood very still, staring at Mulder open-mouthed for a long moment. Then he
closed his mouth and eyes, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Well, I don't give a shit
about you either, Mulder. I just figured, you being so celibate, you'd be a safe
bet. And easy." He raised his chin with a small smirk. "I was right about that."
Mulder felt the rage suffusing him again, his whole body tightening in
preparation for punching Alex, pounding him. "So what am I, Alex, your
bitch?"
"My bitch?" Alex set his coffee cup down hard. "You don't know what
you're talking about."
Mulder moved in closer, getting in Krycek's face, staring into his eyes. "I know
I'm sick of your crap. I'm sick of you using me for—"
"Back off, Mulder." Alex pushed him away.
Mulder shoved back, really hard, knocking Alex against the wall. Alex gave a
sharp grunt of pain. Fury flared in his eyes as he seized Mulder's arm in a
crushing grip. "You're sick of my crap, Mulder? I'm sick of yours!
Shoving me around, using me as your punching bag whenever something frustrates
yo—"
"At least I'm upfront about it!" With his free hand, Mulder grabbed Alex's
t-shirt. "I don't treat you like—"
Alex pushed off the wall, driving Mulder back a couple of feet. "You think
you're my bitch? You're so fucking stupid, Mulder. You want to know what that
really means?" Alex's voice had deepened to a low, dangerous growl. Mulder felt
it in his balls, surging through his body. A white-hot rage streaked over him.
"Do it, Krycek. Do it to my face, for once! If you have the stones, if
you're not—"
With a loud, choked snarl, Alex grabbed Mulder's wrist, spinning him around and
bringing his arm up behind his back. He shoved Mulder forward into the living
room, knocking him over the back of the couch. Mulder felt his heart racing with
a mixture of apprehension, excitement and fury. Alex pressed his thighs against
Mulder's, holding Mulder in place with the prosthetic hand while he undid his
zipper. Then—nothing.
"Go ahead and do it, Krycek!" Mulder twisted in Alex's grip, taunting him.
Adrenaline burned through his veins. Something had been set in motion, blazing
out of control. There was no turning back now. "That's your specialty, isn't
it," he panted, "screwing me behind my back."
Alex brought his forearm up swiftly, pressing into Mulder's windpipe. "Shut the
fuck up," he growled. With no preparation, and no lube other than spit, he
pushed in, hard. Mulder felt a violent, excruciating pain, invading him, ripping
him open. Instinctively, he pulled away, rising on his toes and grabbing a
handful of the blanket on the couch
"Goddamn you Mulder," Alex rasped breathlessly. "You don't know anything about
the real world, nothing! Fucking stupid cunt."
The pressure of Alex's arm against his larynx was making it hard to breathe,
filling Mulder's head with a red heat. Alex thrust roughly into him, snarling
and cursing. Bent precariously over the couch with only the choking hold around
his neck keeping him upright, Mulder scrabbled desperately to keep his balance.
The searing, raw pain spread inside him, overpowering his senses, and yet he was
hard, almost unbearably so. The violent motion knocked him forward, scraping his
cock against the edge of the couch. Sucking air, white-knuckled, he wished he
could bend lower to rub his nipples there too.
Mulder felt Alex's teeth on his back, biting down really hard, drawing blood. A
fiery pain shot through Mulder's flesh.
Mulder jerked back in outrage, his elbow striking Alex, and Alex pulled his arm
from Mulder's throat, hitting Mulder in the mouth in the process. Mulder tasted
blood, then Alex punched him viciously in the shoulder. Mulder yelled, trying to
twist around to hit back, and Alex punched him again, even harder.
"Keep still, you piece of shit!" Alex's voice was breaking, mad, beyond reason
or control. "You're nothing, nobody, now, just a filthy fucking hole..."
Alex's prosthetic arm suddenly buckled and he crashed heavily onto Mulder's
back. Mulder went down too, catching himself just in time from falling
face-first over the back of the couch. Almost instantly Alex was back on his
feet, twisting his hand painfully in Mulder's hair to haul him back upright.
"Scumbag!" Mulder gritted.
Alex smacked him hard in the back of the head. "Shut...up!"
Mulder heard himself raggedly gulping air, his whole body burning, raw. Alex was
slamming into him, screaming incoherently now. The lines between pain and
pleasure were being ground down, bleeding into each other. He clutched the couch
to steady himself and felt it starting, his orgasm like a fist in his gut.
Dry-mouthed, spasming, he bucked up against Alex and heard Alex's frenzied cry,
felt him shudder as Mulder's muscles tightened around him.
Mulder gasped, feeling dizzy, his body turning to jelly. He let himself fall
forward as Alex's arms wrapped around his waist with crushing strength and Alex
continued pounding him. The pleasure had dissipated, becoming an almost
unendurable soreness. As when he had been on the table in Tunguska, he had the
sensation that he might almost leave his body. Then Alex erupted inside him,
biting down hard again with strangled, bestial cries.
Alex sagged against Mulder's back, his head hitting Mulder in the hollow between
neck and shoulder. Mulder half-sprawled, half-fell against the back of the
couch, bracing himself for balance. He swallowed, his throat working, trying to
moisten his parched mouth. He felt Alex's mouth at his back, licking at the
blood there. So many places on his body hurt that it was hard to focus. A drop
of wetness, Alex's sweat, hit his cheek.
Alex pulled out and leaned heavily on the couch. He was gulping air, his teeth
bared.
"Fuck, Alex," Mulder gasped. "I—"
Alex's hand shot out, clamping around Mulder's wrist like an iron band. "You
want to kill me now, don't you?" His voice scraped on the words.
Yes. No. Mulder stared at him. Alex got to his feet, zipped up, and stalked off
to the bathroom. Mulder collapsed over the back of the couch like a deflated
balloon, blood in his mouth, semen running down his leg.
Alex returned with a towel and the first-aid kit. He handed the towel to Mulder
to clean up. Mulder felt a sting and realized it was some kind of antiseptic;
Alex was treating the bite wound. Alex would not look at him. He bandaged
Mulder's wound, then walked away, into the bedroom.
Mulder rose. His back and shoulder ached and burned, his ass and thighs felt raw
and sore. His head hurt where Alex had yanked his hair and smacked him. He
licked the blood from his lip and walked slowly into the bathroom.
He wet the towel Alex had given him and washed carefully. Touching his ass, even
gingerly, was painful and left faint smudges of blood on the towel. The cut on
his lip was slightly swollen and he hoped it wouldn't be too noticeable when
Scully returned tomorrow. He turned on the shower and stepped under it. The
water felt too hot and stung the bite wound so he adjusted it to cool, letting
it rinse the stickiness from his body. He felt a soreness on his cock as well
and saw that it was reddened, probably from chafing against the couch.
He played the encounter over in his mind; Alex fucking him like that, biting
him, choking him, so out of control. Crossing that line, the knife-edge mix of
pain and pleasure, excitement and rage, humiliation and release. He felt
shellshocked, unable to sort out his emotions.
The cabin was utterly quiet when he shut the water off. He dried off, wrapped a
towel around his waist and walked out into the living room. Alex was sitting on
the edge of the cot, head down, his forehead pressed against the heel of his
hand. He didn't look up or acknowledge Mulder.
"Well, Alex. That was some reaming." Mulder let the hard edge show in his voice.
He felt it all there, under the surface, ready to flare up. "I didn't know you
had it in you."
Alex raised his head and looked at Mulder, his expression flat and cold. "Yeah,
you did." He got to his feet and stood staring at Mulder. Mulder noticed there
was blood smeared on the front of Alex's shirt. Mulder's blood. "You wanted it
that way," Alex said.
"Yeah, and you sure wanted to give it to me. So it's a little hypocritical of
you to act like some kind of victim now, don't you think?"
Alex's eyes flashed. "Hypocritical?" he said roughly. "How about you, Mulder?
You—you want me to be that way, you get off on it, then you hate me for it
and treat me like shit. You want me to be dirty and—and amoral and
vicious, you want me to do the things you wish you could, if you weren't so much
better than everyone else!"
The towel around Mulder's waist was loosening, and he gripped it tightly.
Ordinarily he didn't give a damn about being naked, but at the moment he felt
too exposed. He realized he didn't want Alex to know his ass was bleeding, to
see the raw places on his cock. He felt the emotions too close to the surface,
boiling and breaking inside him, and he couldn't stop to sort them out, whether
he wanted to beat the shit out of Alex, or jack off, or curl up in a ball on the
bed and pull the covers over his head and ache, alone.
You want me to be that way, you get off on it... It turns you on to think I killed your father.
"Maybe." Mulder said wearily. He let the towel drop to the floor and walked to
the couch to find some clothes. Alex just stood, frowning a little. Mulder
started dressing, keeping his back turned to Alex. Pulling on his underwear, he
suppressed a wince, not wanting to show Alex how sore he was. Doing up his jeans
gave him a few moments to compose himself, to let him turn back to Alex with a
bland smirk. "Or maybe I just like it a little rough."
A look of incredulous pain and fury swept over Alex's face. He took a couple of
quick breaths, struggling to speak, then swiftly pushed past Mulder and went out
onto the screen porch, slamming the door.
Mulder paced around the cabin. He had absolutely no appetite, but he toasted a
waffle anyway, to give himself something to do. Folding it in half like a taco,
he ate a couple of bites standing up by the sink. His hands were shaking.
Cursing, he flung the remains into the trash.
He had planned to work on the hot tub this morning, see if he could finally get
it going. But he did not feel like facing Alex right now. Instead, he went into
the computer room to check his e-mail. He felt the soreness when he sat down,
knew the pain would get worse before it got better. Unable to focus, he pushed
the chair away after several minutes and left the room. The cabin felt like a
small, airless box, with its faded wood paneling and cheesy nature scenes on the
walls. His coffee cup sat on the counter and he refilled it. Drinking the hot,
strong coffee brought him back to himself somewhat, letting him think clearly.
He had to get out of the cabin, take a walk, clear his head. Without Alex.
Decidedly without Alex. Maybe he would even go to the old church. Without Alex's
superstitious nonsense to deal with, he might finally be able to find out the
truth. But the elation and drive he had felt the previous day were gone.
The door to the screened porch opened and Alex emerged. They stared at each
other without speaking. Mulder felt himself tensing. He wasn't ready for this.
In the silence he heard the staccato tapping of the woodpecker outside.
"Mulder, I..." Alex said raggedly. He swallowed hard and pressed his fist to his
mouth for a moment. "I didn't mean..."
Mulder leaned against the refrigerator, drinking coffee and keeping his face
flat and hard. Alex broke off. He looked away, then back at Mulder, a helpless
expression in his eyes.
Mulder cursed under his breath. "Don't give me that hurt-puppy look, Krycek. You
play everybody so well; you're probably playing me right now. You think I'm
going to fall for your shit again? 'Oh, Mulder, when are you going to stop
hating me?'"
Alex continued to stare at him, his head tilted, the little frown creases
between his eyes. Mulder could read him loud and clear: When are you
going to stop hating me?
A long, long moment passed in silence. Then, slowly, Alex turned and walked to
the cot. He peeled off the T-shirt, with its small smudges of blood, and tossed
it on a corner of the cot. Mulder gazed at the muscles of Alex's back, the
straps of his prosthesis and gun holster, the tiny birthmark below his left
shoulder blade that Alex probably didn't even know he had. Two nights ago he had
watched rivulets of water running down that spot as he made love to Alex in the
shower.
Alex sorted through the clothes on the cot until he found the shirt he wanted.
Mulder watched him putting it on, the familiar careful grace of Alex's
movements. Alex lifted his leather jacket. Mulder felt something cold run down
his spine. He knew he should say something, should go to Alex, make him stop. He
felt as though he were encased in a leaden shell, unable to move or speak. Alex
checked through the pockets of his jacket. Mulder noticed he had some protein
bars and water in there. That lodged in his chest like a brick. Had Alex been
planning to leave him all along?
