Tasting Colorado
by moco
"What do you mean my flight's been cancelled!" Mulder said, exasperated. The
clerk looked pained.
"I'm sorry, sir. The airline has been experiencing some labor problems, and for
the safety of our passengers, it's been deemed prudent to cut back on a few of
our scheduled flights. Would you care to reschedule?"
"How do I know the next one won't be cancelled, too?" he groused.
She sighed. It must've been a familiar complaint. "Your best bet is an early
morning direct flight."
He nodded his thanks. "Sounds like a plan. When's the soonest morning flight out
to DC?"
"The soonest you can get on is Tuesday morning. Flight #379 leaves DIA at 7:15."
"Tuesday!" he shouted. It was a bright, blue Saturday morning and Special Agent
Fox Mulder didn't want to spend it hanging around the Denver International
Airport. He didn't want to be in Denver at all. He wanted to go home and forget
all about conspiracies and witch burnings. Especially when the victims turned
out not to be witches at all but the alimony-heavy ex-wives of a group of Texas
stockbrokers. "Tuesday's not acceptable," he said in a more reasonable voice.
She sighed again. "It's a holiday weekend, sir. Tuesday's the best you're going
to get for a direct flight." She stared him down. "On this or any other
airline," she added.
"Crap," he said, chewing his bottom lip and considering his options. He could
try to put a more convoluted package together, but the more planes involved, the
more opportunities for cancellations. And the Bureau's travel discount was with
this airline. If he used any other, it was unlikely that he'd get it past
AD Skinner's expense account review.
Low mutterings at his back reminded him that he was not alone in this dilemma.
"Yeah, all right," he decided. "Tuesday it is."
She nodded her thanks and processed his request, handing him his new ticket with
more grace than he knew he could muster under similar circumstances.
He made his way to a nearby bank of pay phones, remembering AD Skinner's
admonishment regarding his last cell phone bill and called DC, advising them of
his situation and ETA. Skinner's "Good plan, Mulder" made the agent think his
boss was not a bit upset to have Mulder out of what little hair he had left for
an extended weekend.
He considered pouting, but with no one there to bear witness, it seemed a waste
of energy. He ambled while he considered, going vaguely towards where he thought
the car rentals would be.
God! He really didn't want to be in Denver, not overnight and certainly not for
three whole days. The last time he'd spent time in the Mile High City, he'd
encountered an old enemy, one who tied him in knots and wrung him dry each and
every time they saw each other. He moaned softly, cock twitching at the thought
of his green-eyed nemesis. Denver was definitely not a good idea.
Just a year and four months before, Fox Mulder had found himself following his
diminutive partner through a spring street fair located at the foot of Denver's
state Capitol building. After Scully ditched him, growing tired of his
boredom-induced foul mood, he'd been accosted by Alex Krycek. The encounter was
both explosive and troubling. Krycek had, he admitted, cured his boredom.
Now here he was, stuck in this damned city again, and he didn't like it.
He didn't like its circus-tent of an airport or its thin, dry air that made
running an endurance contest and totally disabled his already limited capacity
for liquor.
He wondered where he should stay. There was nothing to speak of around the
airport, just wind and plains. Downtown was probably his best bet, at least for
entertainment value. Maybe he could catch a game of some sort.
He declined the rental agency's offer to help him find a hotel, deciding to wait
and see what looked good. The drive to Downtown was a long one, and Mulder
figured that if he drove this far in the East, he'd've been in another state.
A disorienting attack of dÈjý vu hit him as he approached Denver's central
business district. Just like the last time he'd been stuck here, the grassy park
centered between the Capitol and the courthouse was alive with tents and kiosks,
music and hordes of partying Coloradans.
Coincidence he told himself. There's no way he was going there, no way in
hell that Alex Krycek would be lurking in the crowd. No way. Not a snowball's
chance.
It surprised him, then, when he found himself parked in a Downtown lot, paying
inflated "event day" prices.
I'm not going there, he told himself even as he walked down the 16th Street Mall
toward Civic Center Park and the festivities. I'm not.
He was, of course. Being in Denver through no fault of his own at the same time
as another major street fair was more than coincidence. It was fate. Or an
X-File.
The Mall stretched a full mile through Downtown Denver allowing no vehicular
traffic except for the electric buses that ferried people from one end to the
other. Mulder thought about hopping a ride, but the buses were crowded and the
weather delightful. It was hot and bright, but neither the 90-degree weather
Denver had been enduring all summer nor the stifling sauna of DC. Denver's hot
spell had made national news, Mulder recalled, breaking records of consecutive
days of 90-plus temperature.
