Alex Krycek looked around nervously before tapping on the Lone Gunmen's
door. He was as certain as he could be that he had not been tailed, but
experience taught him that there was no such thing as too paranoid. In
fact, he hadn't fully healed from his last lesson on that subject. He waited
impatiently for one of the occupants to check the peephole before letting
him in.
Langly smiled warmly. "Hey, Alan."
Byers and Frohike came in from their rooms off the main office.
"Hey, guys. Your FBI friend like that last set of computer files I passed
on?"
Frohike laughed. "Liked? I haven't seen him so happy since his partner
went into remission."
Langly cut in. "Mulder's dying to meet you, man."
Alex expected this eventuality, and had planned the appropriate evasion.
"No way, man. No G-man sees my face."
His last attempt to use information to buy into Mulder's good graces led to
him being beaten, frozen, nearly murdered, dragged through Russia,
interrogated by gulag guards and nearly getting his arm cut off by peasants.
Alex had reluctantly accepted that his erstwhile partner would never
believe that they were now on the same side. Alex would have to feed him
information through those he trusted. Fortunately, the Gunmen had never run
into him while he was still working within the FBI.
"Hey, Mulder's cool," Langly protested.
Not to me. Alex knew he'd given Mulder reason enough to hate. The
knowledge hurt worse than it should.
Langly shrugged. "Your call."
Alex had developed a fondness for the three oddball conspiracy theorists.
They were all basically nice guys, and Alex hadn't had niceness in his life
in a long, long time. Besides, he took a strange, vicarious pleasure in
hanging out with people who hung out with Mulder. He tried to forget they'd
hate him if they knew who he really was.
A key in the door startled him. So far as he knew, only three people had
keys to this office, and they were all in the room with him.
Alex spun, right hand freeing his pistol from the waist holster hidden under
his jacket. Byers grabbed his arm, and Alex nearly shot him in reflex.
Once, he wouldn't have hesitated.
"What is this?" he hissed.
"Shit!" Langly said.
Frohike began simultaneously. "He wasn't supposed to be here 'till—"
The door swung open. For a brief second, he took in Mulder's astonished
face, felt a rush of fear and longing. Then Mulder was on him, twisting the
gun from his hand, smashing its grip across his jaw, slamming his fist into
his gut, and then cuffing him while he struggled to catch his breath.
Krycek was no slouch at hand-to-hand combat, but, as usual, Mulder's
passionate anger blew him away.
Byers grabbed at Mulder's arm as the agent pulled back for another blow.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Mulder laughed, that dark cutting laugh that Alex knew so well. "Do you
want to tell them, Krycek, or should I?"
"This is Krycek?" Frohike exclaimed. "The man who—"
"Betrayed me, who killed my father, and Scully's sister. One of the men
responsible for Scully's abduction, for her cancer, for the fact that she'll
never have children of her own."
The accusations hurt more because Alex knew them to be true. "Mulder,
please, just for once, listen. I—"
Mulder kicked him, driving the breath from his body. Krycek curled up
defensively, waiting for the next blow.
It never came. Alex dared look up. Byers and Langly held Mulder back.
"This isn't like you, Mulder," Byers said. "This isn't right. No matter
what he's done, you can't beat up a man in handcuffs."
Byers, the reasonable, the calm one. Thank you, Byers. Alex used the
brief respite to wriggle into a sitting position and scoot back from Mulder.
"Damn it all," Mulder said. "If he's your contact, then all the leads he's
been feeding us are a trap."
"Mulder, no, listen," Alex tried again, despair overriding commonsense.
Mulder grabbed him by the throat and hauled him to his feet, then slammed
him into the wall. Alex clawed at his hands, desperate for air.
"Believe the lie, Krycek?" Mulder said his name like a curse. "Just what
are you up to? Who are you working for now?"
"Myself," he gasped.
Langly and Byers pulled Mulder back.
"I think he'll talk better if you let him breath," Frohike interjected.
The lightness in his voice sounded forced. Alex knew that Mulder's violence
shocked the three hackers. This was a side of Mulder reserved for his
former partner.
"So far, everything he's given us checked out," Langly reminded him "We've
never been so close to finding your sister."
"Even if it's a trap, it may be baited with real cheese," Frohike added.
Mulder paused. "Okay. We proceed as planned, but we proceed with caution."
"Mulder, you'll need the last information I brought today. You—"
Mulder punched him again. He expected it. He didn't expect Byers to step
between them, shielding Alex with his own body.
"I don't know what's gotten into you, Mulder, but you're not going to beat
on a defenseless man in our office."
To Krycek's intense relief, Mulder backed down.
Byers turned to him. "Where is it?"
"Inside pocket. Top left-hand side."
Byers reached inside Krycek's leather jacket and pulled out the computer
disk.
"Call us tomorrow," Frohike said to Mulder. "We should have the files
deciphered by then."
Mulder nodded absently, staring at Krycek. "I guess I'll have to take him
with me, or they'll know we've been tipped off."
Krycek shook his head and sidled away. He looked pleadingly at the Gunmen.
"You can't let him take me. He'll kill me."
The three looked from Alex to Mulder.
"Uh, Mulder," Byers began hesitantly. "Promise me, if you take him out of
here, they're not going to be pulling his body out of a dumpster tomorrow."
"C'mon, Dad," Mulder mock-whined. "I promise I'll take real good care of
him, and walk him every day."
And to think I used to like his sick sense of humor.
"I can't take him back to my place," Mulder continued. "Too obvious. Can I
use your bolt-hole up North?"
Byers nodded. "We'll have someone meet you at the mid-way point with keys."
Alex shifted in the seat, trying to find some comfort for his bruised ribs.
He was really, really, sick of being left handcuffed inside locked cars.
Through the window of the roadside diner, he could see Mulder at a booth,
eating and talking to a scruffy, nervous-looking twenty-something.
Silently, Alex willed Mulder to bring him some take-out or at least a Coke
to settle his stomach. He'd known better to ask—Mulder would have only hit
him again. He remembered from last time that the best course was to wait
patiently until Mulder took pity on him and threw a burger his way.
Of course, promises to the Gunmen aside, Mulder might just be waiting to get
to a nice, deserted area to put a bullet in his brain and leave his body to
the scavengers. It wasn't like anyone was about to file a missing persons
claim on him.
As he watched, Mulder went to the counter, paid for his meal, and left the
café empty-handed. Damn. Alex hadn't eaten since last night, hadn't had
money for breakfast and was sort of counting on the Gunmen to feed him
lunch. They were usually good for pizza and beer. He wondered if they fed
him because they suspected how bad off he really was. The sun had just set,
and he knew Mulder wouldn't be stopping to eat again any time soon.
Mulder got into the car, and Alex looked away, sliding against the door and
wrapping his arms defensively around his ribs. He never could guess what
might set Mulder off. Mulder just ignored him this time, and started the
car.
An hour and a half later, Mulder pulled off to a deserted rest stop. Alex
had given up hope of food or drink, but his bladder was painfully full.
"Uh, Mulder, could you let me out of here? For a little bit? I really need
to use the facilities."
Mulder just stared at him blankly. Then, without warning, he uncoiled,
punching Krycek in the lower abdomen.
Alex cried out in pain at the sudden attack, nearly wetting himself from the
pressure on his bladder. He sobbed, trying to catch his breath, feeling
utterly humiliated, like a first-grader with an extremely sadistic teacher.
Please, Mr. Mulder, sir, I really have to go.
Mulder watched Alex gasping, saw tears of rage and shame glinting at the
corners of his closed eyes. Damn, but I've become a petty bastard. I can't
believe I just did that. He only asked to relieve himself, for Christ
sakes. He got out of the car, went to the passenger side, and yanked open
the door. His prisoner, cuffed to the armrest, tumbled out onto the macadam
parking lot. Alex cringed as Mulder reached over to undo the handcuffs. He
cuffed Krycek's hands in front of him, and hauled him to his feet.
Alex gave him a frightened, confused look.
"Move!" He shoved Krycek toward the men's room.
Mulder stood beside him, glaring, as he fumbled with cuffed hands to undo
his fly and take care of his needs. He noticed that Krycek was shaking
slightly. Mulder supposed he would be, too, trapped with an enemy who
pounded him at every turn. Only Krycek inspired in him such extreme
violence, and Mulder hated him the more for it.
Mulder cuffed Krycek to the sink while he made use of the facility himself,
then led him back out to the car, pointedly ignoring the longing look Krycek
gave to the vending machines. Ask, beg, you bastard, and I might consider
feeding you. Or not.
Mulder drove on in the darkness, ignoring Krycek, pushing away the
temptation to just shoot the bastard and be done with it. A half hour
later, he glanced over—Krycek had been too still too long. The other man
flinched at the slight movement. Krycek slumped against the passenger-side
door, his head low, defeated. He stared out the window without seeming to
see the passing dark shapes of scenery. The road lights made his skin
eerie-pale and accented the dark shadows under his eyes. He had not spoken
since the last rest stop, hadn't even moved except to flinch in response to
any movement from Mulder.
Mulder let the car drift onto the shoulder, as if he were sleepy, trying to
spark some reaction from Krycek. The captive jerked when the right wheels
dipped on the soft gravel, but remained silent. Mulder sighed and steered
the car back onto the road. Damn you, Krycek, react. Quote accident
statistics, get mad, do something. Do something so I can get pissed again,
and not feel sorry for you.
It was nearly midnight when Mulder pulled into the driveway of the old white
farmhouse in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. The farm was
largely abandoned, secluded, and Mulder had to wonder what files Frohike's
friend had hacked to be able to afford twenty acres of prime real estate. He
turned off the car. Krycek didn't move, and his breathing was slow and even.
Mulder noticed now how long Krycek's hair had grown. It hung over his
closed eyes like a dark curtain. Books always talked about how peaceful
people looked in sleep, but Krycek didn't look peaceful. Younger, yes, and
vulnerable, but sleep could not completely erase the lines of tension in his
face. Krycek, at least in custody, had always slept as little and as
restlessly as Mulder himself. Stopping the car should have woken him.
Mulder felt unfamiliar, unwelcome concern creep over him. Krycek looked so
pale. Could he be bleeding internally? Surely Mulder hadn't hit him that
hard. Damn, there was no way he could take Krycek to a hospital, no way he
could explain his injuries or even his identity. I didn't hit you that
hard.
Ashamed, nervous, and perversely angry with Krycek for making him feel that
way, he reached over and shook him hard. Krycek jerked awake. Fear and
disorientation passed quickly over his face, to be replaced with the more
familiar hard-edged coldness.
Mulder got out of the car, and jerked open Krycek's door. This time, Krycek
was ready for it and caught himself before he hit the driveway. Mulder
unlocked the cuff on the door, and cuffed Krycek's hands in front of him.
Krycek walked quietly with him into the house. His very cooperation annoyed
Mulder, as though Krycek were being somehow silently sarcastic. He swallowed
his irritation with an effort. He knew he had to stop beating on the double
agent before he wound up killing him. The thought only made him angrier.
There were several bedrooms in the house, where Mulder could cuff Krycek and
leave him for the night in relative safety and comfort. But Krycek had
betrayed him, killed his father and Scully's sister, and misled his friends
(at last something new to add to the old litany). He didn't deserve to be
comfortable.
Mulder had been in the house before; he knew which door led to the musty,
unfinished basement which probably had once been a root cellar. He pulled
open the creaking wooden door and turned on the dim, bare bulb above the
crumbling steps.
"Go on." He indicated the Krycek should precede him down the steps.
Krycek took a step back and shook his head slightly. "Why? What's down
there?"
Mulder suppressed the urge to throw him down the steps. "Move. Now."
Krycek stiffened, and Mulder thought for a moment that he would resist. A
dark part of him wanted Krycek to resist, wanted the excuse to hit him. But
Krycek's shoulders dropped, and he walked hesitantly down the step. Mulder
followed close behind, getting into Krycek's space, knowing how edgy it made
him.
Once in the basement, Krycek turned. "Now what?" He tried to seem casual,
but Mulder could see his uneasiness in the way he glanced around the dark,
dimly lit room.
Mulder sauntered over to one corner, where a rusty pipe ran from floor to
ceiling. "Come here."
Krycek froze. "Why?"
Mulder grabbed him roughly and dragged him over. At last, Krycek was
fighting him, struggling madly. Mulder pulled his pistol and held it to his
head.
Krycek stilled abruptly. "You wouldn't Mulder. You're not a murderer." He
didn't sound all that positive.
"Push it, you bastard. Just push it. For you, I might be willing to make an
exception."
Krycek stood passively as Mulder, with his left hand, uncuffed one wrist,
passed the chain behind the pipe, and snapped the cuff once again around
Krycek's wrist. Mulder turned and walked away, pretending not to hear
Krycek's voice behind him.
"No way. You're not serious. You can't leave me down here." Anger turned to
pleading. "C'mon, Mulder, this is a big house, surely there's somewhere
else. Please, Mulder, don't do this."
Mulder paused half-way up the stairs, surprised by the note of desperation
in Krycek's voice. The rat hadn't thrown this much of a fit over being
chained out on Skinner's balcony. The basement was at least relatively warm
and out of the elements. He looked around, trying to figure out what had
Krycek so upset. He saw no snakes, no spiders, and he knew Krycek wasn't
asthmatic, so the dust and mold wouldn't kill him. He continued up the
stairs. When he turned out the light and closed the door, Krycek's pleas
segued into what Mulder assumed were Russian curses.
He listened hard, trying to catch some sound that indicated that Mulder was
still in the house above him. Nothing but silence roared in his ears. He
was, for all intent, alone. Alone, hungry, thirsty, and trapped in the
dark.
Alone, hungry, thirsty, and trapped in the dark.
Stop it! This isn't the silo. Not the silo , he repeated to himself.
Not the silo, nothing like the silo.
Except that he was alone, hungry, thirsty, and trapped in the dark.
Cursing, he grabbed his gun and charged down to the basement, yanking on the
light as he reached the crumbling steps. Krycek struggled madly, pulling
and twisting against the cuffs, more in blind panic than a calculated effort
to win free. Bright blood stained Krycek's white t-shirt and gleamed wetly
against his jeans.
Mulder saw no attacker, but in his experience, that didn't always mean
anything.
"Krycek!"
Krycek didn't seem to hear him, and continued his struggle without pause.
Whatever started this fit, the handcuffs weren't helping. Mulder made a
quick decision.
He holstered his gun, and knelt by the thrashing young man. This close, he
could see that most or all of the blood came from his wrists, where the
cuffs had cut deep. Sweat dripped down his face and terror shone in his
eyes. Mulder used his weight to pin Krycek against the wall, holding him
still long enough to unlock the cuffs.
Krycek sprang up and bolted for the stairs. Mulder thought for a moment
that he had made a bad mistake, fallen for Krycek's escape plan. But when
Mulder managed to block Krycek at the stairs, his prisoner didn't fight as a
rational Krycek would. Instead, he sank to the floor, trembling, and sat,
knees to chest, looking at Mulder with a mixture of pleading and dread. His
breathes came in quick, shuddering gasps. With Mulder's background in
psychology, he immediately recognized the signs of a severe panic attack,
knew he would have to proceed with care or risk triggering a worse
breakdown.
"Krycek," Mulder said softly.
The young man closed his eyes and shook harder.
"Alex," Mulder tried again. "Talk to me."
Krycek looked up. "Please," he whispered. "Please."
Mulder squatted down in front to him, careful not to invade his space, and
used the word as a hook. "Please what? Alex, tell me how to help you."
Mulder spoke in the warm, calming tone he used with traumatized abductees.
"Out," he whispered. "Let me out. I swear I'll do anything. Please."
Do anything? What is he talking about? "Okay, Alex, it's okay."
Krycek seemed to take the use of his first name as an indication that Mulder
wasn't about to pound him, and so Mulder repeated it. "C'mon Alex, let's go
get you cleaned up."
Alex worked his way to his feet, using the wall for leverage, but seemed
hesitant to step forward.
Mulder put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently. "C'mon. You'll be
okay."
Alex nodded and allowed Mulder to guide him up the stairs and into the small
bathroom. His breathing steadied, but still he seemed so lost, so
vulnerable. Mulder felt a protective instinct wholly at odds with his usual
dealings with his ex-partner.
Mulder rummaged in the medicine cabinet until he found bandages and
antiseptic. He adjusted the tap until the water was warm, then turned to
Alex. The young man watched him without expression. An occasional tremor
ran through his body.
"Here." Mulder took his arm, just above the wrist. "This is going to hurt a
bit, but we need to flush out the wounds before they become infected."
Alex nodded. He hissed as Mulder stuck his wrist under the running water,
and gently cleaned the cut with liquid hand soap. When Mulder was satisfied
that the wound was clean, he made Alex switch wrists and repeated the
procedure. Alex let him, neither resisting nor helping. The passivity
worried Mulder. He had never seen Alex this subdued. The bleeding had
slowed, but the cuts were deeper than Mulder thought. How long had Krycek
struggled against the cuffs before his screams woke Mulder? If he hadn't
been so childish, had confined Krycek upstairs, the rattling of cuffs would
have woken him before the screams started.
Mulder picked up the antiseptic. "This is going to sting like a bitch."
Alex nodded. Mulder held Krycek's wrists over the sink, and liberally poured
antiseptic into the wounds. Alex jerked and yelped.