Alex straightened up and turned to face him. "Mulder...the other night...I know
the question you didn't ask me." His voice was low and hoarse. It seemed to
reverberate in the stillness of the cabin. "The answer is yes. I did. And I'm
sorry." Alex swallowed and looked away for a moment, his throat working.
Mulder gripped his coffee cup as though it could keep him from flying apart.
With his other hand he clutched the edge of the stove. He had known this, had
always been certain of it. Why should it hurt so much to hear it now?
"I'm sorry for—everything," Alex said. "That's all I can tell you.
Maybe—maybe you don't believe I was ever your friend, but I hope you
believe I could never be your enemy."
Alex pulled his jacket on, then reached for the cabin door. In the doorway he
turned, gazing at Mulder for a long moment. "Dasvidanya, Fox," he said softly.
Mulder looked back at him, frozen, unable to speak. Then the door closed and
Alex was walking away through the trees in his long strides.
Numbly, Mulder remained where he was. He shut his eyes, as if by doing so he
could make it all disappear. This time yesterday they had been lying in each
other's arms, lazily planning their day.
The woodpecker tapped again, the small sound breaking through Mulder's trance.
With sudden urgency, he hurried to the door. Outside, he stood scanning the
woods in the direction Alex had gone, but there was nothing to be seen.
He walked back into the cabin. He felt heavy and dead. He drank his coffee and
saw Alex's cup on the counter. It was cold now. Alex had only taken a sip or two
before slamming it angrily down again. The cabin felt oppressive in its silence
and emptiness. Only a moment ago Alex had been here, filling the space with his
energy, his pent-up passion, and now he was not. That was how it was to lose
somebody.
He'll be back. Mulder swallowed the coffee through the rising tightness in
his throat. Where the hell else is he going to go? He'll take a little walk,
cool off, and then he'll be back.
Alex's things were still scattered over the cot. Mulder felt a little reassured
by that, until he realized that those weren't Alex's own clothes, and Alex
probably didn't care if he left them. The only possessions he cared about were
his leather jacket and his gun, and he had both of those with him. Mulder's copy
of "Steppenwolf" lay among the rest. Alex hadn't taken that, or anything else
that Mulder had given him. That was the way he was. Self-sufficient. A loner.
Well, fuck him. I don't need his mind games, his violence, his fucked-up
crap.
Mulder paced aimlessly around the cabin. He could feel anger building within him
and something else, something too awful to put a name to.
Dasvidanya, Fox.
Those weren't the words of a man just taking a stroll down to the mailbox. Alex
was leaving for good.
He rummaged through Alex's things again, more urgently this time, searching for
something, anything that Alex might come back for, or some clue as to where he
might have gone. Clothes, mostly. A few books scattered around. "Steppenwolf," a
James Bond novel, a book of poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke. There was a piece of
paper in the Rilke marking a page. He flipped it open and read the words
underlined in pencil.
"Every angel is terrible."
Next to it, in the margin, was a very small penciled "M."
Had Alex written that? Did Alex think of him that way?
It might be just coincidence; who knew whose books these were, or how many
people had read them.
He remembered that day in Hong Kong. Alex had seemed close to the edge then:
sweating, shaking, screaming at Mulder to shut up. When Mulder slammed him up
against the phones, Alex had not resisted, not even when Mulder took his gun. He
had taunted Mulder to kill him.
"Go on, Mulder. Finish it."
Had Alex wanted to die? When Mulder had threatened to kill Krycek, he saw a tiny
smile on the other man's face. The way Alex had stood, shoulders slumped, head
bowed. The way he had looked at Mulder, almost with relief, as if he was glad
Mulder was taking the whole mess out of his hands.
Every angel is terrible.
If he was Alex's terrible angel, Alex was his as well. He had come into Mulder's
life like a force of nature, shattering Mulder's faith, restoring it, bringing
him things he needed and fighting him at every turn. With a face like a
Renaissance painting. Alex...
He hadn't known Alex read Rilke. There was so much that Alex did and thought and
felt that he might never know now. The Consortium secrets seemed the least of
it.
If they hadn't had to spend this time together, he would never have known Alex
read so much. Or knew the constellations. Or could sing like that. Or had such a
fantastic smile. He would not have known Alex's family life had been that bad,
that he regretted the choices he had made, that he would run through the woods
fully believing he was about to die, just to make sure Mulder was safe.
Alex, my terrible angel.
And where would Alex go now, how long would he last on his own, how many others
were out there hunting him?
Mulder had to find him.
The train station was a good bet to start. He was sweating as he drove there,
hoping he was in time. He rode people's bumpers, cursed at slow-moving cars, his
urgency overriding the need for discretion. After all that impatience it was
almost laughable to pull up in front of the sleepy little backwater station.
He knew he had to be careful with this, not ask about Alex directly. He didn't
want to draw anyone's attention to the fact that Alex might have been here.
Trying to look as inoffensive and clueless as possible, he ambled up to the
window. "Hi...I'm looking for some friends of mine, maybe got on the wrong
train. Can you tell me what trains left since around nine-thirty, ten this
morning?"
"Train to New York City left at ten-twenty," the old guy behind the window said
promptly. It was probably the same schedule every day.
New York. Shit. If he had walked fast Alex could've just made it, and
there were ten million people in New York, a good majority of whom dressed
entirely in black.
"One to Pittsburgh about eleven...Wilkes-Barre at twelve-thirty..."
"The New York train," Mulder interrupted, "did anyone get on it? A woman,
maybe?"
The old man considered. "No...I think just a fellow."
Fuck. "Older gentleman?"
"'Bout middle-age...family man, hunter type."
It didn't sound much like Alex, but Mulder knew people's memories could be
totally unreliable. Witnesses to a scene often had widely disparate accounts of
the same event. And Alex was a master at slipping in, creating an illusion. He
might have chatted with the guy for a few minutes about hunting and the wife and
kids and the old man would have filled it in with a description that fit,
mentally erasing the black leather and earring.
Mulder asked a few more questions about other trains and passengers, but nothing
promising turned up. The bus station was even more impossible; there were many
more buses, and the need to be so oblique in his questioning made the results
frustratingly vague.
He had been upset that Alex could not trust him. So you do everything in your
power this morning to hurt him, scare him and piss him off. Way to inspire trust, you fucking moron. He's probably three states away by
now.
Alex was good at disappearing when he wanted to; Mulder had no doubt he would be
able to vanish without leaving a trail. Given enough time and resources, Mulder
might be able to track him down eventually. He remembered the alias on Alex's
credit cards; that was a start. He mentally cursed himself for not jotting down
the numbers. But it was a start. He would start there.
But would he find Alex before someone else did?
Dasvidanya, Fox.
A sudden trill broke his thoughts. Mulder leaped to get his cell phone out so
hastily he almost ran the car off the road and swore he felt a muscle pull in
his chest.
"Alex!?"
"Mulder, it's me."
"Scully." He knew she could hear the disappointment in his voice.
"Uh, Mulder? What's going on there?"
"Oh, I'm...just away from the cabin, I thought it might be Krycek..."
"What are you doing away from the cabin?"
"I'll explain later." Mulder made a quick decision. "Scully, I need your advice
on something. Relationship advice, actually."
"Relationship advice?" Scully sounded nonplussed, as well she might.
"Yeah. Listen, I did—I did find someone, just like you said I
would—but now I think I might've fucked up big time, and driven them away."
On the other end Scully made a noncommittal little sound, questioning or
sympathetic or simply shocked that Mulder actually had a significant other.
"Scully, with you and Paul—what would you do if he did something you just
couldn't get past?"
"Like what?"
"Lied to you. Played mind games. Broke your trust."
"Paul wouldn't—"
No, of course he wouldn't. Paul was a model of manhood, not a fucked-up head
case like Alex.
"Well," Scully went on, "did you try talking to her about it? Tell her how you
feel, how much it hurt you?"
"We're—I'm a guy. Guys don't talk about those things."
"Actually, Mulder," Scully sounded weary, "I'm not the best one to give
relationship advice. Paul and I are sort of—at an impasse right now, you
might say."
Mulder felt a stab of impatience. He didn't want to listen to Scully's goddamn
fight with Paul; he had to find Alex. But she was his friend, and she had
listened to him. "What happened?"
Scully sighed. "We were talking about—maybe adopting children, and I just
started feeling so—I don't know—scared, or sad, or overwhelmed."
"Yeah."
"And I just—couldn't talk any more, and then he wanted to set a date for
the wedding, and I just—Mulder, I couldn't do it."
"I say, run off to Vegas."
"What's the matter with me, Mulder? I do love him, I do want to marry him, but I
just—had to push him away."
Dasvidanya, Fox. "Yeah," Mulder said quietly. "Me too."
Scully laughed, sounding tearful. "Maybe we're just not capable of this. Maybe
it'll just always be the two of us, eating take-out down in that basement
office, chasing after the truth."
Once those words would have brought Mulder comfort, even satisfaction. That was
his world; that was the way it should be. But that was before he had known what
it truly meant to have a lover, before he had tasted Alex's body and his chili,
before Alex had looked in his eyes and told him the absolute truth at last.
Before he had heard Scully giggling on the phone like a lovestruck teenager and
humming in the shower. Before he had seen Alex relaxed and smiling, taking off
his clothes un-self-consciously, talking freely about his past and his life.
Now, he knew there was something better for all of them. Now, it seemed
unbearable that they should go back to that: he and Scully clinging to each
other like crippled limpets; Alex on the run, crawling off into a dark hideaway
somewhere to lick his wounds.
"To tell you the truth, Mulder, maybe it's for the best. I was feeling very bad
about this, knowing I was abandoning you—"
Jesus Christ.
These were the two people he cared about most in the world, Scully and Alex.
Neither of them had had an easy life. Both had suffered greatly. The weight of
that had always been there, a deep well of sadness and pain behind their
eyes—until recently. Now, because of his selfishness and paranoia, he was
sending them back to that.
And yourself too.
"No!" Mulder snapped. On the other end he felt Scully's surprise. He was
gripping the phone so hard he thought he might crack it. "No, I mean, you're not
abandoning me. I want you to be happy, Scully." He could hear the note of
desperation. "Listen, I've got to go. I'll call you later. But don't think that.
Don't ever think that."
The sky was dark, heavy with rain that would not fall, like the gathering grief
in his chest and throat, the tears that he would not let spill out. He drove
along slowly, without a clear plan in mind. He would have to head back to the
cabin now, pack up, call Scully back and tell her Krycek was gone.... Pink Floyd
came on the radio, the words drilling into him like an unexpected electric
shock.
"Welcome, my friend, welcome to the machine..."
He remembered Alex singing that, high on Haldol, looking up at himself in the
overhead mirror and laughing.
From the past, he knew all too well how certain memories could turn treacherous,
the most innocuous experiences suddenly becoming a quicksand of pain. He knew if
"Red Red Wine" ever came on, he would rip the stereo from the car and hurl it
through the window. He would not be able to walk past the whipped cream display
in the supermarket again. Or look at the stars, sit by a fire, go running....
Alex was woven through his life now, inextricably.
Damn you Alex, you lying, murdering bastard. How could you leave me like
this? I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry...
The cabin felt, if anything, emptier than before. He paced through the rooms,
checking, without much hope, for Alex to be in the bathroom or the bedroom or
out on the porch. But the place was silent. He was alone.
He wandered aimlessly out to the living room, unwilling to call Scully back just
yet and let her know how deeply he had fucked up this time. Not only had he
broken the rules by sleeping with an informant, he had failed at protecting that
informant when he let Alex go, almost certainly to his death.
That thought filled Mulder with a nearly immobilizing dread and grief. He shook
it off, determinedly. He had to keep busy; maybe do laundry, wash those sheets
before the chocolate stains set in.
No, he wouldn't think about the chocolate, Alex yelping and laughing and licking
him. He wouldn't think about Alex washing him with such care, and holding him,
warming him, all night. Or how Alex had slept in his arms the next morning.
