Windigo by Ursula Alex threaded his way through the crowded gymnasium in search of a cup of coffee. It was his third day at the pow-wow and he was beginning to wonder whether his informant was totally wrong. Louis was bright enough, but he had fanciful ideas at times. This latest one about the Windigo being a guise for alien abductions was as farfetched as Alex had ever heard. Hell, the only reason Alex had flown into investigate was that he was feeling nostalgic about Fox Mulder. Alex had crept into the FBI building, leaving Louis Gourneu's crazy theory on Mulder's desk and a request for Mulder's help from a local politician on Skinner's desk. Alex had left Scully a white rose since he didn't have a corpse handy for the FBI pathologist. Alex scanned the crowd for Louis who was supposed to bring him gifts for an elder. No matter what Louis said, Alex couldn't understand why he couldn't just pay the man to talk to him. However, Louis had said, "Trust me. That's not the way you do it." As Alex threaded his way through the crowded gym, a handsome dancer executed a stunning leap, and twisted so that he came down to the ground with a quick spin on one foot. His blue loincloth swirled away and revealed a red swimming suit. Alex froze, caught in a hiccup of time, thinking about Fox Mulder. He would never forget the way Mulder had looked that day just before both of their worlds crashed down on him. The long lean body, clad in a red Speedo, was fixed in his memory. An image of a lost chance and bitter choices. Like the other dancers, the dancer in the Speedo wore two half circles of feathers, one slung from his hips and the other hung from his upper back. His feathers were mostly red and blue with a few gold and white ones to highlight them. His shirt was a lightweight blue calico and his loincloth was red. He wore white wooly appearing leggings and his moccasins glittered with red and blue beaded flowers. He had long braided hair that whipped around when he moved in his quick, pouncing steps. Alex could see that this man was a better dancer than anyone else on the floor. His powerful legs leapt and strutted. He stomped, accompanying his dance with the rhythm of bells that were attached to leather straps around his ankles. Alex loved the man's confident smile and his mischievous wink when the dancer happened to catch Alex's intent stare. A pair of pretty, but slightly plump girls pushed in front of Alex, giggling. One elbowed the other and said, "That Riel Azure is so fine... " Her companion said, "Come on, I'd dared you and you took it. Go on now, Renee." The first girl, who wore a white fluffy feather secured from a beaded barrette, ran out and put a dollar in front of the red and blue clad dancer. Alex asked, "Hey, what does that mean when you do that? Put money in front of a dancer." The girl hid a giggle behind her ring bedecked brown hand. She said, "It means you like the way he or she dances." A large woman bore down on the girls. She was wearing a blue wool dress as big as a tent. Rows of teeth bedecked the dress front. She looked tough enough to have knocked them out of some offending mouth personally. The big woman said, "I saw that, girls. You know better." The woman eyed Alex and smiled. As she walked off with the complaining girls in hand, she winked at Alex as she said, "Be like your auntie. Do you see me flirt?" The girls giggled and replied, "So how come you winked at the guy with the pretty green eyes?" "Just had something in my eye." The older woman said. Alex smiled as the woman and the girl faded from his hearing and sight. He wished his problems were as simple as flirting or not flirting. Alex grinned; maybe he should give it a try. Alex turned his attention back to the floor and the fancy dancer. He had seen ballet stars with less power in their legs. Alex walked out and put a ten-dollar bill on top of the pile in front of the man. The man picked it up and smiled. His dark eyes with their heavy lids shot a knowing glance. He danced for a while in front of Alex, showing off with his dervish whirls and crouching hips. As the song ended stopped, his foot hung in mid air, stopped as if the drum had been his heartbeat. Alex noticed a beautiful woman with braided hair down to her waist come to claim the man. He felt a brief disappointment. For a moment, when their eyes met, Alex thought the dancer was interested in him. Alex shrugged, aware of the clumsy weight at his side and walked away. He was sure that such an attractive man would have not want his maimed body even if the dancer was gay. Alex purchased his coffee and made his way through the crowded gym. Louis handed him a bundle of red cloth and a package of loose tobacco. Alex had already talked to some of the old people, trying to decide if the rumors of cannibals and disappearances were based on alien activity or not. They all said that Patrice LaFrombois was the one who knew the most about the Windigo. Louis brought him up to the toothless, fat drummer in a wheel chair. Louis said, "Grandfather, this is Alex. He is writing a book about the stinking thing that is born out of hungry death." The drummer eyed Alex with dark eyes that glittered shrewdly from rolls of flesh. He wore a vest heavy with beads. His thin braids were wrapped with what appeared to be red yarn. A cowboy hat with a beaded hatband sat next him on a chair. He asked, "What kind of book are you writing? Something that makes fun of our stories?" Alex said, "Not me. If you knew what I've seen in my life... your Windigo wouldn't seem half as odd." Alex felt peculiar about doing it, but he offered the man some tobacco and a length of wool just as Louis instructed him to do. A young, beautiful girl, dressed in a buckskin dress, took the cloth and said, "Trade cloth. I can make a pouch for your drum sticks, grandfather." The man said, "You're the best of my granddaughters, Angel." Alex sat down on a vacant folding chair and listened to the story of the Windigo. It sounded a lot like a Russian legend his grandfather used to tell. Maybe it was a theme born out of the cold and desperate hunger that both Russia and this place had in common. Anyway, the Windigo was a cannibal spirit that some said was the souls of those who died of starvation. The elder said, "Some don't agree, but that's what I think." The old man shushed Alex as the loquacious emcee announced that it was his drum's turn. Sitting so close, the music penetrated Alex's bones. Angel stood behind her grandfather, singing. Her voice was high, sweet, and piercing. Alex thought that was what a Valkyrie must sound like. It made him shiver. Alex's mind drifted off to his present situation. Alex's North Dakota contact had informed him that there was something strange going on here in Belcourt, North Dakota. Alex interpreted the disappearances and the sightings of odd creatures as alien contact. He had even sent Mulder a copy of the file on a whim. Neville Garring, the cultured gentleman of the consortium, had left Alex a lot of money and a lot of information. Alex remembered the day when Garring had sat him down to tell him that he was being left a substantial amount of power and wealth. Garring said, 'Do what you will with this." Surprisingly, his first decision was to fight. Garring's money made it possible and Alex thought he was accomplishing the old man's mission. Alex tried to clear the cobwebs out of his head. Saving the world was a gradual thing. Here and now, he had a puzzle to solve. Despite his message to Mulder, Alex was beginning to think it was a serial murder case with no supernatural creatures involved. But now he was curious about the killer. He felt that he couldn't leave without solving the crime. Some part of him was still sincere and intense Agent Krycek. He still felt urges to get the bad guy although he no longer thought jail was an answer. He had seen Spender snatch killers out of cells and kill them inside maximum-security prisons when they made a mistake. No, Alex felt the solution pressing against his lower back, the cold familiar weight of his gun. Yeah, maybe he would solve the case. Alex grinned. He could send whatever he found out to Mulder when he was done. Alex smirked at his thoughts, chiding himself for his childish thinking. Hell, nothing he could do would make Mulder respect him. Nothing in the world could make Alex's life right. When the drums ceased for a moment and some of the young men and women went off to get food, the man listened to Alex's questions. His smile ceased for a moment and he said, "You poke into some places; they poke you right back. There's nothing new out there. There's something born out of pain and suffering that can't die. There's Windigo." Alex couldn't get the man to say any more. He wandered off to think, the crowd was thinning and he may as well leave. As Alex walked into the parking lot, he heard a resonant voice singing. The lyrics made him chuckle. "My sweetheart, she don't love me, Wey-a-hey-a, My sweetheart done and left me, Wey-a-hey-a Just because I was kissing her cousin. Underneath my uncle's blanket, Wey-a-hey-a That's okay; I'll get another pretty girl now. That's okay it was my cousin too, Wey-a-hey-a" Dressed in jeans, a Stone's tee shirt, and a beaded baseball cap, the singer was hard to recognize as the dramatic dancer Alex had admired. Then, he whirled, replicating his best move in his scuffed cowboy boots, his tightly braided hair flying in synch. Alex smiled as the man came to a stop. Alex saw a lean-muscled man who was slightly shorter than Alex was. He had the typical eyes that Alex noted around here, heavy browed, slightly slanted, with deep sockets. His nose was good, hooked arrogantly, but not out-sized. His complexion was a warm golden brown. He had a broad mouth, set off by dimples that deepened as he stood waiting for Alex to respond. The handsome dancer grinned and said, "You're the guy who's asking all the questions. You got wheels, man? Hey, you want to see where the Windigo carried away my cousin two years ago." Alex stared back, cautiously. The man continued to smile, and offered his hand. He said, "My name is Riel Azure. I saw you looking at me. Alex decided, what the hell. He took the hand and said, "I'm Alex Krycek. Sure let's go see the place. You can tell me what happened." Riel held his hand a beat too long. Alex smiled. The man slid a finger down the center of his palm as he let go. 