He read once that if you wrote your fears down, they'd go away. So he'd sat
down at a computer, tapped on the keyboard for hours, and got the whole goddamn
mess out, remembering when all the bad shit had started to happen. He
remembered every sordid detail: his training, the people he'd hurt, and the
things he'd done to survive. After he finished, he wished he'd left most of
those memories forgotten. The dead and maimed flashed before his eyes making
him feel a twinge of remorse. But he pushed that down and didn't let it come
back. Many years ago, he'd realized he couldn't survive if he felt remorse.
Those memories, they made his arm that wasn't there ache. They also made him
miss Mulder.
Mulder. The one thing tying all those faces, dates and places together.
How could one man have such an influence on the lives of so many and not
realize it? The six degrees of Mulder ran deep. Alex pushed thoughts of
Mulder away and fought with himself and told himself he should just back off,
but eventually he broke his long moratorium and sought Mulder out.
For being the headquarters of the FBI, no one who worked in the J. Edgar
Hoover building paid much attention to Alex in a black sports car parked out
front. He'd been there for hours, watching and waiting for Mulder. It was an
unusually warm day for this time of year; the trees had blossomed early. There
had been many people sitting outside eating lunch and having coffee from a hot
dog stand nearby. Alex was going to leave and try again tomorrow, when Mulder
walked out the door.
His heart had jumped and his pulse quickened as he watched Mulder stride
toward the hot dog stand and get in line. He had his sunglasses on, and his
tie was flapping in the wind. His hair was tousled, and it was all Alex could
do not to jump out of the car and drag him to the ground and fuck him right
then and there. It had been so long since he'd seen him, so long since he'd
watched him.
A woman bought two hot dogs and two cans of pop then left, leaving Mulder
and two other men in line. Mulder said something and the two men as well as
the hot dog vendor broke out into peals of laughter. Mulder smirked slightly
but went back to his deadpan expression while the men's laughter faded. A
woman joined at the end of the line behind Mulder, which sent the two men
laughing again. Mulder looked in the direction of Alex's car a little too
long, so Alex left him to his lunch, vowing to see him later that day.
He had followed him for a week, non-stop, to the basketball court, to work,
grocery shopping, everywhere. Alex noticed something about Mulder: He was
happy. He thought of Mulder laughing with the guys at lunch, joking with the
guys at the gym, with Scully. Mulder didn't need them. Mulder didn't need to
flirt with the girl at Starbucks, or the clerk at the bank. When he had Alex,
when Alex had him. When they had each other, they wouldn't need anyone else.
Everything had been a blur before that, and Alex really couldn't have said
how long it had been since he'd seen Mulder, but a long time had passed since
Mulder kissed Scully. That one horrible moment still haunted him and made his
world slip away and shatter. That moment when he felt the monster appear
inside him and not go away. It was still there. He could feel it waiting for
him to call it up again.
But it was just a kiss, right? He tried to convince himself that it was
just lips meeting then parting, people did it every day. It's not like he
threw her down and fucked her... Alex shuddered every time he thought
about it, and sometimes he needed to throw things and break things or people to
rid himself of the memory. Sometimes it was hard for Alex not to drive to
Scully's house and put a bullet through her head.
But he'd never do that. He'd had chances to do it before, but didn't. The
only thing that kept her alive was the fact that her death would destroy
Mulder. And he loved him too much to do that to him.
The day after Alex had killed that hustler, he went to New Orleans to purge
himself of the want and need for Mulder. He figured that was good place as any
to drink away his feelings with whisky and chartreuse, and fuck away his desire
with a bounty of young, horny men. But that didn't work, it just increased his
desire for Mulder and his libido, and sometimes the young men that he went out
with never got home again.
Then they found him. The thugs dragged him out of the bar he was in and
shoved him into the back of a car, pressed a gun to his temple and a phone to
his ear.
It was the smoker. He seemed to think Alex was his, yet had no claim to him
at all.
"She's dead, Alex," he whimpered. "She's killed herself. Please come back,
I need you."
Alex wasn't going to go. He was going to tell the old man to go fuck
himself, and hang up the phone. But he was in no position to argue. So, he
went to New York and consoled the smoker's withered up sorry ass and made him
feel better about himself just like he always did when called to duty.
I know what my priorities are.
Ah, that poor bastard, grieving for a woman that he himself had convinced
life wasn't worth living. Gentle persuasion from a lost love can do so much
when you're seemingly all alone.
After a few days, and after the old man had stopped blubbering enough to
stand straight, they went for a little ride to Scully's place. Alex was hoping
Mulder would be there, but the old man said he was working on a case in
California.
Alex knew what Mulder was working on; he'd seen him on TV. That nearly
drove him crazy. He wanted to be with him, he wanted to see him, to touch him,
to smell him, to tell him it was okay, and with everyone gone, he wouldn't have
to worry anymore. But he couldn't. He could only whimper at the television
and chauffeur that old bastard around like the little pawn he knew he was.
After the smoker had met with Scully, and Alex had driven him back to the
apartment, he'd said those magic words: "Alex, you're free to go."
Hallelujah.
A few hours and well-placed phone calls later, Alex found out Mulder was
back in California.
Alex had on another disguise on the plane to LA. This one was a dark wig
pulled down low to shorten his hairline, and a moustache and beard like that
wrestler he liked so much on TV. He had in false teeth, and padded his stomach
and chest. Mulder and Scully weren't anywhere near the airport, but he
couldn't take any chances.
He caught up to them at their motel and parked outside, the tinted windows
of his vehicle enough to conceal him from prying eyes. The digital infared
microphone just needed an inch of open space to hear the goings on inside
Mulder's motel room. Alex had suspected what had happened, how Mulder finally
learned the truth. The smoker had told him that Mulder was very close. But
listening to him grieve in his motel room just verified the facts.
Poor Mulder. It was almost too much to bear.
Mulder cried and cried into his pillow, all night, all alone. Alex cried
along with him from his position inside his car, crying for the pain and grief
of listening to him sob through his headphones. Mulder wept for his sister,
his mother, his father. He asked why a lot.
Scully came out to stand in front of Mulder's door a couple of times; she
could probably hear him from the room next door. She made motions to go knock
on his door to possibly comfort Mulder, but she stopped every time. She knew
when to give him space.
"Oh, Mulder," she'd said, Alex reading her lips through the binoculars. She
touched the door then went back to her own room.
A twinge of jealousy ran through Alex. If he and Mulder were still
partners, Alex could have been the one to console him. He could have comforted
him.
I can be your family, Mulder. I can make you happy.
In the morning, Mulder dried his eyes, and they all went home. Now he
knows the truth about Samantha, but he'll never know the truth about his
mother. Not if Spender had his way.
But that didn't matter right now.
Alex looked over at Mulder sleeping. Unconscious, actually. He was
beautiful that way. Still, except for his chest rising and falling with his
breaths, and his eyelashes fluttering. It was too bad he had to wake up, but
he had to, eventually...
And Alex knew this was wrong...
Dark Entries III
by Nicole S
How did he get here? How did he fall down in to this deep, dark hole? Alex
wasn't sure exactly when it happened, when he slid off the cliff and landed
with a large thud. But here he was, at rock bottom.
But he couldn't stop if he wanted to...
I've fallen and I can't get up...
But now he's mine...
And when he wakes, I'll be his.