Mulder turned around and punched the wall, hard. It was wood, not plasterboard,
and he did more damage to his hand than to the walls. He did succeed in knocking
a picture down, which cracked and shattered, to his grim satisfaction.
The cut-off sweats that Alex slept in were lying in the pile of laundry. He
knelt down and seized them, pressing them to his face. They smelled so strongly
of Alex that he felt dizzy for a moment.
I can't ever wash them.
He shook that thought off as stupidly sentimental. Of course he would wash
Alex's fucking clothes, or better yet, throw them on the fire. But in the back
of his mind he knew he was lying.
He heard a sound and froze, his heart thudding. It was the tiniest sound, no
more than a slight buzz, but it had come from the screen porch. In two
bounding steps he had crossed the cabin and was yanking open the door.
The porch was empty. Alex had so filled it with his presence, making it his own,
in the brief time he had been here, that his absence now hit Mulder with the
force of a gut punch. He stood, sucking air, a sharp ache constricting his
throat, as he registered the sound of the hot tub pump. It had finally started
up. He had a working hot tub, but no lover to share it with.
The worst part of it was knowing he had brought most of this on himself. Alex
had tried to reach out to him last night, had tried to tell Mulder how he felt
this morning. He had derided Alex for being a liar, but he was the one who had
thrown Alex against the refrigerator rather than simply say how much his
deception had hurt.
Alex had not wanted to leave. Had he wanted to, Mulder knew, he would have been
gone instantly. But Alex had dressed and packed slowly, waiting for a sign from
Mulder. Even at the end, when Alex had stood there in the doorway, Mulder could
have gone to him, touched him, told him to stay.
Unable to bear the screened porch any longer, he went back inside, prowling the
rooms in restless desperation. He stood in the computer room, staring about,
trying to organize his thoughts into some semblance of cohesion. Access the
DMV...no...track the credit card.... His eyes fell on his briefcase, sitting in
the corner of the room.
The sixth disk.
But Alex had made him promise not to open it unless he was dead.
No. No. He had not said, "When I'm dead." Alex had said, "When I'm gone." And he
was definitely gone. Worse, he could very well be dead soon, unless Mulder found
him.
Mulder ripped open the envelope. Shaking with impatience, he followed the
instructions for the unencryption program. Finally, it was done and he inserted
the sixth disk.
It contained only six files: CONSORTIUM; MULDERFOX; MULDERSAM; SCULLYD; KRYCEKA,
and READFOX. His file and Scully's were much larger than the others. He opened
the READFOX file. It was very small and consisted of a single page.
["Mulder (Fox):
"If you're reading this, that means I'm gone and everything is safely in your
hands. The information on these disks should tell you most of what you need to
know.
"Taped to the underside of the left middle drawer of your desk is a key. It's a
safe deposit box; the address is in the back of your old forensics textbook. If
you don't hear from me within a year, everything in it is yours. My life,
whatever it's been. Strange to be looking at it in this way now, seeing it as a
whole, knowing this is probably the end. I've lived so much moment to moment,
day to day. But if my life could be said to have any purpose at all, this was
it. I'd give almost anything to stay and fight alongside you, but that would be
too dangerous for both of us.
"So once again, I wish you good luck, my friend.
"Since I probably won't see you again, there are some things I want you to know.
"I'm bringing this to you, only you, for several reasons. First, I hope you know
that we have been on the same side. We just have different ways of doing things.
"For everything I did to you, I wish like hell things could have been different.
I think about that a lot. And I have a lot of regrets, more than you'll ever
know. But for everything I did for you, to help you or protect you, I have no
regrets, no matter what it cost me.
"Another thing you might not know is that Bill Mulder was one of the first to
push for developing the vaccine. Without him all this might not have gotten
started. That's another reason I'm bringing it to you. I owe you that.
"Mostly, though—and I know you'll laugh your ass off at this, but at least
you won't be beating me up for it, because I'm not here—I'm bringing it to
you because you have been the catalyst for all of this.
"You're probably wondering why someone like me would do something like this. At
first, I have to admit, it was only revenge and ambition that drove me. I wanted
to stop that fucking black oil; I wanted that vaccine, and I wanted the power
that would go along with it.
"Gradually, that changed. Maybe I got older, and wiser, and selling my soul to
the devil didn't seem like such a great idea any more. Maybe I had this perverse
desire to prove to you that I wasn't as bad as you thought I was. Maybe it was
seeing you, laughed at, ostracized, marginalized, beat down and
tortured—but never bowing to them, never giving in, never ever compromising
who you were or what you believed in. You became my inspiration, though I could
never admit it at the time. Because, despite the fact that you can be a complete
and total asshole, I admire you more than anyone I've ever known.
"You may not believe any of this, but it's the truth.
"You were the only one. Ever. Always.
"Alex."]
Mulder felt his throat closing up. He put his head down on the keyboard. Shit,
shit, shit, Alex.
You were the only one.
He remembered Alex holding his hand, saying that to him, Alex's eyes willing him
to understand. He hadn't then, not really. Now he thought he did.
The only one I could be certain they wouldn't get to. The only one I would
let touch me. The only one I would let fuck me again. The only one I would talk
to, the only one I would trust to any extent. The only one I would forgive, no
matter what you did to me. The only one I would risk my own life to protect. Alex.
He opened the MULDERSAM file next. There was a short note from Alex at the
beginning.
["Mulder: This is everything I could dig up, over the past few years, on your
sister and her disappearance. Try as I might I never could uncover the whole
truth about what happened to her. It's my personal belief that she is dead. I'm
sorry. A. K."]
He skimmed through the file. There wasn't much. A lot of it was medical records
from Samantha's childhood, before she was taken. There were bits and pieces of
Consortium records, some alluding to cloning experiments, and a few, mostly
incomprehensible, fragments with notes from Alex. "This was all coded subjects,
but I think it might be her..." "This is around the right time frame..." Alex
had clearly done quite a bit of digging. Mulder could not even imagine how he
had gotten all this information, how difficult and dangerous it must have been.
Another wave of grief hit him.
Alex, wherever you are, thank you.
On impulse, he opened Alex's file next. Most of it seemed to have been lifted
directly from Alex's Bureau personnel file—test scores, training notes.
Alex was described as very bright, psychologically astute, an excellent
marksman. A very promising candidate.
Further on he found a short article from the Seattle-Lakewood paper. It
described how Staff Sgt. Sergei Krycek had apparently had a psychotic break
during a routine training exercise with two others. There had been a standoff;
Krycek had threatened the other men, and had been shot. There was another note
stating that Alex's father had been given a dishonorable discharge. He had not
received any military pension or benefits, and the family had moved off the base
and into the Happy Haven housing project, which by all accounts was neither
happy nor a haven.
Was this what you wanted me to find, Alex, when you sent me hunting that day?
I never knew.
He opened the MULDERFOX file. There was a short note from Alex at the beginning.
["Fox: This is everything I could dig out that they had on you. Just so you
know, there are a couple of things in here that may come as a bad shock. I'm
sorry.
"One is that C. G. Spender believed there was a possibility you could be his
son. Whether this is true or not is unknown, to me at least. The other is that
your DNA is somehow screwed up, which might mean he never found out for sure. If
he did find out, he never wrote it down anywhere—at least not that I could
lay my hands on.
"Anyway, here it is. Knowing you, I thought you'd want to know. A. K."]
Mulder stared at the screen, feeling only a numb despair. He remembered the
other night, demanding to know why Spender had chosen him and not Samantha. And
Alex refusing to answer.
He turned to the last two files. Scully's file had no opening note, which
hopefully meant there were no bad shocks inside. It contained her bureau
profile, her family background, and many pages of medical information that
Mulder could not decipher. He felt the familiar rage taking over as he skimmed
the pages, along with a sickening guilt. How much had Scully suffered, how much
had she lost, because of him?
And how much because of Alex?
The CONSORTIUM file was very small, which was puzzling, but something of a
relief. He felt crushed by the weight of all the other revelations. Opening it,
he saw only another short note.
["Mulder: In the safe deposit box I left you are four unmarked disks. Run the
unencryption program and you will find everything on the Consortium, everything
I've done for them, names, papers, dates, and my signed testimony about it. It
should be plenty for you to bring them down, no matter how powerful they imagine
themselves to be. Not pretty—but then you knew that.]
"I deeply regret my part in it. You probably didn't know that."
He could almost hear Alex's voice saying that. Then he thought he did, and
whipped his head around. There was nobody.
I can't take this...I'm going out of my fucking head here.
He had never really believed that before, had never experienced it, not even
with Sam, missing someone so much that it felt like losing your mind. Now he
understood what that meant.
He had to get out of the cabin, even if he spent the night in a Dunkin' Donuts
somewhere. It was dusk now, growing chilly, and he pulled on a sweater. He got
in the car, heading toward the nearest town, or rather, the nearest collection
of loosely assembled strip malls. Maybe a bar, with strong whisky and Johnny
Cash songs on the jukebox.
A branch was down in the path. He stopped the car and got out to move it.
Bending down, he was brought up short by the sight of one of the little
salamanders sitting atop it.
The salamander, the magical animal that could walk through fire, that could
regrow its limbs. In Mulder's mind he had wished for that—to magically
banish his own fears, to give Alex back all that he had lost.
He would never be able to eliminate his own weakness. He had not been able to
save Alex, and he would not be able to heal him.
I never asked you to save me, I only wanted you to—
What had Alex wanted? Acceptance? Forgiveness? Simple kindness? All the things
he had given Mulder. Fucked up as he was, he had nevertheless done better than
Mulder in this.
You're only human, Fox. It's out of your hands.
On a sudden impulse, he turned the car the other way, driving up the old path
into the woods. He didn't want to get drunk again. He wanted to be alone, and
grieve. Too much had fallen on him today.
Birds scattered and branches snapped as the big car bumped over the rutted road.
It was slow going; these paths were made for hiking, not driving. But he did not
dare leave the car out on the main road. It was bound to attract attention, and
that might put Alex in even more danger.
Maybe he would go to the old church, just sit in the pews for a while with his
thoughts. There was something about it that always comforted him. Maybe he would
go through the door, find Tomasina, find Samantha, if indeed she was there. What
did it matter now? He had nothing to lose anymore.
But instead, he found himself turning the car toward the clearing where he and
Alex had stopped running and fallen upon each other. Now he knew that was where
he had wanted to go all along. He had to visit the place one more time. He
wanted to just stand there and remember that incredible day, lying in Alex's
arms with sunlight coming through the trees.
It was overcast now, the greens muted, the ground dusky gray. Only the
white-trunked sycamore trees seemed to glow faintly through the shadows. He
could see them standing, old trees, older than any human on earth.
And unbelievably, sitting on the ground against one tree, a lone figure in
black.
Mulder almost stopped breathing as he guided the car in along the path. He felt
a wild, irrational terror that Alex might disappear again before he could get to
him, that he would see the car, notice Mulder, and simply vanish.
Alex was sitting with his hands between his knees, holding his gun down on the
ground. He didn't react when the car pulled up, or when Mulder jumped out and
ran over to crouch down next to him.
"Alex! I've been looking everywhere for you! You were here all this
time?"
"Hey, Mulder." Alex's voice was calm and quiet.
Mulder moved closer to touch Alex's arm. Alex didn't respond.
"Come on back to the cabin and we'll talk, okay?"
Alex shook his head. "No," he said evenly. "I'm not going back there."
"Alex, please. I know you're upset, but you can't stay out here."
"I'm a free man, Mulder. I think I can do pretty much whatever I want."
"Just give me the gun, then, and we'll talk."
Alex leaned his head back against the tree, staring off into the woods.
"Alex, give me the gun."
Alex did not respond. Bracing himself for the fight he knew would ensue, Mulder
leaned over, reaching for Alex's weapon. To his considerable surprise Alex put
up no resistance and simply let him take the gun. Mulder shoved it into his
waistband. "All right, Alex...c'mon, let's go back."