His mood improved. It was hard to stay cranky under a sky this blue.
As he got closer to Colfax Avenue—the longest continuous east-west street
in the country his trivia-burdened mind recalled—and the festivities, the
more t-shirts he saw saying "A Taste of Colorado." The name was suggestive,
making him think of tastes he'd experienced his last trip here, making him
harden.
I am, he thought, one sorry bastard.
He determinedly walked off his erection, reaching finally the end of the Mall
and the beginning of the festival.
Whole streets were blocked off, filled with kiosks, booths and porta-potties in
lieu of traffic. One parking lot overflowed with carnival rides. Children's
shrieks vied with the siren song of the game hucksters, promising three balls
for a dollar, every throw a winner.
Even that had a sexual connotation for Mulder, making him think of
three-balled tomcats and how horny he'd suddenly become.
He shook his head and kept walking, his sense of dÈjý vu giving way to the
differences in this fair from the other he'd attended in Denver.
This one was bigger, the carnival rides were an addition and there seemed to be
more stages. And more commercial booths. From where he was standing in the line
to buy food tickets, he could see people lining up to win a new Ford, sign up
for cut-rate cellular service, and buy lottery tickets. The stage behind him and
next to the carnival contained five middle-aged men in striped referee shirts
playing some kick-ass Swing, to which a half-dozen elderly couples danced,
gliding gracefully over the rough asphalt of the street.
"How many, sir?"
"Huh?" Mulder replied, finding himself at the head of a line he hadn't known he
was standing in.
"How many tickets do you want?"
"What are they for again?" He smiled at her, hoping charm would cover up his
somewhat altered state.
"Food and drinks," she said patiently. "You get 12 for $5."
Mulder handed her a $20, wondering what the hell he was going to do with all the
tickets.
Buying his first beer answered that question. A domestic beer took six
tickets, an import—if Heineken could really be considered an
import—eight.
He sipped his Joseph Weinhart and wandered through the booths, noting the lack
of political topics, another difference. The craft booths were all similar
though—pottery and jewelry, photographs, oil paintings, stained glass and
weather vanes. He kept his eyes out for the frog lady, wondering if she'd ever
branched out into rats.
"Fox! Hey, Fox!" The feminine voice didn't sound familiar, but whom else would
she be talking to? "Fox! Over here." He spotted a vaguely familiar figure waving
at him from across the grassy aisle.
It was a face-painting booth, the same one he and Alex Krycek had had their
faces painted at 16 months before. He didn't remember them exchanging names.
"You're really here," the woman said excitedly, taking him by the arm and
pulling him to a chair. "Lana, see," she called to her partner. "He came." The
women—Mulder couldn't decide if they were sisters or lovers—sported
identical long frizzy hairdos. One was black shot with silver, the other a fiery
red shot with gold.
Lana, the dark-haired woman, stood and smiled, clapping her hands.
"Un-fucking-believable," she crowed, delighted. "He said you'd be here, and I
almost wouldn't take his money!"
"Sit!" directed Red, pushing him into a chair.
"What are you talking about?" Mulder gulped the last of his beer, totally
confused.
"Alex said you'd be here," said Lana. "He told us what to paint and paid for
it."
"We thought he was crazy," added Red tucking a paint-spattered bib around his
neck. "He said you hadn't spoken since the last time we saw you."
"Alex..." Mulder began. "Alex is here? Now?"
"Oh, yeah," said Lana. "Wasn't he sweet to remember us?" She took Mulder's empty
plastic cup away from him, reached into a box and came out with a bottle of Jack
Daniels, which she offered him. He took a deep breath, followed by a deep swig,
grimaced and handed it back. She grinned, swigged, handed it off and began to
turn his face this way and that.
"What do you think, Evy? Left to right or right to left?"
"Right to left," her sister/lover answered. "Definitely."
"You'll love it," Lana reassured him and began to draw on his face.
Mulder felt the world shift off its axis. Alex here. Alex expecting him.
He took a grateful swig from the Jack Daniel's bottle, letting the alcohol burn
sooth him away from wondering how.
"So whatcha think?" Evy asked, blowing the excess glitter off his face and
handing him a mirror.
