I open the door to my room as silently as I can, hoping he's asleep. The
unmoving lump under the gray blanket encourages me. The dim glow of a
wall-plug nightlight shows closed eyes and deep, regular breathing. I slip
in and ease the door shut again, wincing at the click of the latch.
Something in me resents being this old and living like a college student
trying not to wake up his roommate. Something else advises me that there
are worse alternatives out there. I've seen some of them.
Times like this I do miss Crystal City though. I'd gotten used to living
alone after Sharon left. Got to liking it.
And if I ever expected to have another person living with me again, Mulder
is about the last one I would have selected to move in—a raging insomniac
with a head packed full of trivia and almost no impulse control. Not to
mention the mood swings. I glare down at the remains of his clothes
scattered on his side of the floor. And a slob to boot. I fight the urge
to confiscate his things until he can learn to clean up after himself. It's
not worth it.
Worse alternatives, Walt. Definitely worse alternatives. I could be back
in Crystal City, putting on my tie every morning and trying to match my suit
to the exact shade of black oil swimming across my eyes.
Sometimes it exhausts me just thinking about how many national and
international leaders are doing just that these days. So I try not to spend
a lot of time thinking about it. In fact, I consciously put it out of my
head as much as possible, except for when we get the latest updates on the
spread. We've been holding them steady for the last four months. Damn good
if I do say so myself.
I pad across the small room in damp socks, carrying the heavy boots I
removed out in the hallway. See, like a nice considerate roommate,
Mulder. Unlike you clomping back in after one of your shifts, not caring if
I'm awake or asleep. I step over a discarded sweatshirt that sure as hell
isn't mine. Easing down onto my bed, I lean over to tuck my boots
underneath then lift slowly back to a sitting position. And meet the gleam
of perfectly alert eyes staring at me from the bunk across the room.
Shit. Where would you rather be? Anywhere but here.
"You could have told me you were awake and saved me the trouble of tiptoeing
around."
He lifts himself on one elbow, face impassive. "And ruin my reputation for
'never making things easy'? I don't think so."
Uh oh. Sounds like somebody's pissed at me for siding with Krycek against
him yesterday afternoon. He probably kept himself awake on irritation
alone, even though he has to be on duty again in... a little less than four
hours. I peel off my socks and wiggle my relieved toes in the cool air.
"Mulder, give it a rest. He was right and you knew it, and you were being
plain damn obstinate and you knew that too. What do you want me to say?
What we're doing is too damn important to play personality games. It's
getting more dangerous for you out there every day. He lets you risk your
life on a regular basis. Isn't that enough? He has to let you go out and
actively commit suicide too? Sorry, but I'm not going to stand around and
cheer you on, just because you—we've got old grudges with him."
He stares at me for long moments and I wonder if he's going to press me on
that slip. I'm tired. Talking to him these days is always a challenge
given what I know that he doesn't, and me being tired is a good reason to
avoid conversation completely. But finally he shrugs and looks away.
"That's just it, Walt." He flops back down onto his back and glares at the
ceiling, then at me. "Him letting me do anything. Are you going to tell
me it doesn't bother you at all to take orders from... him?"
My mouth opens but I have to stop my immediate answer. Think for a minute.
It certainly used to, but I was about to say just the opposite. Does it
still bother me? I turn it over in my mind. Well, yes. To be completely
honest, it still does. I shake my head slowly. "No, I'm not going to tell
you it doesn't bother me. It's definitely odd, and there are moments..." I
pause, remembering the first time Krycek told me to take out the surviving
experiments at one of the first labs we hit. Because we didn't have enough
time to save them.
Not that we couldn't save them... we could. That was the damnable part of
it. We weren't blowing the labs yet, still keeping a lower profile. And
there they were, all grouped in a room together, easy as you please. But we
didn't have enough time. Taking out the computer systems took longer than
expected. We couldn't save the survivors and still be assured we could get
our entire team out clean. And our team had to take precedence. Not only
do we need every single person we have, but we also can't risk leaving
anyone behind that has any information about the resistance anywhere in
their brain. And one of the first cardinal rules of the rebellion—you
don't leave anything for the Colonists. Nothing they can use. Nothing they
can salvage. Whether it be data, equipment... or people. If you can't save
victims and stay clean doing it, you kill them.
But staring at a roomful of women who had never done anything but have the
misfortune of getting abducted, I couldn't. He had to do it. And he did.