Alex simply gazed at him, expressionless. It was scaring Mulder, and the fear
made him angry. "Get up, Alex. Get up and come back to the fucking cabin with me
now!"
Alex was unfazed. "I told you, I'm not going back."
"If you stay out here all night you'll freeze to death! If you don't stay in
hiding until this shakes out, they'll find you and kill you. What are you,
feeling suicidal now? Look, I'm sorry, Christ, I didn't mean the things I said,
I'm an asshole!"
"No, Mulder," Alex said quietly. "I'm not suicidal. I'm just tired."
"You're tired? Then come back and sleep!" Mulder ran both hands through
his hair in frustration. "Jesus. Please. I won't touch you...or I
will...whatever you want, Alex."
"I'm tired of all the shit in the world," Alex said in his soft rough voice.
"I'm tired of running, tired of fighting. I just—don't want to do it
anymore."
Mulder had never seen Alex like this, so closed in on himself, so defeated, and
yet so strangely calm. He had no idea what to do, how to get through to him.
He moved closer to Alex, taking his arm. "Alex, don't do this. Don't—you've
been through so much shit in your life and you've always survived—losing
your parents, being stuck in that silo all those days, losing your arm, the lab
blowing up—and it never broke you—please, don't let me—" Mulder
felt his throat closing, the dark heaviness in his chest threatening to explode.
You're so strong and tough and beautiful—please, please, don't let me be
the one to break you now...
"Alex...I need you—"
"No," Alex said, very low, "no, you don't. You just don't want the guilt of
thinking you broke me. You didn't, Mulder."
"I do. I didn't mean any of that, what I said at the cabin. You have to
know that, Alex! We can get past this."
"Mulder, I know you didn't mean it."
Mulder raised his head to look at him. Alex gazed back at him wearily.
"But the reasons you said it...we can't get past that, Mulder. All the shit
that's gone down between us...you might want to fuck me now, but pretty soon
you'll want to kill me again." Alex shifted position, with a small grimace of
pain. "Last night...last night when you asked me what I was dreaming about..."
Mulder felt himself tense up slightly at the words. He took a breath.
"I—we had failed, and they were—they were colonizing the earth. And
there were so many of them, and they had us in captivity." Alex talked rapidly,
not looking at Mulder. His fingers flexed, curling as if they wanted to be
holding his gun again. "And I knew—I knew we could maybe make a deal with
them, so I was trying—" One corner of his mouth twisted. "They had me in
this—cage—and then they brought you in."
Was this the truth this time? Mulder put a hand on Alex's arm and squeezed,
trying to bring him back to himself a little.
"They told you you'd have to deal, and you said you'd never deal with them. Then
they told you I had done it, and you said—" Alex swallowed hard. His voice
was flat, just a little higher than usual. "You said you wouldn't deal with me
either. The way—the way you looked at me..."
"Alex." Mulder rubbed his arm harder. "It was a dream. Just a dream. It's a fear
dream, like being naked in front of—"
"They shot you, Mulder!" Pain sliced through Alex's voice. "They shot you
and you were bleeding on the ground, and I was in this fucking cage and I
couldn't reach you. You were dying and I couldn't touch you...and you had your
eyes wide open, you were staring right at me and you couldn't see me..."
"Alex, I'm right here. I know I acted like an asshole this morning—"
"I acted like an asshole, too, Mulder! You were bleeding!"
It took Mulder a moment to realize he didn't mean the dream. He felt the
soreness, the rawness, almost forgotten. "It's okay," he whispered, and then,
unbelievably, his throat was closing and the hot tears were stinging his eyes.
He clutched Alex's arm and bowed his head, trying to bring himself under
control.
"Mulder, don't do this," Alex rasped. "Don't cry, don't...fuck, get up off your
knees!"
Mulder raised his head. A frustrated rage was building within him. The
humiliation of crying like that, the pains in his body, the crushing
revelations, the desperate searching, only to end up here in the clearing like
this...
"Then why don't you get up off your ass, Alex?" He grabbed the front of Alex's
jacket, trying to pull him up. Alex braced himself against the tree, then
abruptly came up in a swift fluid motion, shoving Mulder backwards so that
Mulder stumbled and almost fell.
Mulder lunged at Alex, trying to grab him. If he had to, he would drag Alex
back to the cabin by force, make him see that they could work this out. But
Alex kept turning, quick as a cat, apparently thinking Mulder wanted to fight
with him.
And really, what was he going to do?
Drag Alex back to the cabin and—chain him to the sink again?
Yeah, he'll really trust me then, all right.
"Okay, Alex. Okay. You win." Mulder backed off, holding his hands up in
surrender. "If you want to go, go. I can't force you to stay. Maybe you're
right. We never will stop hurting each other, never stop playing out the past.
We can't forgive each other. And we can't forgive ourselves for all we've done."
It was all too true, the knowledge hitting him with an awful finality. Alex
would never trust him, and he could never fully trust Alex. That connection at
the beginning, a few weeks as partners, and now a couple of weeks as
lovers—it could never block out the years of betrayal and pain.
He remembered Alex kneeling at his bedside, and the fear he had felt that night.
I could really hurt you. And you—you could rip my heart out.
He was suddenly very tired. "You're right," he said quietly. "You're right. This
wouldn't work." He felt utterly raw, inside and out, unable to say anything
further, even goodbye. His mouth twisted, but he would not cry again.
For just a second, Alex's face was open with a look of utter despair and
desolation. Then he pulled his chin up, trying to maintain the cool mask,
watching as Mulder turned to walk back to the car.
Mulder stood with his hand on the door of the car. He felt the cold metal under
his palm. He had no idea where he was going. He couldn't stand to face the cabin
alone, without Alex, and there was nowhere else on earth he wanted to go.
You were looking right at me, but you couldn't see me.
He didn't need to turn around; just closing his eyes, he could clearly visualize
Alex standing there with that look of desperation, rubbing his chest through the
green sweatshirt he was wearing.
Mulder's sweatshirt.
He remembered Alex picking through the clothes on the cot, searching until he
found the one he wanted.
He remembered Alex bringing him the apple, the excitement and pride in his eyes.
Alex standing naked before him, offering up his body. Alex having the courage to
answer the question that Mulder had not been able to ask.
It's true, Alex. I was looking right at you, but I couldn't see you. I saw
who I thought you were, who I wanted you to be.
Mulder realized—or maybe he already knew—that he would not be able to
do this, to make himself get into the car. He was physically incapable of
driving off and leaving Alex, or watching him leave, disappear out of Mulder's
life, maybe forever.
And he suddenly realized something else; he still had Alex's gun. Alex had not
asked Mulder to give it back to him.
Mulder turned. Alex was still standing there. He looked at Mulder in
bewilderment as Mulder walked toward him and stopped a few feet away. Mulder's
stomach was churning. Maybe this was a huge mistake, but he had to try. There
was no other way.
Okay, this is it. All or nothing.
"I read your letter," Mulder told him. The bewildered look increased for a
moment, then he saw comprehension dawn in the green eyes.
"I was thinking a lot about...everything that's happened...and why..." His
stomach was jumping and he took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "You're
right. A lot of shit has gone down between us. We keep doing horrible things to
each other. And I can blame myself and I can blame you, but it really doesn't
matter anymore."
Mulder closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Alex was watching him as if
hypnotized.
"We could keep this up forever...you running, me hunting...you stabbing me in
the back, me punching you in the face....We could go on like we've been doing,
like all of this didn't change anything. But it did. For me it did, at least. I
don't want to do this anymore. I want us to be different, to be partners. I know
we're fighting for the same things."
Something flickered in Alex's face, but he didn't speak.
Okay, just get those last words out. The important ones.
"I'm sorry, too, Alex. Sorry I mistrusted you, sorry I treated you the way I
did. I hope someday you can forgive me for all I've done to you. And I forgive
you, Alex. For everything you've done to me. I don't hate you, Alex." His throat
felt like it was closing up, and he blinked hard. "Please...I can't lose
another person that I..."
Mulder dropped his eyes to the ground. His heart was hammering and he couldn't
look at Alex's reaction. If Alex laughed now, or spit at him, or turned and
walked away, Mulder knew he was done for. He would just sink down here on the
ground and never get up, let the vultures and worms eat his bones. He knew he
could not take this last loss.
But when he raised his head Alex was just standing there, still staring at him
with that same dazed, somewhat fearful look.
Emboldened, Mulder slowly walked toward him. "Besides, you're still wearing my
shirt."
Alex blinked at him. "You—you want it back?"
"I want you back, Alex."
All the fight seemed to have gone out of Alex now, and he let Mulder back him
up, stumbling briefly and putting out his hand as he came up against the trunk
of a large sycamore tree.
Mulder moved closer. He saw Alex tense up, and he raised his hands in a
placating gesture. "Okay, I can't keep you here if you don't want to stay.
You're not my prisoner anymore, you made that pretty clear. But if you're
determined to go, I want to make love to you, one last time, before you go
wherever it is you're going."
Alex was looking at him as if mesmerized. Mulder put his hands on the tree on
either side of Alex, then slid a hand behind Alex's head to cushion the rough
bark.
"Kiss me," Mulder said. All Alex's calm was gone and he was shaking now. Very
slowly, Mulder leaned forward. Alex...my terrible angel...you were the only
one for me too. The words were in his mind, and then, very quietly, he
whispered them into being.
Alex's eyes went wide and he gave a deep jagged gasp, as if Mulder had stabbed
him. "Mulder...don't do this to me..."
Mulder leaned closer. Briefly, he brushed his lips against Alex's. "Just kiss
me."
Alex's lips were trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut. From under those long
dark lashes Mulder saw, incredibly, a single tear making its way down Alex's
cheek.
Alex was crying. Mulder could not believe it. He had never seen Alex cry, not
even when he was most despairing or panicked or emotional. Alex had been on his
own for a long time, from a very young age. Mulder had always had the impression
that crying was something he had forgotten how to do.
"Alex..." Mulder said softly. His heart was breaking. Another tear slid down,
and then another. Mulder put just the tip of his tongue to Alex's cheek, tasting
salt there.
Alex drew a sharp, shuddering breath. "You are going to break me," he
whispered.
"No...no." He wrapped his arms around Alex, pulling him into a tight embrace.
"I'm not, Alex, I'm not. I love you."
The words were out, the words he thought he'd never say to another person, not
like this, certainly not to this man. He didn't even know if Alex had heard him
or not. Alex was coming unglued completely, his hand clenched in the back of
Mulder's sweater, with desperate, wrenching sobs that seemed to be shaking him
apart.
"Hey...hey...Alex, it's okay...it's okay now..."
He had never seen anyone cry like this, let alone someone as tough as Alex. It
was awful, uncontrollable, almost unbearable to witness. One part of Mulder
wanted to urge Alex to stop, to say the magic thing that would make it better.
But another part understood that Alex had finally broken, under the
weight of all he carried inside. Mulder could do nothing but hold Alex through
this, be with him until he could let go of it and pull himself together again.
Alex tried to pull away a couple of times, but Mulder held him there, stroking
Alex's hair, rubbing his back, murmuring his name over and over as Alex wept and
shuddered in his arms.
It took a long time, but finally Alex's harsh sobs subsided to long shaky gasps.
Mulder tried to lift his chin, to see his face, but Alex pulled free and turned
away, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. For one dreadful
moment, Mulder was afraid the crying had undone Alex, that he really did mean to
leave now. But all at once, through the trees, he felt—call it spirits,
God, karma, whatever—the first heavy raindrops splattering down.
Mulder reached out to put a hand on Alex's back. "C'mon, you can't stay out here
in the rain. Let's go back and build a fire."
Alex followed Mulder to the car, his head down. Inside, he slumped in his seat,
looking as drained as Mulder felt. The only sounds as they rode back to the
cabin were the beating of the rain and the muted squeak of the windshield
wipers.