'Message received,' thought Alex. Alex realized that this felt like being sucked into one of Mulder's mad plans. He winced, hoping that was no omen. He had already sacrificed more then he could afford to lose. Riel loaded the back seat with an old fashioned suitcase, a heavy duffel bag, a beautiful wool blanket, and a tattered box of odd objects. Alex gaped at the junk and Riel grinned madly. He said, "Get me. I'm a real Turtle Mountain Chippewa. Carry all my belongings on my back." The field was unremarkable. It was a frozen waste, marked by high mounds of snow and ice. Riel brushed away the snow in one spot to show him the tiny bushes and said, "We came here to gather the wild roses. You can make a tea out of the hips and petals. They smell real good when you throw them on a fire and they can stop you from getting sick in the winter." Riel crumpled a tiny brown rose in his hand. The dead petals fell on the white snow. Riel said, " My cousin Paul, well, he was my true-blue, kissing cousin... He was only twenty years old. We had been doing... stuff. I left for town to buy some soda and a pizza. I came back and Paul was gone. They never found his body anywhere and so I figure the Windigo got him." Alex remembered what the old man in the wheelchair had said about the Windigo. They were the spirits of those who died of starvation and came back as weird conglomerates of bird, wolf, and person, huge, hungry and powerful. Alex asked, "You believe in the spirits?" Riel said, "Well, I haven't seen a Windigo, but I haven't seen a president either and a lot of people believe in both. All I know is my cousin didn't run away to the city like Sheriff Sebrowski said he did. I knew Paul. He was okay here." Alex asked, "Do you think it had something to do with the recent murders?" Riel shivered and said, "Might. Paul, he was fond of cock. And all the guys who have been killed were too. Everyone knows that." He smiled swiftly and said, "Paul was a good kid, real spiritual. He wouldn't run off and leave people wondering what happened to him." Riel pulled his heavy wool coat tighter. Alex noticed the ermine tails bouncing from the hood in fascination. The pocket edges and the lapels were heavily beaded. Riel said, "You know all that dancing makes a man hungry and talking about Windigo doesn't help. Louise's is still open. You should buy me some food." Alex was hungry too. He nodded and they drove back into the patch of a town. The waitress had been walking toward the door with a closed sign, but she smiled and allowed them to come inside. Riel said, "Cuz, this is my new bud, Alex. We want a couple of those famous steaks that you make." The woman was taller than most of the Indian woman Alex had seen so far. She looked as if she might be related to Riel. Of course, so far, Alex had seen the same ten faces everywhere on the reservation. Riel said, "This is Gail. She's first cousin. No use looking, this pretty woman is married." Gail rapped her cousin on the head with a food-splattered menu and said, "I don't care how fine you dance, Riel. You still are the biggest lazy bones and flirt that I ever met." Alex ordered a steak too. He had eaten enough meals in Belcourt to realize that this was never going to make anybody's gourmet hot spot list. The steak however was wonderful and Gail understood the concept of rare. It came with a big roll that was a little piece of heaven. Lips still greasy from the steak he had devoured, Riel remarked, "I saw your eyes were liking my moves. I got better moves than that, you let me stay at your place." He grinned again and his hazel eyes sparkled with mirth. His eyelashes were as long and thick as Alex's and now they semaphored enticements to Alex. Riel said, "That song I was singing was the truth. That Alvina girl I been living with is a jealous woman. I was just standing outside in the bushes, stealing a kiss from my sweet cousin, Sue. It didn't mean nothing, but Alvina caught us. Next thing I knew those girls were at it! Best fight of the season!" Riel remarked, laughing again. "Auntie Marie showed up and, whoa, she was some kind of mad! She shoved through the people watching and laughing. Man, she grabbed those girls by the hair and pulled them apart." Riel said," The old auntie points at me and says, 'He's not worth it. His daddy never stopped looking. His grandfather made so many children that his poor children all had to marry Red Lakers or worse so as not to accidentally marry a sister or brother." Riel shrugged and held up his hands. He said, "What can I say? It was true." Riel had grinned and said, "So my snag up and put all of my things out of the van and, hey, I bought that van for her and fixed it all up." Alex asked, "What's a snag?" Riel looked at Alex as if he was slightly touched. He said, "My main squeeze... " Alex conveyed an apologetically blank look. Riel sighed and said, "My girlfriend, don't you know?" Alex nodded and said, "Yeah, now I understand. A snag is a squeeze is a girlfriend." Riel replied, "Well, a snag could be a guy and if you get him, then he's your squeeze. See if I hit on you, make a pass, and you go for it then I snagged you. I tried to snag another girlfriend, but my honey caught me. Now, I got none and no place to stay." Sucking in his upper lip, Riel had said, "I could stay with my mom, but she already has eight of my sister's brats to raise. I don't want hear the aunties tell me to settle down. Ya know what I want?" Alex could guess, but he said, "Couldn't tell you." Riel said, "I want some low down, dirty fucking and eating. I want to walk like I broke my Wolf Point cousin's wild horses all in one night. Can you dig that, ay?" Alex smiled back. All the drive to his cabin, Riel's hand rubbed Alex's thigh. Laughing, black hair escaping from his braids, Riel licked his red lips and leaned back, singing constantly. His yellow-brown eyes sparkled and his white teeth gleamed. "Gonna suck you, gonna fuck you. Way-a-hey-ya Green eyed devil; want to kiss you, way-a-hey-ya Twist my hips, make you scream, way-a-hey-ya Pretty foreign man, Gonna snag you, way-a-hey-ya Gonna sixty-nine you all night, way-a-hey-ya" Riel laughed, his deep chest shaking and said, "Don't think my drum would ever sing that forty nine song with me!" Riel had them half undressed before the door was shut. That awkward moment when Alex's mutilation was revealed passed without comment. Riel exclaimed, "Check out the size of that flute" he dropped to his knees and Alex was sliding down that throat so fast it made him dizzy. Alex stopped thinking. He was on his back with Riel pointing a bright purple-condom-clad cock toward his ass before he could say, "Let's fuck." Riel lapped at him, finger and tongue strumming him until Alex was writhing and begging for the handsome cock. Riel grinned, his mouth bright red from sucking. He said, "You know what I can do?" His cock nudged Alex and opened him the rest of the way. Alex stared up; trying to remember the last time he had been so fucked-stupid this early in the game. Riel slid in, inch by inch by inch. Riel leaned over, contorted and sucked Alex back in his mouth. Alex screamed, "Oh, fucking, unbelievable!" He knew he was arching up, greedy to be penetrated, greedy to be sucked. It was good, it wasn't the one he wanted the most, but it was wonderful. Riel was twisting his hips with each powerful thrust. His mouth danced on Alex's cock, keeping time to his thrusts, still singing deep in his throat. Alex's heart was the drum, the slap of their flesh, a counter-rhythm. Alex was coming and he held onto the sheets as Riel swallowed everything he had to give before his own orgasm spun them away from each other. Alex turned over to lay on his stomach, aware of sweat, the soothing glide of the roughened hand across the smooth, sensitive skin of his ass. Riel got up and came back to the bed. He washed Alex, slipping the washcloth beneath until Alex turned over, his good arm covering his face. The terry cloth slipped over him like a cat's tongue. Riel hummed, his voice occasionally supplying a word. "Mmm, ha, mm, so pretty." Alex let his arm be drawn aside. Riel's lips met his. The man said, "Your ass is so fine. One thing I like about white man, they got the round butts. Indian men got no butts." Riel wiggled his admittedly minimal nether cheeks. "But you can screw mine later, green-eyes." Alex said, "Take you up on that." Alex couldn't sleep at first. Despite the hardships of his life, he didn't deny himself sex. However, he seldom slept with anyone in his bed. Get up and leave him before they leave you. Don't let them screw you over instead of just fucking. Marita was the latest reminder of that life principal. Eventually Alex drifted off. Like many a night, he woke screaming. This time he woke in Riel's arms. When he would have pushed away, Riel said, "Don't be in such a hurry. I want to hold you, pretty man. If you were mine, I'd chase away all the monsters." Alex buried his face in Riel's shoulder, smelling a sweet smoky scent. He didn't know what it was, but he'd never smell it again without the memory of being held like this. Riel's hand stroked his back, started at his hair and smoothed down his back. They lay back down and Alex nestled close to the lean muscled body. Riel was still smoothing away his nightmares when Alex fell asleep. In the morning, Alex woke to the smell of ham and eggs, rich smell of fresh coffee and the delicious odor of toasted home made bread. Riel sat at the table with a filled plate. Alex was hungry all of a sudden. Riel grinned and said, "Put some meat on those bones. Not that I'm complaining, but you look like you gave up food for Lent a year ago and forgot to stop fasting." Alex paid Riel to help him interview more people. Louis had been a good help, but everyone seemed to like Riel. His graceful body slouched at kitchen tables while Alex talked to the families about the victims and old legends. Riel often had a wet baby on one knee and some old hound fawning at his feet. Alex thought that maybe his luck was turning and he used this success at the interviews to justify his stay here. Of course, Alex found no evidence that there was an alien or anything haunting this place other than some madman slaughtering gay Indian cowboys. One man had died since Alex had hooked up with Riel. Riel was pissed, remarking that he knew them all the victims, one a cousin, two occasional lovers, and, the last, a man with whom he had done time in the Montana State pen. He told Alex, "The one thing these men have in common is that they like to sleep with other guys. That last one, he wasn't even Indian." Alex followed that angle, thinking he should talk to the area's few known gay men. There was one country western bar that was a hang out. Nothing overt went on, but no one said anything about the lack of females. Pairs slouched at tables, drank and listened to the loud band. The place reeked of sweat and beer. Alex looked at his drink and decided he'd skip it. He spun the dirty glass on circles on the scarred table. Riel seemed to enjoy this visit, but he said, "If we stay together a while, you got to take me to one of those places like I read about. Where guys can dance and kiss in front of God and everybody." Alex said, "As soon as I come back from my trip, Riel. I'll take you. I promise." Riel grinned and said, "Yeah, maybe someday, you'll say my name like you do that Mulder guy's." Alex couldn't answer. Riel patted his arm and said, "I was joking on you. You keep dreaming of your Mulder. Me, I keep hoping I was wrong about Paul and that I'm going turn around some day to find him there smiling. But my gut tells me I ain't going see him on this side." Riel said, "Me, I was never meant to live so long. Just want a fine funeral when I go with a line of women weeping and arguing who was my wife for real. I want a lot of guys trying not to show that they are going to miss my sweet ass. Afterwards, a good dinner and lots of laughing as they talk about me. That's a fine way to go out and travel to the place where it's always your finest dance." Alex said, "That's crazy talk, Riel. You're young. You aren't going to die soon." Riel grinned and said, "I'm not scared. I lived me a life. I made a sound in the world. Let me tell you, Alex. One thing you should know. You see a good thing. You grab it and hold on tight." Alex brushed Riel's hand and said, "I see a good thing sitting right in front of me." Riel's eyes smoldered and he said, "I can guess that this isn't your kind of music. Come on, Let's go back to our place." Riel reached for him as they found his four-wheel drive Cherokee Jeep in the darkened parking lot. Riel spun him against the side of the vehicle and whispered; "You know I'm falling hard for you, green-eyed man. That's dangerous. You are dangerous and that makes me so fucking hot. I just want you to screw me right here." Alex opened his mouth to the passionate thrusts of his lover's tongue. His right hand held on tight to those long braids. Light invaded their kiss. "Sinners" roared a voice that sounded like a voice-over for the Old Testament. "Sodom and Gomorrah!" Alex ducked a blow from the heavy metal flashlight. He used that momentum to swing right around to trip the man. As the man hit the icy lot, Alex aimed his gun at him. He looked down at a tall man who was built like an ox. He was ruddy faced and his eyes were a weird almost white shade of blue. His beefy face had an expression of rage and fear. Riel looked at the man and said, "You know, if you Polacks didn't marry all the cousins you met at the last family reunion, you wouldn't be so toadstool ugly and dumb. Shit, man, your flabby, hairy white butt