Right in front of me. I almost shot him myself. He must have seen it on my
face, because he took my gun before I even realized he was moving. And
stayed behind me the whole way out. Swearing at me the entire time.
We stayed clean by the clock, but I felt as dirty as I ever had sitting
under a cloud of cigarette smoke to keep my pension. Dirtier.
He and I had our first big knock-down drag-out after that incident. The
first since I stopped actively spitting and hissing about working with him
at all, that is. I told him flat out what I thought of his resistance, and
his tactics, and his priorities, and his fucking "rules". Gave him a
perfect right hook that staggered him, too. He shook it off, realigned his
swelling jaw, looked me in the eye and told me flat out that I could be as
morally outraged as I wanted, but if I planned to continue being useless to
him, he was taking me out of rotation. Then he walked off.
We had the same fight more than once, variations on a theme. Sometimes with
the right hook, sometimes without. I never got over being surprised he
never hit back. I know he wanted to. It never got any easier to let him
have the final word. It did eventually get easier to... understand. We
aren't running search and rescue missions. We can't. We're running search
and destroy. We're trying to save the entire planet, not the individuals
already lost to the Colonists. The more I saw of the pure stealth of what
we were up against, the more I realized his ruthlessness had a necessity,
and my 'rightness' had a... much as I hate to admit it... naivete.
But it never stopped bothering me. And I can't say it doesn't bother me to
take orders from him. Partly because I don't like the orders, and partly
because it's him giving them. Internally I've never stopped kicking... even
when my precious sense of honor has become nothing but a creaking shield of
rusty wire I hold up against the chaos. The chaos the world has become...
and my own chaos.
But something is different. It's not so much that it's any easier to take
his orders, or that I've changed... my tired brain turns it over and over,
trying to figure out why my knee-jerk reaction to Mulder's sarcastic
question had been 'no, it doesn't bother me'.
Now that I think about it, it's almost like... he doesn't exactly give me
orders any more.
Suddenly I realize Mulder is talking. I sigh. Sometimes it seems like
Mulder is always talking. "What?" I interrupt tiredly. He stops midstream
and gives me an annoyed look. Sure Mulder, like you've never mentally
wandered while I was talking. Give me a break. I'm exhausted. And I'm
sitting on a secret that's eating me alive. Actually a couple secrets, if
I'm honest with myself. No, at least three...
"I said if it bothers you, and you understand, why are you backing him
against me?"
I'm betting he said a lot more than that, from the look on his face. I take
in his sullen expression, clear even in the shadows, and wonder if he's more
pissed because he knows Krycek is right, or because he expects me to side
with him against Krycek just on principle, no matter the issue. I feel bad.
He and I used to be united in our distaste and distrust for our mutual
nemesis, even after we saw the writing on the wall and joined forces with
him. It was one of the few places that Mulder's and my own divergent
personalities found fertile common ground. I remember early conversations
in this shared space, in these very beds, bitching to each other across the
room about the galling aspects of working with a resistance led by Alex
Krycek. Of letting Krycek plan our missions. Letting Krycek have final
okay on major decisions. Letting Krycek's situational ethics dictate the
resistance's philosophy. In a way, it feels like I'm betraying Mulder all
over again when I open my mouth and slowly spit out the truth as it now
stands.
"Try to understand I'm not ganging up on you. It may still irk me to take
orders from him, and I can absolutely understand why it bothers you, but I'm
enough of a pragmatist and enough of a strategist that it doesn't bother
me to agree with someone who is making sense. Someone who knows what he's
talking about, knows the enemy. Which, in this case, Krycek is and does.
You were the one using that logic to get me to agree to working with him in
the first place." And do we have to do this now? I'm really tired.
"Well, at the time, I didn't know he was going to turn you into
second-in-command," Mulder snaps sarcastically. "Or that you were going to
give in and support whatever he says in return for the privilege."
Good God. Is that it? Is that what's bothering him? He's jealous? I
almost break out laughing except I know Mulder doesn't respond well to being
laughed at. He thinks Krycek is making me second-in-command? It's just
so ludicrous. If he only knew that the reason Krycek spends so much time
with me lately is because of him...
But of course that's one of my little secrets.
"Mulder, you have got to be kidding. First off, I resent the implication
that I'd 'give in' to anyone to get authority." I gave that up when I told
Spender to kiss off, and I swore off it for good when I walked out on the
Bureau to throw in with the vigilante method of world-saving. How the hell
else I'm supposed to prove it to Mulder, I can only guess. "Second, if
there's any second-in-command of this dog and pony show, you damn well know
it's you. We all do. Even the Rebels do."
