Bruce Springsteen, 'Dancing In The Dark'
Don't even go there, I told myself.
Trying to keep my denial intact, I stopped by the window and stared at where the
'X' used to be. Sloppy of Mulder to leave traces. Then again, 'neat' and
'Mulder' didn't necessarily belong in the same sentence.
I wondered exactly how directly the Consortium—or rather, the Smoker—had been
involved in Mulder's disappearance. C.G.B. Spender had always been the real
puppet master. The spider in his web, waiting with infinite patience to play his
hand. When the rest of the Consortium had died in alien flames, Spender had gone
right ahead with his usual machinations. Locking me in a Tunisian prison while
he gloated and schemed.
Oh, what sweet pleasure I had taken at pushing him down those stairs, wheelchair
and all.
I shook myself out of my memories. Time to concentrate on the task at hand.
One more look around the apartment, I told myself, then I should go. Not that I
was expecting to find much. This was more an exercise in nostalgia than an
attempt to find clues to Mulder's whereabouts. I knew very well that he had been
abducted by an alien race, and that they would return him only when their
experiments were complete.
That thought sent a shiver through me, and I turned hastily from the window. The
light from the fish tank guided me back across the cluttered room. On impulse, I
looked in on the fish. They swam about quite happily, fat and sassy. A small can
of food sat open by the tank, flakes around its rim. Someone had been feeding
them on a regular basis.
Possibly that same someone whose footsteps were approaching the door at this
very moment.
I darted into the most unused room of the apartment: Mulder's bedroom. My first
thought had been Scully, but the steps I heard were heavy and plodding. Skinner?
I'd destroyed the nanite controller ages ago. Once, my ongoing fight against the
aliens led me into especially dangerous territory. I used to carry the
controller with me everywhere, rather than chance it falling into anyone else's
hands. But that almost happened anyway when a beggar got too inquisitive about
my leather jacket. I made sure he didn't suffer long. But the incident got me to
thinking. I decided finally that as long as Skinner thought I had the controller
that was threat enough.
But the shadow I saw through the crack in the bedroom door was unfamiliar. He
closed the front door behind him and switched on a light. When my eyes
readjusted, I got a view of his back, covered by a long black trench coat. I
could hear him humming tonelessly to himself as he moved around in the living
room, and it took no great deductive powers to realize the fish were getting
their evening meal.
I shifted my weight to ease an impending cramp. The movement caused the tiniest
of sounds on the old floorboards, but the visitor's head swiveled in my
direction as if he'd heard a gunshot. All I could do was hold my breath and
wait. I'd take him down if I had to, but somehow tonight I just wasn't in the
mood for violence.
He stood frozen in perfect silence. I could practically see him sniffing the
air. But I was good at waiting, too. He frowned, trying to decide if the noise
had been in his imagination. I tensed as he took a step towards the bedroom.
Saved by the beep. The stranger jumped as his cell phone shrilled. He stared at
the door a moment longer then dug the phone from his jacket and flipped it open.
"Doggett. Oh, hello, Agent Scully."
I heard something soft beneath his New York accent. Perhaps a touch of the
South. He went on about a case, but I could only catch a few words here and
there. So, Fish-Feeding Man was FBI. No doubt Scully's new partner.
By the sound of his pacing, I could tell Doggett was moving away from the door.
I took a chance and squinted through the crack, wanting to get a better look. He
was about my height, six feet more or less, thin but broad-shouldered, with a
shock of brown hair and a sharp nose over tight lips. When he turned his head
into the light, I saw a pair of electric blue eyes beneath arched brows that
were presently furrowed in concentration. I guessed from the lines between his
brows that this was a habitual expression.
Too bad Doggett's looks were spoiled by a pair of ears he might have used for
personal air transport.
I liked the sound of his voice, though. It seemed as sharp and edgy as the man
himself. I was almost sorry when he finished the conversation with Scully and
put the phone away. One more glance at the door. I held my breath again, but
Doggett turned away at last and walked out of the apartment.
Now what? Before I could answer my own question, my feet began to move. Instinct
made me follow Doggett's vanishing figure down the hall. He could lead me to
Mulder, I thought, not pausing to wonder if my logic was faulty. Or maybe it was
just a desire to learn more about the man who had replaced my former partner.
I caught a glimpse of Doggett's coattails as he slid into his car. He pulled out
carefully, looking both ways. When I was sure he wouldn't see me, I dashed for
the alley and jumped onto my Harley.
Doggett had reached the end of the block, and I was hard pressed to keep up with
him. A red convertible and someone's grandmother in a rusty old Buick separated
us. I followed him downtown, my mind still partly on Mulder. When I saw that
Doggett was en route to the Hoover Building, I turned reluctantly down a side
street. I'd long since burned my last disguise, and wasn't about to chance being
recognized by the FBI.
Thanks to the demise of the Consortium—and the money I'd managed to skim from
their coffers—my current apartment was at least two steps up from the kind of
rat holes I used to inhabit. I parked the bike and walked up to the third floor.
A swipe from my cardkey and I was home at last. I tossed my jacket on the tan
and burgundy couch, kicked off my shoes, and padded into the kitchen to fix
myself a drink. A couple of fingers of iced vodka later, and I was feeling more
myself.
So, what next? Thinking of Mulder and the torture he must be enduring at alien
hands (if they had hands) made me angry all over again. I tossed back more
vodka. What I really wanted to do was smash the bottle against the wall. But I'd
been through that phase, and it was time now for a cool head.
It was also time for sleep. But the bottle was still half-full and I was nowhere
near forgetting. I went over to another cabinet for some kahlua. A Black
Russian. How appropriate. The first drink disappeared, and I mixed another.
The combination of two potent liquors hit me fast. I staggered towards the
bedroom, humming a silly folk tune from my childhood, and fell onto the bed
fully clothed. It seemed too much trouble to pull the covers back, so I drifted
like that awhile, waiting for sleep and dreams of Fox Mulder.
So why did the images in my fogged brain have high cheekbones and piercing blue
eyes?
The morning sun sank fierce claws into my head. I groaned and rolled over,
cursing the god of vodka for making me forget to close the drapes. I peeled my
eyes open cautiously. The sun was still there.
Uttering a few more choice epithets in Russian, I hauled my sorry ass out of bed
and limped towards the shower. A little cold water shocked me back to the land
of the merely half-dead. I finished quickly, reached for the towel, and padded
back into the bedroom.