He took it and stared. Kokopelli, the Anasazi flute player, rode a chopped-down
Harley across his face. The chrome of the bike glittered silver, red eyes
gleamed hotly and the black of the jacket seemed to open a hole in Mulder's
face. He was stunned.
"You are too good," he told her, marveling at the detail, "to be doing this."
"Pin money," she told him and kissed his unpainted cheek. "And it's fun."
"Inspirational," added Lana, handing him the Jack Daniels one last time.
"Did he tell you where he'd be?" Mulder asked, dropping another $20 in their tip
jar.
"By the fountain," answered Evy, gesturing back toward where Mulder had come
from.
He thanked them and kissed them both, cursed his hard-on and set off through the
festive crowd to find Alex Krycek.
The fountain was a shallow cement pool with water pouring out of the mouths of
seals. At least Mulder thought they were seals. It was filled with screaming,
laughing children. A few adults festooned the edges, dipping infants and keeping
watchful eyes on older kids.
"Alex!" screamed a gangly pre-teen in baggy shorts and a "Rockies" tank top.
"Watch me!" The kid did a handstand in the water, head entirely submerged,
walking on his hands until he bumped into another kid and splashed down. He
arose from the water grinning. "Didja see, Alex? Didja see?"
"I saw," said Alex Krycek. He was sitting at the end of the pool, bare legs
dangling in the water. He wore cut-off jeans and a black tank top, his
prosthesis obscenely obvious. He was surrounded by children and seemed to be
telling them a story. One little girl stood off to his side, worriedly stroking
his abbreviated left shoulder.
"But didn't it hurt?" she asked.
"Yes, it did," he told her seriously. "But it doesn't hurt now."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Positive," he smiled reassuringly, but the little girl kept petting him,
soothing a hurt she couldn't comprehend.
Mulder watched unnoticed. Alex's face was painted red and black in a Harlequin
pattern. It matched the red and black velveteen jester's hat he wore. Anyone
else would look a fool, but Krycek, spotting Mulder, looked slightly sinister
and devastatingly sexy.
Mulder walked slowly toward Alex and the kids, trying to be cool, trying not to
show his eagerness. His pleasure.
"Who are you?" asked a chubby towhead dressed in baggy wet khakis.
"This is Fox," said Alex, looking up.
"Oohhh," the children all chorused knowingly.
Mulder felt himself blushing and glowered at Alex. What the hell had he told
these urchins? The one-armed imp rose to his feet, ruffled heads and cupped
cheeks. He bent and kissed the worried child on her forehead saying, "Be happy,
Tanya. I am," then picked up a battered backpack.
The kids were obviously disappointed, but made little protest. He must have told
them he'd be leaving.
He nudged Mulder by way of greeting, irritating the agent even as he felt a warm
glow spreading through himself.
"Your face is going to freeze that way," Krycek admonished, reaching out and
smoothing a frown line.
Mulder leaned into the touch, realized what he was doing and jerked back. Then
he realized he really didn't want to back away and leaned in again. He felt like
one of those bobbing dogs in the back window of a teenager's car. Alex cuffed
him gently, saving him the embarrassment of jerking away yet again.
"Want a beer?" the sexy wretch asked.
Mulder, mouth too dry to speak, nodded. They walked through the crowd silently,
Alex leading and Fox following as if on a leash. At the back of the beer line,
he finally found his voice.
"I have tickets," he said and produced a wad from out of a pocket.
Alex grinned. "Always prepared, eh Mulder?"
Mulder wanted to take offense at that, but his cock was hardening and that made
it difficult to sustain any kind of anger.
Alex plucked a strip of tickets from his hand, ordered two beers and handed over
the appropriate number of tickets. He pocketed the "change" and handed Mulder
his beer.
"How did you know?" Mulder asked, taking the beer.
Alex raised an eyebrow.
"That I'd be here? How did you know? Even you're not capable of arranging for a
labor slowdown for an entire airline. Are you?"
Krycek just looked at him, sipping his beer.
"How did you know?" Mulder repeated.
"I just knew," Alex finally said. "My grandmother was a Gypsy. I've got
The Sight."
"Your grandmother wasn't a Gypsy!"
"She most certainly was!" They glowered at each other. Krycek broke first. "My
flight got cancelled, so I just decided to hang out here åtil Tuesday. When I
saw they were having another of these damned festivals, I thought of you and I
wanted you. I wanted you here. So I decided to act as if you were here, and here
you are." He shrugged. "Sympathetic magic."