He blinks at me, but I can't read his face in the thick dark. But his voice
is somehow more conciliatory when he says, "He treats you different than he
treats the rest of us. He doesn't tell you what to do. He asks you."
I blink back at Mulder. He does? Even though I was mentally coming to
almost the exact same conclusion just a few minutes ago, it's somehow more
real to hear Mr. Behavioral Specialist Profiler say it out loud. Krycek
treats me different? Hunh. Don't go there, Walt. It's never pretty when
you delude yourself, and don't get your hopes up about something that you're
still so conflicted about, you don't even know if you want to get your
hopes up.
Just remember how different he treats Mulder when you feel yourself
wavering.
The thought is more than enough to force me back on track. Predictable
Mulder... so observant and so fucking blind at the same time. He's bitching
about Krycek being nicer to me, when the idiot would realize Alex is head
over heels for him if he'd just open his damn fool eyes. More 'secrets' I'm
not supposed to talk to him about, even though it's hardly a secret. To
anyone but Mulder. Poor Alex... I don't think he has a clue how obvious he
is.
Poor Alex? Jesus, did I actually just think that? I am beyond overtired.
I rub my temples and try to center my thoughts. "Mulder, I know it rubs you
wrong to work with him, and I know you're pissed that your... telepathy," I
still have trouble saying it, "with Them puts you at a greater risk than the
rest of us. It would frustrate me too. And he's the one that has to keep
reining you in because of it, which just makes both annoyances worse. But
can you at least try not to take it out on me?" Especially when all I want
to do is go to sleep. "This isn't about siding with him against you. It's
about agreeing that you're endangering yourself, and no amount of goadingme
over Krycek is going to get me to reverse my thinking on that. But more than
that, you can't just expect me to always disagree with him just because of
who he was. Who he is," I correct myself automatically. One of my few
indulgences... not discussing with Mulder my niggling suspicions about how
much Krycek has changed over time. If he wants to ignore it, that's his
business. "Can I remind you, once again, that you were the one dragging
me into working with him?"
Mulder sighs heavily and avoids my gaze, studying the ceiling again. "His
information was checking out," he mumbles defensively. "And things were
hitting the critical stage and official channels were getting more and more
dangerous and... I didn't see any other option."
I fight not to roll my eyes. "You don't have to apologize. It's not what
either one of us expected, but we're both here and I think by now we both
know that whatever else, he is honestly trying to stop the Colonists. Yes?
Alright then. That's... got to be enough."
"I know. Logically, I know all that." Mulder rolls over onto his side
again and props up his head on one hand. "Sometimes I just still wake up in
the middle of the night... or day," he acknowledges ruefully, "and find it
all a bit surreal that we agreed to let him run the show."
I smile. I know the feeling. "We didn't have a lot of choice in the
matter," I remind him as I start stripping. "The Rebels made it pretty damn
clear who they were going to deal with. Not to mention they wouldn't have
worked with you at all without him. You know how they feel about anyone
who's already been tainted by the experiments."
"Ever get the feeling we're dealing with the only-slightly-lesser of two
evils here."
I heave another sigh as I fold my glasses onto the small box next to my bed
and crawl under my blanket. "Constantly. And that's one of the main
reasons I'm finally perfectly fine with letting Krycek be the big man here.
He's had experience working with the devil, plus he's got the slippery type
of personality and the triple-think kind of mind that we need to work
directly with the Rebels. We know he's not the trusting sort." Sure,
Walt. That's why you're fine with Krycek these days. I barely manage not
to snort as I do my own bit of ceiling-gazing. Well, I did say one of the
reasons. Oh, shoot me now. "Can we sleep now, Mulder? I'm going to fall
asleep mid-sentence any minute now, and you have to go on duty at 17:30."
Mulder makes a noise that I interpret as his usual impatience with the
military time habit the rebellion has fallen into. But living underground
is a great way to lose all touch with a diurnal schedule. It's too damn
easy to mistake 2pm for 2am these days. Or maybe he's just expressing his
annoyance that he's on grocery-duty. I smile as he falls silent, and
resettle myself on my flat pillow, trying to bunch it up a little.