is the last thing that anyone wants to see much less screw." Alex clicked a round; the noise was like the gnash of a shark's teeth, a dangerous sound. He looked around and they were alone. He told Riel "Start the car. I'm going to ventilate this asshole's skull and let some light in." Alex leaned a foot on the man. He aimed his gun squarely and said, "You heard of the Lone Ranger? Now answer me politely!" The man nodded, a rope of saliva drooling from his thick lips. His eyes blinked rapidly and he shuddered in fear. Alex nodded back. He said, "How about Batman? Everybody's heard of him." The man said, "What is this shit?" Alex raised the gun level with the man's beefy face and said, "I did say politely." Alex could see sweat springing up in the chapped red lips of his cowed evangelist. He was aware that Riel had started the jeep and pulled out of the parking spot. Alex said, "Well, I'm an avenger too, only I guess I lost my costume at the airport. I'm the Killer-Queer and I only give fag-bashers like you one chance. Maybe not even that." Riel brought the car close. Alex fired a round into the ground, kicking ice chunks and black top into the man's face. He smelled the piss as the man's bladder released. Alex grinned and jumped in the car, yelling to Riel, "I think we scared that man." The Jeep flew out of the parking lot. They drove several blocks away and stopped behind a closed store. They grabbed each other and necked like teenagers, groaning as their tongues wrestled. Heavy winter clothing opened, and Riel sucked fervently on Alex's nipples. They groped, laughed at the image of the big redneck sprawled in the snow with piss darkening his pants. Riel said, "Oh, man, you were beautiful. Alex, either screw me right here or take me home and fuck me. I got to have you inside me real soon." Alex started his four-wheel drive again, speeding back to the cabin. They undressed each other, leaving a trail of clothing from the doorway to the bed. The only time they stopped kissing was to lift shirts away or when they both started to laugh again. Preparations were minimal, the slide of a condom and the quick fumble of lube. Alex barely made it into Riel before he came. He fell away embarrassed until he realized that Riel had exploded at the same time. He rolled over to kiss the broad mouth and stroke the black, coarse hair on his lover's head. Last time he had felt like this was with Mulder and they had never done anything about it, never, not ever. Riel twirled a curl out of Alex's stubborn lock of hair, the one that always fell toward his eyes unless he had his hair cut short. Riel said, "There's one thing I know about life. You see something good you grab for it. It gets away, tres desole, but at least you tried." Riel said, "You know this trip you got to make? I am going to dance while you are there. You think about me, passé danser, a final last perfect one, getting too old. Going to win the big money and buy you something nice." Alex smoothed his hands down his lover's body and said, "You don't need to buy me anything." Riel said, "Okay, then, I'll leave you the trophy I win. You will always remember me, then." Alex said, "Hell, I'll always remember you anyway." Riel smiled and reached for him. He said, "Come on. Let's dance right here." Alex hated to leave the next morning. He wanted Riel to go with him, but his lover craved that big pow-wow. They kissed at the door and Riel said, "I'm going to win that contest this time. You hurry back to help me celebrate." Alex vowed, "Yes, I will. Just don't do that snagging thing. Save it for me, lover." Four days later, Alex returned from meeting with one of his informants. He found his cabin cold and deserted, but a trophy stood in the middle of the kitchen table. A note under it said, "Love you. If you get back before I get home, take a good hot bath and wait for me." Alex observed that the note was dated two days ago. It must have been written after he said that he thought he would be home in the evening. Alex went into town to see if Riel was there. He went into the small store and bought the local newspaper, 'The Star'. The headline said, 'Fifth murder, community cries; when will the FBI do their job here?" For a moment, he went so numb that it felt as if his right hand was as artificial as his left. Riel's picture grinned out of the picture; fifth victim and Alex felt as if he was a sixth. His anguish was fiery and sharp just as if he was again pinned under the Tunguska sky. Alex spent a few days listening, prowling until he felt he knew. The man he had frightened was Wayne Sebrowski, a man with a bad reputation. He had been married once. He had beaten his wife until his own brother sent her and the children to the domestic violence underground. Every one described Wayne as a strange, angry and bitter man, who defined himself by what he loathed. A few said that he had more than a few loose screws. One forthrightly declared that Wayne had been a lunatic since childhood. Alex figured out the man's schedule. Wayne got up prayed on the hard floor of the dining room, ate a bowl of oatmeal, and did his chores. He delivered eggs to the grocer and chickens to the butcher then spent at least an hour haranguing the townspeople. After Alex was sure what the schedule was, he waited hidden until Sebrowski drove away in his primer-spotted Ford truck. Alex was already sure that Wayne was the killer, but some lingering instinct made him want to confirm his belief. Alex picked the cheap lock in a moment. The main house held no clues, but a chill ran down his spine as he heard, "Way-a-hey-ya" It sounded like Riel's voice and it seemed very real. The voice led him down dusty steps with cobwebs growing from the rickety rail. The outer area seemed innocent enough. Jars of fruit and vegetables stood in rows. A workbench held worn tools. The ghostly voiced sounded from behind what appeared to be a recent partition. Alex picked the lock in the narrow, unpainted door. Damn, the place smelled of old blood, shit, and fear. Alex looked at a table that occupied nearly the whole area. Manacles hung from the side and a cherry picker held sway over it. Oh God, oh God, this was where Riel died. Alex staggered, nearly fainting. Riel's beaded baseball cap, a St. Christopher medal, a lucky coin, fancy cowboy boots, and a Swiss army knife were exhibited on a shelf as if they were trophies. Alex smelled something, a weird chemical odor. The sharp, nauseating smell couldn't mask the scent of something long dead. Alex controlled his urge to gag and went to the last door. He traced the odor to an old cabinet and counter. It was scarred with gouges, each scratch revealing layers of paint in a nauseating pattern of antique green and gold, deep red, and brown. Alex could barely move the thing. He gasped and rested before prying open the lock on the massive door that he found. He smelled overwhelming stink, a mortuary like odor. Something lay beneath a blue tarp. Above the covering, a portrait of Jesus with a bleeding heart hung on the wall. Someone had screwed a metal ring into the concrete and chains dangled down from it. Alex tugged aside the tarp and found a corpse. Despite all the misery he had seen and inflicted in his life, this made him jump back. He had to force himself back to examine the crudely mummified body. Mothballs and other chemicals testified that this was a deliberate attempt to preserve the body. It was blackened and the skin was like leather. Incongruously, fresh flowers bedecked the remains. Alex knelt, holding back his gag reflex. Even with the effects of dehydration and decay, it was unmistakable. The man had been starving to death. Alex found an indentation on the left side of the skull. So the end had been perhaps a mercy. Not much of one, Alex realized, as he saw the claw marks on the wall and the bite marks inflecting the greenish black leather of the mummy's arms. He picked up a discarded paint stick to move the head, trying to get some impression of what the victim's appearance had been before death. He saw white teeth, bared in a scream. The nose had partially collapsed, making a second silent cry above the hole of the mouth. The eyes were gone, replaced with marbles. A resonant voice raged, "Mine! He was mine. I almost purified him but he offended me. He offered to lie with me to save his life. Now, I know how to do it right! I'll save you. You won't tempt another, demon." Alex sidestepped and brought his prosthesis down hard. The man staggered, but caught himself. He turned and rushed like a bear. In his rage and fear, Alex caught the neck, twisted it, and the man lay still. It was over and Alex stared at him. Sebrowski's eyes froze in terror. He uttered, "Windigo!" then he twitched, fingers curling and uncurling, limbs shaking, and then the breath rattled out. Something hurt. Alex inventoried, searching his body for the source of the pain. The man had barely brushed him and nothing had touched the center of his chest where he felt a dull aching. It was as if something hard and heavy pushed out from inside. Alex dropped to his knee, afraid of the sick, weak feeling that made him dizzy and directionless. "Way-a-hey-ya, almost done now. Make it right for me, lover." sang in his ears like a benediction. Alex brushed away the wet droplet that he found tracing the sloped path of his cheek. He knew what he had to do and set about it, shutting off every part of his brain except that which was necessary to perform this ceremony of hate. He would need a very sharp knife. The final cut severed the circle of flesh from the corpse. There was not much blood; the intestines followed the muscled circle cleanly without spilling. Alex gagged and vomited into a plastic grocery bag that he had taken with his gloved hands from the kitchen. He had known he would be ill. The worst part was finished. The man's amputated cock was inserted into the frozen scream of his mouth. Alex looked carefully around him, making sure that he had left no trace. He had replaced the lock on the room, leaving the pitiful corpse for the authorities to find. Alex brought Sebrowski's corpse to the field where Riel had been found. He left it, those eyes staring into hell forever. Alex threw the clothing he had been wearing in the wood stove at his cabin and burned them. The flannel shirt, the jeans, and the coat had belonged to his dead lover. Alex gathered the parts of the clothing that would not burn to throw them in an abandoned well he had noticed. He brought the buttons, the zipper, and the metal decorations to his lips and addressed Riel, "I took care of you, lover. Now, you can rest. And, I hope you found that good place you told me about and are happy there with your Paul." Alex shuddered as he remembered the hip twists and the athletic contortions the fancy dancer could demonstrate. Still, good as the sex had been, the reason Alex had hung around was that Riel made him laugh. Whatever was happening, there was a funny song, or a dirty joke, or it reminded Riel of something stupid that one of his relatives had done. Well, damn the devil that who taken that happy soul from earth! Alex had one last thing to do before he caught the fastest transportation out of this cold corner of hell. He wanted to make sure that, when the earth warmed to receive the winter's dead, that Riel had a good burial. He had described a reservation funeral once. Alex wanted to do it right for Riel and for his loving cousin, Paul. Since he couldn't do anything else for Riel, he would pay to have him buried. Alex wanted Riel to have the big wake that he described. Coffee and cake piled on a table and a big coffin draped with a new woolen blanket. Afterwards, there must be a community feast where people could tell stories about him, laughing and weeping. Riel said the priest was a good man, a reservation man who didn't ask about Sundance if you showed up for confession and who went to sweats sometimes. Not that Alex really understood the comments and the faith that Riel had in either his native church or the