Now a lot of little things become big ones in the wake of an injury, especially
one as major as losing an arm. Since Tunguska, I'd re-learned such simple
maneuvers as dressing myself, eating, and even moving just so in order to keep
my balance. The money I'd "appropriated" from the Consortium had paid for a new
state-of-the-art prosthesis. With it, I could even ride a motorcycle. Still,
there were times when I longed very much for my left arm. Like when I was tired
and drunk.
Screw it, Krycek. No time for self-pity when Mulder's life hung in the balance.
Last night's overheard conversation kept nudging my memory. I frowned, wishing
I'd been paying closer attention at the time. I remembered Doggett saying
something I thought was important, but he'd turned away after I had only caught
a name...
Gibson Praise. That was it. The psychic kid, with sad eyes behind large glasses.
The same kid I had helped the Englishman take away for "experiments". I winced
at the memory. Not one of my finer hours.
So what did Special Agent Doggett want with Gibson? Assuming the boy was still
alive, that is. When I defected from the Consortium, I also lost touch with its
plans. Which left only one way to find out what I needed to know.
Finally dressed, I glanced at the mirror to study the effect. Dark suit, pale
green shirt, unobtrusive tie. I looked like any other businessman. Luckily the
weather was cool enough to justify the suede gloves over my hands, real and
otherwise. A pair of dark glasses completed the outfit.
One more thing. I went to my closet and dug into a hidden compartment at the
back. When I found the last thing I needed, I dropped it into my pocket and
headed out the door.
I hailed a cab, which dropped me off at a garage across town. I'd bought the
house that went with it to avoid curious landlords. Sometimes I even used the
place when I wanted to pretend I was an ordinary suburbanite.
Once the cab was gone, I used my coded opener on the door and strolled inside.
The garage still contained junk left by its former owners, and I kicked aside
some old toys and a dusty rug on the way to my car.
The rug shifted beneath my foot. I made a mental note to see about an
exterminator when I got back.
I started the car, backed out of the garage and sped off towards downtown D.C.,
patting my suit absently to be sure I had the necessary tools for the job I'd
planned. When the Hoover came in sight, I turned down a side street, found a
parking spot and waited.
Several dark blue cars passed before I finally saw the one I wanted. I turned
out of my spot and followed casually, aided by the outline of the other driver's
profile. Doggett didn't seem to be in a hurry. He led me around town for several
blocks before making a sudden turn onto a semi-residential street. I drove past
as he got out of his car and went into a neighborhood store.
Waxley's Donuts. On my second turn around the block I saw Doggett emerge,
carrying a grease-spotted paper sack. The sight made me chuckle, and I added
"former cop" to his resume.
Doggett drove on. Finally he pulled into a driveway next to a brick home flanked
by two big shade trees. I circled the block before returning to park a few cars
away, just in time to see the door of the house open and an elderly woman
emerge. She let Doggett in and the door closed behind them.
I dug the Smoker's Infinity Transmitter out of my pocket. It was a
state-of-the-art bugging device, tuned exactly to the level of the human voice,
all but masking out external sounds. Even when it had been attached to the
undercarriage of an automobile. I got out of the car and strolled down the walk.
As I passed Doggett's Taurus my keys fell to the ground. Cursing for effect, I
bent to retrieve them, my back towards the house. One quick pass beneath the car
and the bug was planted. I picked up my keys with a mock scowl and headed on
around the block.
After driving some blocks from the scene, I extracted the earphone from my
pocket to test it. Silence. Doggett must still be visiting Grandma. Well, there
was no use trying to hurry things.
As I headed back home I felt lighter than I had in days. Maybe it was just the
fact of being able to do something in my quest besides chewing my nails. I even
caught myself whistling.
"Hey, Agent Scully."
Damn!
For a moment I'd thought Doggett was sitting right next to me. I reached up
quickly to adjust the volume.
"Yeah, I'm done here," Doggett continued in a softer voice. He paused. "What's
that? Arizona?" Another pause. "What's Gibson doing at a school for the deaf?
Never mind, Agent Scully. Let's just get out there, now."
Where in Arizona? I wanted to shout at Doggett. But all I heard was the roar
of the engine as he started the car.
I reminded myself that the "where" of Doggett and Scully's destination could be
answered closely enough with my own car's sky map. This tracker could follow the
transmitter's movements and provide geographical coordinates as well. Another of
the Smoker's toys. I almost wished he were alive, so that I could thank him for
his help. Before pushing him down the stairs again, of course.
According to the sky map, Doggett's car was picking up speed. I guessed he must
be on his way to get Scully. No time to stop for clean clothes. Well, I'd
learned the hard way that being a survivor often means acting on the moment.
Surely they had clothing stores in Arizona.
Doggett swung by the Hoover and I waited at a proper distance. My nerves started
to work on me after thirty minutes. What if they didn't take the car? It made
more sense to fly. I was on the verge of speeding off to the airport and taking
my chances when the map on my dash clicked back to life. A moment later I
glimpsed Scully's familiar red hair through the passenger window of Doggett's
Taurus. I pulled away from the curb and the chase was on.
After only a few minutes, I determined that they were indeed on the way to
Dulles International. It figured. After all the trouble I'd gone to with the
transmitter, I'd have to do things the old-fashioned way. I shook my head at
myself. What was I thinking, that Arizona was only a couple of miles away?
I sighed, reminding myself that without the bug I wouldn't have known Doggett's
plans in the first place. Besides, I was nothing if not resilient.
At Dulles, I watched the two agents from a cautious distance. They checked out
the schedules and purchased tickets. When they were well away from the counter,
I checked out the board and saw another flight to Arizona, on a different
airline. It was due to depart in fifteen minutes.
I made a quick decision and bought my own ticket on the later plane. As luck
would have it, my flight was announced while Scully and Doggett waited, looking
impatient. I boarded the flight and took my seat.
All this chasing around had tired me. I closed my eyes for for a moment. Next
thing I knew a flight attendant was touching my shoulder to tell me we were
about to land. I stumbled out of the plane, trying to keep my eyes open. Even
inside the air corridor I could feel the Phoenix heat doing its best to fry me.
I peeled off my coat in a hurry. Artificial arm be damned.
I found the board, which showed the other flight delayed but due shortly. The
gate I needed was at the other end of the terminal. I hurried towards it,
feeling the drag of the heat with every step. Luck was with me. The plane
arrived just after I found the gate. A few more minutes of waiting, and two
familiar faces came into the waiting area.