"Sympathetic magic," Mulder repeated skeptically.
"Or synchronicity." Mulder raised a very Scullyish eyebrow. "Maybe it's an
X-File." Alex raised his own eyebrow. He looked delicious.
Mulder gulped half his beer, partly to keep himself from grabbing Krycek,
ripping his clothes off and devouring him on the spot.
"So what are you doing here?" Alex asked when he came up for air, reaching out
to wipe foam off the agent's lip, murmuring "Don't want to mess up the paint
job."
Mulder had to grin. "My flight got cancelled. Soooo..." he dragged the word out,
"I came downtown to get a room, saw the fair, thought of you..."
Mulder grinned despite his embarrassment and felt a warmth tingling from his
stomach southward at the smile splitting Alex's face. His mouth went dry again
so he sipped at the beer, being careful of the foam.
"Let's check out the food," Alex said, breaking the spell.
Mulder nodded his agreement not trusting his still-dry mouth. He followed
Krycek's lead, enjoying the view. He'd never seen Alex in shorts before. As good
as those jeans and that damned black jacket he normally work looked on him,
those long muscular legs seemed to scream for the heat of summer. Delicious.
He swallowed, saliva suddenly filling his mouth, a deluge of sorts. He hungered
for more than what his tickets could buy. Following Alex's lead, he gorged on
what he could.
They stood on line for corn on the cob and turkey legs, then yakatori skewers,
buffalo burgers and finally at Alex's taunting dare, oyster shooters, all washed
down with copious amounts of beer. It was as if they both needed to slake a huge
hunger. Keeping at bay a slavering, ravenous beast.
Mulder cried "uncle" finally, the beer, the heat and the altitude all conspiring
to make his head spin. Alex smiled that angelic smile that Mulder could only
interpret at meaning trouble and led the way to a shady spot near the blues
stage. Mulder sat gratefully, as tipsy from Alex's close proximity as much as
from anything else. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to fuck and be fucked until he
couldn't stand. He still felt a growing hunger that no amount of gourmet junk
would sate.
"I have something that will help," Alex told him, seeming aware of Mulder's
state and taking pity. He dug around in his backpack, finally pulling out
a roundish red fruit and a folded knife. Mulder watched transfixed as he
snicked open the knife, then sliced down each side of the fruit, cutting
off two half moons. He held one of the half-moons of pale orange flesh in his
stiff left hand. With his right, he cut a series of lines through the flesh of
the fruit, first lengthwise, then across, making a grid.
He had a small, knowing smile on his face as he carefully turned the fruit
inside out. The grid he'd cut formed small cubes, still attached on one side to
the skin. It reminded Mulder of Pinhead from the old Hellraiser movies.
Holding Mulder's eyes, Alex carefully took one of the cubes between his teeth
and slowly, sensuously bit it off. He chewed slowly, as if savoring the taste,
making Mulder wish he would turn into a piece of fruit.
"Mango, Mulder?" Alex asked once he'd swallowed, holding out the fruit like an
offering.
Mulder mimicked Alex, bending and slowly biting off one of the tasty cubes. He
wondered if he looked as sexy doing it as Alex had.
They took turns until the fruit was gone, then Alex did the same with the other
half. They stayed silent, intent on the mild-tasting fruit and on each other. It
was the perfect antidote to the junk food, mild enough to settle their stomachs
and juicy enough to counter at least some of the dehydration caused by the sun
and the beer.
When they finished, Alex tossed the middle part with its great flat pit towards
a couple of squirrels that scampered after it, chattering excitedly.
"You shouldn't feed wildlife like that," Mulder stated, sounding a bit
sanctimonious even to himself. "They get used to being fed. If people stop
feeding them, they starve."
"These are city squirrels," Alex gave a snort of amused disdain. "If people
stopped feeding them, they'd just start mugging people." He stood up. "Come on.
Let's look around some more."
Mulder wanted to protest, wanted to go someplace where they could fuck. He was
tired and tense and could now feel the banked rage that was never far away. It
wasn't just Krycek. Deep inside, Mulder was always angry.
The music helped. They listened and watched people, making up outrageous stories
about the ones who caught their fancy. Alex was the more whimsical of the two,
but Mulder soon got caught up in the silliness. Alex helped Mulder find a gift
for Scully, a piece of exquisite blue pottery, a graceful tapered cup the exact
shade of her eyes when she wasn't pissed off. Mulder kept Alex firmly away from
rubber-band guns and other items of childish destruction.
