Mulder's eyes never left the fallen body of his ex-partner, and Skinner
could read the confusion and devastation in those bright hazel eyes as
Mulder wondered why Alex had wanted to kill him. Skinner had no answer for
him, could only say that this was not the first time Alex had asked Skinner
to kill him, though last time he had presented it as a choice: Mulder or
Scully's child. Mulder's gun dropped to the floor with a thud, falling from
lifeless fingers, and then he shuffled across the room like a man who had
aged fifty years in the space of fifty seconds. He fell to his knees beside
their fallen nemesis, a trembling hand reaching out, and a single finger
trailed down the rapidly cooling cheek.
As he watched, Skinner could see Mulder's chest start to heave, dragging in
short, shallow breaths as if he was slowly suffocating. His mouth was
working; words half-formed and discarded without sound. Then he froze, a
terrible clarity coming to his eyes at the full realisation of what lay
before him. Mulder spoke a single word, so quietly, like a small, frightened
child calling for his momma.
"Alex?"
Tears began to roll down Mulder's face as he called for Alex once more.
Skinner moved forward, dragging Mulder back when the distraught man grabbed
hold of the deathly still figure, shaking Krycek violently as if it would
bring him back from the dead.
"Mulder! Mulder. He's dead. Let him be. He's dead."
The tear-stained face, ashen and filled with anger, turned on Skinner, the
normally soft voice rough with emotion.
"You bastard. Why? Why did you kill him?"
"He was trying to kill you. I saved your life." And my own, he thought
resentfully. "I had to do it." Skinner shook Mulder hard. "I had to do it,"
he reiterated.
Skinner looked deep into the hazel eyes and realised, with shock, the one
thing he had never considered in all these years, that Mulder had been in
love with Alex Krycek. From the look on Mulder's face it was apparent that,
until this moment, Mulder had no idea either and yet all the signs had been
there from the very beginning, cunningly concealed behind other emotions.
Everyone had betrayed Mulder at some point in the past, even Scully, but he
had never remonstrated with any of them over that betrayal. He had willingly
moved on each time, picking up the friendship or relationship from where it
had left off—with everyone except Alex Krycek. His hatred of Krycek had
bordered on psychotic, gradually mellowing over the years but still held on
a fine hair-trigger. No one, not even Spender, could bring Mulder's temper
to boiling point with a single glance: no one except Krycek.
Someone had once told Skinner that indifference was the flip side of love.
Hate implied a strong emotional attachment to someone, and so hate was
actually a twisted form of love rather than an absence of love.
Was this why you hated him so much... because you loved him?
The answer to his question was staring back at him, the hazel eyes laying
bare the true depth of Mulder's feelings for Alex Krycek. The walls Mulder
had built, subconsciously, to protect himself from further betrayal from the
man he loved had begun to crumble, unable to stand before the devastating
loss.
"God, Mulder. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Anger turned to cold fury, and Mulder gave Skinner a vicious shove
backwards, the fever-bright light in his eyes dimming just as quickly until
they became lifeless.
"I don't need your pity. Get out."
Skinner had never seen this side of Mulder. He had witnessed the intensity
of his hatred for Krycek, fearing for Mulder's sanity on occasion, but what
he saw now was even more frightening. Mulder had suffered a great deal in
his life, had witnessed so much cruelty and destruction, had seen his hopes
and dreams ripped away and yet, he had always bounced back. Despite
everything he had endured, he had been the eternal optimist, accepting the
cruel hand fate had dealt with the strongest belief that, with the next
hand, he would be the winner.
This time it was different. Skinner could feel the heaviness in the air,
could see a lack of emotion on Mulder's face that went further than skin
deep. His eyes were empty, as if the last of his incredible will had drained
away with Krycek's life. Every instinct in Skinner screamed at him to stay,
to restrain Mulder.
"Scully needs..."
"Get out."
The flat monotone was barely more than a whisper. Skinner swallowed hard and
nodded, heart heavy as he walked away. He turned on the threshold of the
room, as if to take a last look, watching Mulder drop back down beside
Krycek to gather the lifeless body into his arms, crushing Alex tightly to
his chest as a low keening wail of grief filled the room.
What have I done?
He went back over the whole scene in his head, trying to figure out where it
all went so wrong, trying to see what he could have done differently.
Instead, all he could see was the accusation—and then the emptiness—in
those eyes.
He turned away once more, stepping out into the corridor, oblivious to the
sound of running feet. Doggett raced towards him, gun at the ready, eyes
wide with purpose, skidding to a halt in front of him, eyes flicking towards
the room Skinner had vacated.