What next? I could follow Doggett all day, but if Scully caught a glimpse of me
I'd be fried for real. Just then Doggett said something to Scully. Then he took
off down the hall, and I watched him turn into the men's room.
Suddenly my own bladder reminded me of its presence. I strolled after Doggett,
trying to keep Scully at my back. There he was at a corner urinal, looking as
intent on this common act as he did over searching for criminals. I stationed
myself next to him and proceeded to take care of business.
I would not look. I would not look...
Damn. He was about done. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him tuck himself in.
Hmmm, not bad.
Okay, so I looked. Wasn't Mulder always calling me a liar?
I must have been daydreaming, because by the time I got to the sink Doggett had
already gone. I hurried out, but he was nowhere in sight. Cursing myself in two
languages, I started down the corridor. Ah, over there. I never thought I'd hear
myself saying it, but thank goodness for Scully's red hair.
I watched them hail a cab just outside the terminal before sprinting to the next
available taxi. I got in the back and dug quickly in my pocket. Pressing a
hundred-dollar bill into the driver's hand, I pointed straight ahead.
"There's another hundred here if you keep my friends in sight."
Sure enough, it worked better than "follow that cab". Then again, the driver had
a 'lean and hungry look'. He took off after the other car and I grabbed the edge
of the seat just in time.
We had gone a few blocks when an idea came to me, and made me realize I didn't
have to chase the other cab. Doggett had mentioned a school for the deaf. How
many of those could there be in this area?
"Pull over."
The cabbie gave me a dirty look, but did what I asked. I compromised by handing
him a fifty before dashing off to the nearest pay phone. Balancing the book and
its attached chain on one knee, I paged through it quickly.
Four schools for the deaf??
My talent for cursing was certainly getting a workout lately. I took several
deep breaths. Okay, there were three schools actually in Phoenix. The fourth was
a place called Flemingtown, and it was somewhat outside the city limits. In the
desert, in fact, as a hurried phone call ascertained.
Definitely the most likely place for a kid like Gibson Praise to hide. I'd been
too busy following Doggett and Scully to recognize the implications. Gibson was
a mind reader. He didn't need to speak aloud; in fact he no doubt preferred the
silence.
As I hung up the phone, fatigue hit me like a sledgehammer. We had lost hours
traveling west and the sun was slanting towards the horizon. Although I'd napped
on the plane, now it was as if I hadn't slept in days.
There was a (comparatively) cheap motel just down the block. I hoped they
wouldn't care about my lack of luggage. A quick check of my wallet showed I had
enough to last a couple of days. But I needed to get to Mulder...
No sooner had I formed the thought than weariness sank into my very bones. I
staggered towards the motel, hoping I didn't look too much like I'd drunk my
dinner. The feeling lifted a little, fortunately, as I approached the counter
and paid for a room. Then it dropped back across me, a heavy blanket.
It occurred to me that my weariness was not altogether natural. The thought was
accompanied by a wave of exhaustion so severe I nearly didn't make it to my
room. Once there, I landed face down on the bed and promptly sank into a welcome
sleep.
I woke out of a dream about being chased by eggbeaters. The steady thump-thump
of their blades pursued me even as I opened my eyes to the pink dawn.
Eggbeaters? What the hell—
Rotary blades. The kind that usually belonged to helicopters. I scrambled out of
bed and got to the window just in time to see the last one disappear over the
rooftops. I'd bet my last ruble that Doggett and Scully were on one of those
birds.
A hurried shower washed the last of the tiredness away. I got to thinking that
maybe Gibson Praise had had something to do with that, miles away though he was.
But now I felt rejuvenated and ready to go.
Luckily, I found a car rental close by that specialized in SUV's. Minutes later
I was out of Phoenix and heading towards Flemingtown.
Just before I actually reached town I pulled off onto a side road and headed out
across the mesa. The air was clear, the sky clean and blue, and as I rounded
some scrub I could see activity in the valley below. Several men in dark pants
and white shirts milled around. In the midst of them, Scully's hair stood out
like a beacon.
Then I glanced up and saw two figures, one adult, the other a boy. Sunlight
glinted off the boy's glasses, and dust puffed out around his feet as if he were
dragging them. A canyon yawed between myself and the two. The boy had to be
Gibson Praise. I squinted at the other, wishing in vain for a pair of
binoculars. He looked familiar, and yet...
I stopped the car and got out for a closer look. The fierce sun made the figures
of the boy and adult waver as I walked towards the edge of the canyon. Then I
heard a shout and saw another man running towards them, arms outstretched as if
carrying a gun.
"Let the boy go!"
Doggett. I dropped to the ground and began crawling. Hopefully they were too
engrossed to notice if I raised some sand.
Doggett's next words leached the heat right out of the sky.
"Let him go, Mulder!"
Something—maybe the fact that my legs would probably not have held me—kept me
down in that sand. I listened, numb, as Doggett's speech carried perfectly
across the gap.
"Let him go, or I will be compelled to use my weapon."
Mulder just stared, impassive.
"Now I don't wanna do that, Agent Mulder, I don't wanna shoot."
Mulder gazed a moment longer. Suddenly he lifted his hand, freeing Gibson. The
boy took off like a scared rabbit.
"Now, are you armed?" Doggett demanded of his prisoner.
The man in front of him moved to one side. It was beginning to dawn on me that
this could not possibly be Fox Mulder. For one thing, the Mulder I knew could
not have kept his mouth shut for so long. I continued to watch their dance,
fascinated.
"Come on, damn it, this is just stupid, Agent Mulder. Don't turn this into a
movie, just tell me if you got a gun."
Still no response from "Mulder".
"It's too hot for this BS," griped Doggett.
The man opposite remained silent.
"All right then, lie down," Doggett commanded. "Lie down on the ground. Keep
your hands out, lay down on your belly there."
Mulder, or whoever he was, glanced down as if considering. Then he looked up at
Doggett and began to back away.
"For crying out loud, what are you doin'?"
The man who looked like Mulder kept moving towards the edge of the cliff.
"Agent Mulder, stay there!" Doggett shouted. He dropped his arms and sprinted
towards the other man. Too late. Doggett reached the edge just as Mulder dropped
off, backwards.
Despite the deep feeling that this was an imposter, I couldn't stop a moan from
escaping my lips. Luckily, Doggett was too engrossed in staring over the cliff
edge at the figure below to notice.
As more FBI agents swarmed up the mesa behind Doggett, I realized it was time
for me to leave. Still, I couldn't help but linger a moment, watching the silent
form on the desert floor.