Even wound up like I am from all the various and sundry decisions and
revisions and what-ifs Krycek and I have been sifting through, I feel myself
start to drift almost immediately. The dark of the room feels omnipresent,
almost tangible, as I try to keep my loosening mind from dwelling on any of
the multiple layers of subterfuge my life is operating on at the moment. I
breathe deep and concentrate on relaxing muscles that want to twitch. I'm
almost asleep when his voice jars me again.
"So what were you and the 'big man' discussing to all hours of the...
afternoon."
And I'm suddenly perfectly awake. So, he knows I was behind closed doors
with Alex. For hours. Dammit. We red-herring'd him and everything. Made
it look like we were at opposite ends of the facility. Him and his goddamn
X-File intuition. My mind races. I pretend sleep confusion. "Hmmm...
hunh?"
"What were you two meeting about."
Your sister. "The usual." Blank your mind, Walter, just in case.
"What's the usual?"
Your sister. "You know, duty roster, re-evals on the danger ratings in the
sectors. We've had increased sighting activity in sector three, you know."
I fake a yawn. Concentrate, Walt. Blank your mind. White walls. Picture
white walls.
"We discussed that at the full meet yesterday."
He's suspicious. I can hear it in his too-mild tone. Wonderful. A
suspicious Mulder, and me without my AD desk to hide behind. I roll over
onto my side and lever myself up on an elbow, mirroring his posture. "I
think he likes talking to me because I'm ex-military. He just went back
over a lot of the same stuff we talked about in the full meet." It makes me
more uncomfortable than I expected to lie to this man again, even this
for-your-own-good kind of lie. Maybe because all the lies were supposedly
for his own good. Maybe because I thought I'd finally stopped.
But here I am again, giving him one answer, knowing something else. Trying
to lead him aside with a little casual deception.
"You expect me to believe he wanted to talk to you, for hours, alone, about
basic information he'd already gone over."
No. I don't expect you to believe it. But I can't tell you that he finally
found your sister and he's breaking all his own rules and setting up a
search and rescue. Because it might still be a search and destroy. We just
won't know until we get there. I suck in a slow breath and try to decide
what I can say that will throw him off the scent of a secret.
It occurs to me to say 'well Mulder, we're having a torrid, secret affair
and I just didn't think you'd understand. I spent the last couple hours
fucking him over his desk in that Holy Resistance Leader office of his.' I
almost burst out laughing and decide I'm really overtired.
Although, it gives me an idea. Well, actually it gives me a number of
ideas, but only one of them is potentially helpful in dealing with a
suspicious Mulder. The rest of the ideas are entirely too problematic in
their own right. "Alright, Mulder, alright," I do the patented
exasperated-AD voice that he should recognize from any number of 'I
shouldn't be telling you this but-' conversations in my old office. "If you
must know, we were talking about you." Predictably, he looks about ready to
explode across the room and shake more detail out of me.
"ME?! What was he saying about ME?"
"How impossible you are to work with," I manage to keep the glee out of my
voice. Barely. "I think he expected me to have some sort of wisdom to
impart, suggestions from experience, given how long you worked for me." He
throws himself down on his back with a huff. Perfect. Too pissed off to be
suspicious. Although now I'll feel bad if he's mad enough he doesn't get
any sleep. Especially since if he doesn't get any sleep, he'll keep me
awake—
"What did you tell him?"
-with more inane questions. "I told him you don't take well to any authority
at any time, anywhere, under any circumstances. And that given the history
the two of you share, and who he is, he can't expect you to just roll over
and do what he says, even when he is making sense and is the best authority
on the subject." An easy lie since it's the truth. Not that he ever talks
to me about Mulder. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's what he talks to Dana
about on a regular basis. I assume she may really have some pointers on
'how to deal with Mulder'. Alex assiduously avoids talking Mulder with me
at all.
The man in question snorts something that sounds like 'what does he expect'
and something else unintelligible about 'Krycek' and 'best authority'.
"And I told him you don't always argue just for the sake of arguing and
sometimes you can even be worth listening to." I wait for the squawk of
outrage, then roll over and settle myself down again with my back to him,
grinning.
The reality of the situation washes over me almost before my eyes are closed
though, causing my lids to pop open again. I stare at the wall long after I
expected to doze off. Despite the fun of needling him occasionally, I do
hate lying to Mulder. And this is such a big one. Samantha. The biggest
one. And if it goes bad—if we go down or if we can't get her, or if we
can get her but...—if it goes bad, he'll never know.