"Easy," Mulder told him. "Easy. We're through the worst of it. We just
need to bandage you up now, and we're done."
Krycek trembled harder, but he extended his wrists to Mulder.
"You could probably use stitches, but we can't risk taking you to a
hospital."
A brief smile flitted across Krycek's face, the first reaction Mulder had
from him since they came upstairs. "Yeah, Mulder, I do know something
about being on the run."
Mulder bandaged his wrists carefully. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" He
still wasn't sure of what happened in the basement, and with blood all over
Krycek's shirt, he couldn't tell if there were other injuries.
Alex shrugged, as if the question didn't matter. Krycek had always been
argumentative, defiant, and Mulder had fantasized about seeing him broken.
Now that he got his wish, he didn't like it nearly as much as he thought he
would.
He eased off Krycek's leather jacket, ignoring the flash of fear in the
green eyes. When Mulder started to tug up the stained T-shirt, Alex
stiffened and jerked back.
"I'm not going to hurt you, I just want a look." He pulled the shirt up,
and Alex raised his arms, so Mulder could remove the garment. "Oh, shit,"
Mulder gasped.
Black, purple and blue bruises mottled Krycek's torso. He looked like
someone had worked him over with a baseball bat. Breathing must hurt.
Moving would be agony. Mulder felt sick. He didn't think he had hit Alex
that often, that hard.
Krycek must have read his expression, because he gave a cynical smile.
"Don't give yourself too much credit, not all of this is your work. I had
to jump from a moving car last week. They don't make trunk latches like
they used to."
Krycek's word's brought small relief. A good number of those bruises were
fresh, and in Krycek's condition even a touch would be painful. No wonder
Krycek had been so uncharacteristically meek on the trip here. He probably
would have done just about anything to avoid getting hit right now, but
Mulder had just kept pounding him anyway. At that moment, Mulder felt about
as low as someone who kicked lost puppies.
"I'm sorry," Mulder said. "I didn't mean to...If I'd known you were
hurt..." What? He wouldn't have hit him? Wouldn't have hit him so hard?
Krycek let him off the hook. "Yeah. Sure."
Mulder stepped forward, to comfort or confront he himself wasn't sure.
Krycek flinched. Damn
"Listen, let me get you a change of clothes. Okay, Alex?"
Krycek looked confused; clearly he had expected Mulder to hit him again.
Mulder started for the bedroom, and hesitated, pondering the wisdom of
leaving Krycek alone and unrestrained, even for a minute. He shook his head.
His ex-parntner was a wreck, clearly no threat, and the bedroom was just
across the hall. He ducked out, and rummaged through the overnight bag. He
always kept one packed in the trunk of his car, and this wasn't the first
time he'd needed it.
He came up with a T-shirt and sweats that he thought would fit Krycek, and
returned to the bathroom. Krycek sat on the edge of the tub. He stood as
Mulder approached. Mulder tore his gaze from the frightened, hopeless eyes,
and noticed a deep, grooved scar on Krycek's arm. He reached out, almost
touching it, before pulling back.
"Tunguska," Krycek answered the unspoken question.
Mulder shuddered, remembering grim, one-armed men. "The peasants?"
Krycek nodded. "I was looking for you, believe it or not. I wanted to be
sure you got out. Damn it, Mulder, I was doing my best to get us out of
that gulag. If you had just trusted me for once..."
Mulder snorted. Alex paled and stepped back. Mulder remembered that his
usual reaction to any of Krycek's statements that he didn't quite believe
was to bash the younger man into silence. Quite frankly, he was sick of
that game, and Krycek was in no shape to handle it right now.
He gave the clothes to Krycek. "Okay, Alex, let's call a truce for
tonight."
"Truce?"
Mulder smiled. "Yeah. You don't run away, and I don't hit you. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
Mulder waited while Alex dressed.
"So was that what triggered it?"
Alex looked up from tying his laces, and cocked his head at the non
sequitur.
"Your panic attack in the basement. Did you flashback to Tunguska?"
Terror shadowed Alex's eyes. "Not Tunguska, The silo."
"What silo?"
Alex ran a hand through his hair. "How much have you figured out about what
happened in the Hong Kong Airport, and after?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. We got off the plane, and into the rental car.
We were run off the road, then the alien showed up from somewhere and killed
the bad guys. When I came to, you were gone." Mulder felt only slightly
guilty. He didn't know the alien had taken over Krycek, although he was
pretty sure based on the evidence. He couldn't miss this chance to get the
details.
"The alien was with us all along, Mulder. I thought you would have figured
that out by now."
Mulder heard the stark horror in Alex' voice. He thought about going to
him, putting an arm around his shoulder for comfort, but with Alex' shaky
nerves and their past history, it might not be a good idea. Before, Krycek's
alien possession had been a curiosity, an interesting tidbit for an X-file.
Never before had he contemplated how horrible it must have been for his
ex-partner.
"What do you mean?" Mulder asked, putting as much warmth and concern into
his voice as he could manage.
"In Hong Kong, when you sent me to the men's room to clean up. A woman came
in."
"A woman?"
"Yeah. I was too startled to react. She picked me up by the back of my neck,
slammed me against the wall, and that was the last thing I remember clearly
for a long time. The rest was just bits and pieces, watched from a
distance."
"The oil alien?"
Krycek shuddered hard. "Yeah. It scared me more than anything in my life. I
was trapped, in my body, yet not in control. I kept on waiting for you
notice something different, thinking surely you'd do something to help me,
you wouldn't let anyone go through this, not even me. But then it separated
us. I watched as it gave the tape—my insurance—to Cancer Man. It took my
body to the silo where its craft was stored, and ripped itself out of me. I
thought it was going to take my guts with it." Krycek took a deep breath.
"I was locked in the silo. The cigarette smoking bastard knew it. I saw him
smile through the window, and turn his back.
"I screamed, I cried, I pounded on the door 'till my hands were bloody. I
was alone, in absolute darkness, with no food, no water, and no hope of
rescue. The alien was locked in with me, and I knew there was no way of
stopping it from taking over again if it wanted to.
"I fantasized, sometimes, in those horrible days, that you knew where I was,
that you'd come for me, that somehow you'd take pity and save me. Then I
started thinking that you knew where I was, and wouldn't come for me."
"I suspected you were at the site. I didn't know they'd left you locked in
the silo," Mulder interrupted. "I wouldn't have left you there."
Alex gave him a shaky smile. Mulder felt both sad and touched that Alex
found reassurance in such a small thing. No matter what Krycek had done, no
one deserved what he'd been through.
Alex took a shuddering breath. "Handcuffs, I can handle if I have to.
Darkness is usually okay, unless I'm alone in an enclosed space. But being
locked up, in the darkness, alone..." Alex closed his eyes. The trembling
had returned.
"Why didn't you say something?" Mulder asked, horrified at what he'd
unwittingly done.
"I tried. You wouldn't listen."
Mulder closed his eyes, remembering Krycek's desperate pleas. "You could
have told me why."
Krycek laughed sharply. "And give you one more tool to use against me?"
Anger flashed through Mulder. Yes, he'd knocked Krycek around some. Yes,
he'd been petty in locking him in the root cellar, instead of finding
someplace less stifling. But he wasn't capable of deliberate psychological
torture.
Mulder noticed Alex sidling away, and realized his anger must show. I
guess I'm not giving him much reason to believe better of me. He forced a
smile, trying to make the younger man relax. "C'mon, Alex, we can't stay
here all night."
At Mulder's gesture, Alex reluctantly rose and headed for the hallway.
Mulder followed, careful to give him some space. Halfway down the hall,
Alex froze, and his breath became quick and shallow. Puzzled, Mulder edged
around him. Alex stared glassy-eyed at the open doorway that led down to
the basement.
Mulder closed the door firmly. "Let's go sit in the kitchen."
Alex nodded, relief evident in his face. Mulder could tell the younger man
still balanced on the edge of a breakdown, and dug through dim memories of
his psychology classes. What Alex needed was a semblance of normalcy. He
regarded the young man slumped at the table, and remembered that Krycek
hadn't eaten in at least ten hours. Or more, he thought, remembering seeing
ribs under the bruises.
Mulder opened cabinet doors until he found one with a small supply of canned
goods: two cans of sauerkraut, one of 'fancy mixed fruit' and -aha!—one
lone can of Country Style Chicken Noodle. Comfort food.
"Want some soup?"
"Please." Alex brightened at the offer.
Mulder pulled a bowl from the cabinet over the sink, and rummaged through
drawers until he found the can opener. He dumped the soup into the bowl,
and shoved it in the microwave. While the soup was heating, he filled a
glass with tap water and set it in front of Alex. The younger man
hesitated, watching him carefully, then picked up the glass and drained it
without pause.
Careful, you'll make yourself sick, Mulder wanted to say, except that it
seemed a bit hypocritical, since he'd caused Krycek's desperate thirst.
Denying him food had been deliberate, but Mulder had actually forgotten his
prisoner would be thirsty as well. Damn, if I can't keep goldfish alive,
how am I supposed to look after Krycek?
The microwave dinged. Mulder put the bowl in front of Alex and found him a
spoon.
Alex looked up. "What? No crackers?"
Mulder smiled; Alex' spirit must be improving. He watched him wolf down the
soup so fast he must have burnt his mouth.
Krycek finished the soup and looked up at Mulder almost shyly. "Thanks."
It was more than an off-hand courtesy; Krycek spoke with the gratitude of a
kid who'd expected coal in his stocking and instead had gotten a Mighty
Morphin Power Ranger. The sincerity in his voice made Mulder feel worse.
Thanks for finally letting him eat? For giving him a few moments not
chained like a dog? For not hitting him in the past few hours? What a life
he must have led, that he felt he needed to express such deep gratitude for
occasional humane treatment.
Krycek watched him warily, probably wondering what he would do next. Mulder
could see lines of tension in his posture, even from across the room. Alex
would need more time before he could handle any kind of restraint. He
refilled Krycek's glass, and watched him drink it, a little more slowly this
time.
"I don't think either of us are going to get any sleep for a while. Why
don't we go into the living room and see what's on TV? Knowing the Gunmen,
any friend of theirs has got to have the best illegal cable available."
A ghost of a smile flickered on Alex' face, and was gone. Mulder had
expected a crack about a federal agent condoning the violation of FCC
regulations, but the smile was a start. Mulder refilled Krycek's glass
once more, got him settled on the rustic couch in front of the wide-screen
TV, and handed him the remote.
"Your choice. I'll be back in a minute. I saw some microwave popcorn in the
kitchen."
When the popcorn finished popping, Mulder dumped it in a wooden salad bowl
and returned to the living room. Alex retreated to the other side of the
couch. Mulder sat toward the middle, and placed the bowl on the low table
in front of them.
The TV was off, and the remote lay on the table. Was Krycek too
shell-shocked to channel surf, or did he think Mulder would hit him for a
poor program choice? Come to think of it Mulder had hit him with less
excuse in the past. He sighed, picked up the remote, and started flipping
through the channels. Men in Black played on HBO. Mulder stole a glance
at Alex, to see if he appreciated the irony, but his ex-partner stared
blankly at the screen. Mulder settled back to watch the movie.
Fifteen minutes into it, he noticed Alex eyeing the popcorn hungrily. Mulder
thought that placing the bowl an equal distance between them should have
told Krycek that he intended to share. In fact, he'd made the popcorn mostly
for Krycek, to tide him over 'till they could go for supplies and get some
real food into him. He casually nudged the bowl over until it sat directly
in front of Krycek. Krycek looked over, startled. Mulder pretended to be
focused on the movie, but he allowed a smile to escape as Alex dug into the
popcorn.
Halfway through the movie, and Krycek no longer tensed when Mulder moved,
and actually smiled at J's wisecracks. By the end, he'd actually laughed
out loud once or twice.
As the closing credits rolled, Mulder retrieved the cuffs from the bathroom
sink. He turned them over in his hands. They were sticky with blood. He
went back into the living room, and turned off the TV.
"Alex," he said gently.
Krycek looked up, saw the cuffs, and stiffened.
"You can sleep out here. I'll push the couch over to the radiator, and cuff
on wrist to it. You can see the bedroom, so you'll know I haven't left. And
there's a window, so you can't forget where you are. I'll even leave the
light on."
Alex nodded, but when Mulder reached out to cuff one wrist, he started to
shake. Mulder realized two things. First, the only thing that kept Krycek
from bolting was the fear that, if he pissed off Mulder, he would end up
back in the basement. Second, within minutes of being cuffed, Alex would be
as panicked as before, handcuffs cutting into already damaged wrists. Alex
may not have had a phobia about handcuffs before, but, with Mulder's help,
his subconscious now firmly linked them with being trapped alone in a dark
place.
Mulder dropped the cuffs onto the table. "Okay, obviously this isn't going
to work. We'll have to try something else."
Mulder's rational mind told him it wouldn't be safe to sleep with the
turncoat assassin loose. On the other hand, he didn't want to be
responsible for Krycek's total mental breakdown.
"C'mon, Alex. Let's go to bed."
Krycek followed him into the bedroom, and stood uneasily by the bed.
"Go on, Alex," Mulder prompted. "You get the side against the wall."
"I meant what I said before. Anything you want, Mulder."
Mulder heard chilling resignation in the dead calm voice, almost worse than
the hint of fear and the unspoken plea in his eyes: please, don't make it
too terrible. With sudden insight, Mulder knew Alex had been forced to
make this offer before, with very unpleasant results. Once, we would have
taunted Krycek with the knowledge, but now he'd lost all desire to hurt his
ex-partner.
"Non-consensual sex isn't one of my kinks. The only thing I want is for you
to stay on your own side and not snore."
Mulder woke a few hours later to the sound of Alex sobbing in his sleep. The
younger man sounded like his heart was breaking. Mulder reached out to rub
his shoulder, trying to soothe him back into more restful sleep without
waking him and embarrassing them both. Alex rolled toward him, snuggled
against him, still weeping, unconsciously seeking warmth and comfort.
Damn. Mulder put his arms around him, stroked his back, made soft
shushing sounds. Alex burrowed harder against him, but the sobbing eased
somewhat. Mulder nuzzled his hair and continued murmuring nonsense.
Impulsively, he kissed his forehead. Alex lifted his head, and Mulder looked
into wide-open green eyes. How long has he been awake? Just as Mulder
began thinking the kiss was a mistake he would regret, Alex latched onto his
mouth with a desperate kiss. Mulder responded without thinking, Alex'
passion igniting his own, until Alex' earlier words rang in his memory:
...anything you want... Did Alex think he had to do this, to pay for a
little human comfort?
It took all his willpower to put his hands on Alex' shoulders and push him
away gently. "You don't have to do this."
But Alex pressed forward insistently, raining kisses along Mulder's neck and
shoulder . "Please...please."
Mulder could not push him away again, could not reject him in the face of
his pleading and Mulder's own desire. Even thin and bruised, Alex was
beautiful, and so very talented with his mouth. Mulder's conscience still
nagged. Even if Alex were apparently willing, he was in an extremely
vulnerable state of mind, not able to make rational choices. Mulder worried
that he was taking advantage of that vulnerability. Then Alex started
humping against him, rubbing his erection against Mulder's own, and all
reservations burned to ash in the face of his body's urgency.
It had been too long since he had been with anyone, and he hadn't been with
another man since his first year in Quantico. He managed enough rational
thought to remember Alex's bruises. Mulder rolled onto his back, shifting
Alex on top of him, letting Alex set the pace and the level of contact to
what his battered body could handle. Alex licked at his ears, sucked his
neck, bit lightly at his shoulder, smoothly and deftly removed both their
clothes without breaking the rhythm.
"Yes," Mulder whispered. "Yes, so good, yes."
Shivers ran up and down his spine. Alex whimpered against his neck. Mulder
found the sound intensely erotic.
"Yes, yes."
Then Alex gasped and shuddered, and Mulder felt the hot spurt of his orgasm
splash his belly. Alex kept moving until, moments later, Mulder followed him
over the edge.
Alex slid off him, and Mulder pulled him close, encouraging him to snuggle
close against his side. He tugged a wad of tissues from a box on the
nightstand, and cleaned them both up. Alex, already half asleep,
acknowledged his attention with little contented noises. Mulder smiled and
kissed his cheek, and soon drifted off to sleep.
Mulder opened his eyes to bright sunlight and a warm body snuggled against
him. What—where? Then the warm body moved, and he got a good look at the
face. Krycek. His ex-partner cuddled against him, sound asleep and
trusting, short-circuiting Mulder's normal hate/anger reaction. He
remembered last night's events, and in that moment Alex blinked up at him
sleepily. It took maybe a minute for Alex's thought processes to catch up,
and then he pulled back, fear in his eyes.
To his own surprise, Mulder found himself drawing Alex back to him. "Ssh,
you're all right. We have a truce, remember?"
The green eyes remained wary. "You said for the night. It's morning."
Survivalist's logic. "Tell you what," Mulder said. "Let's extend the truce."
"How long?" Alex remained suspicious, calculating.
Mulder paused, unwilling to make a commitment, but knowing Alex would not
trust a vague promise. "Indefinite. I'll give you warning before I end it,
you do the same. Fair?"
Alex nodded and settled back down, resting his head on Mulder's shoulder.