The rain was falling harder when they pulled up at the cabin. Once inside, Alex
stood looking around for a long moment. His voice sounded rusty and almost
hesitant when he spoke.
"Can I have my gun back?"
Mulder was reluctant; he didn't know what frame of mind Alex was in. But if he
ever wanted Alex to trust him, he had to start trusting Alex. He handed the gun
over. Alex put it on. He took off his leather jacket and laid it on the cot.
Mulder began to build a fire, and Alex wordlessly joined in, helping him stack
the logs and position bits of paper and twigs to start the blaze.
Mulder filled the kettle to make tea, and Alex got the cups out and spooned
honey into them, both of them keeping busy as a way to ease the raw, fragile
peace between them. They sat together in front of the fire, drinking tea,
warming up. Alex looked like he was shivering a bit. Mulder moved over next to
him.
"Cold?"
Alex stared into his cup for a moment, then slid down to rest his head on
Mulder's shoulder. Mulder was startled and touched. He put a hand on Alex's
knee, rubbing his thumb over the familiar tiny rip in Alex's black jeans. He
felt his throat closing again, thinking of all he had almost lost.
There were so many questions he wanted to ask Alex. Did you write that in the
Rilke book? Did you go to the woods for the same reason I did, the memory of
that day together? Or were you waiting for me there? But now was definitely
not the time. He couldn't endure another big emotional scene.
Did you have your gun out for protection, or were you going to use it on
yourself?
Mulder's heart thudded painfully at the thought of what he might have found. He
put an arm around Alex's shoulders, hauling him closer in a fierce embrace. They
sat for a while without speaking, gazing into the fire.
"I went everywhere looking for you...the bus station, the train station," Mulder
said. Alex shifted his head a little. "I was careful, don't worry. I didn't let
them know it was you I was looking for."
"I was going to go to the train station," Alex said softly. "I just...didn't get
around to it."
Mulder leaned his cheek against the top of Alex's head. Alex's hair was soft and
damp next to his face. "Well, good." Rain lashed the windows, making him glad
for the warmth of the fire. A sudden memory came to him and he chuckled dryly.
Alex made a little questioning sound.
"That night you came to me, with the vaccine..." Mulder was treading carefully,
recalling what other horrible memories that night held. "I saw these two guys
outside, together, and one of them looked kind of like you. I remember thinking
that you would never be the kind of guy who would curl up in someone's arms by a
fire."
Alex was silent a moment. "You thought I wouldn't want to, or no one would want
to with me?" His voice held both sadness and laughter.
Mulder put his arm around Alex's shoulders, pulling him down into his lap.
Compliant, a big dark ragdoll, Alex rested his head on Mulder's thigh, gazing
into the fire. Mulder stroked his hand up and down Alex's arm. "I didn't know
you," he said, the simplest truth.
"You know me now?"
Mulder let his hand drop down to cover Alex's. He wanted to answer the question;
he had a whole discourse to give on the subject, but emotion swelled within him,
and he could do no more than squeeze Alex's hand forcefully. Alex squeezed back.
They were silent for a long while like that, watching the leaping, licking
flames.
Mulder stroked Alex's jaw. "You falling asleep there?"
"You have a better idea?"
"Um...we take this into the bedroom so I can make love to you?"
They had never before said 'make love' instead of 'fuck' and Alex looked a
little overwhelmed by the idea.
Mulder shrugged. "Or we could just have a couple of beers and watch the game."
Alex laughed. He got to his feet, reaching to help Mulder up. Mulder followed
him into the bedroom where, to Mulder's relief, Alex laid his gun on the night
table, then flopped on the bed.
Mulder knelt to remove Alex's boots, then undid his jeans and pulled them off.
He kissed Alex's cock through his underwear. "Scoot back on the bed, Alex, my
knees aren't as young as they used to be."
Alex slid further up on the bed. "Sure Gramps...just take those dentures out
before you blow me."
Mulder got on the bed on Alex's left side, leaning down to kiss him. He pulled
the green sweatshirt up, and Alex sat up a little to tug it over his head.
Mulder reached to unstrap the prosthetic arm, and Alex let him, docile as a
kitten. He had never done this for Alex before, never even dared to ask. In
truth, he had still never felt entirely comfortable touching it. Now he couldn't
remember why he had cared. It was a part of Alex, and Alex was here; that was
all that mattered.
He leaned down to kiss Alex again. He meant to go slow and gentle, but the spark
caught and the familiar hunger flared, leaving them both gasping for breath,
holding on. Mulder was lying half on top of Alex; Alex was clutching Mulder's
arm. At the sight of him there, shirtless and mussed, his lips slightly parted,
Mulder was suffused with feeling. He laughed shakily, putting his face down
against Alex's shoulder for a moment.
Alex stroked his hair. Mulder burrowed under Alex's left arm, rubbing his face
into the musky dark hair there. He nuzzled and licked, then continued licking
down the underside of Alex's arm. He massaged the muscles of the truncated arm,
a little amazed that Alex was letting him. Rain pattered on the roof overhead,
occasionally drumming against the windows as a burst of wind hit. Alex was
gazing at him lazily, the green eyes half-closed. Mulder continued with his
tongue bath, licking and nibbling along the terrible ridges of scar tissue, and
Alex did not tense up or push him away, only winced lightly once.
"Sorry, Alex...it's sensitive?"
"Sensitive in some places, and totally numb in others. The nerve endings are all
fucked up."
Considering the way it had been hacked off, Mulder would have been surprised if
there wasn't extensive nerve damage. He stroked the palm of his hand over Alex's
arm and shoulder.
"Can it be fixed?"
"Maybe, but I—I couldn't take another surgery," Alex said softly.
Mulder nodded in agreement, having undergone his share of unpleasant procedures.
He couldn't believe Alex was actually letting himself be touched there, and
talking about it so matter-of-factly. It seemed extraordinarily intimate. He
knew he would have to be matter-of-fact in return.
"Yeah...I can understand that." He gave a last little squeeze and kiss to Alex's
bicep, and leaned over to suck on his nipples, then moved lower, dragging his
tongue down Alex's belly. Alex was still wearing his briefs, and Mulder took
advantage of that to nuzzle and nip him through the fabric.
Alex raised his head to watch Mulder. He stroked his fingers through Mulder's
hair. "Mulder, I..." His voice was low. "I..." The words seemed to catch in his
throat, and Mulder lifted his head to smile at him.
"Yeah, I know, Alex."
Mulder took his time, not teasing Alex, just going slow and steady, enjoying the
sensations. Alex arched back, sighing, holding tight to Mulder's shoulder. Then
he was exploding hard into Mulder's mouth, crying out. Mulder thought he heard
some Russian, maybe a 'Lisa' or two.
"Aah, you can call me Fox, Alex. At least it sounds somewhat masculine."
Alex laughed, sprawled out in utter release. He pulled Mulder up and kissed him,
smiling to taste himself on Mulder's lips.
"Tovarisch," Alex murmured, "moy brat, moy vozlyublenniy..."
"Tovarisch...that's friend, isn't it?"
"Friend, comrade...like that."
"What's the rest of it?"
Alex hesitated. Mulder waited.
"Moy brat...my brother. Vozlyublenniy..." Alex's voice was almost a whisper. "My
belov—my lover." He gazed at Mulder's face, his eyes so full of feeling
that Mulder had to close his own. Mulder's throat tightened with a fierce
tenderness as he felt Alex tracing his eyebrows, his lips, his jaw, memorizing
the lines of Mulder's face in his fingertips.
My brother, my lover, my friend.
He opened his eyes and Alex smiled at him. "Wanna fuck me?"
Mulder cleared his throat. "That's a question you never have to ask."
"Here, just like this." Alex rolled over onto his side.
"You are so lazy. Lucky you've got such a damn fine ass."
It felt like a homecoming, cocooning himself in the familiar sweet heat of
Alex's body. He made it last, drawing it out. Wind buffeted the shutters
outside. Mulder licked the nape of Alex's neck. Alex growled softly in response
and bit the pillow.
They lay together afterward, moving only enough to drag the covers up over both
of them when they started to get chilly. Alex pulled Mulder's arm around him
tightly and snuggled backwards against him. He seemed half-asleep already,
relaxed and content. Mulder rubbed his face in Alex's hair, inhaling his scent.
After tomorrow, there would be no more sleeping with Alex, the warmth of Alex's
body next to his own, waking up with Alex in his arms. Making love in the
morning and making breakfast together, meals that were a pleasurable ritual
rather than a necessity. He was going to miss the sight of Alex walking around
in just cut-off sweats, or a white T-shirt and black briefs, the luxury of being
able to touch each other whenever they wanted and tease each other; the sweet,
playful side of Alex that only came out when they were alone. He would miss
making love indoors, on a comfy bed or in front of the fire, curling up naked
together under a blanket afterwards.
Alex dozed, but Mulder felt too energized for sleep. There were a couple of
things he wanted to do. He kissed Alex's shoulder and rolled over to retrieve
his cell phone.
"Scully, it's me." He kept his voice low so as not to wake Alex.
"Mulder? Where are you?"
"I'm back at the cabin. Everything is fine. Scully, I wanted to tell you
something." He reached a hand out to stroke Alex's back. Alex's skin felt silky
and warm. "If you love him, go for it. Just do it, talk to him, don't let him
run away."
Stunned silence. "Mulder?"
"I know you're scared. You're scared, he's scared, I'm scared, we're all scared.
You just have to do it anyway. Just go for it, Scully."
More silence. Then Scully gave a dry little laugh. "I gather it all worked out?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it worked out." Mulder slid down a bit, plumping the pillow behind
him. "Listen, I meant what I said. I want you to be happy. I love you, you
know."
Alex rolled over to look at Mulder, his eyes lazy jade slits. Mulder blew him a
kiss and Alex laughed.
"What was that?" Scully sounded dazed.
"Just Krycek." He played in Alex's hair, idly petting him.
"So...this is the real thing for you, then?" Scully asked. "Your...soulmate?"
"Yeah, I guess it is. My soulmate." Beside Mulder Alex made a soft sound.
"Well," Scully's tone turned teasing. "Who is it? Where did you meet her?" He
heard a sudden quick intake of breath as a thought struck her. "Mulder—it's
not—?" She sounded incredulous.
Mulder held his breath. How could he have thought he could hide this from
Scully?
"It's not the woman you met in the woods—?"
"Tomasina?" Mulder laughed out loud. "No, it's not Tomasina. She's a
fantastic woman, though." He felt a pang of sadness at the thought that he
wouldn't see Tomasina again, but it was overcome by the joy he felt at having
Alex back with him.
He told Scully he'd see her tomorrow, kissed Alex again and got out of bed.
Stepping out onto the screened porch, he was instantly surrounded by the sound
and scent of the rain. The air was cooler than he'd expected, but not
uncomfortably so. He puttered around, making sure everything was in good working
order. The only off note was the pallid, harsh lighting cast by the single
overhead bulb. He switched it off and lit as many of the large citronella
candles as he could find.
Returning to the bedroom, he sat on the bed. Alex stirred from sleep, blinking
uncertainly. Mulder kissed him. "Come on." He took Alex's hand, pulling him up.
"Got a surprise for you." Alex allowed himself to be led from the bedroom.
Mulder flung open the door to the screened porch. "Welcome to my Love Shack,
baby."
"Wow." Alex appeared bemused. "You got the hot tub working?"
The hot tub was indeed working, surrounded by candles. Reflections from the
flames shimmered over the rippling surface. Except for the fact that you could
no longer smell the rain over the pervasive reek of citronella, it was perfect,
Mulder thought. Still, Alex looked more stunned than impressed.
"What's the matter?" Mulder asked. "Too much of a Harlequin Romance moment?"
"No, it's...it's nice." Alex took a tentative step onto the porch.
"I thought this would be better than that creepy yellow porch light."