"Where's Mulder?"
"In there."
"And Krycek?"
"Krycek's dead."
Doggett's face lost its intensity, his gun arm falling limply to his side,
as he seemed to collapse in upon himself. He breathed a sigh of relief, and
grinned.
"Thank God."
With a snarl, Skinner grabbed Doggett and shoved him up against the corridor
wall, forearm crushing Doggett's windpipe, his own emotions finally
unravelling as his mind wrapped itself around this tragedy of Shakespearean
complexity and depth. There was a man lying dead in that room, killed by his
hand and, despite everything that had happened between them, he had
respected Alex Krycek, maybe even admired him a little. And there was
another man in there who had just come to realise how important Krycek had
been in his quest for the truth, not as a tool, but as a reason to keep on
going, to keep on searching when all hope seemed lost. No one, and
especially not John Doggett, had the right to rejoice in this tragedy.
"No..ot Kry.. Clo..."
The garbled words pierced through his rage and he loosened the hold he had
on Doggett.
"What?"
"Not Krycek. Clone. It's a clone."
Skinner shoved away from Doggett, reeling from yet another shock, while
Doggett rubbed at his sore throat and coughed weakly.
"How do you know?"
"Real Krycek just showed up downstairs. Went frantic when we heard gunshots.
I had to restrain him before I could come up here."
"Mulder."
Skinner charged back into the room. His eyes widened at the sight of Mulder
still seated on the ground, the clone's body held against his chest with one
arm. He leaped the distance between the door and the grief-stricken man,
knocking Mulder backwards, the body of the clone dropping to the floor with
a thud. The gun Mulder had aimed at his own temple went flying from his
hand, crashing to the floor, skittering along until it came to a halt
beneath the windowsill.
"Bastard!"
Mulder started pummelling Skinner in a frenzy of flaying fists and kicking
feet and Skinner fought hard to subdue him, eternally grateful when Doggett
grabbed Mulder in an arm-lock and dragged the grief-maddened man away. He
groped for his glasses, replacing them with difficulty as his hands were
shaking so hard, then partially removed them when he realised one lens was a
web of spider-cracks. Skinner wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and
looked down, unsurprised by the streaks of red blood, though he was only
just starting to feel the sting of the cut lip.
He grabbed Mulder's face in both his hands, forcing Mulder to look at him.
"It's not Alex, Mulder. It's not Alex."
The words were getting through but instead of joy, the eyes filled with
hatred and disbelief, and then they widened in even greater disbelief at
something behind Skinner. Mulder's limbs lost their tension, arms and legs
stilling.
"Alex?"
Skinner whipped his head around, catching sight of the figure standing in
the doorway. He let go of Mulder and moved aside, motioning for Doggett to
release Mulder too.
The Alex Krycek who was standing at the threshold was a mess; his face
battered and bruised, his body leaning as if favouring one side, his one arm
drawn across his abdomen. Krycek expelled a sharp breath; one of relief, and
Skinner saw a reflection of Mulder's love in the wide-spaced, soft green
eyes as all of Krycek's attention became focused on Fox Mulder.
Mulder walked unsteadily towards Krycek, stopping when he was just beyond
arms reach, head tilting as if he was attempting to assess if this was the
real Alex Krycek or not. He must have seen something that gave him the proof
he needed for, suddenly, Krycek was wrapped in his arms. Those green eyes
widened in stunned surprise but then seemed to soften and close as his own
arm reached around Mulder, his head falling onto Mulder's shoulder.
Epilogue:
The house was quiet save for the whispered words passing between two men who
had gone beyond enemy and friend, finding something within each other that
had been lacking in their own lives. Eventually they grew silent, the
exhaustion of the harrowing day finally catching up with them, bringing them
to the edge of sleep.
Alex lay quietly snuggled up against the lean athletic frame of his new
lover, his head upon Mulder's shoulder, his one arm thrown casually over
Mulder's torso. Mulder's fingers were toying with the short strands of his
hair, brushing occasionally across the tip of his ear. So gentle. So
different from the caress of a fist that he had almost become accustomed to
over the last few years. He preferred this though.
Their lovemaking had been slow, through necessity as much as through a
desire to make their first time memorable. Both men were aching from the
bruises they had gathered that day: Mulder from those he gained through his
fight with Skinner, and Alex from those he received during his capture and
subsequent escape from the Consortium.