Catholic one. What mattered to Alex was to do it right, do one thing right in his life. Scully asked, "Are you okay, Mulder?" He grimaced and answered, "I'm fine." Mulder had been thinking about the burnt wreck of the X Files. He pictured Diana Fowley in the ashes. The pointless and unsatisfactory resumption of his affair with her was as cold and dreary as those dead cinders. His thoughts were about madness and an inchoate yearning that left him feeling hollow and numb. Mulder got out of the car and picked up his briefcase. He had hidden the file he had been sent behind the official ones concerning the six murders. He wasn't certain why he wanted to pursue the arcane hints. His whole life had been unraveling. The only thing he was sure of was it was May and that, in Belcourt, North Dakota, the ground still had snow on it. There was nothing pretty about this stuff. The snow was not white and fluffy. There were walls of it standing nearly to his waist in areas. It was black, gray, and yellow and any color but pure and driven. Scully said, nodding toward a passing local "They don't look like your Navajo friends." A tall, handsome man made eye contact with Scully. He was dark complexioned although not as dark as the Southwest Indians that Mulder knew. The man's eyes were very nearly black and seemed very mischievous. His eyebrows were bushy and he had an odd heaviness above his eyes, giving them an almost Asian appearance. His mouth curved in a broad grin, notable for a missing tooth, but still a rakish smile. Mulder debated between a pirate description or, what was that show he had watched long ago? Yes, Centennial. He remembered the mixed Indian and French people on the show. Put a red sash and some home spun wool on this man and he was a voyageur. Scully blushed at the man's intense gaze. A heavy woman marched up to the man. She looked solid and strong. Her long hair had a reddish tint. She was hard of hand, muscled of arm, and was handsome in a robust and strong-featured way. She grabbed the good looking man and scolded, "Always, always flirting, Louis. Leave the little white girl alone." The woman looked at Scully and said, "Yes, they are pretty, but all the time looking. You stick with your big nosed man." Mulder lost it as the woman trudged off still haranguing her man. He chuckled and said, "Well, she could give Dear Abby a run. She doesn't beat around with the relationship advice." Mulder grabbed Scully as she threatened to disappear into a depression in the snow. Mulder said, "Now, we know why the ancients thought Earth was a person! After all, we have discovered its anus!" Scully shivered despite her winter coat and boots. She said, "And we are here because a politically influential general's nephew is victim number six! I hate being used like this." Scully shrugged free of Mulder's supportive hand and stomped her way to the morgue across the street. A thin, weary man smoked outside of the small building. Scully said, "Where is the body I'm supposed to be seeing?" "You're late." The man observed. He let the cigarette butt join a mound of others. He stomped his feet and added, "Fucking government no smoking rules... like the stiffs are going care." He said, "You were supposed to be here a day ago." Scully explained, "We were snowed in at Minneapolis." The man said, "We put the body back in the Quonset portable." Scully's jaw gaped. She said, "You were told to preserve it!" The man shook his head and said, "Get real, lady. This is North Dakota. That body is frozen. Hell, every one who dies in winter is buried in spring. The ground is too hard to dig a grave." Sure enough, the body was as blue as a prehistoric iceman's. It had been left as it had been found, severed penis in its mouth. The anus had been cut from the body and hung from a coil of flesh. It was the sixth body that had been found in this condition. Mulder thought he had seen it all, but this deeply disturbed him. It made him confront his ambiguous sexuality. Mulder looked around at the stacked coffins and decided to get out of here before the morbid setting totally unnerved him. He had anonymous reports of some unnatural creature and he thought there might be an alien base in the area. He had no idea who his informant was, but given the track record; Mulder hoped his life insurance was high. Scully was supervising the sixth victim's move into the autopsy room. Mulder said, "I think I'll have a look around and hear what the locals are saying." Mulder visited a small café that served corrosive coffee and a neighboring store. He didn't question anyone. Right now he just wanted to eavesdrop, looking for those unguarded exchanges that were sometimes more informative then a direct answer. It was damn hard to understand what the older ones were saying. They spoke some polyglot language composed of French, English and long, multi-syllabic Indian words thrown on top. Voices were deep with a host of inflections that made even the younger ones speak a foreign sounding English. Mulder wandered the street, catching scraps of conversation here and there. He heard the old one say, "Windigo" and the young ones laughed at them. At the same time, they shivered and made their way to places with more people and lights. Near the edge of town, Mulder passed a churchyard with a small, very weathered looking church. He was about to turn back when he saw someone unexpected emerge from the doorway. Alex Krycek shook the hand of a priest who looked much like his presumed congregation. What was Krycek doing here in this frozen backwoods place? What was he doing coming out of a church? Mulder would have thought the man would disappear in a cloud of brimstone in such a place. And what right did Krycek have to look so thin, pale and care-worn? Mulder tried to remember the passion of his anger, but it had faded. Still, he wanted to see what the man was doing here. Mulder stepped into the shadow of a huge grave monument and watched Krycek trudge through the snow. Krycek's head was bowed and his steps were heavy. He didn't look like his life of crime had made him rich or happy. When Mulder thought that Krycek wouldn't notice, he followed. The wind, unbroken by buildings, howled across the treeless terrain and blew up sheets of stinging snow crystals. Mulder shivered, pulling his inadequate winter coat around him as he followed. Alex reached a small house set far from the edge of town. There was no yard, nothing but a flatter area, which bordered a deeply rutted road. Krycek fumbled at the door, opened it, and walked inside. Mulder crept nearer, leery of traps, but none seemed set. He found a window that looked into a kitchen. He could see red gingham checked wallpaper, edges of the garish patterned stuff dispiritedly peeled away in spots. Beyond were a stove, an avocado colored refrigerator, and a small cheap appearing table with two chairs. Mulder wedged into a corner formed by a pantry or some such addition. The kitchen window was the only one that offered a hiding place with a view into the house. Mulder waited; he didn't see Krycek yet, but hoped that the man would want something to drink or eat. Krycek entered and went to the stove. He put on a kettle and sat down, rubbing his left shoulder. He grimaced and took off a black leather glove. For a moment, Mulder thought he was wearing some sort of device underneath. He saw flesh colored plastic, and jointed finger-like protrusions. Grimacing, Krycek peeled off his heavy sweater and laid it over the chair. Mulder gaped, reeled, shocked and had to grip the windowsill to keep from collapse. Krycek pulled off his tee shirt and undid straps that attached the thing that replaced his left arm. For a moment, he stared at the dangling object, his expression one of utter misery. He walked out of sight, returning shortly without the prosthesis and dressed in the tee shirt. Krycek went to the steaming teakettle, fumbled with a canister and took out a bag of tea, laying it in a cup. Mulder was struck by the slowness of Krycek's movements. It was if each movement had to be carefully planned. He remembered Alex, his lithe, active partner, always moving, his hands agile and animated. He also could picture the rat, Krycek. The man that he had dragged to Russia was sure of his body, belligerently abrupt in his movements. Now, Krycek seemed to think through each task. Mulder winced, his left hand clenching in a fist. His fingernails punished his numbing flesh. He had done that to Alex almost as certainly as if he yielded the knife personally. Alex set the cup at the table, lay his head on his right arm and stayed like that. Mulder realized that Alex was weeping. Krycek's brief reappearance had punctured the old balance. Mulder had always pretended that there was a narrow line of morality that was the reason Mulder spared his enemy's life. He threatened, hit, screamed at him, and somehow, always let him go. Now, Mulder could not forget two kisses, one on his cheek recently. And the other, long ago when Krycek had thought he was asleep. Mulder had feigned a deep slumber. He planned to get up and do something, anything rather than remain passive in the face of Scully's disappearance. Alex, he called him 'Alex' in those days, had sat watching him until he thought he was asleep. Then, Mulder had felt the tips of Alex's fingers just barely graze his face followed by a kiss so soft it seemed more like a dream. Mulder had thought, when Scully was back, when things were better, they would really kiss. Instead, everything had turned to ashes. That kiss on the cheek reminded him of that forgotten moment, that hint of a promise never spoken. All the hate, the fury, the hurting, and yet, Mulder sometimes dreamed that he had reached out at that moment. He imagined that if he had reached out to Alex that he would have changed the future for them all. Mulder turned away from the window. He couldn't bear to see his enemy weep. What the hell was he feeling? Overwhelmed by his emotions, Mulder turned away; his feet, numb with cold, slipped. He lost his footing and crashed noisily to the ground. And lay there, cold, damp and stunned. Moments later, Krycek stood over him. He shook his head, making a disgusted face and remarked, "Christ, Mulder, that was smooth." Mulder looked up at Krycek. A halo of light from the window illuminated the sharp planes of his face. Snow was falling again. The spiraling flakes seemed to have their own gravity, moving at will. Mulder could feel the cold kisses on his face. He blinked as one found his eyelashes and swiftly melted. It was very quiet, very peaceful. Krycek leaned over him and asked him, "Are you hurt? You want me to get Scully for you?" Mulder shook his head and said, "No, I'm okay, just a little sore. I wanted to talk to you." Krycek squatted in the snow, shivering. All he wore was the thin white tee shirt. He said, "Yeah? About what? About how much you want to kill me? About me lying? Killing Bill Mulder? Nothing I want to talk about, I'm sure." Mulder struggled up, accepting Krycek's help, momentarily amazed at the strength in that surviving arm. He said, "Let's go inside. I'm all wet and you're freezing." Krycek retorted, "When did you start caring about that?" He walked to the door however and held it open. Mulder looked around. It was shabby and didn't suit Krycek at all. The matchbox-sized living room contained a small sofa with an ugly print covering, a lopsided lamp provided light. An over-stuffed chair wedged in a corner and faced a small TV. Krycek followed his gaze and said, "It's cheap and since I'm spending my own money here; that matters to me." He took a deep breath and said, "I just made some tea. You want a cup?" Mulder took off his soggy coat and found a nail pounded into a board in the entry. He hung the cashmere coat there and sighed. The wet had seeped through to his suit and his shoes were flooded. He shivered so hard that his teeth chattered. Krycek blinked and then said, "Oh, God, why does Scully ever let you go out by yourself? Take those wet things off. I'll