"It is." Alex turned to smile at him. "Just don't put on Celine Dion or some
such crap."
Mulder laughed. "Fuck you, Alex."
"Now you're playing my song."
Mulder stepped into the tub, and Alex followed suit. The hot water felt
delicious on Mulder's sore muscles. Alex must have agreed, as he slid down,
immersing himself up to his chin with a happy groan.
Mulder beckoned him. "Come over here." Alex dived under the water, resurfacing
to lean on Mulder's thigh. Mulder leaned down to kiss him. Alex resembled a
sleek water creature, wet hair slicked to his head and the candlelight reflected
in his eyes.
"Here, try out these Jacuzzi jets..."
"Mmmmm...aah...oh, man..."
"Like it, huh?"
Alex lolled back against Mulder. "I think I'll just live in here and never get
out."
Mulder laughed. "I guess it's true what they say about rats and the pleasure
principle." But he was feeling the same contentment and bliss, being here with
Alex, the warm water swirling all around them. He rubbed Alex's shoulders.
Leaning back against Mulder, Alex didn't seem to mind being touched there at
all.
"Can you ever feel anything," Mulder asked curiously, "where your arm used to
be?"
Alex tipped his head back slightly to give him a little puzzled frown. "Yeah, I
get—"
"I don't mean the phantom pains. I mean, pleasurable feelings, or just touching
or being touched...do you ever feel that?"
"Sometimes..." Alex said slowly. He was silent for several minutes. Mulder
wondered if his question had been offensive, but Alex still seemed perfectly
relaxed.
"Touch me," Alex said suddenly. He sat up and turned to face Mulder. Mulder
started to fondle him, started to make a joke about Alex being insatiable, but
the gravity in Alex's expression stopped him. Alex reached out, took Mulder's
hand and placed it on his shoulder. Still gazing intently at Mulder, he did the
same with Mulder's other hand, then closed his eyes. "Go ahead," he said, very
softly. "Touch me."
Mulder moved his hands slowly down over Alex's biceps. Where the left ended but
the right did not, he let both hands keep traveling, his right hand on Alex's
body, his left sculpting an arm in air. He shut his eyes. He could not do this
with his conscious mind, he knew, he had to turn that off and concentrate on the
sensations running through his palms, smooth skin and muscle, blood and bone,
air and water. Did he feel something? Was it the current of the water, a trick
of his mind, or was every moment a portal to the past? He felt the fine
hairs...the long slender wrist and hand bones, the joints and veins... their
knuckles brushed. Coming to the end, Alex spread his fingers to link with
Mulder's.
Mulder opened his eyes. Alex was looking at him, and Mulder shivered. He could
not have said what he saw in Alex's eyes right then.
"I want to do that to you," Alex said.
Mulder closed his eyes. He felt Alex's hand cupping his shoulder gently. He felt
his own blood beating and the wind against his skin. And touch. When you really
touched another person, really looked at them, when you stood still like this
and let them touch you, something happened, something mysterious and alchemical
and holy. Everything else fell away and the soul revealed itself.
Alex opened his eyes. "Did you feel that?"
"I did," Mulder said. "Did you?"
Everything was in Alex's eyes at that moment; everything.
"Yes," he said.
Scully, the next morning
Dana got an early train back. Rather than wake Mulder to come pick her up at
6:30 a.m., she decided to just walk it. It was only a couple of miles and it was
a pleasant day, the sky a clear blue and the sun newly risen. She had always
loved that hour of the morning, everything peaceful and just waking up.
The cabin was silent as she carefully unlocked the door. She stepped inside,
trying to be as quiet as she could. Krycek was an extremely light sleeper and
tended to—overreact a bit—when startled.
They weren't there.
That was a shock. Mulder wasn't on the couch, and Krycek's bed was empty too.
And judging from the amount of clothes and other junk piled on the couch and
bed, they hadn't slept there at all last night.
Dana started to get a bad feeling about the whole situation. She reached for her
gun and took it out, then cautiously took a few steps into the cabin, trying to
get a feel for what was going on.
The place was in total disarray. Clothes, soda cans, dishes, papers, books, and
towels were strewn everywhere. A chair and the pictures were broken, leaning in
a corner. But had it been ransacked, or just occupied by two guys who didn't
want to bother with such details as doing the laundry and the dishes? There was
a lineup of beer bottles by the wall, and a couple more on the table.
What had Mulder done, thrown a party while she was gone?
Then she saw the sheets. Piled in a heap beside the washer, covered with dark
brown stains that looked like—blood?
The bedroom door was shut. She got a sudden cold feeling in her stomach,
wondering what she would find in there. Uneasily, she made her way to the
bedroom door and stood for a second with her hand on the doorknob and her gun
drawn. She let out her breath in relief when she heard soft snoring from inside.
So one of them was sleeping in the bed. She couldn't really blame him. It had to
be more comfortable than the couch or the camp cot.
But which one?
And what had he done with the other one?
Cautiously, she opened the door. She thought she was prepared for whatever she
might find, but she was not. Never in a million years did she expect to see
this.
The first thing she saw was Mulder, asleep, and she was so relieved to find him
there, alive and well, that it took her a few seconds to realize that
Krycek was sleeping there next to him.
For a moment she was still in denial, although there was no other rational
explanation for why two good-sized guys would be crowded together in a double
bed. They didn't appear to be wearing any clothes, at least not the parts she
could see. But she was so used to them being deadly enemies that she just
couldn't take it in. Maybe they got drunk together and just passed out.
Her coming in must have disturbed Krycek slightly, because he stirred in his
sleep, then snuggled up to Mulder, throwing his arm over Mulder's waist.
She had to lean against the wall in disbelief. Was Krycek gay? Was he coming on
to Mulder? She held her breath, half-expecting Mulder to wake, leap to
his feet in horror and fling Krycek against the wall.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around Krycek, stroked his hair and kissed
the top of his head!
Just as she was wondering who Mulder imagined he was holding, he stirred,
blinked, and his startled eyes met hers. She didn't know who was more shocked as
they stared at each other for a long moment. Finally he broke the gaze to look
down at Krycek. Dana tensed automatically, but Mulder only went on petting
Krycek like it was the most natural thing in the world, and put a finger to his
lips. Then he held the finger up as if to say, give me a minute.
Okay, she got it. He was telling her, his partner, to be quiet and wait so the
killer in his arms could finish getting his beauty sleep.
She didn't know whether to scream, faint, laugh or throw up.
Finally she tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, and
went to the kitchen area to make some coffee.
How long had this been going on? Just since she left? Or was it a one-night
alcohol-induced, uh, episode? They seemed awfully cuddly for that to be the
case.
But they weren't—they couldn't have been lovers when Mulder beat
Krycek up so badly, and chained him to the sink. That would be too twisted and
sick, even for the two of them. They'd always had a
very—volatile—relationship.
On the other hand, Krycek was stripped to his briefs in Mulder's apartment, and
Mulder never did give her a very good reason for that.
But what about Mulder's girlfriend, his true love? What happened there? Did they
break up, then he came back here, got drunk with Krycek, and they ended up—
Suddenly she felt like the stupidest person in the world. She was remembering
the desperate, impassioned note in Mulder's voice saying, "Alex?" when
she called; Krycek's laughter in the background when Mulder told her everything
was good. The way they'd disappear off into the woods for hours and then come
back to the cabin and nap the day away.
Mulder's true love, his soulmate, was—Alex Krycek?
She heard soft noises from the bedroom, then, "Scully's here!" Muffled
conversation punctuated by a few audible curses. Krycek came out first, wrapped
in only a towel. He nodded to her without speaking, collected some clothes and
went into the bathroom. A few minutes later she heard the shower start.
Mulder emerged shortly after that, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. "Hey
Scully," he greeted her. "Sorry about the mess. We were going to clean it
up...we didn't expect you back this early." He poured himself a cup of coffee.
"Oh, we'll change the sheets on your bed, too."
Dana suppressed a shudder. She couldn't foresee sleeping in that bed again.
"That's all right, you can keep the bed. I'll take the cot."
"Nah...we don't want to put you out of your bed."
We? Last time she looked they were mortal enemies. When did they become
'we?'
"Mulder...when did this...?" She gestured toward the bedroom.
He looked away, sweetly embarrassed. "Shortly after we got here. Well
no...actually, the feelings have been there a long time. We just didn't act on
them until recently." He looked back at her. "Shocked?"
"Shocked is putting it mildly. I always thought you hated each other."
"I hated him. He didn't hate me...well, not exactly..." At her incredulous
expression, he sighed and looked away. "It's...very complicated."
Tell me about it. "Is that blood on those sheets?"
"Chocolate ice cream," Mulder said, deadpan.
She didn't want to know.
Ensconced in the small computer room, Dana pretended to work at the laptop. In
actuality she just wanted to get away from Mulder and Krycek. She could hear
them out in the living room, cleaning up and
laughing—laughing!—together. She had the disconcerting sense of being
an unwelcome intruder. Previously it had been she and Mulder barely tolerating
Krycek, occasionally chuckling together about his oddities. It was jarring to
find that it had really been Mulder and Krycek tolerating her, laughing
about her behind her back.
Mulder poked his head in. "We're going for a walk."
Dana flushed, realizing what that probably meant. "Have fun," she said, hating
the brittle note in her voice. She was relieved they were leaving the cabin.
When she heard the door shut she ventured cautiously out. The place was fairly
neat, everything put away, dishes done, washing machine running. Getting a soda
in the kitchen, she caught sight of them through the window, taking out the
trash before they left. Mulder came up behind Krycek and caught him exuberantly
around the waist, hugging him and saying something in his ear that made him
smile. Feeling suddenly weak, she turned away.
She was afraid for Mulder. He had been hurt so many times in the past. Although
he said he trusted no one, he could be naively, blindly gullible about things
and people—Krycek being the main case in point. She could think of any
number of reasons why Krycek might be sleeping with Mulder, none of them good.
A couple of hours later they returned. Dana was sitting in the armchair, trying
to read a magazine. She could hardly look at them as they headed for the
refrigerator and gulped down a couple of bottles of Gatorade.
Mulder came over and flopped onto the couch near her. "So...how're the wedding
plans coming?"
She didn't really want to discuss her wedding in front of Krycek. "Fine," she
said in a stilted voice. A horrible thought assailed her. Was Mulder planning on
bringing Krycek to her wedding?
Mulder looked toward the kitchen area. "Alexei, you gonna make us some
sandwiches? Scully, you want one?"
Alexei? "Uh, no thanks."
Krycek began rummaging in the refrigerator. "Didn't we have some pastrami left,
Fox?"
Fox?!?
Dana stood up and cleared her throat. "I need to talk to you both. Skinner's
getting everything arranged for placement in the witness protection program."
Krycek stepped back, looking from her to Mulder with a trapped, calculating
expression. Dana met his look head-on.
Mulder, too, was looking from Krycek to her. "Scully, can I talk to you a
moment?"
"Sure." She followed him down the hall. By tacit agreement they avoided the
bedroom, going into the computer room instead.
"Scully...the witness protection stuff... hold off a bit on that."
Hold off a bit. That was pure Mulder. No acknowledgment of inconvenience on
anyone else's part; no consideration of any viewpoint but his own.
"What's the alternative? He stays in D. C. so you two can—date?" The
question sounded more biting than she had intended. Maintain a neutral,
professional tone, she told herself. Appeal to reason. "Mulder, of course no one
likes to leave their life—" Did Krycek have a life, she wondered?
"—and start again as a stranger. But it's not the witness exile program.
It's witness protection. There's a good reason for it."
Mulder ran his fingers through his hair. "Take a walk with me. I want to tell
you some things about him."
"Well, I don't know, Mulder." She raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Your version of
'a walk' might get me in trouble with my fiancé."
He looked at her, smirking fondly, like old times. A deep thorn of regret
pierced her. She realized how much she was going to miss their partnership.