They settled finally on one of the few open spots on the grass in front of the
main stage and watched the shadows lengthen. "I want to see the headline act,"
Alex said, naming an 80's band Mulder was only dimly aware of.
It was a peaceful time, surrounded as they were by throngs of free-concert
goers, and Mulder felt oddly isolated and at peace. He watched Alex watching
people, noting his enemy's sunburnt nose. On impulse, he leaned over and licked
it.
Alex stared at him, astounded. "You're drunk," he announced.
"You think?" Mulder asked seriously. In truth, he felt quite lucid and thought
hi must've drunk himself sober. Both a misnomer, he knew, and a physical
impossibility. Still, it's how he felt—steady and in control.
"You just licked my nose. In public."
Mulder smiled, pleased he could actually do something to surprise Alex. "It must
be the altitude," he explained and did it again.
Alex blinked twice and opened his mouth to speak, obviously changed his mind and
merely shook his head. "No more for you," he said. "Behave yourself, they're
starting."
And indeed they were. Mulder thought the music was forgettable and the lyrics
indistinguishable. The crowd was enthusiastic, though, leading him to conclude
that Denverites were a) very polite or b) starved for entertainment.
Alex seemed to enjoy it, so Mulder watched him watching the band. His lips moved
as if singing quietly along. Mulder tried lip-reading the lyrics, but it was too
dark for him to have much success at it.
After one particularly discordant song, Alex sighed, smiled and said, "Let's
go." He rose in that controlled graceful manner that always set Mulder's blood
supply south, leaving the agent to gaze up at him, speechless. He hadn't thought
beyond the here and now, hadn't dared wonder what they'd do later, and
now, later was here.
"Where?" he managed to croak out. He couldn't see Alex's smile in the darkness,
but he knew it was there. 'He's laughing at me,' Mulder thought, beginning to
get angry again.
Just then Alex said, "Come on." He took Mulder's hand and pulled him up. Its
warmth felt good. With the sun went much of the heat. It was almost fall in
Colorado and felt like it.
Alex led them through the crowd still holding Mulder's hand. The agent should
have felt self-conscious about that, but here in the park in this strangely
magical city it felt okay. His anger seeped away, leaving him edgy, and shy.
They walked through the now deserted fair, heading back toward Downtown and
Denver's 16th Street Mall.
There was a scattering of people in the Mall, mostly 20-somethings heading for
brewpubs or trendy bars. A couple of horse carriages clop-clopped their way
toward Lodo, Denver's 'way trendy lower downtown. Besides the partygoers, street
kids lurked. The more aggressive ones actually panhandled the couples or
propositioned the singles. They were a mixed lot, and Mulder wondered how many
were middle class kids from the 'burbs out for a thrill. Many of them seemed a
little too clean, too well-dressed and well-fed to be true denizens of the
street.
A group who seemed to have commandeered the narrow strip of grass, rocks and
walkways known as Skyline Park seemed to be the real thing, however, exuding a
not-so-faint odor of danger and desperation. Mulder noticed that most of the
couples walking their way crossed the street to avoid confrontations. Alex, of
course, headed right toward them.
"Yo," said the boldest of the pack as the two men drew near. "Got some change?"
The boy said it with a patronizing smirk. Alex smiled at him, as if pleased with
the performance of a particularly slow puppy. Mulder shifted uneasily, getting
ready to reach down for his angle gun as two other raggedy teens moved in to
flank.
"Looky what we got here," said a tall, pimply blond to Mulder's left. "A gimp
and a geek. Think they want to play?"
"Play or pay," said a sweet-faced Asian kid with a green Mohawk standing to
Mulder's right.
Alex's smile widened and the boys stopped, their unease apparent. They'd begun
to recognize Alex as another predator.
"What do you think, Fox? See anything here we could use?"
Mulder shrugged, unsure where Alex was heading with this.
"Something tasty, maybe," he answered himself.
The boys all shifted slightly, each settling into a seductive stance. "Too
gamy," Alex said dismissively. "What's their story?" he pointed his chin past
the pimpled blond to a couple of nervous-looking kids standing quiet in the
shadows, as if trying to hide. They were most likely brother and sister, being
too young to chalk up their resemblance to each other to long association. The
boy and girl looked at each other, despair plain to see. The girl's eyes filled
with tears that glittered under the street light.