The form moved. I blinked, not sure if it was a heat illusion. It moved again,
one arm raising up at an awkward angle. I looked back across at the agents, but
they were already leaving the cliff edge. They didn't see what I did: Mulder (or
his double) getting up, shaking loose the dust, and taking off across the desert
at a full run.
That last sight broke my paralysis. I jumped up and dashed to the car. The FBI
would find their man gone, and they'd put on a state-wide search that would
surely catch me in the process.
I arrived back in D.C. with a lightened pocketbook and a heavy heart. Instinct
told me that Mulder had indeed been in or near Arizona. But the man I saw on
that cliff had been an imposter, sent to confuse the FBI, perhaps. Or because
Mulder's face was familiar to Gibson Praise.
I picked my car up at the airport parking lot and drove back slowly to the
rental house. Nothing awaited me, there or at the apartment, but empty dreams.
Incipient depression taunted me with black tendrils. By the time I got to the
house, my mood was darker than the storm clouds gathering in the west.
That damn rug! I cursed soundly over my stubbed toe and slammed the car door
harder than necessary. When I bent down to pick the thing up and toss it into a
corner, the rug wiggled. I jumped back, glancing about wildly for something to
use as a club. Despite Mulder's jokes about my name, I was not especially fond
of rats.
The rug began to unroll itself.
My first thought was, here was an X-File happening right in front of me and no
way to prove it. Before I could start to sympathize with Scully, however, the
rug flattened out and the person inside it stood up gracefully.
"Hi," she said.
I stared, at a loss for words. The woman in the rug had dark hair cut in a
pageboy. There was an odd glitter near the corner of one of her strikingly light
blue eyes. I peered closer and saw that it was some kind of jewel.
"Who the hell are you?" I sputtered, finally.
She raised an eyebrow and shot me a look that made it clear my IQ hovered
somewhere in the range of a dinosaur's brain.
"You own the rug, right? Well, I come with it. You set me free, so I give you
three wishes. Oh," she added as an afterthought, "most people call me Jenn."
Shit. I really was in the middle of an X-File.
"Wishes?"
"Yeah. You know. Like, 'I wish'...?"
Man, this was too much. I wished Mulder was here to see this...Krycek, what are
you saying?? I took a deep breath.
"Okay. If you really are a genie—"
"Jinniyah." The eyebrow arched again. "Do I look like a guy to you?"
"Whatever. I wish Fox Mulder was here."
"What kind of name is Fox?"
I nearly broke my teeth, gritting them to keep down my temper.
"Just grant the wish. Please."
Jenn sighed. "You sure about that? Is that your final wish?"
Oh, man. A genie—excuse me, jinniyah—who watched game shows.
"Yes. I want to see Mulder."
"Okay."
She didn't blink, or wiggle her nose, or even cross her arms. But I heard a
noise behind me, and turned, slowly. What I saw made me thumb the garage door
down in a hurry.
Stretched out naked on some kind of table, arms and legs fastened securely by
steel, lay Mulder. His eyes were closed. Sweat glistened on his high forehead.
Worst of all was the way his cheeks stretched out from his face. I stepped
closer, and saw that they were held taut with metal barbs, like fishhooks.
Mulder opened his eyes. At first I thought he wasn't aware of me. Then he turned
his head in my direction. His eyes were dark with pain.
"Krycek," he hissed.
"Don't move."
I reached out and touched his cheek. Although my fingers barely grazed the skin,
Mulder reared back in the chair and let out a horrific scream that seemed to
never end. I held back, afraid to hurt him further, frozen in indecision.
At last his cries subsided to muffled sobs.
"Mulder, please."
Now that he was actually here, I wasn't sure what to say to him.
"W-why am I here?" he croaked, finally.
"He wished for you," said Jenn from her corner of the garage. Did I detect a
certain snide quality to her remark?
"Mulder, I—I only wanted to help."
"Help?" His voice rose in anguish. "Then send me back."
"...but they're torturing you!" I cried.
"Damn you, Krycek. You don't understand!"
"No, I don't." I lifted my right hand, then dropped it once more. "Where are
you? Why won't you let me help? Please, Mulder!"
He closed his eyes a moment. When he looked at me again, it was as if I saw both
Mulder and another entity who existed within and without the body on the table.
"I have to be here, Alex," he said quietly. "When they are finished with me,
I'll be returned to Earth. I will forget everything that happened to me. But my
soul will remember.
"Please, Alex. Send me back."
I still didn't understand. I wanted to say so, but something in Mulder's eyes
stopped me. The way he called me Alex...
"All right." I looked across the garage at Jenn. "Send him back."
"Done."
Like that, the garage was empty. I slumped against the nearest wall.
"I want to go home," I muttered.
When I opened my eyes again, I had to grab the nearest piece of furniture to
keep from stumbling. I was holding the edge of the coffee table. In my own
living room.
"Hey!" I uttered to no one in particular.
Wrong again, Krycek. There was Jenn, across the room from me. I stared.
"Look here. That wasn't meant to be a wish."
Jenn shrugged and waved her hand airily.
"Consider it a freebie. Now, you do have one more wish."
"I know, I know. Give me a minute, okay?"
Like a cat, Jenn settled into my favorite overstuffed chair. I began to pace.
C'mon, Alex, think. We'd established I couldn't have Mulder. But there was
nothing else I really wanted. Was there?
The whole scene in the garage had felt so anti-climactic. At least I did hold
one shred of hope. Mulder had said he would be returned to Earth. So I suppose
it wasn't up to me to worry about his welfare at this point.
Jenn yawned. Damn, I'd almost forgotten!
I resumed pacing. Think, man. There always seemed to be a catch with this wish
business. What could I ask for that wouldn't come with a price?
So. Why did I want Mulder? Because I love him, I thought. That stopped me in my
tracks again. Do I really love Mulder, or just the idea of him? That brilliant,
erratic mind, forever at work on some puzzle. His smile, more precious because
it was so rare. The way he beat me up nearly every time we met. Okay, scratch
that.
Let's face it, Mulder would never love me. Trying to force him to via
supernatural means was likely to backfire. Which left me with the question: what
do I want?
"I want..." I said slowly.
Jenn perked up. "Is that a wish?"
"Yes. I wish...to be loved. To have someone who loves me. And that I love back,"
I added quickly.
"Is that one wish or two? Never mind," said Jenn, obviously seeing my darkening
brow. "You got it."
I looked around. There were still just the two of us there.