Mulder realized that the younger man still suffered some effects from his
trauma; the Alex Krycek he knew was not cuddly. What the hell. He
stroked Alex gently along the back and shoulders, while he contemplated last
night's revelations.
"Mmh?" came the sleepy response.
"How did you get out of the silo?"
Alex tensed slightly in his arms. "I don't remember," he whispered. "I
hate not remembering. I think it was the militia. The next thing I
remember, after curling up in a corner of the silo and waiting to die, was
being in the militia camp. Someone gave me water, told me I would make it."
"So that's how you ended up with them."
Alex nodded against his shoulder. "You find yourself in the middle of the
desert surrounded by a bunch of crazed anti-government racists, you don't
exactly start mentioning your general opposition to their views." His voice
was sleepy, a pillow talk sort of voice used between old lovers. "And when
I got strong enough, they watched me too closely for me to make a break. I
had to earn their trust. When I found out what they were planning, I knew I
had to stop it. I know what you think about me, Mulder, but I couldn't let
another Oklahoma City, another four or five Oklahoma Cities go down."
"And so you started mailing me those receipts."
Alex nodded "You're the best the FBI has. I didn't dare do more, but I
knew you'd figure it out."
The absolute confidence in his voice reminded Mulder of the puppy-dog
hero-worshipper Alex once pretended to be.
"I thought..." Alex faltered. "I thought I could give you what I knew as
a good faith gesture, and maybe you'd forgive me, just a little, enough to
help me out of the mess I was in. I wanted to come over to your side, but
you never gave me the chance. You and Skinner just kept on hitting me, and
Scully looked at me like I was a not-very-interesting variety of cockroach."
Mulder felt a twinge of conscience. His behavior, and Skinner's had been
unprofessional, to say the least, especially toward a cooperating witness.
They'd let personal grudges interfere.
"I hadn't intended for you to go to Tunguska yourself," Alex continued. "I
should have known better. But then, I've never been half the profiler you
were. When I thought you were going to leave me locked alone in that car
for god knows how long...."
"Oh shit, Alex, I thought you knew I was bluffing. I was going to call for
Scully to come get you before I boarded. I think airport security would
have noticed if I left you there too long."
"Yeah, well, you know how rational I am when someone locks me in an enclosed
space and leaves. And when we got off the plane, all through the frozen
hell, I stayed by you, translated for you, helped you every way I could. I
could have escaped a dozen times, gotten you killed a dozen more."
"Why didn't you?"
"I was still trying to convince you of my intentions, still wanted to join
up with you against the bastards who had ruined my life. I thought I was
making some progress, right before we were captured, when you started
answering my questions instead of hitting me for asking. Besides, I couldn't
leave you stranded in a country where you didn't speak the language. You'd
have been helpless."
"And why should you care?"
Alex ducked his head lower on Mulder's shoulder, and blushed. Mulder hadn't
thought him capable of blushing, but then he hadn't ever imagined him crying
in his sleep., either. It hadn't been a fair question, but then this whole
conversation wasn't fair. He was using Alex' desperate need for affection
to pump him for information. The guilt pangs didn't stop his next question.
"So, you said before you were trying to get us both out of the gulag. How?
And how did you know the camp commander?"
Alex answered Mulder's questions, sleepily, but thoroughly. He knew what
Mulder was doing, but it didn't matter. If false affection was all he could
get, he'd take it. It was easy enough to snuggle into the warm embrace and
pretend, just for a little while, that someone loved him. He would have
given Mulder the same information earlier, anyway, if he and Skinner would
have stopped beating up on him long enough.
He couldn't say which of them fell back asleep first, or how much time
passed before Mulder nudged him gently awake.
"Hey, Alex, wake up."
He really didn't want to; he was comfortable lying half on top of Mulder,
and feeling more content than he had since... since the smoking bastard
came into his life, but he'd been a different person then. Someone with
hopes for the future beyond mere survival. He closed his eyes again. To
his surprise, Mulder didn't pummel him awake, or even nudge him harder, only
slid out from under him. He heard Mulder's footsteps down the hall, heard
the bathroom door close. When he heard Mulder move on to the kitchen, he
realized that, like it or not, the day had started, and he had best get up
and face it. He took his own turn at the bathroom, figuring it was safer to
worry about the consequences later, on an empty bladder, then to ask
Mulder's permission first. Then he hesitantly padded down to the kitchen,
wondering which version of Mulder he'd find.
Mulder turned from the open cabinets, holding up a box of blueberry
pop-tarts, proud as a prehistoric hunter with a brace of fresh-killed
rabbits. "Breakfast?"
Still the friendly, safer, Twilight Zone Mulder. `"What's the expiration
date?"
Mulder checked. "Good through next October. These things have a shelf life
that's truly frightening."
Alex grinned. "Maybe you should open an X-file."
The moment the words left his mouth, he winced. Mulder was being nice to him
for some unfathomable reason; Alex didn't want to screw that up with some
off-hand comment. He never knew what would set Mulder off. This time,
Mulder just smiled, and dropped two pop-tarts into the toaster. When the
pastries popped up, Mulder put both of them on a plate and set them down in
front of Alex.
He looked up. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Toaster pastries are my specialty."
When the second set of pastries came up, Mulder took one and put the other
on the plate Alex just emptied.
Damn. Guess he's figured out I haven't been eating too well lately, not
that I didn't prove what a mess I am in general, last night.
Memories of last night, of Mulder comforting him, rose unbidden, bringing a
pleasant warmth. He had expected Mulder would use his weaknesses against
him, but instead, instead...
"Hey, Alex, you still with me?"
"Huh?"
"You looked a little lost there, for a minute," Mulder said.
Oh, shit. He probably expects me to freak out on him at any moment..
Still, he loved hearing the gentle concern in Mulder's voice. No one had
spoken to him like that in a long. long, time. He should be trying to find
some way to use this compassion in his favor, but it felt too good just
basking it. No telling how long it would last.
"We need to go into town, such as it is, for supplies," Mulder said.
Something in his tone set off warning bells. "And?"
"Will you be better off cuffed to something here, or in the car?"
After the semi-relaxed morning, the question came like a blow to his
stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
"Don't make this difficult, Alex. You know I can't leave you here alone and
loose, and I can't trust you loose in public."
"Mulder, I've been uncuffed all morning."
"I've been watching you all morning."
Mulder's dry, biting tone returned. Alex wondered how long it would take
before Mulder started hitting him again.
"I was uncuffed last night, while you slept," Alex persisted.
"I'm a light sleeper. I would have felt if you tried to leave. And you
were in no shape to fight me."
He still wasn't but he wouldn't tell Mulder that.
"Look," Mulder said more softly. "If you can't manage it, it's okay. I'll
call the store and have them deliver."
"In a small town like this? You think they'll deliver? All the way out
here?"
Mulder frowned. "I'll bribe them. We'll work it out."
"Too dangerous. It'll attract attention."
"What do you want me to do?" Mulder exploded. "I'm not going to leave you
here loose and unattended. I'm not going to let you have a panic attack in
the car, and I'm certainly not going to leave you here to cut your wrists to
pieces when you forget I'm coming back."
Alex stood and edged back as Mulder's voice got progressively louder. Then
his words registered, and Alex realized that at least some of Mulder's worry
was for him.
"We have a little food," Alex said. "Enough to get by."
Mulder snorted. "Two more pop-tarts, a can of mixed fruit, and some
microwave popcorn. I'm not even going to consider the sauerkraut."
"I've seen you live for days on sunflower seeds and ice tea."
"Yes, but, thin as you are—" Mulder stopped abruptly.
So Mulder worried about him, about his weight, and didn't want to admit it.
Was he afraid of embarrassing Alex, or embarrassing himself? Regardless,
Alex was touched by the concern, though he'd rather have a little trust.
"I'll call for supplies, Alex. It'll be all right."
Mulder would risk calling attention to themselves to accommodate Alex'
unreasonable fears. The Mulder he thought he knew before last night would
have locked him in the basement without a thought for his mental state. Alex
always had a soft spot for Mulder, despite the agents obvious hatred. But
with Mulder being nice to him, Alex's emotions surged dangerously toward
love.
He could not afford to love, could not afford the trust that accompanied it.
Mulder would turn on him, sooner or later. If Alex allowed himself to feel,
the blows would shatter his heart as well as bruising his body. Maybe he
deserved everything Mulder did to him, but that didn't make it hurt less.
Mulder picked up the phone and started to dial. Alex's attention snapped
back to the moment.
"Mulder, no. Let's take the car."
Mulder shook his head. "I'm not going to let you loose—"
"Fine," Alex cut him off. "Use the damn cuffs then."
Mulder put down the phone. "Are you sure?"
Alex nodded. "I was just a little shaky last night, after the..."
"Flashback," Mulder supplied quietly.
"Yeah, whatever." Alex avoided that term in his mind; it sounded so
serious, so frightening. "It's not like we haven't done this before. It'll
be daylight, and I know you'll be coming back. No way you're walking all
the way back from town."
Mulder insisted on wrapping another layer of gauze around Alex's right
wrist, to pad it, before cuffing him to the door of the car. It was nearly
noon when they entered the town limits. There was a Dairy Queen just off the
highway, and without a word Mulder swung the car into the drive-though. He
ordered a plain vanilla cone for himself and a large chocolate milkshake for
Alex. Alex accepted it, slightly bemused. Chocolate milkshakes were his
favorite, but he was surprised Mulder would have noticed, or remembered,
such a detail from their brief partnership. He hadn't thought Mulder
noticed anything about him back then beyond the annoyance of his presence.
Mulder parked the car at the far end of the Shop n' Go parking lot. He
opened the door, then paused, looking back at Alex, his brow furrowed with
concern.
"Are you sure you'll be all right?"
"I'll be fine, Mulder." I'm not that fragile, honest. Still, he couldn't
be too annoyed. Concern from Mulder was too precious a thing to resent, even
if it were misplaced.
"I'll leave the radio on," Mulder said. "I'll be right back, I promise."
Alex watched his retreating back with only a twinge of uneasiness, more a
fear of the fear returning than the fear itself. The radio and the
milkshake comforted him, not for what they were but what they represented:
Mulder cared for him, at least enough to try to soothe him, therefore Mulder
would not abandon him here.
Fifteen minutes passed on the dashboard clock. Twenty. Half an hour.
Alex's stomach churned. Mulder would not leave him intentionally, but what
if Mulder were captured or killed by Consortium agents? They'd come for
Alex next, and find him trapped and helpless.
He'd almost lost the battle of wills with himself, to keep himself from
thrashing uselessly against the cuffs, when he saw Mulder returning, laden
with bags.
"What did you do, Mulder? Buy enough to feed the alien invasion?"
Mulder tossed him two of the bags. "I didn't give you time to pack, so I
thought this was only fair."
Alex peeked in the bags. One contained several white T-shirts, underwear, a
towel, and a toothbrush, the other two pairs of black jeans and one blue,
and three button-down denim shirts. Mulder had bought him far more than he
had to; he probably noticed the threadbare state of the clothes Alex had
been wearing. Both shame and gratitude burned in him. It had been a small
gesture, but Alex simply wasn't used to anyone being nice to him.
They returned to the house, and worked together in companionable silence,
unpacking and putting away groceries. It felt comfortable, domestic,
reminding Alex of one of his favorite fantasies, the one where he had gone
to Mulder and confessed while they were still partners, and Mulder had
forgiven him, and together they took down the Consortium, and somewhere
along the way they fell in love...
"I'm going to call the guys, see what they got off that disk," Mulder said.
"I, uh, I'd like to take a shower, and change." Alex wasn't sure if he
should be informing, asking, or suggesting, was half-afraid that even a
reasonable suggestion might set Mulder off.
Mulder merely waived him toward the bathroom as he picked up the phone and
started to dial. He borrowed Mulder's soap and shampoo, and took a long,
hot shower. The dive Alex had been staying in had only lukewarm, rusty
water, so he determined to enjoy this rare luxury. At last he turned off
the water, toweled off, and dressed in his new clothes.
Mulder was still on the phone when Alex came out. "No, Byers, I swear to
you he's still alive. I've been taking care of him." Pause. "No, I haven't
been beating on him." Pause. "You don't believe me?" Mulder's voice sounded
hurt and a little angry. "Should I put him on?"
Apparently, Byers decided to accept Mulder's word, because Mulder said
good-bye in a calmer tone, and hung up. "They haven't been able to read the
disk, yet," Mulder said. "I'll have to call again tomorrow."
"Won't Skinner expect you back soon?" How long do we have, and what
happens after?
"Nope. Took a week's vacation. Had it coming."
They watched bad B-movies and worse series on the Sci-fi channel until Alex
got a headache from the flickering screen. Mulder found a Scrabble board,
and they played for hours, laying side-by-side like kids, passing the
dictionary back and forth. Mulder won four games, Alex three, when the
declared a Scrabble truce and went to bed.
Between the sheets with Mulder, Alex felt suddenly shy and diffident. He
wasn't sure what, if anything, Mulder expected. Last night seemed like a
dream, as if it couldn't possibly be real. Mulder rolled toward him,
looking at him, but Alex couldn't read his eyes. He decided that being in
bed with Mulder was too rare an opportunity to let slip by, even if he had
to risk rejection, or even another beating.
"Do you want to fool around?" He would have chosen other words, but he
couldn't let Mulder know how much this meant to him.
Mulder smiled gently. "Yeah." He gently caressed Alex's face with the back
of his fingers. "But only if you want to."
Alex couldn't stop the huge grin from splitting his face. "Oh, I want to."
Mulder sobered. "I want something clear between us. Whatever happened out
there," he gestured vaguely, indicating the world at large, "has nothing to
do with what we do here." He patted the bed. "It can't be about revenge,
or hatred, or head games. I won't ever hurt you here, or force you, or
coerce you. I only want what you give freely."
By his tone, Mulder could have been negotiating a peace treaty between
warring countries, but Alex had never heard anything so touching, or erotic.
A lump formed in his throat. How much has he guessed, how can he touch me
if he knows... But that past had no place here between them, either.
Mulder drew Alex into his arms and kissed him tenderly. Alex responded with
gentle passion. He licked the edge of Mulder's ear and sucked the lobe,
turned on beyond imagination by Mulder's groan. He licked and sucked
Mulder's neck, rubbing himself against his thigh, then slid lower,
worshiping his body with lips and tongue and hands. He reached Mulder'
erection and kissed the tip reverently, smiling at Mulder's gasp. He bathed
the length with tiny little licks, feeling Mulder tremble beneath him. Alex
settled between Mulder's legs, stroking the slight hollows of his hips as he
nuzzled and licked his balls.
"Oh, yes. Please, Alex, more."
The breathy sound of his name on Mulder's lips made his cock jump. He arched
up and deep-throated Mulder in one smooth motion. Alex worked him with the
skill of a professional and the passion of a true love. Mulder shook and
writhed helplessly.
"Alex," he gasped. "Oh, god, Alex , I'm coming."
Alex fought down the gag reflex as he swallowed the bitter-salt viscous
fluid. Though he enjoyed blowingMulder, this one part he never could stand.
He tried to suppress the retching after, but he feared that Mulder heard.
Most of his 'partners' ignored or revelled in his discomfort with this part
of things, but he suspected that it would upset Mulder.
His instincts proved correct. As Alex moved back up to face him, Mulder
frowned. Alex refused to meet his eyes.
"Sorry, Mulder. I, uh, have a little problem with the taste."
"Why didn't you pull back? I warned you so you could stop if you wanted."
"I thought you expected..."
"Didn't I say I didn't want anything you didn't give freely?"
Alex dropped his head. He'd manage to screw up even this. "Sorry."
Mulder caressed his cheek, then slid his hand under his chin to tilt his
face up. "Damn, Alex, you don't need to apologize for some of the best sex
in my life. Just, next time, stop if you want to."
He gave a mischievous grin as he started to slide down Alex' body. "I, on
the other hand, like the taste."
"Good morning." Mulder barely stopped himself from adding an endearment to
the greeting.
Whatever happened between them last night, it wasn't 'just sex', but Mulder
didn't feel ready to explore just what it was.
"Morning," Alex whispered, and reached out to stroke Mulder's face with the
tips of his fingers.
Mulder pulled back slightly, distancing himself. "You can have the first
shower, okay? I need to call the guys."
"Thanks." Alex slid out of bed and left the room without a backward glance.
Mulder had feared a confrontation, or at least hurt puppy-dog eyes, but this
calm indifference bothered him more. Obviously, Alex had learned not to
expect any relationship to last past break of day, and Mulder just fed that
expectation.
When Alex got out of the shower, Mulder was just hanging up the phone. He
turned to Alex. Alex had never seen that look in his eyes before, and could
not identify it.
"What's up?" he asked cautiously.
"Langley finished deciphering the files you gave them."
"And?"
Samantha's dead. Has been for a while. They killed her when they no longer
needed her to control my father."
Alex felt as though he'd been sucker punched. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"Oh, god, Mulder, I didn't know. I swear I didn't."
Without warning, Mulder slammed him into the kitchen wall. He gasped as his
body remembered its bruises. Pain and surprise took his breath away.
Mulder pressed his arm against his throat, choking him.
"Like hell you didn't," Mulder hissed. "Wasn't that the plan all along?
Mulder's getting a little too functional, let's do something else to throw
him for a loop."