find you some thing to wear in a minute." Krycek opened a wood stove and started a fire with the precision and unexpected elegance of motion that Mulder had noticed through the kitchen window earlier. The fire started with a brief roar, before settling down to the faint steady murmur of a well-laid fire. Mulder looked around and then said, "Do you have a hanger or two? I don't want my suit jacket to wrinkle too much." Krycek nodded and ducked behind a blanket-covered door way. He returned with a hanger and a sweat suit. Alex blinked as if he wanted to say something, but merely handed Mulder the hangers. He said, "I'll go get the tea." Mulder watched Alex leave, following those lithe hips, that rolling gait. So beautiful... so sexy... the room felt a few degrees warmer. Mulder gratefully undressed, wishing that Alex had stayed in the room so he could see if Alex's eyes still explored him with interest. The sweat suit felt soft and worn, comfortable. He sat on the uncomfortable couch to draw on the thick socks. Once dressed, Mulder was still cold enough to stand next to the wood stove, letting the heat soak into his chilled body. Krycek came back, balancing a tray; his look dared Mulder to make any comment on his mutilation. Mulder couldn't say anything. He felt too much guilt and regret. Mulder sat on the couch, noticing that it was lumpy and the fabric was worn very thin in spots. He traced a giant brown flower on the nappy gold surface and wondered if couches like this were ever new. It was hard to imagine that someone would deliberately pick this pattern. Krycek set the tray down on an ancient side table. Besides the cups, Krycek had set a plate of cookies. They were large, wholesome-looking oatmeal cookies with raisins. He sat next to Mulder and picked up his cup. Mulder studied Krycek closely, noticing the dark circles and the pattern of veins in his eyes. He observed, "You were crying." Krycek jerked, sloshing tea. His chin sharply ascended and his eyes narrowed. He said, "How long were you spying on me?" Mulder remembered that angry expression well. He wanted to reach out and just cup that chin, lean forward, and... best not to consider his desires. He replied, "I followed you from town. As I said, I wanted to talk. Last time, we didn't really finish our conversation." Krycek commented, "I gave you Wiekamp just like I gave you that bust before we went to Tunguska. Just like I put you on to the courier. It's not my fault what happens. Do you think I wanted to get beaten by you? To be hit by Skinner? Left out to freeze? To be beaten by those guards? Do you think I wanted this?" he sharply jerked his chin to the left, indicated the deeply scored remainder of his arm. His teacup jittered again. Mulder shook his head and reached to steady the cup. He said, " No, I know you didn't and I didn't either. Jesus, Kryc... Alex, how could I have known? When you didn't come back and I saw you laughing with that man, what did you expect me to feel?" Alex set the teacup down and picked up a napkin, rolling it in his hand. Mulder stared at the action, remembering how his junior partner used to pick at the paper around soda or beer bottles, fold candy wrappers, and draw meaningless designs with his pens. He thought how crazy it must make Alex to be reduced to this substitute for his nervous habits. Alex said, "You have a hell of a lot of nerve expecting me to be loyal to you. You were never loyal to me. You never stopped to talk to me. If I had trusted you... if I had just one person to turn to back then, maybe, it would be different." No answers, no words to comfort, to turn aside wrath, Mulder's mind was a kaleidoscope in crazy bright patterns. He couldn't force his thoughts into coherence. Out of all the responses he could have made, what actually came out of his mouth was, "I want to kiss you." Alex made a funny face, confusion overriding his anger. "What?" he finally said. Mulder said, "You kissed me twice. Now, I want to kiss you back." The eyelashes fluttered and Mulder could see the round cheeks color. He waited and Alex shrugged. He replied, "Okay, if that's what you want." Mulder turned on the couch, knee hitting a spring. Alex turned toward him, at first closing his eyes and then, reopening them. Mulder drew Alex close, leaned down, and brushed his lips along the soft mouth. He felt Alex's lips open and the hot swirl of sudden breath. He felt as if he was in a tunnel, rushing forward as Alex's hand cupped the back of his head. He pulled away, not far, just enough distance to see the questions in those beautiful eyes. Mulder moved back and now their mouths met, both slightly open. The line of separation between them was becoming indistinct. He laid his face along Alex's cheek, warmth meeting warmth. Alex pressed his hand against Mulder's head, trying to guide him back. Their noses bumped slightly and Alex laughed, a breathy boyish sound. They tried again. And this time they found each other and pressed closer until Alex suddenly fell back. Mulder sprawled in mute claim over the object of his scorn, his rage, and his desire. God, to be so close, to have every inch of their bodies touch and to have this without the pain, the fear, and the rage... Alex's fingers separated stands of Mulder's hair, not trying to escape from under him. He sighed and asked, "What is this going to be? Are you looking for some new way to hurt me? Are you going to lure me into bed and then hurt me or use me and laugh?" "No and no." Mulder saw a phone and reached for it, dialing Scully's cell phone. Scully sounded tired as she said, "Scully." Mulder replied, "Mulder, Scully I met someone here and I won't be back until tomorrow morning." "What?" Scully's voice sharply said, "I'm in here up to my elbows in frozen corpses and you pick this time for a romantic interlude." Mulder said, "Give me a break. It's not as if I do this on a regular basis. This one is special." Scully slammed the phone down. Mulder said, "That went well." Alex replied, "You made a big assumption. You think all you have to do is kiss me and it's all wonderful? Maybe, I don't want you here." Alex sounded angry, but his expression was wistful and he refused to look at Mulder. Mulder studied Alex again. It was hard to read what the man was feeling. His hand was in a tight, trembling fist, but he leaned ever so slightly toward Mulder. Guessing, Mulder stepped in and closed the distance. It was frightening to take this chance, not knowing how Alex really felt. Mulder cautiously lifted Alex's chin, turning his face toward him. Alex drew a quick breath and his eyelashes fluttered. Mulder said nothing, waiting. Alex studied him then said, "I call it, right? Everything... if I say stop, you'll stop?" Mulder nodded. Alex reached out towards Mulder as if to take his hand, but he took the gesture back before Mulder could respond. Alex turned away with a small jerk of his head toward a doorway, which was separated from the living room by an intensely colored blanket. He said, "The bed's in there." Mulder looked at the blanket fall and rushed after, catching the edge as it fell. Alex stood by the bed. He looked at Mulder and gestured toward the bed. He asked, "This is really what you want?" Mulder held back a protective comment. He instinctively wanted to dissemble and say, "It's what you want..." He controlled his too quick retort for once and replied, "Yeah, oh, yeah, it's what I wanted since nearly the first time I saw you." Alex's smiled at that. He touched the edge of his shirt as if to remove it. Mulder closed the distance, taking the edge of the thin fabric in his hands. "Let me undress you, Alex. Please." Alex nodded and let Mulder lift away the garment. Mulder's hand grazed the scars. He closed his eyes for a minute, imagining the agony that had left these marks. It surprised him that he controlled the flinch of pity and guilt before it was expressed. Mulder threw the shirt toward a chair, missed, but didn't stop. He moved slowly and calmly as if dealing with a wild creature and he almost felt that was true. No, he lectured himself; that was unfair. His hands had brought blood, fear, pain, and humiliation to this man. And realizing that he knew he must be gentle and unhurried. Alex shuddered as Mulder unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down, taking his underwear with them. Mulder was entranced, tracing the flesh he exposed and watching Alex's face. Mulder guided Alex down to remove his thick thermal socks and then to slide away the last barrier, throwing the jeans aside. He had to look at him, had to see him like that naked and so beautiful. Mulder's... Mulder's at last. Mulder undressed, Alex watching from the bed. Alex was intent on him yet distrustful. Mulder lay the borrowed clothing aside. Mulder sat on the bed, looking at Alex. He felt awkward. He wanted to touch Alex, kiss him, and possess him. Alex smiled faintly. His voice was deep, husky, and inviting as he said, "Kiss me again, Mulder." He lay back, adding, "I like the way you kiss; you pay attention to it." Mulder rushed to the invitation, Alex moved toward him until they pressed tightly against each other. Alex offered another kiss and, this time, their hands roved. Alex's hand rubbed soft circles on Mulder's ass. Mulder stroked long lines of desire over Alex's back. He kissed him again, barely able to catch his breath. How could he have kept this desire from his conscious mind so long? Mulder's fingers feathered over Alex's mouth, drifted lower to trace the smoothly mouthed chest. He smiled as he saw the blush of arousal follow his touch. He lowered his face to taste and tease Alex's nipples. He traced the outlines of ribs and stroked the sharp hips. 'So thin,' Mulder thought with sudden tenderness, 'not taking care of himself.' Mulder touched the slight concave of the belly and trailed his fingers until he had traced it all. He gave into an urge to kiss and nuzzle the soft flesh. He lapped at the Alex's naval, getting a soft, breathy chuckle in response. Plummeting lower, his fingers delicately smoothed a curl of hair that grew slightly astray. Mulder remembered to ask, saying, "Can I touch you there?" His fingers just brushing Alex over half-erect cock. Alex pushed toward him, a sudden demand that Mulder found so sweetly enticing. Mulder closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensations. It thrilled him to touch Alex in this way and to experience the surge of Alex's cock in response. Mulder's hand moved quicker, Alex moaned softly as he thrust into Mulder's hand. Mulder murmured, "Am I making you feel good, Alex? I love touching you this way." Alex gasped and said, "Yes, faster, Mulder." Mulder was not the sort of person to whom this could be a simple physical act. His hands, the intimate, devastating touch upon Alex's flesh was laying him bare. He looked in Alex's unguarded expression and realized it was the same for both of them. His hand moved faster as Alex thrust against it. Alex cried out, a sharp sound almost like a protest and then the deep sighing breath. Alex laid his head against Mulder's shoulder, face buried in his neck. Mulder stroked his back, circling in comforting caress. Alex finally moved up to initiate a kiss. Their lips met. Alex slid his mouth across Mulder's, side-to-side, lightly brushing. Mulder softly traced Alex's lips with his tongue, pausing at the strange little cleft in his lower lip. Alex opened his mouth slightly, inviting the tongue inside. They tasted each other until Mulder moaned and realized he was rubbing against Alex's body. He felt a sudden heat as he realized how excited he was. He was blushing; he actually blushed. Alex laughed and said, "It's all right, Mulder, really, I'm glad that you feel that way. Let me make it feel even better." Alex nuzzled him then he kissed his way lower. His mouth seemed to savor every inch of Mulder's skin. It brushed over his nipples, delved for a moment at the soft sides of his arms. Alex's cheek, faintly rough with stubble, brushed the tender skin of his