"Well, hey. You can't just expect him to pop out of thin air." She got off the
chair and stood up. The jewel near her eye seemed to wink at me. "See you
around."
I turned to look out the window. "So now what?"
But when I glanced back, the room was empty. Slowly it occurred to me what Jenn
had said. 'He'. As if that were a given. I smiled a little.
"Guess you really are a genie," I spoke out loud.
"Jinniyah," replied a voice from nowhere.
Right.
The morning sun found me sprawled across the bed rather than in it. For a
second, I had a weird sense of deja vu. But there were no empty vodka bottles on
the floor, and my head felt fine.
I got up, whistling. Jenn had granted my first two wishes (if more literally
than I would have requested) and I had no reason to think she'd welsh on the
third. Funny how just thinking about love can make your day brighter.
So when I exited my apartment with no real plans in mind except maybe a trip to
the park, the last thing I expected to find was John Doggett's gun in my nose.
"Uh, hello?" was my bright response.
"Inside. Easy," said Doggett, poking me lightly with the gun.
"Sure."
He herded me back into the living room and latched the door behind us. Then he
just stood there, staring at me. The gun never wavered.
At last I cleared my throat.
"What's this all about?"
"I want to know what you were doing in Arizona."
"Ah—" I recalled that Doggett was supposed to be a stranger. "You mind telling
me who you are?"
"John Doggett. FBI." He reached into his pocket with his left hand and flipped
open his ID. "You were seen leaving a secured area."
"I was? What area?"
Doggett seemed flustered.
"There was an investigation going on. I'd like to know how you were involved."
I kept on playing dumb. "Yes, Agent Doggett, I was in Arizona. On vacation. If I
wandered into a 'secured area' I assure you it was totally by mistake."
"Well then—" Doggett lowered the gun slowly. "What in hell am I doin' here?"
His face was a study in frustration. It occurred to me that he really had no
idea how he'd come to my apartment, or why he was asking me questions. He truly
was dancing in the dark.
For that matter, what the hell was Doggett doing at my apartment? But when I
opened my mouth to ask him, something entirely different came out.
"Can I fix you a drink? Tea, or something stronger?"
Doggett stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. I sure didn't have a
clue what had made me offer him tea. At that point I had every right to ask him
to leave, but some perversity kept me from doing so.
Of course it could just have been those bright blue eyes.
Something was poking at my memory. I went to the kitchen, ignoring Doggett's
frown, and put the kettle on to give me time to think. Nope, the idea was gone.
Whatever it was would just have to wait.
I glanced into the living room. Doggett had finally sat down, but he seemed
restless. His eyes kept roving over my furniture as if it would give him a clue
to the meaning of life.
"Here you go."
Doggett took the cup of my finest Russian Blend gingerly. He sipped it, looked
surprised, sipped more.
"This is good."
"Thanks."
I smiled. The tea was another Consortium perk, flown over just for me.
I sat on the couch across from him, balancing my own cup on my knee, and tried
to think of a conversation opener.
"So. I'm sorry if I caused you worry, Agent Doggett. Is there anything else I
can do for you?"
He shook his head.
"Well...I guess I'd better get back to the Bureau, Mr.—" The puzzled expression
stole back over his features. "Hell, I don't even know your name."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Agent Doggett, I'm surprised. We pay taxes for this? Sorry." I lifted a hand to
show I was joking. "My name is Krycek. Alex Krycek."
Damn. I hadn't exactly meant to spill it like that. The words just seemed to
flow without any effort on my part. I took a deep breath and waited for
Doggett's reaction.
The one I got was not entirely what I'd expected. Doggett raised his head and
gave me a piercing stare.
"So you're Krycek. AD Skinner told me you were behind the destruction of a
group who were working to undermine American values. Interesting."
I bit my lip to keep my jaw in place. It was probably the nicest thing Skinner
had ever said about me. Made me feel that much better about having ditched the
nanite controller.
"Have you ever considered returning to the Bureau?" Doggett asked...in flawless
Russian.
Now my mouth did drop open. I couldn't help it. I must have been staring,
because Doggett returned to English and said:
"I hope you're not upset." He actually had the grace to look abashed. "When
Skinner mentioned you to me, I got curious and checked the files. I saw that
you're of Russian parents. I also saw that your record up to recently has been
suppressed."
Again, the intent blue gaze.
"Skinner explained that you left the FBI under a cloud of suspicion, but that
your behavior in recent months has all but wiped out your earlier actions. In
other words, Mr. Krycek, we have you to thank for making the world a better
place."
This had to be a dream. Skinner, a friend? Doggett seeing my file and yet not
shooting me where I stood? Suddenly, that memory was poking at my mind again. If
I could just pull it out...
"Thanks for the tea," said Doggett. He got up from the couch and plucked the
cell phone from his jacket. "Excuse me."
He dialed and waited. I sipped my tea and pretended not to listen.
"Emily. What time's my meeting?...It has?...Well, what about the rest of the
day?...Oh, okay, I see. Thanks."
Doggett hung up.
"My meeting's been cancelled," he said to no one in particular. "And my
calendar's clear until Monday. This is really strange."
I watched him sit back down, as if he couldn't quite figure out what to do with
himself. And that damn weird Mulderish feeling was back with a vengeance.
Besides, since when did Doggett rate a secretary?
"I can't understand it," Doggett was saying. "My week is always full. And I come
here to your place without any real memory of how I got here. It's almost as
if—as if—I was under some kind of spell."
Oh, no. John Doggett was my wish?? Well, he had popped out of thin air...and
there was no denying that he was handsome.
Somewhere I could hear laughter, and I swore I saw the wink of a bejeweled eye.
"I was on my way for a walk, Agent Doggett," I said slowly. "If you'd like to
join me—?"
He thought a moment, then shrugged.
"Sure. I could use some fresh air. Clear my head."
You're not the only one, I thought; but I kept my mouth shut and followed him
out the door.
We strolled slowly towards the park. I felt both calm and concentration
radiating from Doggett, even in the silence. An excellent blend of traits in his
business, I thought.
Bet he gets lots of confessions with those sexy blue eyes...
Thinking to say something before the silence could become uncomfortable, I
opened my mouth. But Doggett beat me to it.
"I hope you don't mind my prying a little, Mr. Krycek. I've been interested in
your career since I realized the direction it was really taking." He glanced at
me with what I could only term admiration. "Working the Consortium from the
inside was a brilliant move."