"I didn't know," Krycek protested. "I was trying to help." I knew we
would be back to this. I shouldn't feel so betrayed.
"You know you killed her," Mulder gritted out.
Alex squirmed, wondering if Mulder had finally, completely cracked.
"You're crazy. I never even met your sister."
"After you killed my father, they no longer needed her."
"You think I'm not the only thug the Consortium had? If it hadn't been me,
it would have been Cardinale, or someone else."
The rage in Mulder's eyes burned brighter, and this time no Scully would
stop Mulder for his own good, no Byers would lecture him on honor and
ethics. He struggled, trying to break loose. Mulder punched him hard in
the solar plexus, and the pain doubled him over.
"I guess this is my warning that the truce is over, huh?," Alex gasped out.
"So much for not hitting me when I'm already hurt."
To his surprise, the comment stopped Mulder's assault. Alex stayed down,
feeling he'd be safer if he appeared non-aggressive. That, and he thought he
might throw up if he stood too soon.
"Someday, Mulder, you're going to go too far. You're going to kill me, and
you're going to discover that I'm not the root of all evil, that evil does
just fine without me. And you won't have anyone to take it out on."
Mulder turned, went down the hall to the bathroom, and shut the door. Alex
could hear the shower running. He got to his feet stiffly. No major damage
done. I should be used to it by now. It shouldn't matter more because we
made l— had sex last night. It meant nothing. If only he could convince
his heart of that.
Every instinct learned in years of undergound existence told him to run.
He could slip out the door and hot-wire Mulder's car before the agent
was out of the shower. Still, he sat in the kitchen and waited for
Mulder. This was the first time in years Mulder had shown him any sign
of trust. Okay, more likely he'd just been too upset to remember to
lock him up, but still... Alex desperately wanted to prove to Mulder
that he could be trusted. More important, he cared about Mulder, had
since back when they were partners. Or before the hero-worship thing
hadn't all been an act. Alex knew he screwed it up badly, had
panicked and made bad bargains, had bartered his soul for the illusion
of safety. This time, he vowed, he'd do it right. He knew how very
important the search for Samantha had been to Mulder, and he wanted to
offer what support he could.
Mulder came out of the bathroom dressed in fresh jeans and T-shirt. His face
seemed normal except his eyes. Alex had heard of dead eyes before, had
thought it was just an expression, until now.
"How are you feeling?" Alex asked awkwardly.
"Maybe I should ask you that." Mulder sat across from him at the table. "I
shouldn't have hit you."
"No, you shouldn't have." Alex agreed. "But you had quite a shock."
Mulder shrugged. He pulled out his key ring, separated out his car keys,
and pushed them toward Alex. He took out his wallet, emptied it of cash,
and laid the bills on the table. His platinum Visa and ATM card followed.
As Alex watched in confused silence, Mulder jotted a four-digit PIN on the
back of a business card. He added it to the pile and slid everything over
to Alex. Finally, he laid the gun he had taken from Alex between them on
the table.
"Get out of here," Mulder said quietly.
If Mulder had just offered him some cash, or even cash and the car keys,
Alex might not have caught on, but this was too complete, too final. "No."
"Scully's coming. You have to get out."
Alex shook his head.
"Why not?"
Alex avoided his eyes. "I don't think you should be alone."
"Why should you care?"
Alex sighed. "I don't know how to put this into words."
"Try."
Alex shook his head. "You don't know, Mulder. You have no idea...
Remember, when we were first partners. I wasn't lying when I told you how
much I admired your work. God, Mulder, I wanted to be like you. I wanted to
be you."
"Is that why you betrayed me?" Mulder spoke in hard, brittle tones, but he
didn't seem about to explode into violence.
Alex felt a glimmer of hope; maybe this time Mulder would hear him out. "I
never set out to betray you, Mulder. Cancer Man set me up. He claimed you
were a traitor, a threat to national security."
Mulder snorted. "And you believed him?"
"No, never. But he told me that by working for them, by getting information
on you, I could prove your innocence, if you were innocent. All suspicions
would be cleared, and we'd all live happily ever after." He ran a hand
through his hair. "God help me, I was naive enough to believe that. I
can't even imagine being that young and stupid. It was like I was a
different person, and that Alex died on Skyland Mountain."
Mulder smiled gently. "I wish I had taken the time to get to know that
Alex. I think I might have liked him."
The words were meant to be kind, but they cut Alex to the core. If only, if
only...
"Of course, I found out too late they didn't care about the truth, and by
then I was the traitor. I thought about going to you, confessing, begging
your help. But you didn't like me, didn't trust me."
"I didn't realize..." Mulder began
"Yes you did. You took every opportunity to discourage me, to humiliate me.
I think if it wouldn't have interfered with your moral high ground, you
would have tied me in a sack and drowned me in the river like a puppy."
"So what you're saying is you wouldn't have betrayed me if you liked me
more?" Mulder spoke harshly; Alex knew he attacked whenever he felt
defensive.
"It wasn't that I didn't like you. God knows I lo— " Alex coughed. "It
wasn't that. But I couldn't trust you. You would have thrown me to the
wolves. I tried to keep you safe, as best I could. I couldn't keep Scully
safe, too, not without risking my own life." He took a deep breath. "I'm
not like you, Mulder. I'm not a hero. I didn't set out to be a double
agent, a triple agent, an assassin...But when push comes to shove, I'll do
whatever I need to do survive."
He expected Mulder's scorn at the confession, but Mulder just looked at him
steadily. "So why are you staying? A survivor would take the money and
run."
"Because, even though I betrayed you, even though you hate me, I need to
know that you're alive, that there's one pure thing left in my world."
Mulder snorted. "If you think I'm pure, you obviously haven't seen my video
collection."
"I'm not talking about sex, " Alex said. "That's never meant anything.
It's your commitment to truth, your willingness to sacrifice anything,
everything for it. You are the only person I've ever met who couldn't be
bought. You taught me that integrity, honor, nobility can exist, and that
someone has the courage to fight the Consortium, someone, someday ,
may take them down. I'm not sure I can survive without that hope." He
smiled wryly. "Okay, so that doesn't exactly give you a reason to live.
But think of what your death would do to Scully, to Skinner. They've risked
themselves for you, they believe in you."
Mulder crossed his arms over his chest. "What makes you think I'm
contemplating suicide?"
"I may never be the profiler you are, Mulder, but I do know a little. Enough
to recognize the warning signs."
"You're a murderer and a traitor, Krycek. What do you care?"
Alex knew Mulder resorted to the verbal attack and the use of his last name
were meant to drive him away. "You didn't leave me alone in the basement
with my fears. I won't leave you alone with your pain."
"Alex, please, leave, go. I can't hold it together much longer." Mulder's
voice trembled a little, and tears welled in his eyes.
Alex went to his side of the table and knelt by Mulder's chair. "It's all
right, Mulder. I lost it in front of you, so it's okay to let go in front
of me."
Mulder's shoulders were shaking, but he made no sound. Alex took him by the
hands, led him back to the bedroom, and lay down with him, holding him
close, stroking his back. Mulder sobbed into his shoulder until exhaustion
took him, and he slept. Alex soon followed him into slumber.
The gasp woke him instantly, and he reached for his gun, then remembered
that Mulder had taken it from him. Mulder, who still slept in his arms.
They were both pretty tapped out, for Mulder's approach not to have awakened
them.
"Ssh, Scully, I'll explain," Alex said softly, not wanting to disturb
Mulder.
"What did you do? What did you give him?"
"Ssh, let's go into the next room. You can arrest me there."
The oddity of the situation was apparently enough to make Scully hesitate.
Alex used the time to carefully disentangle from Mulder and head to the
kitchen. Scully followed, gun still drawn.
He sat down at the table. His gun still sat beside the pile of money and
plastic. Scully picked it up, slid it into her own purse, then, after a
moment, holstered her own weapon.
"What's this?" She gestured at the offering on the table.
Alex hesitated, weighing how candid he should be. He decided that Scully
needed to understand if she were going to help Mulder. She loved her
partner, not in the same way, but almost as fervently as he did, and she'd
never do anything to hurt him.
"Mulder wanted me to leave him alone. I didn't think that was such a good
idea."
He could see in Scully's face that she caught his implications. Her ice-blue
eyes held him fast. "Why should you care?"
Alex shrugged. "Even a rat like me needs someone to care about."
"And what I saw in there..."
"Was nothing. He needed comfort, and I was the only one here to turn to."
"You stuck around, knowing I was on my way?"
Alex nodded.
"You didn't think I'd arrest you?"
"I'm fairly certain you will And we both know I won't live to stand trial."
Her face softened a bit. "Why are you doing this?"
He gave her a flippant grin. "'Tis a far, far, better thing I do..."
"Krycek "
"They're going to get me sooner or later. At least this way it counts for
something."
Scully regarded him for a moment. "You love him, don't you?"
Alex drew a sharp breath, then forced a laugh. "Love? I'm just a rat."
He couldn't read her expression— probably condescension . Scully had
always looked down on him, back to his FBI days. Then she took his gun from
her purse. He tensed, but she reversed the gun and handed it to him. She
then took Mulder's ATM card from the pile on the table.
"I think he'll need this, don't you?" Scully asked.
She handed the cash, the credit card, and the car keys to Alex. He stared at
her in shock.
"Officially, I never saw you," Scully said. "Unofficially, I'll tell
Mulder good-bye for you."
Alex suddenly appreciated why Mulder liked her so much. "Thanks, Scully."
"Thank you. For Mulder."
Part II: When the Bullet Hits the Bone
Skinner came down the steps mumbling about the many ways to kill a
Special Agent. It had to be Mulder. No one else would be knocking at
his door at two in the morning; no one else would have the gall. He
jerked the door open.
It wasn't Mulder.
Krycek stood there, in all his scruffy, black-leather glory. The rogue
agent's black hair was much longer than the last time Skinner had seen
him, hanging rakishly over the long-lashed green eyes. He was sweating
and breathing hard, as though he had run all the way from
wherever-the-hell he had been. His skin seemed pale, and he at least had
the decency to look a little diffident. Perhaps he remembered the last
time he had been here, when Mulder dragged him to the door in handcuffs.
Of course he remembers. I hit him hard enough. He wanted to hit him
again. Bad enough that Skinner had to look the other way while his agent
trysted with a traitor, but now said traitor was knocking at the door at
an ungodly hour of the night.
"Krycek, what the hell do you think you're doing here?"
Krycek held out a thick manila envelope. "I need you to give this to
Mulder."
"Give it to him yourself," Skinner growled.
Krycek looked at the carpet. "I can't. He doesn't want to see me again."
"I will not get in the middle of whatever lover's quarrel you two have
going."
An almost comical look of astonishment crossed Krycek's face. "You know
about us?"
Skinner's admiration for Krycek's bravery went up a notch when he
realized that the little rat came to the door without realizing that
Skinner knew of his 'truce'-and more-with Mulder. The boy had guts, or
a death wish.
"Just give him this, ok? And neither of you will ever see me again."
Krycek thrust the package into Skinner's hands and turned to go. The
simple movement seemed to make him dizzy. He stumbled, grabbed at the
wall for support, and started to fall. Instinctively, Skinner caught him
by the shoulder and eased him down. Krycek's jacket slid back enough to
show the bright red stain spreading across his white T-shirt. Ignoring
the younger man's weak protests, Skinner removed the jacket. Krycek had
been shot, some time ago judging by the amount of blood staining his
shirt. What Skinner had taken for exhaustion and nerves had really been
the onset of shock. He sat back, contemplating his next move. Krycek
struggled to rise. Skinner recognized the look in his eyes; he'd seen
too much of it in 'Nam. Krycek wasn't intending to seek medical help, or
even to find a sanctuary to lick his wounds. He was crawling off to
find a place to die.
The rogue agent wasn't his responsibility anymore. He didn't need to
get involved.
But Scully said Krycek had saved Mulder's life, staying with him during
a suicidal depression until she could arrive, even though he risked
arrest and eventual death. He put himself in danger to come here, when
by all rights he should be barely able to stand, because he had
something he thought Mulder would want. More than that, there was
something so plaintive in his eyes that Skinner could no longer make
himself believe that Krycek deserved to bleed to death alone in an
alley.
He pulled Krycek's arm over his shoulder, put his own arm around
Krycek's waist, and hauled him to his feet. Krycek didn't resist as
Skinner brought him into the living room and settled him on the couch.
Krycek lay there, eyes closed, with only the unsteady rise and fall of
his chest to prove he still lived.
"I'm going to call Mulder."
Krycek's eyes snapped open. "No!"
"Why not?"
"He won't come. He wants me dead."
From anyone else, that statement would sound petulant, whiny. But
Krycek spoke it with cold, dead-calm certainty, and not a hint of
self-pity. Skinner wasn't convinced, but he knew Krycek was.
"If you're so sure he won't come, why not let me call him anyway?"
Skinner tried to reason.
"I don't want him to know. That way I can still pretend he'd come if he
knew."
Damn Mulder What was it about him? He had rational Scully risking
her life to chase ghosts and aliens. Skinner had lost count of the
times he'd put his career on the line, with little thanks or
acknowledgment for the risks he took. And now Alex Krycek, the ultimate
survivor, was ready to give up and die because that's what Mulder
wanted.
Only Skinner was fairly sure that wasn't what Mulder really wanted.
He'd probably lashed out, as always, in a fit of self-righteous temper,
and if Krycek died Mulder would be as disconsolate as a child who'd
broken his favorite toy. It fell to Skinner, once again, to look after
Mulder and clean up his messes.
Besides, he and Krycek belonged to the growing fraternity of people who
mattered less than Mulder's goddamned quest for the truth. Skinner was
neck-deep in debt to people he'd rather not think about, Scully's career
had been permanently tainted, and her health compromised. Deep Throat
was dead. X was dead. Of them all, Skinner suspected Alex had been hurt
the worst, because he was fool enough to love the bastard. Skinner
hadn't believed that of the little rat, but he couldn't deny it now; the
depth of despair radiating from him testified to it.
He picked up the phone.
Skinner doubted Krycek would make it to the door on his own, but he
didn't want him trying while he was so weak and shocky. Besides, there
was a slim chance Alex was right and Mulder wouldn't come, and the young
man didn't need to face that certainty.
"I'm just calling the Gunmen. You need a doctor, and we both know why I
can't take you into Emergency."
Skinner kept an eye on the pale young man on the couch as he dialed.
Byers answered, thank God. Byers had the most sense of the three,
although that still didn't say much.
"Byers, this is Assistant Director Skinner. I have a bit of a situation
here. I need your special resources."
"What's Mulder done now?"
Skinner sighed. "It's not Mulder this time, at least not directly. How
much do you know about Alex Krycek?"
The choking sound on the other end of the line told Skinner everything
he needed to know. "It's all right, Byers, I do know about Mulder and
Krycek."
"Mulder told you?"
"No, I spotted him shadowing Mulder on a stakeout. I was just about to
grab him when Scully stopped me and told me the whole story."
"And you're okay with this?" Byers' voice squeaked a little.
"No, I'm not 'okay' with this, but there's not much I can do about it
without discrediting one of my best agents." Though how I got from
there to letting Krycek bleed on my couch is beyond me. "Look, Krycek
has been shot, and I can't just waltz him into the emergency room. With
Scully in the hospital, I need you to find some discreet, trustworthy
help."
"We'll do our best," Byers promised. "Mulder must be beside himself."
"Mulder doesn't know."
"What!"
"Apparently they had a falling out. Krycek showed up here a little
while ago with something he wanted me to give to Mulder. I didn't
realize he was injured until he collapsed in the hallway. He made me
promise that I wouldn't call Mulder." He stressed the 'I' slightly,
enough, he hoped, for Byers to catch on without alerting Krycek.
"He doesn't want to worry Mulder?" Byers asked.
"He doesn't think Mulder will come. He's afraid to find out for sure.
I promised not to call him." Come on, Byers, take the hint already.
"But I didn't. I'm certain Mulder will come, but if he doesn't, Alex
will never know he's been contacted."
"Right. Good."
"And we'll get him some help. It could take some time, though."
"I'll keep him alive 'till then."
Skinner hung up the phone and checked on Krycek. His former agent
shivered convulsively, eyes closed, skin white against raven hair.
Skinner pulled a comforter from the linen closet. When he laid it over
Krycek, the younger man's eyes flew open. His gaze was wild,
frightened, and Skinner wondered if he remembered or understood where he
was. The A.D. reached to pull the comforter higher around his shoulders.
Krycek's hand snaked out, trying to shove him away.
"Easy. You're safe here." Skinner said. Krycek stared at him,
mistrustful. Skinner remembered the last time he had made a similar
statement; it had been a prelude to a beating.
"Cold," Krycek hissed through chattering teeth.
"You're in shock. You're body is having trouble maintaining body
temperature. You have to hold on, the Gunmen are going to find you a
doctor." The hand he laid on Krycek's shoulder was meant to reassure,
but Krycek pulled away fearfully.
"No," Krycek shook his head. "Not the balcony. I'll freeze."
Obviously, they weren't having the same conversation. "No balcony,"
Skinner agreed patiently. "That was a long time ago, just before
Tunguska. And before you and Mulder made your peace."
"Oh. Right." Krycek looked faintly embarrassed at his inability to
sort things through. "You know, Mulder doesn't want me any more. You
really don't need to help me."