"Newbies," said Pimples.
"New is good," Alex purred.
"It'll cost."
"You get what you pay for," Alex countered.
Pimples smiled. In the weird light from the street, it looked like a grimace.
"You want them both?" Pimples asked.
The boy rose and stood protectively in front of the girl.
Alex shook his head. "He'll do."
"Kenny...," the girl whispered.
"Come on, Ken-eee," said Green Mohawk Boy. "You're gonna get your cherry popped
tonight!"
Even in the dark, Mulder could see that the boy's face was ashen. "Alex," he
growled in warning. He couldn't have said what he was warning against.
"S'okay, Fox," Alex said in that low whiskey tone that haunted Mulder's dreams.
"We'll be gentle." Then he winked. "Move it this way, boy. Let me see what I'm
buying."
The girl openly sobbed as Kenny shuffled slowly toward them. The raucously
obscene catcalls became unintelligible background noise to Mulder' ears, and all
he could think was that this game of Krycek's, if it was a game, was
going to ruin everything.
"Look, Mulder," Alex said as the boy came close, "He's pretty. Don't you think
he's pretty?"
Mulder just stared. The boy had a farm-fresh Opie Taylor look about him, but
Mulder wouldn't have described him as "pretty." Alex was "pretty."
Kenny stood directly in front of Alex looking scared. Something one of the other
boys said got his attention and he turned to them, glaring. When he turned back
to Alex, his chin was up, defiant. Still scared but facing it. Alex smiled at
him and nodded. "You'll do."
Alex started walking, jerking his head to indicate they should follow. Mulder
stood rooted for a moment, anger and sadness vying for dominance. More jeers got
him moving, trotting after Alex and the boy.
Krycek lead them through an alley, cut over another block and down another,
darker alley. He turned and took hold of the boy, began caressing his face. His
hand moved down to Kenny's chest, found a nipple and squeezed. Mulder grimaced
as the boy did.
"Alex." Mulder started to warn again. The blinding smile Krycek turned on him
shut him up.
"Look at him, Fox. He's ready to take whatever we dish out. No matter what it
is. He'll do it to protect that girl. A sister, I bet. What do you think, Fox? A
guy'd do most anything to protect his sister, wouldn't he?" The words mocked,
but the tone was gentle.
Mulder tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He could only croak out,
"Alex."
"Look at him," Alex crooned, suddenly tearing the boy's t-shirt from the neck
down, making them both jump, baring Kenny's chest to the cooling night air.
"He's gonna let us fuck him, aren't you, boy? Just so he can save little sister
from the same fate for another hour or two. Wonder what was so bad at home that
makes this better. Or were you just too dumb to know how good you had it? Answer
me, boy!" He twisted a nipple, making the boy cry out, emphasizing his demand.
Mulder felt powerless to intervene, sensing suddenly that this was more to Alex
than just a game.
"You just too fucking proud to admit you blew it and go home? You'd rather whore
your sister out then do the smart thing?" His words were brutal, voice harsh,
and he continued to cruelly twist the boy's bruised nipple.
"We can't," the boy screamed, twisting out of Alex's grip. "We can't!" He sank
to his knees, sobbing. "You don't know what it's like...what he did to her. You
don't know."
Alex knelt down next to him, his hand on the boy's shoulder, balancing. His
voice was soft, kind.
"Yeah, I do know." He knelt there a long time while the boy sobbed. He stared up
at Mulder as if looking for answers, making Mulder squirm. He didn't know this
new game. Didn't know what it was he needed to do.
Alex seemed to come to a decision. He stood, bringing the boy up with him. "How
much are they expecting you to bring back to them?"
"Huh?" the boy sniffed loudly, his breath still hitching with sobs.
"Money. How much money will those assholes expect you to make from this?"
"I dunno. Twenty? I think twenty." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and
then wrapped his arms around himself. Mulder sympathized. It was getting cold.
Alex took a $20 and a $10 out of his wallet. "Here's the twenty to give them.
And the ten for them to find. If you want out of this, you and your sister, I
have a place for you to go. If you want out."
The boy sniffed. "We won't go home. Even this is better than that."
Alex pulled all the bills out of his wallet, three hundreds and a few twenties.
"Give him your money, Fox," he said.
Mulder started to protest, then shrugged, pulling out his own wallet. He'd spent
most of his cash on beer and trinkets. He handed his last $40 to Alex, who added
it to his stash and handed it to the boy. Then he started digging through the
backpack, pulled out a small notebook and started to write.
