Imagination sets in. Then all the voices begin,
Mulder sat upright with a shout, his breathing ragged with his racing heart
beating out a tattoo inside his heaving chest. The white T-shirt was
drenched in sweat, sticking to his overheated flesh. With shaky fingers he
pushed a strand of sweat-matted hair from his forehead then glanced sideways
at the bedside cabinet, reading the time from the luminous dial.
Slowly, his breathing came under control, his heartrate slowing as the last
remnants of his most recent nightmare faded away.
It was three in the morning and, from experience, he knew sleep would be
elusive now so he threw back the damp covers and padded towards the
bathroom. Mulder stared at his reflection in the mirror, noting the dark
shadows beneath his tired eyes. He groaned. This was the third nightmare in
as many nights and, once more, he pondered over the significance of the
terrible images.
In all three dreams he had witnessed Alex Krycek's death.
In the first, he had looked on while a group of shadowy figures held Krycek
down and dismembered him, one limb at a time. Krycek's face had been twisted
with pain and terror, those horror-stricken green eyes holding his own,
begging him silently as scream upon scream fell from his battered lips. Then
Mulder had stood over the mutilated figure, watching as bright red blood
pumped from the severed limbs onto the parched earth until all that remained
of Alex Krycek was a dry husk.
The second nightmare started in a bright, white room where highly polished
instruments gleamed menacingly. A table appeared at the centre and then a
body appeared upon it, spread-eagled with wrists and ankles held in metal
cuffs. The naked body was almost hairless and yet it was so very male, and
it was beautiful, with strong limbs and a well-defined torso. Long strands
of mahogany hair concealed the face but Mulder felt no curiosity to sweep
the hair aside. He knew who this was. He had seen this body only once before
but his eidetic memory had mapped every curve and every line from the long
thigh muscle, the sharp hip to the exquisite shaft that lay flaccid between
the spread legs.
Figures appeared, almost ghostly in their white apparel. The mahogany hair
flicked aside, revealing those soft green eyes tinged with fear and yet full
of resolve to see this through to the bitter end. Mulder watched as they
slashed at him with sharp implements; red ribbons of blood flowing across
the ivory skin, pooling on the white floor beneath the table. All the while
those eyes held his own, lips tightened to stop the cries of pain as he was
sacrificed to their bloodlust.
This latest nightmare was different because he was more than just a
bystander. This time he had been a participant, perhaps even the cause of
Krycek's death, and this time there were no shadowy figures. There were just
three people: Himself, Krycek and Skinner, each having some weapon or hold
upon the other. He had stared into those green eyes and had seen everything:
their shaky past, the uneasy present but no future for either of them. With
growing horror he had realised that Krycek wanted him dead, but the assassin
seemed unable to pull the trigger. Instead he had ordered Skinner to kill
him.
Mulder had flinched when the sound of gunfire reverberated around the empty
parking lot, shocked when a hole appeared between the wide-spaced eyes,
watching with even greater horror as Krycek's body dropped in slow motion to
the floor. A pool of red blood grew beneath him, spreading out across the
floor and his last sight before awakening from the nightmare had been of
those sorrow-filled eyes, tinged with regret, wide-open and forever
unseeing, holding his own once more.
But what did it mean? What did any of it mean?
Mulder filled the basin, splashing the cold water over his face and hair. He
glanced back into the mirror, seeing his own haunted eyes reflecting back.
His subconscious was trying to tell him something but perhaps he was too
close to the problem to solve it. He wandered into the lounge and collapsed
onto the couch.
What did he have?
First there was Krycek the victim, caught in a trap; vulnerable and alone,
begging to be saved as he was cruelly torn limb from limb by the shadowy
figures. Mulder wondered if this was his mind's way of trying to fill him
with guilt for the way that he had treated Alex in those early days. There
had been plenty of times when Alex had given him that look, the one that was
tinged with regret and fear, as if things were spiralling out of his
control. Perhaps if he had not been so full of his own self-importance,
perhaps if he had not dismissed Alex out of hand, could things have worked
out differently then? Could he have brought Alex over to his side?