Again, the line was delivered straight, with no sign of self-pity, just
a world-weariness that made death irrelevant, or even welcome.
"I know I don't," Skinner said.
"Then why are you?"
"You don't want me questioning that too closely right now. Trust me."
"'kay," Krycek murmured, eyes closed.
Skinner realized he had just lost Krycek's focus once more.
It was Christmas day. Alex had been shadowing Mulder for a few months,
ever since those days at the farmhouse in Finger Lakes. He had to know
Mulder was all right, had to see him, even if he didn't quite dare go
talk to him. But the lights on the houses, the trees and warmth and
merriment he glimpsed within, had made his accustomed loneliness
unbearable. He thought about his family for the first time in years:
his parents, his little sisters, who all thought him dead. He allowed
them to. He could never explain what he'd become, and they'd be targets
were the Consortium ever to find out they still mattered to him.
Mulder, though, Mulder already had the Consortium after him, and he knew
how to be careful. Alex wouldn't be putting him in further danger just
by talking to him, not so long as he was careful what he said. And
maybe, just maybe, Mulder didn't want to be alone on Christmas either,
and would talk to him instead of beating him up or arresting him. It was
still a stupid risk to take, he told himself, trudging up the stairs to
Mulder's apartment, gripping the envelope that was his flimsy excuse to
drop in on Mulder unannounced. It contained print-outs of rumors he'd
pulled off classified sites, of a redneck octogenarian who had home
videos of Area 51. It wasn't terribly reliable, or even important, and
so it was safer to give to Mulder than all the things he knew which
Mulder would want more.
He knocked at the door, and waited patiently for Mulder to check his
identity through the peephole. He heard the chain slip off, and the
dead-bolt slide back. He tensed as the door swung open. Alex
half-expected Mulder to tell him to get lost, or else grab him by the
collar and slam him into a wall.
"Alex, come in." Mulder sounded pleasantly surprised.
Alex stepped in keeping a careful eye on Mulder. For all he had longed
to be here, he wasn't sure it was safe, even with Mulder's surface
friendliness. Mulder's volatile temper tended to flare without notice.
"Why did you come? Is something wrong?"
Alex shook his head. "I though you might be interested in this."
Mulder took the envelope from his hand, opened it, and scanned the
contents. Since Mulder hadn't told him to leave, he waited, shifting
back and forth uneasily.
"I've seen the footage," Mulder said at last. "Worst hoax I've seen in a
long time. Even FOX network wouldn't touch it."
Alex slumped his shoulders. He'd suspected the information was
essentially useless, but had hoped Mulder would take a little longer to
realize it. Then maybe Mulder wouldn't send him away quite so quickly.
"Oh," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I-I guess I should go."
"Stay," Mulder said. "There's pizza left-still warm.."
They sat on the couch, sharing pizza and beer, and watched The
Refereee and Scrooged . The latter ended at two a.m., and Alex was
yawning.
"It's late," Mulder said. "You should stay. The bed's yours, no
strings attached. And company, if you want it."
Alex grinned, suddenly completely awake. "I would love your company."
They went into the bedroom, got naked, and burrowed under the covers.
Mulder turned suddenly shy, running just the tip of one finger down
Alex's cheek.
"Do you want to?" Mulder asked softly.
No, Mulder, that's just why I'm naked in your bed. But Alex didn't
want to ruin the moment with sarcasm, and anyway he liked the way Mulder
asked what he wanted. It made him feel safe.
"Oh, yes, Mulder, I want to."
Mulder started stroking him, lightly, with just the fingertips of both
hands, along the cheekbones, down the sides of his neck, across the
shoulders, down the arms to his fingertips, repeat. And then both hands,
along his throat, down to the center of his chest, hands separating to
flow to his sides, firmer now so not to tickle, fire trailing in the
wake of the his touch. And the pattern repeated. Alex lay still,
enthralled. Mulder's hands swept a pattern from his breastbone down to
his solar plexus, sweeping down to the sides, repeated a second time,
and a third. The simple caresses were oddly erotic, and left Alex
feeling as he never had before, cherished, deeply relaxed and incredibly
turned on at the same time. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the
feeling. Mulder's hands moved together, down from his solar plexus to
just above his twitching erection, separating out to his hipbones.
Mulder used this movement two times, three times, four, then slid his
hands slowly down the outside of Alex's thighs, his calves, rubbing his
feet before trailing his fingertips lightly up the inside of his legs,
feather-touching the underside of his testicles.
Alex gasped. His entire body tingled with pleasure, and his chest felt
tight with a sense of incredible well-being. He didn't know if he could
take any more; he wanted it to never stop.
Mulder stroked again, firmly down the outside of his legs, lightly up
the inside, then gently rolling his testicles in one hand. Yes , Alex
wanted to say, but he found he'd lost the power of speech.
Mulder kissed the tip of his cock, and pleasure flashed like lightening.
through his body. He screamed, then lay panting as Mulder blew warm
breath gently over his cock. He heard Mulder chuckle softly in
response. His entire body had become charged with sexual energy, and
his world consisted of nothing but pleasure. Then Mulder sucked him
down, and Alex melted into white-hot molten joy. He whimpered and
wailed. Though he was generally quiet during sex, this was like nothing
he had ever experienced. Somehow, despite the intensity, Mulder's
varied rhythms and unexpected touches kept him on the edge for what
seemed like hours, until he finally exploded like a supernova, and lay
still, unable to move, or even think.
He was aware of Mulder sliding off the bed, leaving the room, then
returning. He felt the warmth of a washcloth, cleaning him. He forced
himself to stir, to reach for Mulder, conscious of the notion that he
should do something for him.
Mulder caught his hand. "Ssh, lie still. Just relax. You look so
beautiful."
"But you..."
"I came against the bed, from watching you."
Alex settled, then, vaguely aware of Mulder tugging the sheets,
arranging them so the wet spot was covered by a fold of blanket, then
snuggling in against Alex. He pretended, as he drifted off to sleep,
that this was what it felt like, that he was loved and safe and
protected.
He dressed in the pale dawn, preparing to sneak out before Mulder could
wake and throw him out.
"Hey, Krycek," Mulder called before he reached the door.
Alex stopped and turned.
Mulder smiled. "What are you doing New Year's Eve?
Something jarred him out of the happier place he had been. No,
some one , holding a glass to his mouth, telling him to drink. It was
dangerous to drink without knowing what was in the glass, who was
offering it, but Alex didn't care anymore. If he drank, they would leave
him alone. If it were poison, the end would come quicker, and he
wouldn't feel so cold.
He dimly registered another blanket being spread on top of the
comforter. His mind roamed again, comparing other times he had been
cold, to remember how to keep from freezing.
Mid-February, or thereabouts, he'd lost track of the days. Consortium
thugs were staking out the decrepit weekly rental he called home these
days. He had no bolt-hole left, and no money for a motel. Sleet lashed
down from the black skies, and wind-chill took the temperature way below
freezing. He wandered through the streets on foot, soaked to the skin.
He'd been seeing Mulder almost weekly, but always at Mulder's invitation
or with some scrap of information he could hold out as an offering. He
had nothing to give, but still his steps carried him to Mulder's door.
He stood in the hallway, shivering and dripping on the carpet, gathering
the courage to knock. If Mulder closed the door in his face, and why
wouldn't he , Alex could no longer pretend that he was other than an
informant and a quick fuck.
He tapped on the door. "Mulder, it's me."
The door swung open, and the look of concern on Mulder's face took some
of the chill away. "Alex, come in, you look frozen."
Alex hesitated on the threshold. "Look, Mulder, I don't have anything
for you. I—"
"Get in here before you catch your death of cold." He pulled Alex
inside, slipped his jacket off, and pushed him toward the bathroom.
"Take a hot shower, it'll warm you up. I'll find you something dry to
wear."
Alex went into the bathroom, stripped, and stepped into the shower. The
hot water stung at first against his cold skin-he suspected he'd been on
the verge of hypothermia. The sensation became more pleasant,
comforting, and he gradually stopped shivering.
The door opened, and Mulder stepped in to lay sweats and a towel on the
edge of the sink. "I'm going to call out for dinner. Chinese okay?"
"Yeah, sure."
Alex was floored. Mulder had let him drop in with no excuse but his own
bad luck, fussed over him, and now wanted to know his opinion on dinner?
He finished his shower, dressed, and padded down the hall to the living
room and settled on the couch. Mulder came out and handed him a
steaming mug of hot cocoa laced with brandy, complete with marshmallows
floating on top. Alex hadn't suspected Mulder's kitchen to be capable
of producing fresh milk, let alone marshmallows. Deciding not to
question a miracle, he took a sip. It was the real thing, all right,
not that packaged powdered shit. He drank deeper, closing his eyes to
savor the taste, the heat of the liquid and the brandy burn.
"Thanks," He said to Mulder.
"No problem. Are you in trouble?" At Alex's soft chuckle, he amended,
"Or should I ask, in worse trouble than ususal?"
"Nah. They just found my rat-hole, caught me without a place to stay for
the night."
Mulder leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. "You have a place to
stay."
The warmth, the brandy, and the unusual feeling of contentment conspired
against him, and he fell asleep sitting up.
The knock on the door startled him awake, and he had his gun in his hand
before he realized where he was.
"Easy, I think it's just dinner," Mulder soothed. "If you shoot the
delivery boy, it'll be hell trying to get them to send someone out
again, and this is my favorite restaurant."
Mulder glanced through the peephole, then opened the door. Alex returned
his gun to its concealed holster and tried to calm down as Mulder paid
for the delivery and came back to the living room laden with white paper
sacks. He sat next to Alex on the couch and proceeded to arrange
cartons on the coffee table in front of them.
"We have won-ton soup," he proclaimed happily. "Sweet-and-sour pork,
sesame chicken, spring rolls and chow mein."
Mulder ate a little bit of everything. Alex ate a lot of everything,
until he felt like a python that had swallowed a hippo. It had been
longer than he cared to think since he'd eaten real food.
He must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing he remembered
was Mulder tugging him to his feet and leading him to bed. Mulder
undressed him and tucked him in, then climbed in beside him, snuggling
close and laying his head on Alex's shoulder. Alex stirred, thinking
vaguely that he owed Mulder something for the evening.
"Ssh, rest." Mulder stroked his hair in reassurance, and Alex settled
against his warmth and let sleep take him.
The graying into morning woke him as always, but he lay still, not
wanting to leave the sanctuary of Mulder's bed just yet. It'll be worse
if he kicks you out. Just then, Mulder stirred and woke. Alex tensed,
waiting, but Mulder only reached out and brushed Alex's bangs back from
his forehead. We didn't do anything last night. Maybe he wants to now.
Maybe I have some more time...
"Stay?" Mulder asked. "It's Saturday, I don't have anywhere to be.
I'll go out in a little bit and get us breakfast, if you'll stay the
morning."
Alex knew he was grinning like an idiot. He couldn't help it. He pounced
on Mulder, kissing him everywhere, lips, chin, neck, licking and nipping
lower, down his chest, abdomen, before swallowing his erection whole.
Mulder arched his back and screamed. Alex held his hips down to keep him
from bucking as he skillfully brought him off, listening gleefully as
Mulder's cries reached a crescendo, pulling his mouth away at the last
minute, watching the semen spurt across Mulder's chest and belly.
Mulder lay panting on the bed, eyes still closed. Alex didn't mind the
wait. It was such a turn-on just seeing Mulder like this, knowing that
he had brought Mulder to this. Then Mulder turned and caught his mouth
in a sweet, unending kiss, hands caressing, gentling, finding his
erection and stroking him smoothly to completion.
Some time passed before Mulder managed to drag himself out of the
apartment to shop for the promised breakfast. Alex lay in bed,
half-dozing, determined to enjoy to the fullest the luxury of warmth and
comfort and roach-free living. Mulder returned like a whirlwind, and
sat bouncing a little on the bed until Alex laughed his way to full
wakefulness, whereupon Mulder dragged him out of bed, got him settled at
the table, and laid out before him croissants dripping with melted
cheese, sliced fruit, french roast coffee.
Alex felt as if he must have stepped into someone else's life. These
past years, he'd be lucky if his bed-partner spared him a cup of instant
Sanka before shoving him out the door. He'd taken to sneaking out
before dawn to avoid the sourness of morning-after. But Mulder was
something completely different, seemed to want him around, to enjoy
pampering him.
Mulder slid a key across the table to him. Alex stared at it in
confusion.
"I want you to be able to get in, if I'm away on a case, and you need a
place to crash."
Alex sat still for a moment, frozen in shock, then slowly reached out
and took the key. "Thanks, Mulder, you didn't have to do this." He
hoped that Mulder couldn't hear the tears threatening to crack his
voice.
Mulder kissed him tenderly "I hate the thought of you being caught out,
with nowhere to go. I care about you. I worry about what happens to you
out there."
Alex swallowed painfully as the sweet memory mingled with the echoes of
harsher words.
Mulder had him by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his body
pressed close in a parody of intimacy. "You, Krycek, are nothing but a
liar, a killer and a two-bit whore. My skin crawls at the thought that
I ever touched you."
"But I love you," Alex whispered.
Mulder punched him hard in the solar plexus, once, twice, and then
kicked him as he slid to the floor. "Don't say that. "Don't you dare
say that, you worthless little rat."
It hurt, he couldn't breath, and Mulder had ripped his heart out and
ground it into the dirt. He blinked back tears of rage and pain and,
because it was Mulder, shoved thoughts of the 9mm in the shoulder
holster from his mind. Because it was Mulder, tried again.
"Please, Mulder, listen—"
Mulder drew his own weapon, and clicked the safety off. "I should kill
you now. Get out now, or I swear I will kill you."
Alex knew that look in Mulder's eyes, knew Mulder meant every word. He
was tempted to lay there, let it end, but the damned survivor's instinct
had him dragging himself up and out the door, or else maybe he couldn't
bear for it to be Mulder who finally killed him.
Skinner picked up the phone on the third ring. "Skinner."
"Hey, this is Byers. We pulled in a few favors, got you a doctor, but
she won't be there 'till tonight."
Skinner glanced at the clock. It was just past noon.
"Can't she get here any sooner? "He doesn't look good."
"She won't leave her practice in the middle of the day. Says it would
look suspicious, says she might be followed. She's more paranoid than
we are."
Skinner doubted that was possible, but kept the thought to himself. "I
guess we don't have a choice."
"No, not really. It was hard enough to get someone to come. Uh, no
offense, but the folks we hang out with... well, let's just say it was
most of them hung up when I told them the injured man was hiding out in
the apartment of an Assistant Director of the F.B.I."
"Yes. I see where that could be a problem."
"I, uh, I talked to Mulder."
By Byer's tone, Skinner knew not to expect Krycek's grief-stricken,
remorseful lover to show up on his doorstep. "What happened?"
"He said, and I quote, 'Better warn Skinner that rats do bite the hand
that feeds them. And tell Krycek I'll see him in hell."
Skinner sighed. Just once, he'd like to see Mulder take a
middle-of-the-road position on anything. No, on second thought, that
would probably cause Earth to reverse on its axis, or black frogs to
fall from the sky.
"Do you have any idea what set him off?" Skinner asked.
"I think he blames Alex for Scully getting shot."
Rage flashed through Skinner. "If Krycek was responsible—"
"But I don't think he was," Byers interrupted. "Mulder thinks that Alex
set her up, but Scully was the one who asked for the meet, set up the
time and place. I decoded the message myself-they've been running coded
e-mail through us. And Alex was the one who shot the assassin and
dialed 911."
That would explain why the ballistics test didn't match Scully's weapon.
"Mulder's just upset, looking for someone to blame besides himself. They
were tapping Scully's phone, not Krycek's. We checked afterwards, and
besides, Krycek is too canny not to find a bug. It looks like Scully was
the intended target, and the only reason for them to take out Scully is
to get to Mulder. And, well..."
"What?" Skinner snapped.
"There's been something going on between them, between Mulder and Alex,
these last couple weeks. When they've come into the office together,
Mulder either ignored him or snapped at him, and Alex... well Alex just
seemed so sad. Mulder said something today about Alex keeping secrets,
but he wasn't making a lot of sense."
This isn't my concern. I've gone further than I should have, letting
Krycek stay here at all. "Well, we tried. Did he say how Scully was
doing?"
Mulder had been keeping vigil at the hospital, ever since he returned
from that conference and heard what happened to Scully.
"She hasn't regained consciousness yet, but the doctors are still
hopeful."
After he got off the phone with Byers, Skinner walked over to the couch.
Alex's eyes were closed, but the rhythm of his breathing told Skinner
he was awake. Skinner wanted to believe Byers' version of things, but
he had to be sure.
"Krycek, we need to talk. About Scully."
Alex opened his eyes, and looked up at Skinner. He couldn't read
anything in that face, never could, going back to the days when Skinner
was his boss. Hell, back then, he'd half-suspected Skinner was
Consortium... still wasn't sure he hadn't been then, although lately he
proved himself to now be on Mulder's side.
"Is she awake?" Alex asked. "Is she going to be all right?"
Skinner shook his head. "We don't know, yet. Mulder thinks you set her
up."
Alex closed his eyes. Oh, well, he hadn't really expected to survive
this. Weak as he was, there would be a limit to how much Skinner could
hurt him before he died.