belly. Finally, the tender journey found its destination. Alex's mouth slid and engulfed his cock, making a soft yearning sound that thrilled him. Alex explored as Mulder gently and repeatedly stroked his hair, fighting the impulse to hurry the teasing touch. Alex quickly mapped him, finding the spots that pleased him more. His tongue probed the slit of his cock briefly. Mulder thought that the stab of the warm moist flesh was almost like being penetrated. Alex moved on before the pleasure became pain and slowly lapped at the underside, hitting every nerve with perfection. Alex mouthed him lightly, before taking him deeper. Mulder remembered not to pull Alex's hair as he arched and exclaimed. Mulder's buttocks clenched as he thrust upwards. his body and his mind shattering until every atom was disassembled, a glorious relief from the burden of selfhood. Then he felt the brief lassitude and grief, as he again became one isolated little soul again. When Mulder opened his eyes, Alex was sitting up, one foot already on the floor as if ready to flee. Mulder understood he'd often dragged Alex into situations and then blamed him. He let his fingers speak for him, trailing them gently over Alex's side as he sat. He playfully blew on the hairs of Alex's arm until his lover smiled. Mulder kissed each finger and began to explore upwards but Alex said, "I know this isn't romantic, but we both need a shower. Come on, there's only enough hot water for one shower so we have to share." The shower was only barely big enough for them to stand wedged together, but Mulder was pleased at the closeness. They washed each other, touches growing more confident as they played. They stepped out together and rubbed dry with old, thin towels, shivering in the cold bathroom. Together they hastily made the bed and dived under the covers as if the icy floors and brisk air was a danger. Mulder wasn't a touchy feely person by nature, but he wrapped around Alex. He had the feeling if he didn't hold his new lover close something would steal him away in the night. Alex asked, "Are you really staying all night?" Mulder said, "Yes, I am and I hope to God this won't vanish in the morning light. I can't even explain how I feel." Alex said, "Don't explain. I know. This was meant to happen long ago." In the morning, Mulder woke feeling a heavy, warm weight. His shoulder tingled from the weight of Alex's head and the whisper of damp, hot breath teased his flesh. Alex's cheek lay pressed to his chest. Mulder felt an unanticipated wave of tenderness. He reached over to smooth that errant lock of hair, realizing that he had missed Alex's hair when it was cut short. Alex opened his eyes, wide-awake like a cat, no transition, no drowsy half-slumber. His eyes still held wariness, but he kissed Mulder's flesh and darted his tongue quickly in a teasing circle. A lock of shining russet hair fell forward toward his eyes. Mulder said, "When we were partners, I used to want to tuck that back for you or maybe just do this... " He leaned forward and pushed the rebellious hair back, kissing Alex's forehead where it had lain. They kissed and Mulder would have continued from there, his cock rising eagerly. Alex shook his head and sighed and said, "We've got to get back to real life now for a while. I'll go take my shower and make breakfast. You better call your partner before she comes looking for you." Mulder fell back in bed, a disgruntled exclamation slipping out. Alex grinned back over his shoulder and said, "Later, Mulder." Mulder rolled to his feet and went to find his mobile phone. It took several tries to call Scully's number. The phone kept dialing in to Scully's phone and hanging up. When Scully finally answered Mulder's call, she apologized as soon as she realized who it was. She said, "I'm sorry. I know you don't normally do things like that." Mulder said, "It's okay. Uh, I have a lead and the person I stayed with is going to help me check it out. I'll call later. Did you learn anything from the autopsy?" Scully said, "He had untreated venereal disease, syphilis. Hard to believe in this day and age. As it turned out, the other victims are still available for autopsy. I got permission to look at the most recent death before this one, victim number five. He was clean of VD. There was nothing remarkable except the death was horrible. He was butchered alive." Mulder finished the call, showered, put back on his suit, grimacing at the wrinkles, but glad that it was dry. Alex had cooked a farm breakfast with the works, ham steaks, eggs, and toast that were sliced from an enormous home made loaf on the small carving board. Alex nodded at the bread and said, "I have an arrangement with the neighbor. She bakes this fresh three times a week and I also have her cook for me most of the time." Mulder ate with more appetite than he usually had. He was hungry and barely noticed that Alex was merely picking at his food. He did notice when most of Alex's breakfast landed in the garbage. Mulder felt he should do something so he brightly said, "Let me wash the dishes." Alex nodded. As Mulder worked, Alex sat on the couch. He appeared fascinated by a small trophy, turning it and twisting it on the coffee table. Mulder finished the dishes and sat beside Alex on the couch. It seemed so natural to reach an arm around Alex, but Alex moved slightly away. Mulder sighed and said, "I wanted more than a single night, Alex." "Hearts and flowers?" Alex inquired, with a twist of his mouth as if tasting something bitter. Mulder laughed at that and said, "Is that what you want? All I know is we didn't tear each other's life apart for a quick tumble. You and I... we seem to have some connection that we can't break." Alex picked up the small trophy. Mulder asked, "May I?" Alex handed the gilt statue to him as carefully as if Rodin had made it. He said, "Mulder, about your official case. You don't have to pursue it. The killer of the first five men is dead. He's your supposed victim number six." It happened before Mulder could think. He lunged out with his right fist, slamming it into Alex's jaw. Alex crashed to the floor, but he was only down for a minute. Alex sprang up, his one remaining fist hitting Mulder's jaw like a jackhammer. Alex sibilantly hissed, "Don't think I am going to be your punching bag anymore." Mulder crawled back on the couch and sat, cradling his sore jaw. Alex got ice and both of them nursed their bruises. Alex sat in a kitchen chair. Eyes down cast, he said, "I'll drive you back to town and we can forget this ever happened." Mulder's whole being rebelled against that. He went on his knees in front of Alex, his hands resting on the jean covered legs. He said, "I'm sorry. Tell me what happened? Was it self defense?" Alex tried to shove Mulder away and replied, "I remember how this works. You ask me a question... and no matter what I answer makes you mad, and you hit me." Mulder had an inspiration. He pulled Krycek to his feet, brushed aside the blanket and led him over to the bed, lying flat on it. Alex shook his head and said, "Don't be thinking sex is the answer to all of our problems." Mulder said, "I know that. No, you straddle me and pin my arms. That way I can't hit even if I wanted to do it." Alex almost laughed, but he straightened his face and climbed on top. Mulder felt the squeeze of those powerful legs and sighed, tempted to be distracted. He commanded, "Now, just tell me what happened?' Alex said, " I was here investigating and this local guy latched onto me. He was a fancy dancer. That's a Native American dance style. He didn't have any place to stay and I was lonely. So, he stayed here with me." Alex looked down at Mulder and added, "I don't do that sort of thing often. Riel was special." Mulder asked, "Were you in love with him?" Alex said, "I liked him a lot. He made me happy and I'm not... I can't I had many good days or even ones I can bear to remember." Mulder nodded, a difficult act from this helpless supine position. Alex moved off, silently agreeing to trust him. Alex grimaced, lips pulling into twin white lines. He said, "I had to run up to Ontario to interview someone and was gone a few days. When I came back, my friend was dead. You know how. Mulder, those other five men were alive when that man I killed butchered them. My friend, my lover died like that, in horror and pain. I knew nothing would happen from local law enforcement so I did my own investigation. There was a man who harassed us. I threatened him. Shit, Mulder, you hated me because I killed. I hated myself because if I had killed that man earlier, Riel would be alive." Mulder watched with stunned fascination as Alex's face worked, muscles fighting each other until a small whisper of sound escaped the struggling mouth. It was just a little cry at first, but it became a keening, banshee wail. Alex choked out, "I'm sorry. I don't know what is happening to me!" He moved off Mulder, trying to crawl away like a wounded animal. Mulder caught at him, wanting to see and understand. Alex protested, "No, no, I can't do this. I can't feel this." Mulder held on as Alex tried to wrench away. "Let me. Let me." Mulder begged, not even sure why he said that. He finished, "I want to hold you. Let me take care of you." He reached and pulled Alex from the edge of the bed to the center, forcing Alex's face against his chest. He felt the body in his arms convulse, the grief wrenching from the gut, the body taut with the tension of the emerging sobs. Mulder stroked Alex's hair, feeling a sense of peace. "Shh, it's all right. I'll take care of you. I have you. You can trust me." Mulder listened to his own words and thought he almost believed them. He held Alex until the tenseness dissolved, the sobs faded to small snuffling sounds and then, Alex fell asleep in his arms. Mulder cradled Alex's head, feeling him solid and trusting in his arms. He continued to stroke the silken hair, feeling unruly locks spring wildly array. He whispered, "Did you grow a heart, Alex or did you always have one that I ignored?" Alex woke after about an hour. Mulder had taken off Alex's prosthesis and laid it aside. Alex touched his shoulder. Mulder said, "I thought you would be more comfortable without it." Alex nodded. His eyes softly questioned. Mulder smiled and said, "I took care of you." Alex nodded gravely. Mulder stopped to touch his lips to Alex's forehead, swept the sleep moist mouth with a fleeting kiss, and said, "I have to meet with Scully. Let me borrow your car and I'll be back." Mulder watched the near panic of Alex's first reaction and then acceptance. He knew it must seem to Alex like offering up his naked throat. Mulder said, "Don't worry. I'll be careful and I'll be back." Alex nodded. Mulder kissed him again and walked out of the cottage. When he glanced behind him, Alex was watching out the window. Mulder wanted to go back inside. He ruefully continued on his way. Mulder met an exhausted appearing Scully at the morgue. Scully was slumped at the desk in the outer office, files spread out in front of her. Mulder hope her weariness would cloak her insight and she would not notice his post-coital bliss. Mulder said, "Hi, what did you find, Scully?" Scully said, "There has been a break in the case. The tribal police searched Mr. Sebrowski's house after they received an anonymous call. It looks as if he might have been the killer of the other men. His uncle, the general and his older brother, the police chief, are claiming that someone planted evidence. There's another body at the house. The tribal police chief states he thinks that it might be a boy who disappeared a while back. We can drive with the man. The house is in an old disputed area, right in the middle of Indian land." Scully smiled and said, "Chief LaDureau said he doesn't like the FBI, but he says we're better than that pig of a sheriff. Pierre LaDureau had a huge block of a head attached directly to shoulders that could have served a buffalo bull. His face was ruddy brown, his black, sharp eyes peering from squints of radiating