Not to mention it's just one of the things I know about, but that he and I
are not talking about. But hey... it's not my business to be telling him
how Alex feels about him if he's too blind to see it, and it's none of his
business how I feel about Alex.
How I feel about Alex? I stare at the wall and want to bang my head against
it. That is not the piece of suppressed knowledge I want to drop off to
sleep thinking about. I force my mind back to Samantha, despite my fear of
what Mulder might pick up.
I wonder if this is how Alex feels all the time... sitting on explosive
information that could go either way, and that is really no safer out in the
open than it is under wraps. Knowing more than he wants to know. Having
conversations with people and having a constant internal dialogue about all
the things you can't say. Shouldn't say. Don't want to say.
If it is, he can keep the double agent business. It doesn't suit me. I'm
no good at this saying what you don't mean. Keeping your face neutral while
you're weeding out the thoughts in your head.
I force my eyes closed and start my deep breathing again. Insomnia isn't my
thing, and I can usually get myself to sleep if I concentrate.
Unfortunately, I don't have quite the control on my unraveling mind this
time, and I slide into a disjointed montage of images as I let myself sink.
Alex and the Rebels muttering behind doors, never enough to hear actual
words... just the voices. The expression on his face whenever he comes from
a meeting alone with them. The way he looks when he fights with Mulder and
the way he looks at Mulder when he thinks no one is watching.
I jerk awake, clear my mind, start my relaxation process over again.
Breathe... breathe... white walls... think about white walls...
Drifting...
How I feel about Alex? The little voice saying 'don't even think it' runs
headlong into the little voice screaming 'it's already too late'. My
internal angels and demons start up their never-ending war again, and maybe
it's a good sign that I can't tell which side is which anymore. Doesn't
necessarily make it easier to figure out which way I'm going to go, what I'm
going to do, if I'm going to do anything, but...
I want all the little voices to quiet down. I want to shut down now. I
can't turn off my lazy, circling brain, dragging out all the pieces forming
the almost-whole one more time. That face, in the hospital. Finger on the
button. In my office. In a tie. In my office. In leather. In my car. In
a hospital stairwell. Dragging me out of burning lab. On my balcony.
Pulling me down collapsing stairs. In handcuffs. Over a map of the world
covered with tiny, ominous black dots. In a dark room covered with tiny,
glowing drops of paint.
Alex. How I feel about Alex. How I feel... Feel.
Alex.
I've been pretty blunt, in my own odd way. But the boy can be alarmingly
obtuse. That's not fair. Not obtuse. Cautious. Careful. So damned
careful, all the time. Sad, really. Sad. And blunt can still be oblique.
And oblique just isn't going to cut it. Not with him.
No undercover double-talk with him. Won't do at all. He'll think I'm
mocking. If I really want this, I'll have to make the first move. A real
move.
Do I want this?
Sleep steals my answer.
I wake to a hand on my shoulder, shaking me. I roll onto my back, blinking,
force my eyes open and am immediately blinded by a green gaze so close to my
face I'm almost cross-eyed looking at him.
"Alex?"
"Sorry. I'd let you sleep late but I need you in the situation room. We've
got some new intelligence."
His husky voice washes over me, and a delicious sensation chases through my
entire body. Almost a shiver. I suddenly realize I feel... good. Where
would you rather be... "What time is it?"
"Just after 19:00. I know you didn't get much sleep but—"
I wave away his concern, noticing absently that he's still bent over me,
still so close. Hand still resting on my bare shoulder. The light is on,
the room awash in fluorescent. He looks good in stark light. Not many
people do. "I'm awake," I murmur brainlessly.
His lips quirk up in a smile and his eyes crinkle. That almost-shiver runs
across my nerve-endings again. "Situation room?" is all he says.
"Give me fifteen."
His hand deserts my shoulder and then he's straightening up, back, no longer
swallowing my entire field of vision. I'm still looking at just him. I
can't help it.
"See you in fifteen." And he's gone. I hear the door click behind him.
I sit up, much more awake than five hours of sleep should make me. I feel
out the calm, settled sensation spreading warmth through me. Definitely got
some good REM sleep. Not even any dream fragments brushing the back of my
mind. I swing my legs to the floor, shrug out from under the cover and
stand up, stretching. Not even the sight of Mulder's still-scattered
clothing irritates me, which is surprising enough to give me pause and make
me actually stop and think about what I'm feeling.
I stare at the closed door, a slow smile stretching my lips.
Under the Covers
by Ratadder
Rebel Headquarters
13:47 hours