"Ah, thanks." Now I knew Jenn was behind this. I wondered if she'd altered my
records somehow. More likely, she'd just altered Doggett. "Look, Agent Doggett.
If it's all the same to you, I'd like to put all that in the past. I'm on my own
now. I no longer have ties to the Consortium or the FBI."
"Sure," he responded, far too quickly. "But only if you'll call me John."
He followed his remark with a dazzling smile.
Before I could make a fool of myself by grabbing for him, Doggett's cell phone
rang.
"Doggett. Oh, Agent Scully...yeah...yeah? Okay, I'll be there."
He signed off and turned back to me.
"Guess they found something for me to do after all. Business meeting." He made a
face. "Hey, thanks for being so nice about this misunderstanding, Mr. Krycek."
"Alex."
"Okay." The smile again. "Maybe I'll see you around, Alex."
He waved and walked away. I turned in the opposite direction, for home. Strange
that things seemed to be going so well, only to have such an abrupt end. Was I
wrong in thinking Doggett was my wish, after all? I shook my head and resolved
not to worry about it.
But somehow the brightness had gone out of the morning.
I spent the next few days cleaning my apartment and catching up on grocery
shopping. As I stood in the aisle deciding between rotini and spaghetti, it
struck me how very normal my life had become. No more living on the run. No more
looking over my shoulder for Consortium goons who wanted to take my place. Last
I heard of Marita Covarrubias, she was relaxing on an island somewhere in the
South Seas. I sighed, a little wistfully. At least my days and nights had held
excitement as well as danger.
On the other hand, I could shop, and go to the movies, and eat at a restaurant.
And fall in love.
I banged the cart a little harder than necessary against a freezer full of meat.
Damn it! Had Jenn misled me? These self-doubts were getting me nowhere. Time to
move on.
I got home in one piece somehow, considering that I'd driven over the speed
limit. Groceries stashed, I sank into the couch and picked up the remote
control. For several minutes I channel-surfed, finally settling on a bad
science-fiction movie. Maybe later I'd make some popcorn and really live it up.
Suddenly, I found myself doubled over with laughter. Damned if I wasn't turning
into Fox Mulder! I pictured myself in twenty years, sitting in front of the TV
with a stack of porn tapes at my side...and abruptly choked on a laugh. The
image was so sharp that tears welled up out of nowhere. Telling myself that
assassins weren't supposed to cry just made the tears roll faster.
I got up too quickly, thinking of a beer, and slammed my knee against the coffee
table. Fuck! Now I really had something to cry about. Stumbling and cursing, I
went into the bathroom and performed a hasty patch job on my knee with some
peroxide and a band-aid. Finally I limped back into the living room and settled
back down on the couch.
The movie no longer held any interest. I switched it off and just stared at the
wall. What was I going to do with the rest of my life? For the past several
years my resume consisted of rather unsavory dealings. Even if I wanted to work
at an office I had no idea what to put on the job application. Not that I was
hurting for money. I could always travel, or write a book, or sell seashells by
the seashore.
Or fall in—
Oh shut up, you cheating jinniyah.
I stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes. Just a quick nap. Surely that
would make me feel better.
The phone rang. I fumbled for it blindly and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" Dial tone. Irritated, I hung up and rubbed my eyes. It rang again. No,
wait. It was the doorbell. I checked the clock, saw I'd slept over two hours. I
fumbled my way to the door and opened it, blinking stupidly at my visitor.
"Hi," said John Doggett. "You drink vodka, right?"
He held out a bottle of Stoli.
"Uh. Yeah. Thanks," I added.
"I'm sorry I had to run off so quick like that the other day. Should have known
it was too good to be true."
"What?"
Doggett grinned. "My secretary tellin' me my calendar was empty, remember?"
"Oh. Yeah."
Belatedly, I saw he was still holding the bottle. I took it from him, and
stepped back to let him in. As I followed behind him, I caught a glimpse of
myself in the hall mirror. My eyes were red, my hair was standing up in little
spikes, and in general I looked like something the cat dragged in.
"Agent Doggett—"
"John."
"John...I really need to wash up. Why don't you pour us some of that vodka while
I take a quick shower?"
I didn't wait for his answer, but headed straight to the bedroom. A quick
shampoo and rinse raised my spirits considerably. Thinking of Doggett being in
the next room while I dried off raised something else. I had to grin. At last,
proof positive that things were looking up.
Doggett was waiting for me when I emerged. He took in my tight jeans and teal
shirt—on which I'd left the top two buttons open—at a glance, and raised an
eyebrow. Was that a blush I saw across his cheeks?
I took pity on the man and broke the silence.
"So. Some vodka?"
He shook himself a little and smiled.
"I thought you might like to join me for dinner instead."
"Oh! Well—I'm not much for fancy restaurants."
Doggett shrugged. "Me, either. How about Torello's, on Sixth?"
"Great. Lead the way."
We took Doggett's car to the Italian restaurant he'd named. I breathed a sigh of
relief that there weren't many other patrons there on a weeknight. At least
maybe we'd have some privacy and quiet.
Once seated, Doggett—John, that is—had the waiter bring us a bottle of the
house red and raised his glass.
"To friendship."
I smiled and sipped.
"Mmmm. Good choice, for a guy from Georgia."
John raised both eyebrows.
"How'd you know I'm from Georgia?"
"Uh." It was my turn to blush. "Just a guess. I'm pretty good with accents."
"Yeah." He smiled again, and my heart missed a beat. "Thought all those years in
New York had pretty much erased that."
I watched him dig into his scallopini with gusto.
"So," he asked, after swallowing some wine, "what line of work are you in now?"
"Consulting, mostly." My standard answer.
John accepted this with a nod, and we moved on to safer topics. The feeling of
being in a dream was back. I found myself watching John's lips move and not
hearing a thing he said. After awhile, I let him do the talking, content with
the sight of those expressive features.
"—storm coming."
John was looking at me expectantly.
"Huh?"
Man, that was intelligent.
"Looks like there's a storm on the way," he repeated, gesturing at the
restaurant's window. "Better get you home."
We were comparatively silent on the way back. We parked in front of my building,
and John stopped the engine. He paused, and seemed to be going through some
internal debate. I held my breath and tried not to fidget.
"Well. You take care, okay? Maybe I'll see you around."
He started the car again. I took that as my cue and got out. John drove off with
a quick wave, not looking back.
I stared after him until the car disappeared around a corner. I started to turn,
then heard a rumble in the distance and swiveled back around, hopefully. But the
car was gone. Raindrops began to spatter around me, quickly becoming a downpour.