The second Alex was a sacrifice; strong, proud and unflinching as he endured
the many cuts, and still Mulder had just stood by and done nothing to help
him. Was this a reflection of the time when Alex had been the strong
believer? When he had come into this very apartment, placing his life and
dignity in Mulder's hands only to be laughed at. Yet his words had reached
Mulder, had renewed his faith and given him the strength to continue his
search for the truth where all others had failed. There had been an
opportunity to push aside the resentments of the past, perhaps to join
forces with Alex and help him but, instead, he had stood by while Alex
carried on risking himself for the sake of humanity—alone.
The last nightmare was an enigma. Why had Alex wanted him dead in this
dream? And what was the significance of trying to use Walter Skinner as the
tool?
A lecturer had once told him that death in a dream did not have to mean
death in real life. Its meaning was more closely related to change: the
death of old ways to signify the birth of the new. Perhaps he was
overcomplicating these dreams. Perhaps all they were trying to tell him was
that it was time for to change but, if that were the case, then why did
every dream involve the death of Alex Krycek.
Was he supposed to change his view of Krycek? Again, perhaps he was trying
to complicate something that was actually very simple.
"I hate Krycek. I want him dead."
The same dread that had filled all his nightmares returned once more.
Surely, if it was something as simple as wanting to see Krycek pay for all
the pain and suffering he had caused, then why did he gain no pleasure from
those dreams? Why did he wake from them in a cold sweat?
Mulder dropped his head into his arms, groaning loudly as his thoughts went
around in circles. This was gaining him nothing but a headache and another
sleepless night. However, one thought did come back to him, whispering
softly through him. Perhaps the death of Krycek was meant to signify a
change in his perception of the man. Certainly he was slowly coming to trust
Krycek again, was willing to listen to him, even willing to make plans with
him.
"Can't be all of it."
Or could it?
Mulder sat upright, eyes staring wide open as the image in the last
nightmare came back to him. The first dream was the death of innocence. It
had told him that the inexperienced Krycek, who had found himself caught up
in events, was gone. The second implied that the selfish Krycek, the
survivalist who was only out to save his own skin, was also dead. In the
third, Skinner had killed Alex, he had destroyed the betrayer and that had
to signify that Krycek was no longer the enemy. However, in that nightmare
Mulder had been as much in danger of dying as Krycek.
"Am I my enemy? Do I have to change or die?"
It still left one important question: Why was Alex Krycek so important?
He did not believe he would sleep again that night but perhaps deciphering
one aspect of his cryptic nightmares had earned him a small respite. Beyond
the room he could hear movement and Mulder wondered if Scully had let
herself into his apartment once more. He had read stories about the nesting
instinct, how some women started tidying and cleaning when the baby's birth
was imminent. He figured she must have gotten bored staring at her
reflection in the highly polished floors of her own apartment and had
decided to start in on his. With her hormones sending her moods swinging
wildly, he had decided against fighting her—and to be honest, the place
had been empty for all those months during his abduction. It needed a clean,
and she seemed to enjoy being close to him as they worked on the cobwebs
together.
Nevertheless, it was only eight in the morning; far too early for scrubbing
floors and scouring the kitchen cupboards. Mulder climbed off the couch and
drifted into the kitchen, rubbing the grit of sleep from his eyes.
"Scully. Don't you think it's a little early..."
He froze, staring at the back view of a figure that could be only one
person: Alex Krycek. Alex threw a glance over his shoulder as he stretched
towards the back of the high cabinet.
"You got any clean mugs in this place?"
Alex had discarded his jacket, leaving it draped over the back of a kitchen
chair, and Mulder found he was mesmerised by the play of muscle beneath the
tight black T-shirt. His eyes dropped, following the contour of spine as it
arched gracefully through the inverted apex as broad shoulders tapered to a
slim waist, before disappearing between the beautifully curved asscheeks.
Tight black denim stretched over the firm ass, clinging lovingly to the
muscular thighs and calves of the long legs.
Images of his second nightmare came back to tease at his senses, the tight
black clothing disappearing until he could see, in his mind's eye, firm
muscle sliding beneath silken ivory skin. His heart began to pump harder,
the blood pooling in his groin. Alex had turned to face him and Mulder
watched with growing horror as Krycek's facial expression morphed from
pleasantly agreeable to confusion. Those green eyes flashed from the heat in
Mulder's eyes to the hard flesh tenting his boxer's and then to stunned
realisation when they came back to his lust-and horror-filled eyes.