"I didn't set her up," Alex said, still not looking at Skinner. "But I
don't expect you to believe that."
"Byers doesn't think you could be responsible. But I want to hear from
you exactly what did happen."
He looked up, puzzled, hopeful, badly needing someone to believe him.
"Byers relayed a message to me from Scully, asking me to meet her at
four a.m. in Lafayette Park. She and I had been using the guys as
go-betweens since, oh, January or so. Since she caught me sneaking out
of Mulder's apartment one morning, confronted me, and demanded to know
my intentions toward her partner. We came to terms over coffee, and she
gave me her cell-phone number, and we exchanged e-mail addresses so we
could contact each other if Mulder showed signs of doing something
stupider than usual." He smiled at Skinner's wry look. "You have to
admit, the man does take some looking after.
"Anyway, this time, Scully wanted my opinion on an X-file, since Mulder
was out of town at some damned UFO convention. I had a bad feeling,
edgy, waiting for Scully. You live on the run as long as I do, you get
this sort of sixth sense-not that I'd ever tell that to Mulder. He'd
open a file..." He shut down the pang of betrayal following the quick
rush of affection that came with thinking of Mulder. "Scully came
walking across the park to me. Told me Mulder should feed me better, I
needed to put on some weight. Started to take out a file from under her
coat.
"I saw the flash of moonlight on gunmetal, heard the click of a safety
going off. I tried to shove her down, but it was too late... though I
think I spoiled his aim, at least. I should have been faster." He
closed his eyes again, shaking his head, trying to dispel the memories
of Scully falling, Scully lying there, so much like her sister, ohgodno...
"So I shot the bastard. Used Scully's phone to dial 911. I stayed
with her as long as I could, until the ambulance sirens were near. I
couldn't be at the scene when they arrived, I couldn't ."
"I understand," Skinner said softly. "I'm sure she would understand."
But Alex merely shuddered, remembering Scully smiling at him in
friendship—when was the last time, besides Mulder, that he'd had a
friend? —remembering Scully's blood on his clothes, on his hands. He
hadn't set her up, but maybe Mulder was right in a way, maybe, somehow,
it had been his fault? If he'd been quick enough... or if he weren't
a scuttling little rat in hiding, they could have met in a safer place,
a more public place... Scully might still be alive.
"The guys have found you a doctor. She'll be here tonight."
His chills gradually eased— Krycek had seen Skinner fiddling with the
thermostat, and suspected that he'd turned the heat up to the tropical
range. Still, the pain in his shoulder was unrelenting, and he tried to
escape once more into memory, but only unhappiness came to mind.
The memory started out cozy enough, with him snuggled next to Mulder in
Mulder's bed, after a long bout of lovemaking. But the dream soon
became a nightmare.
"You gave me a lot of information, through the Gunmen, before we got
together," Mulder said.
"Mm-hm," Alex answered sleepily, not willing to break the mood by
talking X-files.
"Lately, though, the well seems to have run dry."
He told himself he was imagining the accusation in his lover's tone,
chided himself for paranoia. Hadn't they come farther than this,
learned to trust one another, love one another even if neither of them
were quite brave enough to say the words?
"I've given you everything that I safely can. The information I'm
holding is my insurance. They don't dare come after me, because if they
miss, I'll see that the information is more widely distributed than the
Starr report."
"You don't trust me with the information?" Mulder pulled away from him
slightly.
"I trust you to be who you are, and I know you can't see this
information and not act on it. And if you act on it, they'll know what
you have, and who gave it to you. They'll kill me, and then they'll
come after you."
Mulder slid out of his arms entirely, moved to the other side of the
bed, and lay propped up on one elbow, looking down at Krycek. "Know what
I think? I think you enjoy keeping me in the dark."
"Mulder, no, I—"
"This whole thing between us has just been one long mind fuck, hasn't
it."
The accusation took his breath away, worse than a punch to the gut. He
jumped out of the bed as though it burned him, and started pulling on
his clothes.
Behind him, Mulder sighed. "Alex, what do you think you're doing?"
He reached for his jacket and ignored the question.
"Come back to bed, Alex. I didn't say you had to leave."
He took a few, indecisive steps toward the door.
"I won't bring it up again, okay? Just come to bed."
He should have kept on walking out the door that night. If it had been
anyone else, he would have. No, if it had been anyone else, he would
have decked the bastard first, then left. But it couldn't have been
anyone else, he'd never let anyone else get this close. That had been
his first mistake. His second had been letting Mulder's almost-apology
talk him back into bed. It was too easy to be persuaded to go somewhere
you really wanted to be. If he walked out that door, Mulder might not
have let him back in. After all he'd done to Mulder, it was a miracle
the man spoke to him at all, let alone let him into his life, and into
his bed.
And he liked having sex with someone he actually cared about...
having breakfast with that person the next morning... feeling like he
had someone to turn to if he were in trouble. It was the closest he'd
come to living like a real human being in a long time, and he couldn't
bring himself to throw it away over one of Mulder's mood swings. So he
told himself it would be all right, that Mulder already trusted him
further than he had ever dreamed possible, that in time he could prove
himself, and Mulder would trust him the way he trusted Mulder.
True to his word, Mulder never brought up the subject again, but
something had changed between them. They still slept together, but,
though Mulder was never rough or coercive, the sweet tenderness had
gone. Alex told himself that there wasn't a problem, he'd heard all
relationships hit troubled waters every now and then.
"He's lost a lot of blood," she told them. "I've done my best with the
infection, but he really should be in a hospital."
"That's not an option," Skinner said.
"So I've been told." She glanced at Byers, then fixed Skinner with a
steady gaze. "Get him in a real bed, he's not going to rest comfortably
on this couch. Keep him warm, keep him quiet, make sure he gets plenty
of fluids. Give him the antibiotics on schedule. I was never here."
She turned to Byers. "Don't call me again."
With that, she was gone.
Langly and Byers helped Skinner get Krycek up to the bedroom, to the
only real bed in his condo. Now he no longer had an assassin bleeding
on his couch; the bastard was in his own bed, and it would be Skinner on
the couch tonight. The A.D. wondered just where he had gone wrong with
his life. He suspected it had something to do with not firing Mulder
back when he should have.
"Are you able to stay with him?" Langly asked. "We can babysit, if you
need to go to work tomorrow."
"That won't be necessary," Skinner said. "I've already called in sick,
told them I'll probably be out for a week. You can drop by and visit
sometime, though. I think he could use some friends right now."
The hackers left, and Skinner settled down to read where he could keep
an eye on Krycek. Around midnight, the younger man stirred and woke.
Skinner put down his book. "How are you feeling?"
"Awful."
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"Vodka would be nice," Krycek rasped.
Skinner smiled. "How about Gatorade?"
"It'll do."
Skinner went downstairs to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of
orange gatorade, and crouched by the bed where Krycek lay. He eased the
young man up into a sitting position and held the bottle for him to
drink.
"Thanks, dad," Krycek said when he was done drinking.
Krycek's smart-ass comments didn't piss Skinner off like they normally
would; he was too glad to see some spirit from the wounded man. "Do you
want to try some soup?"
Krycek shrugged.
Skinner opened a can of soup, dumped it into a pan, and put it on the
stove to heat. He came back to sit by Krycek. There were some things
he needed to ask, but he was afraid he wouldn't like the answers.
"When the doctor was examining you, I noticed these." He drew Krycek's
arms from under the blanket, and ran a finger along white scars on each
wrist, clearly made by handcuffs. "Tell me Mulder didn't do this to
you."
Krycek pulled his arms back under the blanket. "It's not what it looks
like."
"It looks like scars made by restraints cutting into the skin."
"He didn't mean for it to happen." Krycek must have read the horror in
his face, because he added, "I was his prisoner, then, not his lover. We
don't play those games."
"I noticed bruising, too. Over your abdomen. It looked just a bit older
than the gunshot wound."
Krycek looked away.
"Does Mulder hit you?"
"It's not like that," Krycek said defensively.
Skinner felt a little sick. "Just what is it like, then?"
"You've hit me, too, in your time."
Skinner winced. He wasn't particularly proud of his behavior on that
occasion, but then Krycek had worked him over pretty good once, too.
None of this was to the point.
"Yes, but I'm not your boyfriend. Has Mulder hit you since you've been
together?"
"Since we started fucking, or since we started fucking regularly?"
Skinner knew the language was meant to put him off, and refused to be
distracted. "From the first time you had sex, has he hit you?"
"Twice. But the first time didn't count, because we were only screwing
around, we weren't in a relationship or anything. And the last time was
after he told me he didn't want to see me again, so that didn't count
either."
Skinner could tell that he was trying hard to project a casual,
tough-guy exterior, but the unshed tears glinting in his eyes gave him
away. Mulder had a lot to answer for, and if these two ever got
together, Skinner would make sure Mulder knew how he felt about any of
his agents committing domestic violence, whether or not the victim
protested.
"I haven't thanked you yet, for letting me stay here," Krycek said. "I
always thought I'd die in some seedy hotel or back alley."
Skinner frowned. "You're not going to die, you know."
Alex shrugged his uninjured shoulder. Skinner fought the urge to grab
him and shake him until his teeth rattled. Skinner had see men die
before, from non-fatal wounds, just by deciding not to live. But Krycek
had survived too much already. Skinner would be damned if he died
because Mulder was being a moody, selfish bastard.
Krycek stayed awake long enough to eat half a bowl of soup. Skinner
retired to his couch to try to get some real sleep, but left the door
open so he would hear if his guest called out for him.
He took advantage of the visit to slip out for a few cans of liquid
invalid food, after locking his file drawers and issuing stern warnings
about his computer.
On the way back from the store, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
"Mulder."
"Listen, Mulder, I'm sick of taking care of your problems. I suggest you
come over and deal with it." Knowing how easily mobile phone calls
could be monitored, Skinner was deliberately cryptic.
"Not that my personal life is any of your business, sir, but I've washed
my hands of that particular problem. Arrest him, shoot him, drown him in
the Potomac for all I care. If you help him, you're as big a fool as I
was."
Skinner reminded himself that he'd get nowhere if he lost his temper. "I
don't think you're being fair. I think you're letting unresolved issues
from before cloud your judgment, not to mention your guilt at making
your partner a target."
Even over the phone, Skinner could hear Mulder's sharp intake of breath.
"I'm not coming, sir. And you can't order me to."
Skinner ground his jaw. "Very well. I hope you don't come to regret
this."
"Thank you for your concern, sir. Good-bye."
Skinner returned home to relieve the Gunmen-or more accurately, to
relieve Krycek, who was awake and being treated to the latest theory on
debit cards and the invasion of privacy. He shooed the guys out,
telling them that Krycek needed his rest. He handed Krycek a
meal-in-a-can. Krycek grimaced, and drank.
"It was nice of the guys to come see me," Krycek said.
The bemusement in his voice told Skinner that Krycek was unused to such
simple gestures of friendship.
"I have to admit, they grow on you," Skinner said. "I'm beginning to
see why Mulder hangs out with them."
At Mulder's name, Krycek closed his eyes and winced. Brilliant. Just
brilliant. I'm sure there's salt in the kitchen. Why don't you rub
some in his wounds while you're at it?
"Can I get you some gatorade?"
Alex shook his head.
"Water?"
"I'm fine."
"You need to drink more."
Alex pretended not to hear him, although by his breathing Skinner could
tell that he was awake. He couldn't make Krycek cooperate in his
recovery any more than he could make Mulder see reason. He retreated to
his chair with his laptop, trying to get work done, but he found himself
staring at Krycek.
He felt a little guilty, remembering what Scully had told him, how
Krycek thought he was doing the right thing when he first starting
working for Cancer Man, how by the time he figured out what was going
on, he was in way over his head and felt he had no one to turn to. Of
course he wouldn't have gone to Mulder—the agent had made it clear that
he didn't want another partner, and begrudged Alex the air that he
breathed. But Alex had been in his supervision, and he'd done nothing
to smooth things over when Mulder made it rough for him, done nothing to
show the green agent that his A.D. was someone he could turn to if he
were in trouble.
"Mulder... Alex... where?"
"Ssh. It's alright. Krycek can't hurt you here."
Scully gave him the look that told him she was seriously considering
having him committed. "Of course Alex wouldn't hurt me? But is he
alright? He did get away?"
Mulder could only nod. His incredible relief that Scully had awakened
conflicted with the sick realization that he had made a terrible
mistake, had been unjustifiably cruel to the man he loved, and probably
destroyed the best relationship of his life.
"Mulder, you can't let him blame himself for what happened. You know,
he tried to take the bullet for me? He just wasn't fast enough."
"I'll talk to him," Mulder said, choking slightly on the words. "Listen,
I should get the doctor, and your family will want to know that you're
awake. And I need to see Alex."
"Okay." She smiled. "Tell Alex I said thank you."
Mulder stopped at the nurses' station, reported that Scully was awake,
and headed down to the car. God, but I've been a stupid bastard. He
finally admits he loves me, and I hit him. He remembered those green
eyes, pleading for trust, and pressed harder on the gas pedal.
There wasn't much traffic on the road that time of night. Mulder drove
with casual disregard of traffic laws, and arrived in record time. He
parked, entered the building, and cursed the slowness of the elevator
all the way up to Skinner's floor. Outside the door, he hesitated. How
could he face Alex after what he had said, what he had done? But he had
to try, he owed it to Alex.
There was still light coming from under the door, and he knocked softly.
"Sir? It's me, Mulder."
The door swung open. Skinner filled the doorframe, scowling. Then he
stepped back, leaving Mulder at the threshold, and retrieved a manila
envelope from a locked desk drawer.
"Here." Skinner shoved a manila envelope at Mulder. "He asked me to
give you this. It's what he got shot for."
Mulder opened the envelope and glanced inside: names, dates, places,
medical files, test results—a list of secrets. Alex had surrendered his
insurance. There was a key, too, the key to his apartment. He
remembered the surprise and happiness in his lover's eyes when Mulder
had given it to him, told Alex that he didn't want him to ever be caught
without a place to stay. It had been sometime after Mulder had admitted
to himself that Alex meant more to him than a warm and conveniently
willing body, and had finally set about teaching Alex to believe in that
truth. The younger man had always been freely physical, but getting him
to trust Mulder with his heart had been like taming a wild thing to take
food from his hand.
The hurt and disbelief in Alex' eyes when Mulder threw him out at
gunpoint spoke of how well Mulder had succeeded. Right before he ground
that heart into dust beneath his heel.
"Where is he?" Mulder peered around Skinner's broad shoulder, saw the
empty couch.
He remembered Byers, eyes dark with more anger than he could imagine
Byers capable of, shouting at him. I thought I knew you, Mulder, but I
never knew you at all. You're really going to let Alex bleed to death on
Skinner's couch, not even bother to see him one last time.
Mulder felt faint. "He isn't dead. He can't be dead."
"What do you care?" Skinner said coldly. "You got what you came for."
No! Mulder's mind screamed denial, but his voice had left him. It
couldn't be, oh god. He did this to Alex, for the damned information he
kept pushing for, wanting Alex to prove his love, prove himself worthy
of trust. And Alex had died thinking Mulder hated him.
Byers, again, in his memory: He didn't send me to bring you. He made
Skinner swear not to call you. He knew you wouldn't come, said he wanted
to pretend it's only because you didn't know. Skinner and I thought he
was wrong. But I guess only your lover understands what a cold bastard
you really are.
He would go to the Gunmen-if they'd still let him in their office. He'd
give them the envelope, then he'd go back to the bed he'd shared with
Alex and eat his gun.
Perhaps Skinner saw some of his thoughts in his expression, because he
relented. "He's still alive. I gave him my bed. He's upstairs,
sleeping."
"I need to see him," Mulder said softly.
"I think you've done enough damage."
"I know. I want to try to make amends. Scully woke up. She told me..."
The words stuck on the lump in his throat, and he swallowed to clear it.
"Please, sir, I need to see him."
Skinner stepped aside, then followed Mulder up the stairs. At the
bedroom door, Mulder paused. Alex looked small in the middle of the
king-size bed, as though the trouble of the past week somehow whittled
him down. He was nearly as pale as the sheets he lay against, and even
in sleep his brow furrowed with worry or pain.
Mulder approached quietly, and reached out a hand to brush back the long
bangs. The light touch wakened Alex, and he flinched away from Mulder.
The wariness in his eyes cut Mulder to the core.
"Easy, Alex, I won't hurt you," Mulder soothed.
"You're early."
Mulder wondered is Alex were delirious. "I don't understand."
"You said you didn't want to see me again until you could dance on my
grave."
He remembered saying something like that; he would give his soul now to
take those words back. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Mulder felt hot tears running down his cheeks. He made no attempt to
hide them. His lover's face was a mask-the Krycek of before, the
renegade who couldn't admit to caring for anyone.
Mulder wondered if he would ever trust enough to let down that mask
again.
"Scully told you what happened?" Alex asked.
Mulder nodded.
"She's going to be all right?"
"Looks like it."
The mask slipped just a bit. "I'm glad. I like Scully."
"You were shot."
"Yeah. I couldn't give you the information I had without stealing
documentation-you'd go after it yourself and get yourself killed."
"You said your life would be in danger if you gave me this."
Alex looked away. "I didn't think it mattered."