I hardly felt them as I trudged towards my dark apartment once more.
To my credit, although I glanced at the bottle of Stoli I left it unopened. I
did stand in the middle of the living room, feeling like a lost soul in search
of an impossible salvation. Before I could give in to a full-blown depression, I
headed for bed. A good night's sleep would give me a new perspective.
I lay down fully dressed, too tired to worry about wrinkles. For a few minutes I
lay there, listening to the sound of the rain.
I'm tired, I thought. Tired of swimming against the tide. Maybe I should just
let Doggett go and start over.
A weight lifted from me. No more worrying about pursuing an impossible dream. I
rolled over and actually smiled a little. As I felt sleep encroach, I could have
sworn I heard a merry voice say in my ear:
"About time."
I woke refreshed, ready to start the day. Except it wasn't day. In fact, it was
a mere two hours since the time I'd gone to bed. Yet I felt fine, energized, in
fact. Even the persistent knocking at my front door didn't bother me.
Knocking? I scrambled off the bed and walked briskly to open the door. There
stood John Doggett, looking wet and miserable.
"I'm really sorry," he said. "My car broke down. Can I come in?"
"Of course." I hastened to let him pass. He walked into the living room, then
just stood there, dripping.
"Here, take off your coat."
John allowed me to strip his wet overcoat from his shoulders. I watched him
watching me as I hung the coat over a kitchen chair. He flushed and looked away,
wrapping his arms around himself for warmth.
"Go on, sit down. You can't hurt this furniture."
I waved him towards the couch, then went into the kitchen. In minutes, I had
brewed a fresh pot of tea and piled a saucer high with cookies. That dreamlike
feeling was back. Oddly enough, I welcomed it. After recent events, it was
almost a sign of normality. I placed tea and cookies on a tray, balanced it
carefully between real and artificial hands, and carried it back to the living
room.
A thought had been brewing along with the tea, and I voiced it as I sat on the
other end of the couch from John.
"So. Have you actually been driving around the neighborhood for the past two
hours? I thought you lived across town."
John flushed a deep scarlet.
"Alex—"
I held up a hand to stop him. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease."
"No." He took a deep breath, then gazed at me directly and continued. "I'm the
one who's sorry. I have been driving around, aimlessly. There's nothing wrong
with my car."
He rushed ahead, apparently to keep me from interrupting. He needn't have
worried. My heart was lodged in my throat and I couldn't have spoken if I tried.
"Alex, I just had to see you again. To apologize for acting like an idiot.
Like some damn kid. I'm sorry about the car story, too. Half-truths are no way
to start a relationship." He held up two fingers like a Boy Scout. "I promise.
No more lies."
"Say that again," I stammered.
"No more lies. I—"
"No, before that. About a relationship."
If a gaze were fire, I would have been incinerated by the twin blue flames of
John's eyes in that moment.
"I did recognize you on the mesa," he said quietly. He paused, and it was my
turn to mumble an admission. But John truly surprised me with his next words.
"Skinner keeps a picture of you on his desk. I looked at it again after you and
I met the other day. He says you're a hero. Keeps insisting they oughta
reinstate you."
What the hell?? Reinstate me? Now I knew this was a dream. No way would Skinner
do anything but shoot me on sight.
I closed my eyes for a long moment. But when I opened them, John was still
there, and his expression was kind and concerned. He made no move for his
handcuffs. Could Jenn have changed my entire life history? If so, it would be
nice if I could remember it the way it was supposed to have happened.
Wait. I could remember parts of it. As if I now had two lives, only I'd been
shifted suddenly into the better one. I frowned and thought hard. Yes, I had
left the Bureau under suspicious circumstances. But as it turned out, I'd only
gone into the Consortium in order to fight it more effectively. The only way I
could do that and make it seem real, was not to tell anyone what I was up to.
Once it came out that I was really a good guy, the price was taken off my head
and now Skinner made speeches about my bravery.
I could get to like this new life, I thought, and grinned.
"What is it?" asked John.
"Oh, nothing. I'm just glad you're here."
His expression softened. "Me, too. I'd really like to get to know you better,
Alex."
"Yeah." I remembered to breathe. Barely.
John's smile could have lit all Washington. He reached across the couch and laid
a hand on my cheek. The feelings I thought I'd ditched came rushing back. I sat
there watching him and for a moment I literally could not speak. With a start, I
recognized that John had turned the tables on me, and taken over my usual role
of pursuer. First time for everything, I thought, and leaned in closer.
The first touch of John's lips sent a jolt of electricity to my groin. I felt
the heat suffuse my entire body as he framed my face with calloused, gentle
hands. Somewhere I heard groaning, and realized it was me.
John pulled back to look at me.
"Don't," I groaned.
"Don't?"
"Please. Don't stop."
He smiled and drew me into his arms again, and all felt right with the world. I
beat down the take charge part of me for now. It just felt so good to let go for
a change.
I was so engrossed in the taste of John's mouth that it took me a moment to feel
his hands on my bare back. He had worked them up beneath my shirt and was
grazing the sensitive skin there with long, slow strokes of his fingertips. I
shuddered as if his fingers were electric prongs and I was the socket.
Then he touched my arm and broke the spell. All the self-loathing I thought had
been conquered through time and will came flooding back. My eyes flew open and I
sucked in a breath, waiting for John's reaction.
He looked back at me, unsmiling. With total solemnity he brought his hands
around and finished unbuttoning my shirt. My protests died in my throat as John
slipped the shirt off my shoulders and calmly unbuckled my prosthesis. There was
no judgment, no loathing in his eyes, just dead seriousness as he bent down over
my truncated left arm—and kissed it.
"I want you, Alex," he whispered, with an emphasis on the 'you'.
He didn't have to say any more. I understood. For maybe the first time in my
life I was with someone who looked not at me but inside me. I slid my whole arm
around his neck and held on tight.
One of John's hands skimmed down my thigh. I realized, startled, that I was
hard. John chuckled into my mouth, and grazed the palm of his hand across my
groin deliberately. I nearly bit his lip off when I jumped.
"Sorry," I gasped.
"Mmmm," he replied cryptically, but with a smile. He reached over to the coffee
table and popped a cookie into his mouth.
"These are really good."
"Hey," I protested, giving his chest a shove. "Cookies later."
"Right." He grinned around a mouthful of crumbs. "Just wanted to be sure you
were paying attention."