Dana lay on the lumpy, uncomfortable camp cot. Her back would surely be aching
in the morning. She couldn't imagine how Krycek had slept on this all those
nights. Indignation rose, choking her. How dare he sleep cozily in her bed while
she tossed and turned out here.
Yet, to be fair, she had offered Krycek the bed at the outset, and it wouldn't
have troubled her if he had accepted the offer. He was injured and sick, and
needed rest more than she did. No, what she minded was not the fact that he was
sleeping in the bed. It was that he was sleeping in Mulder's arms.
She thought of the things Mulder had told her earlier. Her tender heart ached
for Krycek, losing his family when he was so young. How could it not? But she
was not willing to let him off the hook. Plenty of people lost family members,
and they didn't end up in a life of crime. She could accept him being suckered
in by Spender, but at some point personal responsibility had to enter into it.
Wearily, she wondered why Mulder was always drawn to these kinds of
people—unstable and devious. Why couldn't he find someone nice, someone
normal?
Not that Mulder was exactly normal. Or always nice, for that matter. She had
usually seen him being pretty rough with Krycek, which only made her question
their relationship all the more.
Finally beginning to doze off, she was awakened by a noise that she couldn't
immediately identify. Cautiously, she started to reach for her gun, then froze
in horrified embarrassment at the realization that the sounds were coming from
the bedroom. Her partner and Alex Krycek in the throes of passion. That
was something she would have been more than happy to go to her grave without
ever hearing. Krycek in particular. He was more vocal than a Siamese cat in
heat.
Dana eyed the toolbox sitting by the hearth. She was strongly tempted to get the
biggest hammer she could find and fling it at the bedroom door. Urban legend had
it that the Army used to slip saltpeter into the food to dampen the ardor of
their enlisted personnel. Maybe she could get her hands on some.
Gritting her teeth, she pressed the flat, musty pillow over her head, wishing
she had thought to bring her own from home.
The next couple of days were no better. She and Mulder were at an impasse and
hardly spoke. He and Krycek cooked together while she stayed in the computer
room, feeling ostracized and angry. Why should she have to be the one hiding out
here in this drab, windowless box? It was Mulder who was breaking the rules by
sleeping with an informant, Mulder as usual who wanted everything rearranged to
suit his flights of fancy.
After dinner, the two men watched TV in the living area while she went over some
of the recovered data at the table. From the corner of her eye, she observed
Krycek sneaking up on Mulder. He had started in the armchair, then moved to the
floor, and now was inching closer to Mulder, bit by bit.
She was sifting through the experimental findings, trying to find out what was
causing Krycek's illness, without much success or enthusiasm. She felt very
tired, and would have liked to turn in for the night. But they were watching TV
in what was essentially her bedroom.
Really, she was doing this mostly for Mulder. He had been bugging her to talk to
Skinner about finding a way to let Krycek remain in D. C. It was a pipe dream,
she knew. Skinner was not going to do that, and neither was she. But if she
could find a way to counteract the effects of the vaccine, at least Mulder would
have the peace of mind of knowing Krycek had a fighting chance.
Krycek had finally gotten to within a foot of Mulder. He cast a glance up at
Mulder and was moving toward actual contact with Mulder's leg when Mulder,
engrossed in the baseball game and seemingly oblivious, got up from the couch
and headed for the kitchen to get a soda. Dana bit her lip to stop a snicker. It
was funny, but somewhat creepy as well. If Krycek was really as upfront and
trustworthy as Mulder claimed, why the hell couldn't he just go sit down next to
Mulder like a normal person?
Mulder set a Diet Coke down on the table next to her. Dana smiled up at him.
Again the sadness suffused her at the realization that they would be parting for
good soon. She had to admit that he seemed different, less driven and angry. He
was more thoughtful, more considerate, almost giddy at times.
Returning to the couch, Mulder stepped over Krycek to sit directly behind him.
He reached down and handed Krycek a soda, then let his hand casually rest on
Krycek's shoulder. Krycek sat stiffly for a few moments, then relaxed back
against Mulder's knee, as if melting.
Dana got to her feet. "Excuse me," she said, trying to keep her voice under
control. They looked over at her in mild curiosity. "I'm going to sleep soon,"
she informed them. She walked into the computer room and stood, taking deep
breaths, shocked at the force and turbulence of her emotions. She felt like a
bomb ready to go off.
Krycek was different, too, she thought. Smiling. Relaxed. Happy. And, she
realized, she hated him.
Even though Cardinale had implicated him in Melissa's murder, she had tolerated
him to a degree. Mulder hated him, but she actually felt somewhat sorry for him.
Seeing him there—beaten by Mulder, frightened for his life, infected with
the black oil sickness—and knowing the trauma he'd obviously gone through
in losing his arm—she could view him as a pathetic creature. It wasn't that
she took pleasure in his suffering, but it was a sign that the world was fair,
that he hadn't gotten off free at all.
Then, living so closely with him, hearing bits of his childhood, understanding
the role he had played in developing the vaccine apples, her feelings had
started to change. She couldn't say that she really liked him, but she
was seeing him differently. She no longer believed he was a sociopath. She could
appreciate the sacrifices he had made.
But now he just seemed to be gloating. Her sister was dead, and Krycek was
alive, lazing around with his head on her partner's leg.
Later that night, she heard them out in the hot tub.
Needless to say, not only was she not sleeping in that bed anymore, she was
NEVER getting into that hot tub.
"Church?" Mulder couldn't have sounded more surprised if she had said she was
going to beam herself to Jupiter. He looked puzzled. "The old church in the
woods?"
"No, Mulder, not the old abandoned creepy church in the woods. It's Sunday, and
I'm going to a real church, with a congregation, and services." She knew she
sounded waspish, but she couldn't help it. She was at the end of her rope.
Krycek didn't say anything, which was well. If he had made some snide remark she
wouldn't have trusted herself not to whip out her gun and drill him between the
eyes.
The church was more modern than she had expected, with a stainless-steel cross
perched like a lightning rod atop the roof, and stylized stained glass windows
in primary colors. But the music, the scent of the flowers, and the families
standing together in their Sunday best were all comfortingly familiar. The
priest was middle-aged. She could tell he had probably been very good-looking
when he was young; the kind of priest she and Missy and their friends would have
dubbed Father What-a-Waste.
It had come to her last night, what she had to do. Looking through the local
paper under "Religious Services," her eye was caught by the sermon topic on this
one: "Forgiveness."
The young people's choir was singing. She recognized the refrain from the book
of John. "Peace I give you, my own peace I give to you..."
She remembered standing up in the choir with Missy, feeling proud and a bit
self-conscious in their pastel-colored church dresses. White lace tights and
patent-leather shoes...Missy peeking over at her to see if Dana remembered the
words. A wave of pain and grief hit her and she bowed her head, feeling the
tears pricking behind her closed eyes.
The priest took his place at the pulpit to give the sermon. Dana clutched the
rail, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. You didn't cry in church, any more
than you laughed or farted. Her mother would have been scandalized.
"They say forgiveness is the hardest job there is." The priest's voice was calm,
mellifluous. "But it isn't really our job. It's God's job to forgive a sinner.
It's our job to make peace with it in our minds so that we can go on living."
Dana blotted her eyes, the tears coming anyway. How do I do that? How the
hell do I make peace with my sister being gone, forever? How do I make peace
with the fact that she won't be there to help me plan my wedding, that she won't
ever see it, while the man partly responsible for that is laughing it up in a
hot tub with my supposed friend? And maybe getting ready to break my friend's
heart?
"It's our job to forgive ourselves for letting it happen."
Dana felt as though a dam had broken inside her. No, I can't forgive myself.
I can't forgive myself for the fact that she died in my place. I knew the
dangers of my job, I accepted them. Missy never wanted any of that. She was
gentle, she was loving...
She was sobbing now, silently, like a good Catholic girl, but uncontrollably.
People around her were rising to take Communion. Shakily, she walked to the
rail. The priest's brown eyes were sympathetic. She swallowed the wafer and the
wine.
Peace I give to you...
Driving back, she pulled the car over, leaned her head on the steering wheel and
wept. It was several minutes before she was able to collect herself enough to
drive on. She wanted to call Paul, but she did not trust herself to speak to him
without breaking down again, which would just worry him needlessly.
They were standing in the living room when she walked in, Mulder by the counter
and Krycek by the window, as usual. He would have been watching to make sure it
was actually her coming in.
She looked only at Krycek, so that she would not lose her nerve. He had turned
toward her, and she saw his face change from its usual hard impassivity, his
eyes widening in shock. Belatedly she realized what she must look like, with her
hair askew and her face puffy from crying.
Krycek took a couple of steps toward her. He actually
looked—concerned. She hadn't expected that. It made what she had to
do easier.
She went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. He froze. Having touched him
as a doctor made it easier to do so now. Rising up on her toes, she quickly
leaned to kiss his cheek. His skin, clean-shaven, felt smooth under her lips.
She might have been kissing her father's cheek, or Paul's. He trembled, ever so
slightly, when she kissed him. She felt a little better, knowing he was affected
by this as well. He didn't try to embrace her or kiss her back, and she was
thankful for that.
Turning from Krycek, she went to Mulder. He opened his arms, and she went into
them and leaned against his chest. She wasn't crying, but she was still in that
near-crying snuffly state. He patted her back, somewhat awkwardly. She felt his
constraint, probably not wanting to be too demonstrative in front of Krycek.
When she stepped away and headed for the other room to call Paul, she saw Mulder
go to Alex, putting an arm around his shoulders. Kicking off her shoes, she
smiled when she heard Paul's voice.
The chittering of birds and squirrels in the trees awakened her the next
morning. She sat up in bed, hugging her knees, watching the light filter in and
feeling calmer than she had in days.
She and Krycek were both early risers, so they had their little morning ritual,
which essentially consisted of ignoring each other until Mulder got up. The
first one up made coffee. Dana would sit at the table and read, drinking hers,
and Krycek would take his out onto the screened porch. Today the coffee was all
made and Krycek was already outside, which was a relief. It gave her a few
moments alone before she had to face him.
She pushed open the door to the screened porch. Krycek was staring out at some
birds on the feeder. He turned his head with a smile of greeting, which faded to
a look of apprehension when he saw it was her. Absurdly, she felt a pang of
regret. It wasn't that she wanted him to be looking like that at her. But he
didn't let his feelings show easily, and he had looked so glad and excited for a
moment, thinking it was Mulder. Now he appeared very tense, with a
waiting-for-the-axe-to-fall expression.
She took a seat on one of the wicker chairs. "Good morning," she said, and he
nodded. They didn't make small talk. They both knew she was not out here for the
pleasure of his company.
She took a deep breath, trying to get the courage for what she had to ask. He
was sitting casually, with one foot up on the table, and now he put both feet on
the floor and turned toward her, inviting her to speak. She gave him a little
smile, which probably looked like a pained grimace in her current state of mind,
to show she appreciated it.
"Tell me about my sister's death," she said.
He flinched, blinking a couple of times and stumbling over the words. "Aah, you
know...she didn't suffer."
She knew that line well. She had said it many times herself to grieving family
members. They didn't need to hear the truth: that death was rarely quick or
easy. But she needed to hear it.
"Is that true?" She searched his face. "Alex, is it true?"
He seemed to know what she was asking, and he leaned forward, looking
distressed. "Yes. She went down as soon as he shot. I don't think she
even knew—" he swallowed.
Something in his voice triggered a flash of memory, and a thought struck her.
"Alex...were you the one who called 911?"
He looked down quickly. "Yeah." His voice was almost a whisper. "I know it
didn't do any good..."
Dana nodded. Melissa had died anyway; there had been nothing they could do to
save her. Still, it gave Dana some comfort to know that he had done that; that
he hadn't just left her lying there. And that he hadn't been the one to pull the
trigger. The strange thought occurred to her that she was sitting with the man
who might have been her killer.