Mulder knew him well enough to hear the tears beneath the steel of his
voice. "It matters."
He tried to take his lover's hand, but Alex pulled away. "Bullshit.
Look, Mulder, you have what you wanted. I don't have anything else to
give. You can leave now."
"I want you ," Mulder said, voice raspy from crying. Healthy, and
happy. If possible, I want your forgiveness. I shouldn't have doubted
you, shouldn't have pressed for more than you could safely give."
"What's not to doubt? I'm a traitor and an assassin."
"That's in the past. Alex, I—"
"Is it? In the past? If Scully didn't vouch for me, you'd still be
cursing my name."
Mulder wished he could deny the accusation, but he couldn't lie to Alex.
"I'm sorry."
"I forgive you. Now go away."
"Alex, I love you."
A shudder passed through his lover's body as he suppressed a sob. "Don't
lie to me, Mulder. Because part of me will believe you. And I can't take
that kind of pain. Maybe I deserve it, but I can't go through this
again. I'd rather you just go back to hitting me."
"I'm not lying. I l—"
"Don't," Alex hissed.
Mulder closed his eyes, no longer able to handle the way Alex turned
away from him, the way his lover shook from the hurt Mulder had caused.
He'd burned Alex badly, and didn't know if he'd ever win back the
younger man's trust. He had to try, for both their sakes.
He took his lover's hand, ignoring the resistance, placed the envelope
in it, and molded the fingers closed. "You're more important to me than
this. I don't want anything that would endanger you."
Alex flung the envelope back at him. "Don't you dare ! I nearly got
killed for this, you bastard. And I was spotted. It's Rat Season now.
You may as well make it worth something."
Mulder dropped his head, hiding his face in the sheets. He realized he
may have lost Alex forever, that his lover's life was in danger because
of his quest for the truth and his refusal to trust.
"I'm sorry," he choked. "I know it doesn't change anything but—"
"Just stop it. Please." The steel in his lover's voice shattered under
the pressure of emotion Mulder couldn't name. "I know I never should
have expected you to trust me, to care about me, after what I've been
and what I've done."
"Alex, no. Alex..." Mulder began crying in earnest now, too
overwrought to speak.
"Ssh." Alex reached over, stroked his hair as though he were comforting
a child. "Don't cry. I'll survive somehow. It's what rats do best."
Skinner watched from the doorway, grinding his teeth in consternation.
As though Mulder weren't punishment enough for whatever sins he may have
committed in a previous life, now he'd be stuck saving Krycek's neck as
well. He'd skimmed the information in the envelope, of course, and was
already forming a plan to use its contents to negotiate a new detente,
one that would protect his agent and the rogue, too.
Salvaging the relationship, were it even possible, would be up to Mulder
and Krycek.
Part III: Tired of taking Chances
Mulder gave his preparations a last glance-over, and looked at the clock.
Eleven-forty-one. Alex should be here any minute, and Mulder prayed to a
god he didn't believe in that six months of hell would come to an end
tonight. Six months ago, Alex confessed his love. Mulder had betrayed
that love, and the hard-won trust behind it, with accusations and with
violence. Alex had nearly died trying to prove his faith, but it took
Scully's eyewitness account before he believed his lover's innocence.
It had very nearly been too late. For months afterwards, Alex was aloof as
a stray cat that had been tormented one too many times by those who
pretended to offer it food and shelter. What contact they had was
professional, spurred by the need to reestablish the detente between Alex
and the Consortium that had been disturbed when Alex stole documents to
prove himself to Mulder. When possible, Alex dealt with the Gunmen, Scully,
even Skinner, rather than talking to Mulder.
Three months ago, almost to the day, Alex showed up at his door. Mulder let
him in, and Alex pounced. Their lovemaking that night had been wild,
desperate. By morning, Alex was gone.
Weeks passed before Mulder saw Alex again, and the pattern repeated. At
first, Mulder excused franticness for passion fueled by separation, and
Alex's before-dawn departures as necessity of schedule only the rogue agent
knew. But every time he tried to slow down the pace of their encounters to
the gentle, tender loving of before his betrayal, Alex distracted him,
resisted, insisted on something fast and torrid. Mulder would invite Alex
to come over for dinner, or to watch a game, and Alex would show up just
before midnight and be gone long before sunrise.
Mulder realized that they were just screwing, not loving. Alex refused to
let down the barriers around his heart, refused to trust, to make himself
vulnerable once more. Mulder knew it was his own fault, and that he would
have to be the one to fix it.
The knock on the door came on schedule. Mulder had, after much argument,
made Alex take his key back, but his lover refused to use it. Mulder let him
in, but when Alex tried to pin him against the wall to hump against him,
reaching for the tie of the robe he wore, Mulder gently held him back. The
look in Alex' green eyes went from desire to wariness disguised in anger.
"Ssh, Alex, it's all right," Mulder soothed quickly. "C'mon, let me show
you something."
He took his lover by the hand and led him toward the bedroom. Alex hung
back.
"Have they given you another mindwipe, Mulder? I've seen your bedroom
before."
"Not like this." He opened the door to his bedroom and tugged Alex across
the threshold.
Alex stood speechless, staring at the hundreds of white votive candles all
about the room. Scented oils heated in a special warmer wafted the exotic
scents of ylang ylang, patchouli and sandalwood through the air— scents
Mulder had chosen for their relaxing and sensual qualities as well as for
their pleasant odor.
Mulder took advantage of Alex' stunned pause to gently slide the leather
jacket from his shoulders, and slowly, worshipfully unbutton his shirt.
Shirt followed jacket, and then Mulder sank to his knees to undo his lover's
belt.
"Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Mulder knew the harsh tone was part of Alex' defenses, and reminded himself
who had convinced Alex that he needed to defend himself after all. "Of
course," he said lightly, getting to his feet. "I'm being a thoughtless
host, to not offer some refreshment."
He pulled the champagne bottle from its ice bucket by the bed, popped the
cork with a flourish, and filled the two crystal glasses on the night stand.
He handed one to Alex, who took it as cautiously as though it were sloshing
with black oil.
"What is this all about?" Alex challenged.
"Don't you know a seduction when you see one?"
Alex laughed derisively. "Since when have you had to seduce me?"
Mulder smiled. "Humor me."
Alex took a sip of champaign then put down the glass. He advanced on
Mulder, eyes dark and dangerous. Mulder set his own glass aside and
reminded himself that Alex wouldn't really hurt him.
Alex shoved him to the bed, but Mulder yielded like a willow and then
twisted at the last minute to end up on top. Alex seized him in a
passionate, almost brutal kiss. Mulder pulled back just a little, answering
with tenderness, lightly stroking Alex' chest, gently restraining him when
he tried to play rough. When Alex was entranced enough by pleasure to lay
quietly, Mulder skinned off his jeans, massaging and rubbing along his legs
before returning to tease his nipples.
One-handed, Mulder opened the night stand drawer and began to rummage. Alex
tensed. They hadn't gone as far as penetration since the argument— Alex
hadn't offered, and Mulder wouldn't ask where it wasn't given freely.
"Ssh, not lube," he reassured Alex. "Something else. I think you'll like
it."
Mulder opened the can of Honey Dust, scooped up a liberal handful, and
gently sifted the sweet, fragrant powder over Alex' chest and abdomen,
smiling as smooth muscles twitched in response. The next handful dusted his
balls and his straining erection. Alex gasped. Mulder reached into the can
and brought out the small feather-duster, and trailed it lightly back and
forth across his lover's chest, smoothing out the dust from neck to belly.
The fine powder drifted in the air, coating Mulder's mouth and nose with
sweetness as he breathed.
Mulder brought the feathers along his lover's groin, pleased to hear Alex
whimper. He resisted Alex' attempt to roll over and hump againt him,
pressing Alex gently but firmly back to the mattress.
"Let's do it my way tonight, Alex," Mulder said.
He passed the feathers lightly over Alex' balls, then down his perineum to
tickle his anus. Alex started moaning softly, and Mulder knew he would
struggle no more. He set the feather duster aside and ran his hands all
over his lover's body, knowing the smooth, powdery slide felt even better to
Alex.
Finally, he settled down to a rhythmic stroking of Alex' erection,
whispering to him softly. "I love you, Alex. I know you don't want to
believe that, but I do. One of the worst mistakes of the many I've made was
pushing you away. I don't deserve it, but please give me another chance. I
swear I will never hurt you again. I love you so much"
And on and on, punctuating this sentence or that with a lick to his neck or
ear, rubbing himself languidly against his hip as he kept him trembling on
the brink. Tears rolled down Alex' face, but Mulder knew them for tears of
intense emotion and did not stop. He took a sip of champagne, then made
Alex finish the glass. His lover would refuse him nothing at this point,
and Mulder hoped that a little alcohol would relax him to the point where
they could keep the pleasure going for hours.
When Alex' whimpers turned into desperate, wordless pleas, Mulder slid down
his body. He licked the Honey Dust from Alex' balls, then ran his tongue
down his perineum. Alex jerked his hips off the bed, but Mulder gently
pinned him and started licking the crevice where his legs joined his body,
first one side, then the other. Alex' moans deepened, and Mulder almost
came just from the sound. He licked down the perineum once more, hesitated,
then touched the puckered opening with his tongue. He had never rimmed
anyone in his life, never wanted to. But the Honey Dust made it bearable,
and he wanted to prove to Alex how much he loved him, loved every part of
him. Alex' screams were reward enough.
He shifted a little, and teased just the tip of Alex' erection. Alex
thrashed, and his cries became more frantic. With slow, measured strokes,
he licked every bit of the sweet dust from the quivering rod before taking
him into his mouth. Alex alternately screamed, moaned and pleaded as Mulder
held him at the very edge of orgasm for an eternity before sending him
spasming over.
Mulder slid back up his body, licking and sucking at his neck to increase
the trembling aftershocks, bringing his own climax in a few quick thrusts
against his lover's hip. Alex was still conscious, but his eyes were
glazed, his face wet with sweat and tears, and he panted as though he had
run a marathon. Mulder retrieved from the bathroom the warm cloths damp
with scented water, and cleaned them both off before settling back down to
take Alex in his arms, whispering his love to him as he drifted into sleep.
Alex did not wake before dawn this time, but in the bright light of early
morning he tried to slip from Mulder's arms. Mulder clutched him, instantly
awake.
"Stay, Alex. There's croissants and chocolate-dipped strawberries. I even
got some of the French-roast coffee you like, fresh-ground last night from
one of those gourmet places."
To his great surprise, Alex shoved him away violently. "Fuck you, Mulder.
Why do you have to pull this shit?"
"I don't understand." Mulder was too puzzled to be hurt.
"Why do you have to pretend this is about more than cheap sex?"
"But it is more—"
Alex cut him off, eyes glittering cold as emeralds. "What I don't get, is
why? Is this—" he gestured expansively at the burned out candles, the oil
warmer, the champaign and Honey Dust—"Is this all part of some twisted bit
of self-delusion—'it's all right if I screw the rat, we're really in
love, at least until the next time I need someone to blame for my life', or
is it some unique sort of revenge. Lure the rat into a false sense of
security, let him believe that it's possible for him to love and be loved,
and then, wham! Take it all away again."
"Alex, I know I screwed up. Big time. I wish with all my heart I could take
it back, but I can't. The only thing I can do is spend the rest of my life
making it up to you. I love you—"
"Bullshit."
"—And I know you love me."
"You don't know anything. You're nothing but a good fuck, Mulder. Get over
it."
Mulder refused to be deterred. "You told me you loved me."
"Well, I figured out I was wrong, when you tried to punch me through a wall.
Or maybe it was when you pulled a gun and ordered me out of your sight. Or
no, wait, it was after I'd been shot getting you your proof, trying to prove
myself to you like some love-sick teenager, and you couldn't be bothered to
come see me while I lay bleeding in fucking Skinner's apartment. Skinner!
That is the ultimate barometer of pitifulness— if Skinner starts feeling
sorry for you, you know you're the new poster child for pathetic. And I
don't do pathetic well, Mulder."
Mulder watched in shock as Alex dressed with stiff, angry movements. He was
so sure last night had been a turning point. Yeah, he knew he'd still have
to prove himself to Alex, but he thought they'd crossed the biggest hurdle.
Alex began heading for the door. Mulder jumped out of bed and grabbed him,
wanting to plead with him, to talk some sense into him. Alex turned and
punched him in the solar plexus so hard that the world greyed out. When
Mulder could breath again, Alex was gone, his key on the table.
Alex had hit him. Alex never hit him, Mulder realized, not even in
self-defense. Not with all the beatings Mulder had given him. But now
Mulder had hurt him in a way no one else could, and Alex had seen Mulder's
attempt to salve that wound as an attempt to salt it.
He sat on the floor, too devastated to cry.
Alex closed the door to his dingy weekly rental, and slid down to sit, knees
drawn up, on the mildewed, threadbare carpet. The emptiness inside him ached
worse than broken ribs, worse than a gunshot— and he had the basis for
comparison. He hated Mulder for making him feel this way, hated himself for
being weak enough to feel, hated most of all the small part of himself that
wanted to believe that last night had been real, wanted to be back in
Mulder's apartment eating croissants and chocolate-covered strawberries.
No. He had lived that dream once, and it only made reality worse when in
came crashing down. If only he could stop wanting it so badly. He closed
his eyes against the hot tears that threatened to spill over. If a rat
cries, and no one's there to see, is he still a wuss?
He thought he could handle a relationship that was just sex— well, sex and
that moment each time before he left, when he lay warm in Mulder's arms and
allowed himself to pretend he was loved. Mulder, profiler that he was, saw
the weakness and went for it.
It might be easier to take if he only understood why. Why couldn't Mulder
leave well enough alone?
Maybe because he loves you? a small treacherous voice whispered inside
him. Alex bit his knuckle hard, until blood ran down his hand and pain
silenced the little voice. Mulder couldn't love him, not after what he'd
done, what he'd become. Maybe he could have loved the Alex he'd been before
Cancer Man destroyed him, but Mulder had never given that Alex a chance.
He fell asleep there, leaning against the door, but stiffening muscles woke
him and he crawled to the narrow, sagging bed. He lay there, staring at the
cracks in the ceiling and wondering how to stop wanting Mulder.
He hadn't meant to hit him. He was just feeling panicked, trapped by
Mulder's declarations of love and his own feelings, overwhelmed by the need
to flee before he was draw back down into the whirlpool of self-delusion.
He had an absurd urge to call Mulder and make sure he was all right.
That evening, he plugged his laptop into the phone jack and checked his
e-mail. There were three messages from Mulder, which he deleted without
reading, although his heart constricted with each click of the mouse. He
emptied the trash folder immediately so he wouldn't be tempted to go back
and read them. He had to break off contact with Mulder completely, or
eventually Mulder would lull him into believing that he cared. And then
he'd hit him, pull a gun on him, or accuse him of working for the
Consortium— maybe all three, depending on his mood.
There was a message from Scully, too. Alex hesitated, then opened the
message.
Alex, What happened? I called Mulder today about a case. He was upset.
Said the two of you were through, that it was all his fault. He wouldn't
tell me what went wrong. Did he hurt you? Let me know you're okay. Is
there anything I can do to help? I know Mulder has the social skills of a
water buffalo, but he really does love you.
Alex hesitated, then deleted that message, as well. He liked Scully, but
she was foremost Mulder's confidant and friend. He could not make a clean
break with Mulder and keep Scully as a friend.
More messages came in over the next few days. The ones from Mulder— every
four hours, on average, around the clock— he deleted without reading. The
e-mails from the Gunmen and Scully he allowed himself to open, but not
answer.
Scully was worried and confused. The Gunmen were worried and angry—
mostly at Mulder. He wanted to e-mail back and let them know that it wasn't
Mulder's fault, not really, not this time. But that would open a dialogue
as to what had happened, and Alex didn't know how to begin to explain.
They were Mulder's friends, not his. They would want to patch things up,
since that was what Mulder wanted, and would never understand why it
couldn't work.
He was no one Mulder could ever trust or love, and for that reason he
couldn't trust Mulder. Mulder had proven unable to accept a relationship
that was just sex, and while his own relationships had always been just sex,
or just business, somehow it wasn't as easy where Mulder was concerned.
Maybe it was because Alex still loved him beyond all reason.
By the end of the week, Skinner had e-mailed, offering to buy him a beer. He
smiled at the attempt at subtlety. He and Skinner had put a lot of history
behind them when Alex convalesced in Skinner's apartment. Alex had
apologized for beating Skinner so badly that time in the stairwell,
explaining that he wanted to make sure the AD stayed down and didn't give
the trigger-happy Cardinale any excuse. By that time, Alex had already
grown a little sick of Cardinale's trail of carnage. Skinner, for his part,
admitted that handcuffing Krycek to the balcony in the cold had been petty
and unprofessional, which was closer to an apology than Krycek had actually
expected from the ex-marine.
But they'd never progressed to drinking buddies, and Alex knew that Skinner
wanted to find out what happened between Mulder and himself— maybe worried
that he had an agent with domestic abuse problems. Alex smiled, imagining
Skinner's face if he'd told him no, Mulder hadn't hit him again, he'd just
tried to treat him as though he were more than a cheap fuck, and Alex
couldn't take it.