Mulder's inner voice screamed at him to make some glib remark, that he had a
thing about pregnant women and thought Alex was Scully, but the lie stuck in
his throat. His mind, so open after the deep analysis following his latest
nightmare, had revealed exactly why Alex Krycek was so important.
Completely at a loss for words, he was almost grateful when the shock on
Krycek's face disappeared, replaced with that pleasantly agreeable
expression he had first worn, as if nothing had happened out of the
ordinary.
"Coffee?"
"Yeah." Mulder turned away, took two steps then spun back. "What are you
doing here, Krycek?"
"Making you coffee." He waited until Mulder had turned away in confusion
once more. "Noticed your tastes have changed. You still take it the same
way?"
Mulder turned, completely flustered as he recalled the way his groin had
reacted to the sight of Alex Krycek. "What d'you mean?"
The slightest smirk curved the enticing lips. "The coffee, Mulder. What did
you think I meant?"
Mulder strode away, unwilling to continue with this game, especially as
Krycek was holding all the aces. He dropped onto his favourite spot on the
couch, glowering at Krycek when the mug of coffee was placed in front of
him. Memory of the previous day came back to him as he recalled the flight
from the alien-controlled Billy Miles, and the fight afterwards in the
parking lot, where Alex had destroyed his cellphone so he could not contact
Scully to check she was safe. He thought it had all been part of his
nightmare but, instead, the dream had been yet another twist on the truth.
Skinner had been there too, gun in hand.
What had Alex said? Something about one bullet saving thousands of lives?
Mulder frowned. Had Alex been asking for his own death at Skinner's hand? Or
had Alex wanted Skinner to kill him, unable to do so himself for whatever
reason? None of it made much sense to Mulder except, somehow, Alex had
persuaded Skinner take him home, and had convinced him to leave Scully's
safety in the hands of others.
"Where's Scully?"
"Safe... with Reyes."
"Why wouldn't you let me contact her? And why are you here?"
Krycek pulled aside the collar of his jacket to reveal a small lump near the
back of his neck. Mulder's fingers reached up to touch the same spot on his
own skin, feeling the small, hard object buried just beneath the surface.
"Couldn't risk them tracing her through us." Those green eyes narrowed as
Mulder stared at the small bump on Alex's neck. "You never knew."
"When?"
"The Silo in North Dakota. I spent two months as an unwilling... guest. It
would take me inside the ship, give me nutrition and water... experiment on
me... then drop me back outside until it was ready to do the next batch of
tests. Then, one day, all the silo doors opened. That group of
para-militarists had flicked the main override switch while searching for
weapons in the silos... hoping to find their own interpretation of El
Dorado. I took them to El Dorado."
"I didn't believe you last time."
"But you believe me now."
"Did you kill my father?"
"Yes."
"Then you lied..."
"I killed William Mulder because he was going to get you killed. I killed
your father for the same reason."
Mulder closed his eyes. The first time he had asked that question, many
years ago, Alex had told him that he had not killed his father. Since then,
Mulder had begun to suspect that William Mulder was not his biological
father and, if it were true, then Alex had not lied at the time. Mulder
opened his eyes and stared hard at Alex. Long before the discovery of the
ancient fragments off the coast of Africa, he had been forced to consider
that his true father might be Spender and, if Alex also held that same
belief, then the second part of his statement took on a new meaning: Alex
had killed Spender.
"So... has it always been for me, Alex?"
Mulder watched as that enigmatic smile lifted the corners of Krycek's mouth
once more, realising that he had asked Alex to place all his cards—face up
- on the table.
"In a sense."
"More riddles?"
Krycek pouted, as if considering how much he ought to say.
"In the early days, I protected you because he ordered it."
"He being Cancer Man."
Krycek smiled, the flash of perfect white teeth lighting his beautiful face
sending a pulse of pleasure throbbing in Mulder's groin.
"I like that... Cancer Man. Fitted him better than you know."
"Why are you protecting me now, Krycek?"