Leaning forward, she put a hand over her face. She didn't cry—she was all
cried out after the other day in church—but it seemed like there was an
endless fountain of grief inside. He didn't say anything or come over to her,
and she was thankful for that, because she couldn't have stood to have him touch
her or talk to her right now.
When she raised her head he was leaning forward, looking at her, and she could
see the pain on his face. Right or wrong, it helped, as it had the other day, to
know that he was hurting too.
"I'm sorry," he said. His voice cracked on the words, and she knew he meant it.
"Thank you," she managed to say.
The door opened and Mulder ambled blithely out, stopping immediately at the
sight of the two of them talking. He looked from Dana to Alex, taking in their
obvious distress.
"Everything all right?" He came over to Dana first, although she caught his
anxious glance at Alex over her head.
She squeezed his hand in reassurance. "Yes." As she went back inside the cabin
she saw him go to Alex.
After breakfast Mulder headed off to the store to pick up supplies. Alex had
just gone in to take a shower and Dana was washing up, when the abrupt shrill
sound of the alarm shattered the peace. Alex hurried out of the bathroom,
shirtless. The initial apprehension subsiding, they looked at each other in wry
acknowledgment. Mulder, forgetting again. Diffidently, they exchanged small
smiles. Alex strolled over to the window and Dana returned to the dishes.
"Oh shit." The urgency in Alex's voice made her look up sharply. "It's not him,"
he rasped. "Get down!" In the next instant the high whine of a bullet cracking
through the window sent them both diving to the floor. Dana's heart pounded as
she grabbed for her weapon. Alex already had his in hand, flattening himself to
the wall. They waited in silence. She found herself feeling grateful that Krycek
had been a trained FBI agent and knew how to handle himself in a situation like
this.
Footsteps sounded on the path. She heard voices—two? Three? Krycek caught
her eye and motioned with his head at the door. Crouching low, he raced almost
soundlessly across the room to stand beside the door. Dana moved behind the
armchair, keeping her gun trained at the door.
The unexpected klaxon blast of a car horn made them both jump. Krycek frowned,
then she saw his eyes widen. "Mulder!" he whispered. Quickly, keeping low, Dana
crawled to the window and peered out over the sill. The big Lincoln was coming
in, aimed straight for the other car, a small brown sedan. To Dana's shock, he
did not stop, but collided heavily with the other car, knocking it back a couple
of feet. There was a crunch of metal on metal, and she heard a gunshot.
"He's ramming their car!" she told Alex. Another shot; Mulder had crouched down
in the car and was shooting back. Dana raced for the back door; they would be
watching the front. Krycek was ahead of her, already pulling it open. Trying to
be as soundless as possible, they made their way swiftly around the back of the
cabin.
The sound of tires screeching stopped them in their tracks. Mulder was reversing
the Lincoln, pulling away. Dana's heart lurched. He was trying to draw them off.
One of the intruders fired after him, the bullet bouncing harmlessly off the
car's rear end. Then the Consortium thugs, or whoever these were, were jumping
into their car and gunning it in pursuit. Alex chased after them, firing wildly.
One shot hit the brown car, smashing a taillight.
Dana was starting toward him when a sudden sound from behind made her spin
around. A man—he looked familiar—she had seen him in the Hoover
Building—he was FBI. Disoriented but relieved, she started to lower her gun
for a second, before it clicked that he had raised his and was pointing it
straight at her.
She thought with split-second clarity, I'm going to die. Paul's face
filled her mind. Then there was only the deafening explosion of a gunshot. Not
feeling it strike her, Dana instinctively hit the ground. Her would-be assailant
went down too, tumbling backward with a scream of pain. Another shot and he was
still.
"Scully!" Krycek's gravelly voice, now high with anxiety. "You all right?"
"I'm okay." She scrambled to her feet. The dead man's face, still incongruously
familiar, seemed to mock her. "It doesn't make sense, he's—" Suddenly, it
dawned on her who this must be. "Steven Feldstein."
Krycek stared down at Feldstein with a strange expression.
"Stay here," she ordered him. "I'm going to help Mulder."
"Like hell!"
"Krycek, it's you they're looking for!" But he was already running, going over
stones and roots in his bare feet as if they were nothing. She followed him.
They sprinted through the woods in silence. The harsh report of a gunshot
sounded, then another. Then the splintering crash of cars colliding.
"Fuck!" Krycek gasped, sounding frantic. They picked up the pace. Dana's heart
was thudding, adrenaline pumping. Rounding the bend, they could see the two
cars. The Lincoln was half off the road, tipped partway into a ditch. The brown
car's nose was crumpled; it looked like they had plowed into Mulder at an angle,
forcing him off the road. The cars stood empty, their doors open.
Cautiously, she approached, scanning the area in all directions. Behind her she
heard Alex breathing heavily. Then more gunfire sounded, not far off.
Motioning with his chin, Krycek started moving diagonally through the trees.
"The church," he panted. She followed him up over a rise, coming out onto a
path. Now she saw the old church in the distance. It appeared deserted as they
slipped through the woods toward it. They circled it warily. The back was
blocked by a high iron gate, thickly interwoven with vines and brambles, that
reminded Dana of the illustrations in "Sleeping Beauty" from her childhood.
Krycek pressed against the wall, gun raised, and peered in through a window.
"Clear," he whispered. They went around to the front and entered the church. It
was empty. Dana gazed around curiously. There was a tranquil, timeless quality
to the old church. She was sorry now she had called it 'creepy.' She had
expected the interior to be dark, but it was illuminated by a band of light.
Seeing what looked like a door to the outside back there, she began to walk
toward it.
Krycek grabbed her arm. "No! Don't go through there! It's—some kind of
weird portal—"
Dana disengaged her arm, quirking an eyebrow upward questioningly. The last
thing she needed at this moment was an irrational outburst from Krycek. Behind
them, the front door of the church was pushed open with a creaking sound. They
spun around, guns raised. A figure stood silhouetted against the sunlight
outside. Dana slid back the safety on her gun, training it on him.
"Scully! Alex!" It was Mulder. Thank God. She felt shaky with relief. Alex
closed his eyes for a second, exhaling hard. Mulder walked toward them, looking
dismayed to find them there. He and Alex exchanged a look. The air seemed to
crackle with all that was not being said.
Alex jerked his head around suddenly. "Someone's outside," he hissed. In the
next instant, the front door was wrenched open again and a small round object
was lobbed inside. It hurtled through the air in their direction, landing in a
corner. They dove for cover behind the pews. Dana held her breath. There was
absolute stillness for a moment. From her vantage point she could see nothing.
Then there was a muted popping sound, like a small firecracker going off.
They were alive. It had not been a bomb. She looked across the aisle at Mulder
and Alex, their faces registering the same shaken relief she was feeling. Then
she heard the crackle of flames and smelled smoke. The church was burning, the
old wood igniting almost instantaneously as fire raced up the beams. Dana felt
shock and grief at seeing the beautiful old carvings going up in flames.
They were trapped. Mulder stood frozen, staring at the flames. Then Alex was
racing toward him, pushing him into the beam of light and out through the door
he had called a portal. Dana didn't understand it, any of it, but she had no
time to think about it as a shot cracked through the church, shattering a
windowpane. She spun around to see the Consortium operatives coming in at the
front door.
Krycek exploded like a whirling dervish, snarling savagely, seeming to shoot in
all directions at once. She saw two of them go down, three. Crouching low behind
a pew, she tried to get a clear shot at the fourth. Then Krycek went down. Dana
started to go to him. A bullet winged past her, narrowly missing her ear. She
hit the ground, crawling toward Alex. He struggled to his feet, blasting off
another shot. The whole church was ablaze now, the thick smoke choking them.
Krycek pulled her along, dragging her down the steps and out into the sunlight.
They stumbled forward, coughing. She realized he was leaning on her more than
pulling her now. They were about twenty yards from the church when suddenly he
went down on his knees, clutching his side. Shocked, she saw that he was
bleeding heavily
She had to staunch the bleeding somehow, or he would never make it. Moving
quickly, she unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. Krycek's eyes doubled in size
and his mouth dropped open. She would have laughed if the situation wasn't so
dire. Wadding the blouse up, she pressed it firmly against the wound. Krycek
gave a sharp grunt of pain, his hand clenching into a fist.
"Sorry, Krycek...I'll try to be gentle."
He looked at her. "Hey," he gasped, "we're in our underwear here...we could get
killed any minute...call me Alex."
"Well, Alex," Dana said dryly. "I can see why you and Mulder get along so well."
Emotion flooded into Alex's eyes. "Mulder's gone," he whispered. He turned his
head away, his throat working.
Dana frowned. "He's not dead, Alex. I'm sure I saw him get safely out of the
church. As soon as he gets here, I'll be able to—"
"No. He's not coming back. That place, it's—" He struggled violently to
stand, not a wise move. His face went white and he slumped to the ground.
"Alex!" There was no response. She swore under her breath. That was not a good
sign. And what had he meant by saying Mulder was not coming back? His eyes when
he said that had been so intense, so full of anguished certainty. Behind her,
she could hear the roaring and cracking of the church burning. Smoke and debris
filled the air. She turned her head, staying vigilant for signs of an ambush and
searching desperately for Mulder. But Mulder did not come.
She had never felt so helpless. She had no way of moving Alex on her own, and no
phone to call for help. Her doctor's bag was back at the cabin. If she had it,
she could have cleaned the wound and stitched him up and administered
antibiotics. But she did not dare leave him alone there for the length of time
it would take to get it.
Krycek's eyes fluttered open. He blinked at her, looking bewildered and
disappointed at seeing that she wasn't Mulder. Keeping pressure on the wound,
she lifted her other hand. It was covered in blood. She fought back a tendril of
fear at seeing that. Wiping her hand on the grass, she pushed his hair back and
pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. It felt warmer than it should. The
fever was starting already.
"How do you feel, Kr—Alex?"
"Hurts..." He looked scared, in a way she hadn't seen before. She had seen him
paranoid and jumpy—that was pretty much habitual. This was different. He
was probably going to die out here, either from the loss of blood, or from the
side effects of the alien vaccine that would kick in. And he knew that.
She thought about how it would feel to die like that—without Paul, or her
family, or even Mulder around, only someone who barely tolerated her existence.
"Are...will you stay?" he asked. She could see that it wasn't easy for him to
ask her that. Looking at his face, she felt like she was seeing him for the
first time. It struck her how young he really was. She noticed, too, that he had
quite nice eyes—big and green, with eyelashes any woman would kill for. She
recalled Mulder going on and on one day about how good-looking Krycek was. At
the time she had thought, stupidly, that he was just yanking her chain.
She remembered, too, Mulder saying that Alex cared about him, would lay down his
life for him. She had thought he was deluding himself.
Now she saw.
Tears came to her eyes and she blinked them away. "Yes, Alex, of course I'll
stay with you," she said, as steadily as she could. She placed her hand over
his, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. To her surprise, he curled his
fingers around hers, holding on. More tears came to her eyes, and because both
her hands were in use, they ran down her nose and dripped onto Alex. Very
professional, she chided herself.
Alex's grip on her hand was loosening. His eyes were closed, his face ghostly
pale. She wondered if he was losing consciousness again.
She squeezed his hand. "How are you doing, Alex?"
His eyes opened partway. "Cold," he whispered.
Damn. He was starting to go into shock. She had nothing, not even water, or a
blanket to lay over him. Blood was seeping through the cloth. He was dying, and
there was nothing she could do to stop it.
And Mulder was gone.
The Animal I Wanted
by Ladyluck
Chapter Six
The Fox
but he is also a good power and a guardian. Certain shamans can
use the power and spirit of the Fox to reverse a problem, as in
the case of bringing someone out of a coma or back to life after
the person has been pronounced dead. The Fox is clever, intelligent,
a good hunter, and a wise friend. He also represents pride, regality,
and loyalty.
—Bobby Lake-Thom, "Spirits of the Earth"