Alex deleted the invitation without responding, surprised by how much he
wanted to accept it. He'd never considered the AD a potential friend
before. But now he'd seen the compassion that sometimes lurked behind the
tough exterior, and knew how reassuring that strength and self-righteousness
could be when he was on the better side of it. He reminded himself that he
couldn't hang out with Skinner without explaining what had happened, and he
could think of no explanation Skinner would understand.
Scully e-mailed a few more times over the next few weeks. Alex read the
messages, then deleted them without answering. The e-mail from the Gunmen
continued until Alex responded to the last one:
For God's sake, Alex, at least let us know if you're dead or alive.
John
Alex sent a one-word reply: Alive.
Mulder's messages dwindled to twice a day, every morning and every night.
Alex deleted each without reading it, though a knife twisted in his gut each
time he did so. He bolstered his will with the knowledge that, if he read
even one message, he was in danger of succumbing and ultimately being hurt
worse.
Two months after he'd walked out of Mulder's apartment, he got yet another
e-mail.
Alex, If you're out there, please, please answer. I think Mulder may be in
danger. Unless you're angry enough that you want him dead, get in touch
with me. He needs back-up crafty enough to keep up with him and skilled
enough to survive it. He doesn't need to know he has a shadow— you've done
it before.
Scully
Alex paced across the room, cursing in Russian. He didn't want Mulder dead,
and resented Scully's attempt at emotional blackmail. That she stooped to
such tactics at all told him how serious the situation was. But he couldn't
do what she asked of him. His wounds had barely begun to scab over. Seeing
Mulder again, even from a distance would make them open and bleed. He could
survive being beaten, being shot, jumping from a moving car, being locked in
a silo. But he couldn't live through Mulder again.
Damn it anyway. Why was Mulder his responsibility? The man was a grown up,
and had survived thirty-some years without Alex' intervention. The man had
more lives than a cat. Besides, most of the time, Mulder hated him.
Scully e-mailed him twice more that day. He deleted both messages without
reading them, along with one from Skinner.
Two days later, the e-mails from Mulder stopped.
Alex sent a message back to himself to make sure that his server was still
working. Then he put Golden Earring on the stereo, turned the volume up to
'10' and proceeded to drink vodka straight from the bottle.
He woke the next morning, and wished he hadn't. The beams of light coming
through the blinds pierced his eyes like steel bolts, and went straight
through to the back of his skull.
He sort of remembered turning off the boom box some time after 4 a.m., when
the upstair's neighbor's pounding on the ceiling got too annoying.
Alex dragged himself to the bathroom, vomited vodka and stomach acid, then
shook through about fifteen minutes of dry heaves. At last, his stomach
quieted enough for him to brave a few sips of water. He promptly brought
them back up.
Alex made his way to the laptop and checked his e-mail. Nothing.
Perhaps Mulder had given up. There were times when Alex wished he would.
This tenuous contact was heaven and hell. Maybe Mulder had found someone
else. Alex distracted himself for minutes by imagining his replacement— a
young, blond, blue-eyed junior agent with GQ good looks, tailored suits, and
a spotless past, in short, everything Alex was not. He tortured himself
with images of Mulder making love to this perfect young man.
But the worst thing was that this was the best scenario. Losing contact
with Mulder right after Scully's frantic e-mail pointed to something far
worse.
Mulder could be in trouble. Mulder could be dead.
He typed a message to Scully:
Do you know where Mulder is? He stopped trying to e-mail me. Just let me
know he's safe and I'll stay out of everyone's way.
The answer came back in under half an hour:
[Do you know where Mulder is?]
Do you care?
[Just let me know he's safe]
Sorry, Krycek, I'm not in the habit of lying.
[and I'll stay out of everyone's way.]
We never asked you to stay out of our way. You ran out on us, not just
Mulder, but myself, Skinner, the guys... We'd kind of gotten used to
having you around, and it hurt when you cut us off just because you and
Mulder had a spat. And speaking of Mulder, he's been devastated since you
walked out. He finally told me what happened, and unless there's more to
the story, well, I just don't understand. Although if Mulder's dead, I
guess it's moot.
Alex e-mailed back:
No, you don't understand. And if Mulder's dead, then so am I. Meet me at
the usual place at 9 p. m.?
Scully's reply came back immediately:
I'll be there. I'm bringing the boss and the guys.
Alex sat in the back of the Motley Fool Coffee House, staring without really
seeing the curious combination of elegant Victorian and neo-hippie decor.
The combination worked better than it should, but he'd already seen it many
times before, and so it failed to distract him from the coming
confrontation. By the tone of her e-mail, Scully sounded pissed. Skinner
was probably about ready to take him apart.
The bell on the door jingled. Alex watched Sheri, the host/barista/owner,
greet Scully and Skinner as the Gunmen filed in behind them. He saw
Skinner's face turn into a mask as he took in Sheri's tatoos and multiple
nose rings— the mask of a man who doesn't want to show how old and un-hip
he was. Byers was trying to look anywhere but her corset-displayed
cleavage, while Langly and Frohicke openly leered. Scully, used to Sheri's
flamboyance, was cool and professional as ever.
He hadn't realized until this moment how much he'd missed them all.
Mulder's friends , he reminded himself. Not mine.
"Alex, have you been ill?" Byers asked as they approached the table.
"No, why?" Alex was puzzled by the concern evident in Byer's voice.
"Have you been eating?" Scully asked, though it was more a reprimand than
an honest question.
Alex shrugged, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I eat."
"When was the last time?"
Alex thought for a moment. He'd eaten a few crackers late that morning, but
he wasn't sure that counted.
"Does it matter? We're here to help Mulder. I'm not emaciated, I can do
what I need to do. Rats are tougher when they're hungry." He gave them his
best hard-ass attitude, but he had a feeling none of them were buying it.
Sheri came by to take their orders. Scully ordered the bread-and-cheese
platter, the most substantial item on the limited menu, and informed him
that he would eat it.
"All right," Frohicke said as soon as Sheri disappeared into the kitchen.
"We think we know where Mulder is being held."
He slid an envelope across the table. Alex peeked inside— maps, blueprints
for a facility that officially did not exist.
He looked at the hackers in amazement. "How did you guys get this
information?"
Langly grinned. "My kung fu is the best."
Frohike slapped his arm. "Hey, I helped."
"You guys realize what will happen to you if anyone finds out you even know
about this place."
"Our lives have been in danger for years," Langly said with casual bravado,
but Alex saw all three of them pale.
"If he's in there, we'd better get him out in a hurry," he said.
Before there's nothing left to rescue. Warehouse B-31 was an experimental
laboratory. Alex knew something of what happened in places like that, and
the thought of Mulder in there made him sick.
They changed to a more innocuous topic when the food arrived. As soon as
Sheri departed, Krycek pulled out the blueprints. He knew they wouldn't be
disturbed again unless they waived her over— it was one of the things he
loved about the place.
"Eat," Scully ordered.
"This is more important," Alex said absently, flipping through the
blueprints.
Scully cut off a piece of cheese, slipped it onto an apple slice, and pushed
it at him. Alex accepted it with a slight smile, and bit into it as he
stared at the blueprints.
"Here." He pointed to a small room in the center of the building. "If they
hold true to form, this is where they'll be holding him."
"How do you know so much about this place?" Byers asked.
"Trust me, you don't want to know." He paused as Scully put a Brie-smeared
slice of bread into his hand.
"There." He indicated one corner of the building. "There's a blind spot in
their security cameras. If I stay low until I'm behind it, I won't get
picked up. But I need you guys to rig the motion sensors..."
By the end of the night they had a plan, dangerous, but feasible. As they
walked out the door, Scully took his arm and turned him toward her.
"No matter what happens, if you disappear again, we will track you down."
Alex glanced away.
"Why is it so hard for you to believe that we care about you?"
Any honest answer would sound self-pitying, so he held his silence. He had
begun to realize that they were his friends as well as Mulder's, and his
refusal to respond to their overtures must have hurt them. He wasn't used
to mattering to people this way. Alex swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Sorry," he said to all of them.
"Go home," Scully said gently. "Try to get some sleep."
Krycek moved through the shadows like a hunting cat. Though he trusted
Skinner, Scully, and the Gunmen, it unnerved him to rely on others when the
stakes were so high. He pulled his mind from such unproductive concerns to
focus on the mission at hand.
Alex counted doors until he reached the ninth on the left. He picked the
lock, and stepped quietly into the room.
Mulder lay still on a narrow cot on the far side of the room. Even in the
pale moonlight, Alex could see the bruises on his face. Rage rose within
him, searing white-hot, and the desire to kill those responsible almost
consumed him. With practiced efficiency, he locked down his emotions and
knelt by the cot.
"Mulder," he whispered, jostling the cot.
Mulder jerked awake with a soft cry, and flinched back against the wall.
Alex wanted to weep, but there was no time.
"Mulder, it's Alex. It's all right, we're getting out of here."
Mulder shook his head. "I don't believe in your. You're not real."
Alex took Mulder's hand, placed it on his own cheek, held it there. "I'm
real."
Mulder snatched his hand away, shaking his head vehemently. "No. The real
Alex doesn't want to have anything to do with me."
The sadness in his voice tore at Alex' heart. "I'm sorry."
Mulder smiled triumphantly. " My Alex doesn't apologize."
Alex sighed. " Your Alex is an ass. Look, Mulder, we don't have time for
this." He contemplated grabbing Mulder and dragging him out, with or
without his consent, but if Mulder started to scream, it was all over.
"Remember the white candles, and the feather-duster, and the powder that
smelled like honey. It's me, Mulder."
"Bullshit," Mulder hissed. "You had cameras hidden in the apartment."
"Ssh, Mulder, no, I swear. Look, remember the first time. You know that
the farmhouse wasn't bugged. Remember, I had a nightmare, you were trying
to calm me down, and things went from there."
Alex thought for a moment that Mulder would still resist, and then he saw
acceptance come over his battered face.
"Alex," Mulder sobbed. "I thought I would never see you again. You have no
idea how much I wanted one last chance, before I died, to try to convince
you that I do love you. I wanted you to know, even if you don't feel the
same way."
Alex wanted to accept the truth of Mulder's words, but hope was too painful.
He decided that it didn't matter whether Mulder loved him.
"I love you," he told Mulder. "I always have. And you're not going to die
here. I won't allow it."
"They pumped me full of ...stuff. Tests," Mulder seemed less focused, as
though he'd said all he needed to.
"No! Listen, Scully's waiting, she'll fix it."
If he dies it's my fault. I should have answered the first time Scully
asked for help.
For once in his life, luck was with him, and he got Mulder out of the
facility and into the matte-black, plateless car he had parked in the woods
a short distance. He stopped the car at the rendezvous point, and pulled
Mulder out of the cramped back seat. Alex sat on the ground, cradling
Mulder in his arms, rocking slowly back and forth. He raised his head as
Scully approached.
"I don't know what's wrong with him," Alex said, too overwrought to hide the
tears in his voice. "He said something about tests. Oh, god, what did they
do to him?"
Scully knelt to check Mulder's vitals. "We need to get him to a hospital.
Now."
To give the pair privacy, Scully walked to where Skinner waited in the
shadows before calling for an ambulance on her cell phone. She gave their
location, then stood by sharing silence with Skinner. Even from they could
hear Alex murmur as he rocked. "So sorry. My fault. All my fault."
"Shit," Skinner muttered.
Scully nodded.
"Alex can't be here when the ambulance arrives," Skinner said. "I'll stay
with Mulder if you take care of Alex."
"I'll bring him back to my place," Scully agreed. "He shouldn't be alone."
Scully waited until they heard sirens in the distance before walking up to
Alex and placing her hands on his shoulders. "Come on, we need to get you
out of here."
Alex shook his head stubbornly. "No. I won't leave him."
"He would understand. He doesn't want you to be caught. We'll smuggle you
into the hospital later, I promise."
Alex allowed her to draw him to his feet, and guide him into the passenger
seat of her car. He said nothing all the way to her apartment, and followed
her like a zombie from the parking lot to her door, and into the living
room. Scully gave a gentle push, and he collapsed onto the couch.
"It wasn't your fault, you know," Scully said to him.
"I should have never left him."
"He told me that he understood why you did. He knows he hurt you, and that
you were afraid to trust again, and he was pushing for that trust too hard."
"It shouldn't have mattered."
Scully sat beside him, took his chin in her hand, made him look at her. "It
matters. You matter. And though I think the two of you could be good
together, you're not going to help Mulder by taking his shit and letting him
get away with it. He needs to learn how to treat people."
"But I should have answered your e-mail."
"Yes, you should have," Scully said. "But Mulder is still responsible for
his own actions. He was getting himself into trouble long before you came
on the scene, and if you were abducted by aliens tomorrow he'd still be
getting into trouble. You are not going to take the blame for this."
"He looked so weak," Alex said softly. "Is he going to make it?"
Scully wanted, badly, to lie, but trust was too big an issue with Alex. "I
don't know. I hope so." She suspected that, if Mulder died, they would be
burying two corpses.
"Do you want something to drink?" Scully asked. Alex shook his head.
"To eat?"
Another head shake. Scully wasn't surprised.
"Skinner will call from the hospital as soon as there is news," she told
him. "Why don't you try to get some sleep."
"I can't," he whispered, his voice hoarse with barely suppressed tears.
Scully fully expected this answer, as well. "Rest, at least. I'll get you
a blanket."
She got him settled, and left him curled on his side, staring into the
darkness. Scully slept fitfully in her own bed. The phone woke her just
after 3 a.m..
"Agent Scully?" Skinner's voice came through the line.
"How's Mulder?"
"They think he's going to be okay. The doctors haven't been able to identify
all the substances in his bloodstream, but they seem to be metabolizing
fairly quickly without any lasting harm." Scully breathed a sigh of relief.
"How is Alex holding up?" Skinner asked.
Through her open bedroom door, she could see Alex standing at the bottom of
the stairs, waiting for news. "I think he'll be better now."
He stood by Mulder's bed, watching his lover sleep. Unable to resist, he
reached out and brushed the soft, brown hair from Mulder's forehead.
Mulder stirred, opened his eyes, and smiled. "Alex! I thought... I was
afraid..."
"You thought I'd walked out again."
Mulder dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry."
"I should be the one apologizing. I never should have walked out on you. I
just couldn't handle..." Alex trailed off, not sure how to explain the
confusing maelstrom of emotions.
Mulder reached out, took his hand. "I understand. I hurt you very badly,
before."
Alex shook his head. "I shouldn't have expected you to trust an assassin
and a traitor. Why would you?"
"Because I love you," Mulder said. "And, deep down, I knew you loved me. I
was just having trouble accepting, forgiving... but that was my fault, not
yours. And I never realized how much you meant to me until you were out of
my life."
Alex swallowed hard, trying to ease the lump in his throat. "Is there any
chance for us?"
"I'd like to think so. We've both hurt each other so much. Maybe we could
just call it even and start over fresh?"
Alex felt hope blossoming in his chest. "I'd like that."
Twilight Zone
by Queen of Denial
Part I: Falling Down the Spiral
Alex shifted again, trying to get comfortable. He hadn't slept much lately,
the pain in his ribs conspiring with natural edginess to keep him awake. By
now, he told himself, he should be exhausted enough to sleep anywhere. He
only had to close his eyes and let himself relax, and Mulder would be back
in the morning to knock him around and maybe feed him something. No matter
how much he hated Alex, Mulder was incapable of the cruelty of the
Consortium. Mulder might shoot him, or even beat him to death in a fit of
rage, but he wouldn't abandon him to die slowly of thirst and hunger.
At first, the screaming seemed part of Mulder's own nightmares. Gradually,
he woke, realized the sound was external, remembered where he was.
Remembered that he had taken a man with more people gunning for him for him
than a twelve-point buck in hunting season, and left him handcuffed,
helpless, and undefended.
"Alex?"
Mulder woke the next morning, Alex still snuggled against his side. He
looked sweet, peaceful, almost childlike, his long lashes casting shadows
under his eyes. The dark circles were gone, and Mulder hoped it wasn't his
imagination that Alex looked more rested, and less gaunt, then he had been
two days before. He watched the younger man breathe, slowly and evenly,
until the brilliant emerald eyes opened and fixed on him. Alex gave him a
beatific smile.
"Oh, god!"
"If you're calling Mulder, I'm out of here," Krycek said.
Alex had long ago learned to cope at those times when the pain, the
hunger, the cold became unbearable. All he had to do was escape into
his memory, searching for a better place to be.
Skinner and the Gunmen the doctor finished bandaging Krycek. She'd
dosed him with chloroform before starting to work, unable to risk more
complicated anaesthesia without assistance. He looked peaceful, and so
very young.
The next morning, he had to wake Krycek to give him his antibiotics and
get some gatorade into him. Krycek fell right back to sleep, and his
slight fever worried Skinner. When the Gunmen showed up mid-afternoon,
he was unresponsive. Skinner didn't know if he were aware of the
computer geeks presence, but he hoped at least subconsciously Krycek
registered that he had friends pulling for him.
Mulder thought he imagined it the first time Scully's eyelids fluttered,
but then her eyes opened again and focused on him.
In the wee hours of the morning, Alex slipped nervously into Mulder's
hospital room. Despite Mulder's declarations of love, Alex wasn't sure that
he'd be welcome after he'd walked out abruptly over two months before.