That enigmatic smile played across his face once more.
"Stand up."
"Why?"
"It'll be easier to show you."
Mulder pushed himself to his feet, eyes narrowed as Alex moved gracefully
towards him.
"Close your eyes."
His breathing came rapidly as he did as ordered, all the time wondering why
he was following Krycek's commands. He gasped as soft lips touched his, the
fleeting, feather-light caress making his sensitive skin tingle. Mulder
opened his eyes to find Alex had stepped back several feet, the wide-spaced
green eyes staring at him questioningly.
"I've been known to believe when even the least tangible proof has been
offered, but on this occasion... I need to be shown more."
"How much more proof do you need?"
"How much are you willing to give?"
"Everything."
"Then that's what I want. Everything."
Mulder stepped forward, one hand sweeping around to cup the back of the
sleek, dark head, the other wrapping around Alex's waist, drawing him in
until they were standing chest to chest, and hip to hip. He could feel the
hardened mass at Alex's groin, a mirror to his own aching desire, and he
rocked his hips, letting the friction bring gasps of pleasure from both of
them. Mulder tilted his head as he drew Alex's face towards him, his mouth
latching onto the soft lips, tongue timidly exploring the hot interior,
entwining around Krycek's tongue.
Mulder pulled back suddenly as he recalled the danger Scully was in, tinged
with a certain amount of regret for a man he had liked.
"Billy Miles."
Krycek's eyes took on a haunted look.
"Jeremiah couldn't save all of us."
"But he saved you?"
Krycek looked away. "I was one of the first. When the Fibs entered Absalom's
camp I made a run for it. I couldn't afford to be caught. Only stayed there
as long as I did... waiting for you." He laughed, but there was no pleasure
in it. "Scully always had such impeccable timing."
With all the reason in the world to disbelieve, nonetheless, Mulder knew he
was hearing the truth. It was all falling into place, every encounter with
Alex taking on new meaning as he looked at their past through the eyes of an
abductee; through Alex's eyes. Like Duane Barry, Alex had remembered all the
details of his own abduction but, unlike that poor deranged man, he had
refused to let it break him. He had infiltrated the Consortium, stealing
their secrets, destroying them from within. He had fought against those who
would place humanity into the hands of the Colonists, willing to sacrifice
everything for the good of all.
Scully's baby: the miracle child who was impervious to Colonist infection.
What had Alex said? That it wasn't fair? Alex had been prepared to sacrifice
even Mulder to protect that child and, now, Mulder understood.
I am my enemy.
He had been willing to risk Scully and risk the child because of his own
lack of faith in those around him. He would have charged blindly ahead, as
always, believing he was the knight in shining armour, all the while leading
the forces of darkness to those he purported to protect.
When Mulder looked back into Alex's eyes once more, he saw the reflection of
his new self-awareness in the clear green eyes. Mulder pulled back sharply,
expecting to see pity accompanying that look but, instead, Alex was smiling
softly, his eyes shining with compassion—and love.
"Do I even get to say goodbye?"
"Soon."
Epilogue:
Mulder stood in silence at the centre of the room, stunned as the small
bundle was placed into his arms. He gazed down upon this miracle child.
William. She had named the child after both her beloved father and after
him. He leaned over the child towards Scully, their lips sharing a first and
last kiss, and then he handed back the child.
"Mulder? We've have to go."
Mulder glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge the man standing in the
shadows. He turned back to Scully, wishing he had more time to say goodbye
but he could tell from her eyes that she understood. He gave her a simple
nod and a small smile, and then he turned and walked away, not looking back
as he passed through the doorway and into the corridor beyond.
"Take care of him."
Alex moved to follow Mulder but stopped on hearing her voice. He glanced
back over one leather-clad shoulder, and smiled.
"I will."
Without any further words, Alex turned away, quickly catching up with his
lover as they took the first steps towards their new life together.
THE END
I Am My Enemy
by Tarlan
I am my Enemy, Mowing me over, and towing the light away,
Somehow it just seems to fit,
With that old me, trying to get back again.
Telling you things that aren't happening
(But they nig and they nag, 'til they're under your skin.)
'Fullhouse' by Kate Bush