"Get on the bus," he said, "and go here." He wrote the name of a small town in
Central Oregon. "Ask for Brother Mike. Give him this." He wrote something on
another slip of paper, tore it out of the notebook and gave it to the boy.
Mulder stretched to see what was written.
"Some wounded birds for you to fix—A."
"Who's Brother Mike?" the boy asked, looking skeptical, looking for the angle,
the catch.
"A do-gooder," Alex replied. He shrugged. "You choice, boy. What do you have
here?"
The boy shook his head, close to tears again.
"Hide the money good," Alex instructed. "Don't let them find it." He backhanded
the boy suddenly, splitting his lip.
"Let 'em think you earned that $30 the hard way. It may keep them from giving
you a lot of grief."
The boy put his hand to his face, feeling blood. He looked at his hand, at the
blood from his mouth, then up at Alex. Mulder could almost taste it himself,
warm and coppery.
He nodded slowly, eyeing Alex warily, while toeing off a shoe. He lifted up the
innersole where he placed the folded up bills. With his shoe back on, he stood
and looked from Alex to Mulder, still wary. Alex made a sudden feint toward him,
and he bolted, running away from them through the dark end in of the alley and
out of sight.
Alex smiled, looking as if nothing unusual had occurred. It infuriated Mulder,
that smile, the familiar burning rage blocking out any thoughts of why.
Before he knew he was going to do it, Mulder grabbed Alex by the shirt and
slammed him against the building, kissing him hard and grinding his leg into his
enemy's erection. He wanted to devour Krycek and take that smile off his face.
He wanted to suck the life force right out of him, wanted...wanted...
"No," he said, breaking the clench with difficulty. "No," he repeated. His arms
were locked on either side of Alex and he hung his head down. "I want...," he
started but didn't know how to finish. "I want..."
"What?" Alex prompted, his voice even huskier than usual.
"Everything," Mulder replied and dove in for another kiss. This time, he made it
soft, exploratory rather than claiming, sweet even, and Alex replied in kind.
It was like being kissed for the very first time.
Mulder lost himself in it, not thinking, just letting his emotions flood through
him, not trying to justify or excuse anything. So lost was he that he didn't
notice Alex fumbling at his zipper until his jeans were peeling down his legs.
"No...please...," he stopped Alex with a hard grip on his good arm. Mulder's
nemesis looked at him questioningly. "I want...can't we...just this once...?"
his voice tapered off.
"What?" another whisper, more felt than heard.
"Do it right?"
The words hung there, and the longer the silence went on, the more Mulder's
anger grew. One smirk, just a trace of derision or sarcasm and he thought he'd
put a gun in Alex's ear and pull the trigger.
He almost hoped that would happen. He felt naked, and it had nothing to do with
the unzipped jeans riding halfway down his hips.
"Are you sure?" came a whisper, finally, no hint of mocking in the voice, only
wonder, and maybe a little bit of fear.
"No," answered Mulder truthfully, "no, but yes."
Another long silence and finally, "Okay," and then he was helping Alex pull up
his jeans, his hand still holding onto the felon's arm.
"Come on," Alex said, shrugging out of his grip and taking hold of his hand. He
led Mulder out of the alley and back to the Mall.
"Wait," Mulder said, stopping him at the sidewalk. "I don't have a hotel."
Alex did smile then. "I do," he said.
They strolled back up the Mall, back toward the festivities, not actually
holding hands, just almost touching, close enough to feel each other's heat.
They didn't speak.
Mulder followed Alex onto one of the small electric mall buses that cruise up
and down the mile-long mall. For balance, the agent gripped one of the overhead
hangers, Alex close behind him, his good hand placed lightly on Mulder's hip.
That seemed the only help he needed to stay upright on the crowded, swaying bus.
A jolting stop sent him into Mulder's back, and the hand on his hip tightened.
Their eyes met and stayed locked for several blocks until Alex hooked a finger
through one of Mulder's belt loops and tugged.
"Our stop," he said with a small smile, leading Mulder off the bus. They were
back close to the festival and could still hear music coming from the concert.
They veered off the Mall and walked toward an old stone hotel.
"The Brown Palace?" Mulder commented looking around at the marble floors and
vaulted ceiling of the elegant old hotel. "Crime must pay."
"I know it's not Motel 6, Mulder, but try to adapt."