lines. His nose was a slab of flesh overwhelming his face. The man was overweight but walked with ponderous grace. Mulder suspected that the heavy man could have moved as fast as a charging bear if needed. He was stuffed into a tribal uniform... a colorful, hand knit scarf contrasting with the severe olive and black. His coat arm bore a patch with a stylized outline of a turtle; an icon of an Indian man's face centered in the shell. LaDureau said, "The Sebrowski family will sweep this under the carpet. They are powerful men and women. Be fine if they didn't throw the crazy one or two every generation. They're worse inbred then the tribe's most tangled up family trees." Mulder asked, "What about Wayne Sebrowski?" LaDureau replied, "Yeah, well, that one everybody knew was crazy, some said, harmless crazy. No one would want to be the one finding out for sure on the harmless part. I know that Indian woman he married took off on him because he beat her all the time." LaDureau added, "After his woman left him, he was crazier. He goes around all weekend with boxes of tracts such as 'Fluoridated Water is Poison', 'Sodomy Starts With Masturbation', all kinds of things. He was always talking like some gay guy was going to tie him up and ass-fuck him." Mulder winced at the man's laughter, but soon LaDureau was regaling them with a hundred years worth of crazy Sebrowski stories, laughing at his own anecdotes in his deep guttural tones. The sensitive subject dropped; Mulder relaxed. He added his own story about the even crazier Peacock family. LaDureau looked mildly impressed and shook his head, "Well, I don't know that we have anyone that crazy!" The road was black top, sagging, but sanded heavily. LaDureau drove on the ice and snow as if it were dry pavement. He whistled a lively tune and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. They turned, struggling down a partially cleared gravel turnoff. Deep ruts showed in the snow, enough of them that it would be impossible to trace individual tire patterns if Alex hadn't already switched tires. Mulder trusted that Alex probably had. The Sebrowski home was a huge old farm building. Mulder could see that the rural cops were trampling evidence beneath their booted feet. LaDureau said, "See the big blond fellow? That's Bob Sebrowski, the victim's brother and one of the biggest assholes on the planet." As soon as they climbed out of the truck, LaDureau marched over to the Viking-like figure and said, "What the hell are you people doing here, Sebrowski? This is my show or it belongs to these feds." Sebrowski was well over six feet. He had narrow hips despite the beer belly gently spilling over his shining uniform belt. He was blond, brown eyed, and handsome in a beefy way. He stood in their path, saying, "This is local jurisdiction, LaDureau!" LaDureau said, "The land rights were never vacated. Squatter's rights don't change the reservation boundary." The big Indian cop and the big white cop looked as if they were ready to swing on each other. Scully pushed through, a small red haired gauntlet thrown between them. Scully snapped, "Sebrowski, there is no jurisdiction that allows you to interfere in an investigation of one of your deceased family member's crimes." Sebrowski caved into Scully's confidence. He still insisted on following them into the cordoned off farmhouse. Mulder was building a powerful dislike for this man. He treated the Indian policemen worse then Mulder treated most of his suspects. The entire group trekked down to the basement. It was large, unfinished and it stunk like a charnel house. An unpainted partition divided the place in half. In the room beyond the plywood wall, a thin, pockmarked deputy eagerly pointed out bloodstains on a heavily scarred table. He said, "This is where Wayne was killed or anyway there's enough blood here that we think it's the crime scene." The excited deputy added, "The funny thing is that there are traces of other victims, lots of them. I think old Wayne had something to do with the other deaths." Bob Sebrowski said, "Don't be saying that, Kyle. You know Wayne was touched. I'm sure he never came down here. Our daddy used to lock him down here when he had his fits. He hated it." Scully had moved past them and was in front of a sturdy looking door. She asked, "What was this?" Sheriff Sebrowski said, "Bomb Shelter, our daddy thought the commies were going to blast us. He was ready." LaDureau said, "The body is in there. Looks like we found out what happened to Paul Azure. Poor kid, here everybody just thought he took off for the city, everybody but Riel Azure and now he's dead too." Scully slipped on her protective gear. The mummified corpse was still in place. It smelled of decay, but of a checked rottenness. Strong, sickening chemical odors filled the small room. Scully muttered her comments into a tape recorder. "Corpse is intact, semi preserved by chemical means. Note chain embedded in the wall connects to padlocked collar, which is corpse's only garment." Scully bent to examine the marks on body's arms. She said into her recorder. "There are a number of what appear to be human bites on the arms. Nails and fingers are damaged most likely from self-inflicted wounds." Mulder had been trying to hold his breath as much as possible. LaDureau offered him a jar of Vicks, the medical examiner and homicide detective's best friend. It didn't help much this time. The amateur attempt at mummification had resulted in a truly fetid odor. Mulder examined some stains on the walls. He realized that he was looking at this poor man's mad attempts to claw himself out of his imprisonment. God... Scully had turned the body. She didn't even have to strain. It was like a husk left in a spider's web, the moisture all leeched away. Scully said, "The victim shows what appear to be shallow wounds inflicted by a straight edged flexible object such as a belt. Cause of death may have been starvation." Scully moved the corpse's skull and exclaimed, " No, there is a depression on the left side of the head. Looks like a blunt instrument. Defer more findings until full autopsy." Mulder walked away from Scully's clinical description. He felt a little ill from the smells and the thoughts of that poor boy's agony. He walked through the house, watching the sloppy search in dismay. Mulder found Bob Sebrowski in a small office on the main floor. He was going through a desk. Mulder knew he should show more sympathy, but he couldn't feel it. There was something about this man that set off Mulder's instincts. Mulder snapped, "Sir, you need to step outside. Now." Being obeyed surprised Mulder, but Sebrowski slouched out of the house. He and his men piled back into the two trucks in which they had arrived. LaDureau posted a guard, a wiry man with a pockmarked face. He said, "Wilkie will let you in if you want to come back." The county coroner had arrived. He and Scully left with the pitiful corpse. Mulder knew that she had thus far only autopsied Krycek's lover and Wayne Sebrowski. Now, she had five others to examine. Mulder had time to search this house, making sure that Alex wasn't implicated. Mulder also wondered if the seven victims were truly all of the dead. It seemed to him that Bob Sebrowski had a perfect set up to prey upon the unwary. He never liked to leave families the way his was left, no body to mourn and always, doubt. Mulder decided to drive back and pick up Alex. Krycek had a good eye. He could help Mulder satisfy his concerns. Despite his grim mood, Mulder was pleased to be working with Alex again. Mulder stopped by to see Scully and then followed an impulse to see Riel Azure's body. He had been a handsome young man. The coroner had worked on him after Scully's autopsy and he wore a smile that seemed natural on his sharp-featured face. Mulder tapped the coffin and said; "I guess it's stupid to be jealous of you, now. I can't say that I knew Krycek was even capable of love, but you must have found it in him. Hope if there is another life, you have a good one." Mulder smiled at his fancy and added, "But if there is a next life, Krycek is still mine!" Alex's eyes were red with weeping when Mulder arrived back at the cabin. Mulder hesitated then shrugged and went to sit next to Alex on the sofa. He tentatively slipped an arm around his newfound lover. Alex leaned into put his head on Mulder's shoulder. His soft hair brushed against Mulder's chin. He smelled clean, as if he had showered again while Mulder was out. Mulder sighed and said, "It's pretty much all over now. They found the other body. Did you see that?" Alex nodded and said, "Yeah, that's the first one. I'm the one that tipped off the tribal police. The dead boy was Riel's cousin and his lover. God, what a hell of a way to go! When I saw him there, it made me think about the silo. That could have been me." Mulder nodded and asked, 'You still don't remember how you got out?" Alex shook his head and said, "It never came back. Could have been the aliens, or ghosts, or maybe I was some Boy Scout's good deed." Mulder continued to hold Alex in his arms until Alex said, "This is nice, but maybe we should have a look at that house. I have an idea that the cop, the brother might have known what was going on. Riel said he was crooked." Mulder smiled and said, "You sound just like my Alex... that eager hot shot of a junior agent. I've missed him even all this time when I thought he never really existed." Alex said, "Part of him was me. Maybe, I never was quite that naïve and never that conservative, but I wasn't acting most of the time. I guess you thought I got up one morning and said, I think I want to be a traitor and a double agent. I think I would have been a good FBI agent. Don't you think I wanted to stay?" Mulder said, "Now, I do. I believe you would have been happy as my partner. I believe you would have made me happy." Alex smiled and his face lit. "Do you really?" Mulder kissed Alex and said, "Yes, I do. Come on now. Let's go play Sherlock Holmes and Watson." The two of them struggled into the layers of clothing necessary to endure the bone-chilling weather outside. They argued briefly about who was going to drive. Alex won on the grounds that it was his car. A storm was breaking loose and the locals were already hurrying home. The roads were almost deserted. The snow followed and the wind blew it hard against the windshield. Alex drove like a native to this hellish climate so Mulder was glad that he had given in to him. Mulder kept remembering that it was spring elsewhere. How did they endure this all the time? He wondered why families like Sebrowski chose to settle here at a time when there must have been land open in better climates. Perhaps, the Windigo legend was only that. The natural response to a land where winter meant possible death from cold and starvation. Mulder didn't think this was a front for aliens. He agreed with Alex there. However, he wasn't ready to say this was not a case involving the supernatural. Too many people had reported seeing or hearing something strange. The two men struggled across the heavy snow in the yard. Mulder could hear a cow mourning from the weathered barn. He shivered with more than cold. This farm had a feel to it of something evil; something beyond what had happened here recently. Alex said, "Come on Mulder. You have to keep moving in this kind of weather." Yellow tape like some strange festive leftover had been shredded by the flagellation of the icy wind. Mulder moved a strand aside to go inside. The thin, acne-scarred deputy, whom Mulder had met earlier, was waiting in the kitchen. Mulder indicated Alex and said, "Uh, I called in an expert to help with the case." The deputy said, "He's the one that has been asking questions about Windigo all over town. He was hanging out with Riel Azure." Krycek said, "Yes, Riel Azure told me his third cousin was taken by a Windigo when they were camping in a field. He showed me the place." The deputy shook his head and said, "They were out there screwing if you ask me. Course