I laughed and jumped him, sending us both tumbling back across the couch. I
spent the next five minutes cleaning the cookie from his lips with my tongue.
John seemed properly appreciative, if the bulge in his slacks was any
indication.
"Hmmm," I murmured, lowering my mouth towards John's chest. "I think you dropped
some crumbs."
I eased my arm away from his neck and propped myself on the elbow, the better to
get to my goal.
"There, that's got it...no, wait." I pulled his shirt open far enough to expose
a nipple. One long, slow lick had him gasping. "Ooohh, you're a mess." I worked
my way down, following an imaginary trail of cookie from nipple to navel.
By now, the tent of material between John's legs was quite impressive. I started
to fumble at the zipper with my teeth and got nowhere fast. John chuckled, not
unkindly, then his left hand came down to help finish the job. I did manage to
part the button on his waistband while he dipped beneath the cotton briefs with
nimble fingers.
John's cock sprang free, hard and bold. Now if I were living in a porn fantasy,
it would have been a foot long and thick as my arm, etc, etc. Well, it wasn't.
On the other hand, it wasn't especially small, either. I guessed my throat could
cope with seven inches or so, and decided to put it to the test.
At the first touch of my tongue, John shuddered and hissed in pleasure. He laid
a hand on my neck, but didn't force me down. Instead, his fingers caressed me
gently and encouragingly. I tried to live up to my end of the bargain by giving
him the blow job of his life.
He tasted of musk and something like cinnamon. An odd, but pleasing,
combination. My own cock swelled agreeably as I applied mouth-to-flesh
resuscitation to the eager victim. John seemed to like my technique, if the
sounds he was making were any indication. That, and the way his hips moved in
sync with my mouth.
"No. Wait," John gasped. "Please, Alex."
I paused, disappointed.
"Later," he promised. "I want to do this right."
The hunger in his eyes appeased me. He held out a hand, and I took it. To this
day I'm not sure how we made it into the bedroom. All I can remember is the
bright blue of John's eyes gazing into mine.
But I'll never forget how, once on the bed itself, John kissed me again,
grinding his pelvis against mine until I was sure we'd set the sheets on fire
from the friction. He was a man of few words. His body said it all, and the
message came through loud and clear.
He backed away for only a moment to strip out of the rest of his clothes. I just
lay there and watched happily as his lean, lanky form was revealed. He reminded
me that I was overdressed by sliding my pants down and tossing them
unceremoniously in a corner of the room. Then he kneeled on the floor and took
one of my feet in his hands.
John massaged my foot until I started feeling a little sleepy.
"Mmmm. That's nice, but—oh!"
John had taken my big toe in his mouth. I swallowed in surprise—and an upsurge
of lust—as he used his tongue to bathe me in a way my podiatrist never
imagined. When he'd gone over each digit thoroughly, he moved up my ankle,
kissing and nibbling from shin to thigh. By the time he reached my cock, it was
practically waving its enthusiasm.
John paused long enough to make me open my eyes again. He appeared to be
studying the flesh before him as if it were an especially tasty treat. Before I
could tell him to hurry up, he took matters in his own hands. Or rather, in his
very talented mouth. I felt myself nearly fly off the bed.
"Ahhhh!"
"Like that?"
He'd stopped again. Damn!
"Yeah. Great." I gasped. "But if you don't get back to it, I'll—"
He raised both eyebrows.
"Why, Mr. Krycek. Is that a threat against an officer of the law?"
I gritted my teeth.
"Yes!"
"Oh." He grinned. "In that case..."
His mouth went back where it belonged, and I went into orbit. When I came down,
John was licking his lips and looking extremely pleased with himself. As I lay
panting and dazed, I heard the sound of foil ripping. Then John's slim fingers
were caressing me again. One of them made its way inside me, and I groaned
helplessly.
"Shhhh..."
The finger withdrew and re-entered a moment later covered with gel. John kept
making soothing nonsense sounds as he worked me open. I watched his face through
half-slit eyes. How could a man so involved in an intimate act seem so serious
and single-minded?
Maybe, I thought, a bit hysterically, it's because he has a big job ahead of
him. Or maybe he had switched bodies while I wasn't looking, because the blunt
instrument making its way inside me sure felt like something out of that porn
movie I'd compared him to earlier. I must have cried out, because John shushed
me again gently as he began to work his cock deep into my willing body. He
lifted my legs over his shoulders, paused as if to be sure I was comfortable,
then drove in the last couple of inches.
I heard myself yell. John took my shouting for the encouragement it was meant to
be. He grasped my hips hard and slid back, then forward again, a little faster
with each thrust. I rode with him, feeling new waves of pleasure course through
me.
John was panting hard. I expected him to come any minute. Impossibly, it seemed,
he angled in deeper still. The crown of his cock brushed my sweet spot, and a
second orgasm tore through me without warning.
Dimly, I felt John push deep one last time to shudder out his pleasure. He lay
half across my stomach, catching his breath a moment, before pulling out gently
and disposing of the condom. I heard him pad into the bathroom. He returned with
a cool washcloth and lay down next to me to clean my sticky abdomen.
John set the cloth aside. He held out his arms and I rolled into them willingly,
putting my head on his chest to listen to the steady beat of his heart.
"So," I murmured. "Next time I get to be on top."
John chuckled. "Says who? Oh, okay," he responded to my mock growl. "If you're
very good."
"I think I can promise you that."
He squeezed me gently. We fell into a comfortable silence. Somehow, in my
pleasantly weary brain, I managed to send a mental thank you to Jenn, wherever
she was. She had started the ball rolling when I made my wish. But, I realized
in hindsight, it had been up to me to make it come true.
"I'm really glad I decided to come back," said John softly, as if reading my
mind.
"Me, too."
I settled in to the warmth of his arms, smiling. No matter what the future
brings, I know that John and I have a good chance to see it together. We are
both survivors, and yet I think both of us have managed to retain our emotional
integrity beneath the scars.
Besides...didn't I mention that he has the greatest ears?
THE END
Dancing In The Dark
by Russianrat
'Stay on the streets of this town
And they'll be carving you up, all right
You say you gotta stay hungry
Hey, baby—I'm just about starving tonight!'
(quoted without permission)
Everything in his apartment looked the same. From the basketball lying forgotten
on the floor to the shadow of the 'X' on the window. A scene frozen in time. I
walked across the living room, careful not to disturb a pile of paper next to
the couch. His couch. With the imprint of his body still visible on its
cushions.