"Fuck you, Krycek," Mulder replied mildly, trying to keep his excitement from
showing. This was really going to happen—sex in a bed with clean sheets and
doors that locked, not some dingy alley smelling of stale piss and vomit.
Once in the room, reaction set in. Mulder felt sunburnt and drunk, his stomach
was queasy from junk food and rage, and his dick was at half-mast.
"You exhaust me," was all he said.
There was no mocking in Alex's gentle smile, just understanding. "Yeah, I know,"
he answered. "Come on. Your paint is flaking," he said, leading Mulder into the
bathroom.
Like most hotel baths he'd experienced, the shower was too short for someone
their height. They made do anyhow, taking turns ducking under the water. They
scrubbed each other gently, working off the dried and flaking face paint. Mulder
squirted hotel shampoo onto Alex, loving how the always-in-control thug seemed
to melt into him as he massaged the soap into the dark hair. How awkward, he
thought it must be, to shampoo with only one hand.
With Alex all rinsed, Mulder ducked under the spray to wash his own hair, while
Alex soaped his chest and belly. They'd kept their hands above their waists,
neither wanting to rush. Mulder let himself be turned so Alex could scrub his
back. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had that luxury, and felt like
crying at the sweetness.
Once soap free, they kissed and kept on kissing until they wrinkled. Mulder
laughed at the sensation of waterlogged fingertips on erect nipples. He was
still laughing when Alex abruptly shut off the water and threw a towel at him.
He stopped laughing when Alex growled, "You're dry enough," and shoved him out
of the bathroom toward the bed.
Standing opposite Alex with the bed between them, Mulder felt strangely
self-conscious, while he helped turn the covers down.
"This doesn't seem natural," he said, not looking at Krycek.
"We could always get dressed and go find an alley."
Mulder looked up at him to see if he was serious.
Alex smirked.
"Fuck you," Mulder said, frowning at him. The smirk deepened, which deepened
Mulder's frown.
He considered several options, all of them violent, when Alex said softly,
"Okay."
It took Mulder a long minute to comprehend. His mouth went dry. He was usually
on the receiving end.
"You mean it?" he asked.
A lopsided shrug. "We can take turns."
"You're awfully optimistic," Mulder commented.
"Well, hell, Mulder. We've got all weekend."
So they did, Mulder thought, jumping on the bed and reaching over to pull Alex
on top of him. They did have all the rest of the long Labor Day Weekend, with no
obligations and, Mulder quickly discovered, Alex's very optimistic supply of
condoms.
The last thing he remembered coherently wondering was whether or not the hotel
had room service.
It did.
The teenagers looked forlornly after the quickly departing Greyhound. This was
no proper bus station they stood in, not like the one they left in Denver. This
was just a side room off a two-pump gas station in a one-horse town that seemed
too small to get lost in. They stood out like pimples on a debutante's nose.
"You kids going to Brother Mike's," asked a middle age man wearing a baseball
cap that said "Dekalb" on it. He signed a charge slip at the counter, nodded
thanks to the clerk and said, "I go past there, you want a ride."
They looked at each other and, not knowing what else to do, followed the man out
to a dusty green pickup. He indicated the bed of the truck with his chin, then
climbed into the cab, not waiting to see what they would do. He was used to the
stray kids that showed up every now and then, knew how skittish they could be.
He took his time writing the mileage and gallons down in a log book, giving them
time to decide, letting them clamber aboard and get settled before he started up
the truck and turned it south out of town.
In truth, his spread lay in the opposite direction from the small truck farm
known as "The Monastery." He popped a Clapton tape into the deck and turned it
up, feeling virtuous.
"This is it," he told the kids, stopping at the end of a dirt long driveway
about five miles out. He honked and a tall, dark-haired man looked up from a
bushel of apples he seemed to be sorting through, wiped his hands on his jeans
and strode towards them.
He nodded thanks to the farmer, who grinned and touched the brim of his hat in
solute. "Welcome," he told the teens, helping them out of the truck bed.
"He told us to come," the boy said abruptly, thrusting a filthy piece of paper
at him. "He gave us money and told us to come."
As the man read the brief note, his thumb traced the words, as if trying to feel
the writer. He smiled widely, deeply tanned laugh lines framing brilliant green
eyes. "Any friends of Alex's," he began, putting an arm over each shoulder and
leading them down the driveway toward a large white house, "any friends of
Alex's...."