they're both dead now." The deputy shivered, crossed himself, and said, "As long as you are here, I'm going to sit out in my truck. That cheap son of a bitch already had the power turned off and there's no heat." Mulder started with the basement while Alex went up to the attic. He found nothing new in either the main area or the former bomb shelter. Wincing at the smell, Mulder shut the door. He stopped in his tracks as he thought he heard a voice plead, "I'll do anything, Mr. Sebrowski, just let me go." Mulder looked again although he felt sure he had heard the ghost of that poor boy. The bitter cold seemed to reach into his heart and he wanted to find Alex; make sure that he was still here and safe. Mulder hurried up the worn and splintered steps. The main floor was clean. The furniture was sparse and looked uncomfortable. The walls hung with admonishments all themed on hell as the consequence for every human pleasure. At least the lights were on. Mulder found boxes of tracts in the pantry. Religious themes vied with white supremacy hate literature. Any number of both addressed gay men and women as the demon seed that must be eradicated from earth. Mulder would have loved to drop a match on the whole place. Mulder was already heading upstairs when Alex yelled, "Mulder up here." Alex sat on a bed that looked as if it was a second hand cot from a jail's going out of business sale. The bedroom was small and dark, badly furnished. Again the walls were dominated by religious symbols. Alex had a footlocker open at his feet. He said, "Look at this shit, Mulder!" There were gay porno magazines and Polaroid pictures of the victims. Each was carefully labeled with the name of the person. Alex fanned out a stack. Mulder noted the resemblance of the subject to Riel Azure. The young man was posed like some of the male models in the magazines. He looked frightened though, instead of wearing the strained, trying-to-be-sexy look of the professionals. The pictures showed the young man starving to death. They were all marked, Paul Azure, and dated carefully with little remarks to show how much water he had been allowed and what other tortures, Sebrowski inflicted. The last picture showed the bloody head wound and was marked, 'purified and cured'. Alex pointed out a collection of notepads and theme books. He remarked, "Fucker kept diaries." He handed Mulder one and added, "Look at this one." Mulder was fascinated. This must be a recent notebook with its remarks about Riel Azure, the fornicator and the sodomite. It mentioned the green-eyed devil that Riel had conjured. Wayne detailed his fear of the beautiful demon, calling him Lucifer. Mulder thought that there was a time he might have agreed with this description. Alex had been reading other journals. The earliest ones had been kept in a child's notebook with the classic Big Chief on the front. They graduated to yellow notepads, but never to a real diary book. Alex said, "Yeah, well, here's where the paranoia might have stepped in. Good old Bob used his little brother as a fuck toy when the prom queen wouldn't give him any. Wayne didn't have anyone to tell and apparently his older brother was the only one that ever gave him any positive attention anyway. Wayne just let it happen until Bob left for the army. All he writes about is how crazy he was about his brother. I'd feel sorry for him, but he killed Louis and those other men." Mulder listened to Alex as he thumbed rapidly through the notebook. His eye was caught by a word and he said, "Alex, Wayne wrote about seeing the Windigo in this one. He says it was chasing him after he killed that poor boy and again after he murdered your... friend." Mulder indicated the notebooks and the pictures, saying, "I suppose I should turn these in." "I suppose not, " a deep voice commented. Mulder looked up into the muzzle of a gun. He restrained Alex's quick move with a firm hand, having reached for him with some type of Krycek radar. The man said, "Good thinking." Alex said, "Look, Sebrowski, these are nothing. Not worth killing us to hide them. You were kids. It's been known to happen. You aren't responsible for what your brother did." Sebrowski said, "I'm going to run for the senate next year. I maybe can live down what Wayne did. They won't care now that he's dead, but if this gets out, that I fucked my brother and, maybe, it was my fault that he went crazy, I have nothing." He waved the gun and said, "Get moving. The deputy is asleep and he won't see us leave. He developed a leak in his exhaust pipe so he maybe will, maybe won't wake up. As for you two, they'll think that there really was another killer and he got you." Sebrowski made Mulder tie Alex's hands before tying Mulder's. He was no amateur and Mulder knew his struggle to loosen the rope was futile. Alex was probably not much better off. Sebrowski had checked Mulder's work, grunting with surprise as he noticed the prosthetic arm. They drove over a silent world, miles of desolation. Alex had moved as close to Mulder as physically possible. Mulder knew that his lover was frightened. So was he. Both of them exchanged glances. They had to find a way out of this. Mulder thought, 'I'm not going to lose Alex now.' Sebrowski stopped and marched them over to a field. He said, "This is where Wayne took the first one. I don't know what was going through his head. I think he was just out hunting and he found the two of them screwing. When that Riel went to town, he took the younger one. I think he didn't know whether he wanted to screw him or kill him. He promised me it would never happen again and it was two years before he did anything else." Sebrowski said, "You two want to kiss good-bye, I'll understand." Mulder was going to say something stupidly defiant but Alex leaned in and offered his mouth. Their lips met. Despite everything, ropes, guns, and potential death, the kiss drew him in until he heard a scream. Sebrowski was bellowing and pointing. At first, it was just an odd moving piece of darkness that Mulder saw. It grew even blacker and seemed to be gaining speed. Mulder heard a weird howling and it seemed that there was a human element in the shrieking sound. Alex was fumbling at the rope with something sharp. It must have been concealed in the prosthesis since it had not been in Krycek's hand when Mulder had tied him. Alex worked quickly, jabbing them both more than once. Mulder could smell the sweat of their fear, his hands stung from the cuts of Alex's hastily used knife blade. Alex panted in fright and Mulder only controlled himself so Alex wouldn't panic more. Alex exclaimed, "What is that thing?" Sebrowski screamed, "It's Paul Azure! He's the Windigo!" Mulder's hands were freed just about the time the black shadow swirled close enough to be seen. It was a tall rough sketch of a human being, almost a skeleton. It took clearer form. Its eyes glowed scarlet. Its legs ended in claws and it hopped like a giant bird. Its mouth gaped hungrily. Foul smells blew from its ragged-feathered flapping wings. It cawed and Mulder's spine contracted spasmodically. He instinctively rejected the sight, the sound, and the scent of the filthy creature. Mulder finished untying Alex. His lover held onto him and tugged backwards. He said, "We need to get away. We need to get out of here, Mulder." "No" Mulder protested, "Just look at that thing. What is it?" The snow blew away beneath the Windigo. It scrabbled on vulture like claws at the long, sere strands of prairie grass. A tangle of wild rose bushes was uprooted, dead blossoms falling from the tiny hip-buds. The monster paused as if remembering something then it solidified further. It became recognizable as the corpse that had been removed from the room. Its leathery flesh hung in tatters and it bit its arms again, blood incongruously falling from the desiccated skin. It moaned and hopped closer, eyes burning like coals. The Windigo wailed in the wind. Bob Sebrowski stood immobile in the field. He screamed, "He's dead. My brother killed you, not me." "Hurt him. Made him hurt me." The monster moaned. Sebrowski pleaded, "It was just one or two times when Wayne was a kid. It didn't hurt him, I swear. He liked it." Gibberish emerged from the Windigo's black void of a mouth. Its claw-like fingers extended from the cloud of its being. Finally, English words emerged, "Hungry, hungry, hungry... " It grabbed Bob Sebrowski's hair and leapt forward with the smell of small animals burning in a grass fire. Sebrowski screamed as the thing ran with him. It pulled him faster and faster until flames shot from his feet. Mulder ran, his long, lean runner's legs sprinting. He had just grasped Sebrowski's jacket when Alex caught up. Alex pulled on him, trying to break his grip. Mulder snarled, "Let me go. I can save him. Let me go." Mulder's anger turned to abject fear as the Windigo's gaze turned to him. The creature screeched and flew harder. Mulder felt jets of snow and gravel flying up. Sebrowski never stopped screaming. The Windigo lifted off the ground. Mulder no longer was trying to save Sebrowski, but now the Windigo's claw gripped him. He knew that Alex was the only thing keeping him from being carried away, but Alex was also being lifted off the ground. Mulder shouted, "Let go! Let go, Alex. It has me." Alex shouted, "No, I won't. I won't ever let go of you again." Alex held on to Mulder with his good hand as he tried to pummel the clutching grip of the Windigo with his artificial one. Mulder tried to help pry it away. The claw felt cold and it was corpse-like, clammy, and loose-skinned. Sebrowski hung limply in its other claw, fainted or dead. A horrible smell erupted from Windigo's fetid wings and Mulder could scarcely breathe with the foulness. Suddenly, a thing of light shone out of the darkness. It seemed to warm the air. Colors moved rhythmically in the new apparition. The Windigo shuddered and froze in the air. The dancing spirit glowed warmly and Mulder was released. He and Alex ended together in a heap. Mulder scrambled up, standing in front of Alex protectively. The Windigo dropped Sebrowski and hovered in the air. Mulder heard the heavy thud and was sure that the sheriff was dead. Alex crawled to his feet and leaned on Mulder. He was exhausted, pale, holding his left shoulder. Mulder caught him and braced him. He said, "Thanks for not letting go." Alex kissed him quickly and they clung together, facing the monster. The Windigo hovered undecided until a voice came out of the glow. "Got plenty to eat here, Way-a-Hey-ya, got plenty of drink here, Way-a-hey-ya. Got plenty of good loving here, Way-a-hey-ya, got the drum on beat forever, Way-a-hey-ya." The Windigo faded and a thin boy's shadow stood in its place. Tears fell from the ghostly face. The glow lured the shade further away until two voices sang. One final apparition or a ghostly verisimilitude of far away drums, the shuffle of feet, a war whoop of triumph, and the shake of dance bells... A laughing voice that was no echo, cried: "Never let go" The end ursula4x@Aol.com

Fandom: X Files Pairing: Alex Krycek/OMC Alex Krycek/ Fox Mulder Rating: NC-17 Status: Re-write Archive: Anywhere, as a complete story. If you have a constructive critique and wish to use a portion, contact me directly. ursula4x@Aol.com Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: Stand-alone Disclaimers: Mulder, Krycek, and Scully were born to the brain of Chris Carter, but have taken on other lives in mythos, as all valid fictional characters should. Riel Azure, Pierre LaDureau, Wayne and Bob Sebrowski and unnamed characters are inventions. Windigo is real. Notes: Jonah told me to rewrite this and made some great suggestions. Summary: Alex Krycek and Fox Mulder are both drawn to a remote reservation in North Dakota to investigate serial murders and disappearances that may be alien connected. They find the truth, but it's not what they expected. Warnings: Explicit male to male sex, horror, violence, mutilation back to top

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