He shuddered as he remembered that terrible moment when the clone had
stepped out from the deep shadows in the parking lot. The momentary shock
had given the Consortium henchmen enough time to grab him, and he had been
shoved into the backseat of the dark sedan before he could even begin to
fight back. His first attempt to get away had ended with one of the henchmen
throwing a body punch that sent pain radiating through him. He was lucky the
rib had merely been bruised rather than cracked or broken, though it still
hurt, especially when he took too deep a breath. Although the blow subdued
Alex, the thugs decided to shorten the odds against him making another
escape attempt by beating him into submission. They rained blows upon him,
bloodying his nose and blackening his eye before landing a hit to his
midriff that expelled all the air from his body, severely winding him so he
could hardly draw breath.
However, they had misjudged his desperation to keep Fox Mulder safe, and so
his second escape bid had been successful. They thought they had subdued
him, and he had not allowed them to believe otherwise. He had taken
advantage of a traffic snarl-up to fight his way out of the car, quickly
disappearing between the five lanes of motionless vehicles. He had taken a
great risk by crawling beneath one truck praying it would not move at an
inopportune moment, crushing him beneath its wheels, and then he had slid
down the embankment to the opposite lane of the freeway, ruthlessly
separating one driver from his car.
Alex tightened his grip around Mulder. Despite all the risks he had taken he
had been too late, arriving in time to hear the gunshots coming from above.
In hindsight he could understand Doggett's lack of trust in him although, at
the time, he had been so frantic that Doggett had no choice but to try and
restrain him. It was fortunate that, in the heat of the moment, Doggett had
forgotten Alex had only one real arm, snapping the handcuff around the false
left arm before placing the other cuff around the radiator pipe. It had not
taken Alex long to release the straps holding the prosthesis.
The look of love on Mulder's face, when he realised the true Alex Krycek was
standing before him, was something Alex had always dreamed of seeing, but
never really believed would happen. When he found himself held in those
strong arms, the soft voice whispering words of endearment, his stunned
surprise had melted away.
After all these years of hoping, he had been granted his heart's desire,
barely noticing the way Skinner had edged them aside as he and Doggett
removed the impostor's body. The door had closed behind them, leaving Alex
and Mulder still locked in each other's arms.
Alex's thoughts moved forward in time, to earlier this evening when the
simple touches and light caresses had brought so much pleasure. He had never
imagined that Mulder would be such an attentive and generous lover, having
been swayed by his own prejudices. The Mulder he thought he knew, the one he
had fallen in love with despite his apparent shortcomings, would have sought
his own pleasure first. However, the Mulder lying beside him had been so
gentle and considerate, with hands, mouth and tongue worshipping every part
of his body.
He smiled, no longer understanding his reasoning for that former belief.
He recalled how gentle Mulder had been as he helped him strip off his
clothes, how he had placed light kisses on every bruise and cut. He
remembered the feel of those sharp teeth latching onto one nipple, hard
enough to send the blood racing to his groin but not enough to cause any
discomfort. The other nipple was rolled between a strong thumb and
forefinger, teased mercilessly though never crossing the line from pleasure
into pain.
Mulder had turned around, straddling his body on hands and knees, and Alex
moaned as his body reacted to the echoes of memory, the feel of that hot
mouth upon his hardened flesh, tongue sliding from base to tip, dipping into
the slit and flicking across the sensitive glans.
His own mouth had been as busy, his hand massaging the tight sac while he
took Mulder's cock as deep as he could, sucking hard on the flared head. He
had felt Mulder's murmurs of appreciation vibrating along his own shaft, and
had wondered if his own moans of pleasure felt as good to Mulder.
He began to salivate as he recalled the bittersweet fluid that had filled
his mouth. He had swallowed eagerly, wanting to taste every droplet and yet
grateful that Mulder had retained a modicum of control, even at the moment
of release, to ensure he was not hurt. His own release had been
electrifying, fuelled as much by his ever-expanding love for this man as by
his passion.
He moaned softly, hugging Mulder tighter, revelling in the increased
pressure as Mulder's arms tightened their hold on him.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
In another room, a tiny wail went up and Alex smiled against Mulder's neck.
Everything was at it should be. The resistance would be able to use this
precious child to save the whole planet, though, at this moment, the fate of
the planet held little importance to him. Tonight he was quite literally
holding something far more precious.
His smile widened, and he placed a soft kiss against the warm flesh of the
man he loved, warmed by the knowledge that his love was returned in full
measure.
Discovery
by Tarlan
Skinner wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, gun hanging loosely
from his fingers. After all this time he was finally free of the hand that
wielded the palm pilot and yet, as he gazed across the room into the shocked
face of Fox Mulder, he wondered whether the price had been too high. With
trembling fingers he replaced the gun in its holster.
