"What the hell do you want, Krycek?"
"Take a seat," Alex said. Mulder looked like hell, even in the kindness of
candlelight, drawn, haunted-eyed, with his hair chopped again. The cold
night seemed to have followed him in, clinging to him. "I can tell you after
dinner. Sit."
Mulder remained standing, looming over the table and looking like a
bedraggled crow in his wet, black trench coat. "I didn't come here for
dinner. Tell me what you have for me." He should have sounded angry, and the
fact that his voice spoke more of fatigue and apathy than anything else
worried Alex.
Alex sat back in the overstuffed chair. "Not without dinner first. The menu
here is great."
"I've been dealing with enough shit, literal and figurative, on the job
lately. I don't have to take it from you too."
"Sit." Alex used that soft, gentle whisper of a tone that had worked when
they'd still been lovers. //God, he even has his hair butchered in almost
the same way it had been back then. Mourning hair...// Desire and sadness
hit him at the same time. //Their plans seem to be working. Damn it.//
Mulder sat. The waiter seemed to take that as a signal, walking over and
asking, "Can I get you anything yet?"
"We're ready to order," Alex said and stopped Mulder's protest with a firm
hand on the older man's wrist. "Two coffees, the pumpkin ravioli with pesto
sauce, and a lemon crepe. Thank you."
As the waiter walked away, Mulder said, "If you say, 'trust me,' I swear
I'll punch you."
"In a public place? Do you really want the dinner crowd here privy to our
private business?"
"You chose the location."
Mulder tried to look away from Alex, but he saw the other man whether he
looked at or away from the double (triple?) agent, whether his eyes were
open or closed. Unfair of the bastard to demand a meeting in the Village, to
trade on ancient history like this. The fake left arm sitting motionless and
dead on the table brought Mulder's mind back to less pleasant times. The
vague horror he felt at Krycek's maiming tilted his thinking back in
directions he wanted to avoid.
"So I did." Alex saw the pain but couldn't help poking at the wound a bit.
"Do you still have the sunglasses I bought you?" Mulder tried to stand in a
rush, but Alex tightened his grip on the cold wrist under his fingers.
"Sorry, that was stupid of me to ask."
Candleflames jittered in Mulder's eyes. He looked so close to snapping...
then he calmed himself and sat back. "Something we agree on. This better be
worth it, Krycek."
The surname felt like a slap, exactly as Mulder meant it. Alex swallowed.
"The way you look now, anyone seeing you would feel the urge to take you
home and give you a bowl of soup. Even me."
"My new assistant director wouldn't, I'm sure."
"You'll love the ravioli."
"Like you'd have a clue what I'd like." So quiet. So dead. Then the coffee
arrived, and Mulder started to drink it black. Another shot of
self-punishment.
Alex stirred sugar into his own. "You should treat yourself better.
Otherwise, you're helping them win."
Mulder's head jerked up. //How dare you...// "They seem to be looking out
for your health." Krycek looked damned good, better than the last two
times. Apparently, he wasn't on the run anymore.
Krycek tucked damp, sable hair behind one slightly pointed ear. Mulder
remembered the elf jokes he used to make and swiftly turned his mind away
from the memory. He chose to believe the atmosphere—candlelight and
overstuffed chairs—could be blamed for the rush of sentimentality.
Weakness. Combine that with his tiredness, the grinding and incessant
torture of his job lately, and recently having had Mr. Crump's head explode
right behind him despite all his efforts to save the man, and Mulder might
as well bare his throat to Krycek. Before Krycek could answer, the waiter
came back with the food. He set what could easily be identified as a crepe,
blanketed in powdered sugar and accompanied by a small dipper of lemon
juice, in front of Krycek. Mulder had no idea what the hell was on his own
plate. His first panicked thought involved some sort of alien eggs or
membranes in green ooze. The pale white, almost transparent ravioli had dark
centers and sat in a small pond of dark basil bits floating in pale, creamy
green.
"I'm supposed to eat this?" Mulder asked.
Krycek grinned in anticipation. "I dare you."
"That's mature." Mulder pondered the question and decided he'd lose whether
he defied the man or gave in. He might as well eat. He cut one in half and
saw what looked like pumpkin pie filling inside. With Krycek watching,
Mulder kept his face carefully blank and popped one half into his mouth. The
basil tang of the pesto sauce shouldn't have worked with the sweetness of
pumpkin filling but did. It was delicious. //He does still know me. Damn
him.//
Alex saw a brief uplift to Mulder's lips but knew the older man would die
before admitting anything. He decided to be merciful and say nothing of it.
Mulder would be thinking about it anyway.
They spent the rest of the meal in an almost comfortable silence,
appreciating their food. They only spoke when the waiter came by to ask if
they wanted more coffee. Mulder put cream and sugar in his refilled cup; he
also finished everything on his plate.
Alex was surprised at the happiness watching Mulder's enjoyment of the meal
gave him. //I'm just a big softy. Did I really miss him this much? Shoot me
now.// He wiped the smile from his face.
Mulder noticed Krycek smiling and was jolted by the man's beauty, especially
when Alex's thick lashes swept down, casting feathery shadows on his skin
from the candlelight. Usually, Mulder could ignore it or let himself forget.
//I have to get the hell out of here.//
"We're finished with dinner. What did you want to tell me, Krycek?"
"Not here. Outside."
Mulder sighed, but made no complaint as Krycek paid the bill and led them
out into the orange and black night. Street, sign, and car lights gleamed
off wet asphalt and stone. Beads of mist glittered in Krycek's hair like
tiny jewels. The warmth and contentment of the meal prevented Mulder from
feeling the cold as he should have. It was irrational to be angry at
something for daring to make him feel happy in Krycek's presence, but there
it was.
"Out with it, Krycek."
"The Consortium is taking a different approach to you now. They're going to
try to break you, throw so many obstacles in front of you that you'll either
snap or quit. It's up to you if you let them."
"That's it? Hell, I figured that out on my own."
"There's also this." Alex pulled Mulder close and kissed him.
Mulder melted into it //Just like that night in my apartment, when he used
my memories of him to paralyze me with a kiss...// and parted his lips for
Alex's tongue. He tasted lemon and sugar, tangy sour and sweet //I was the
one with lemon that first time four years ago, lemon ices...//, with the
hint of coffee. He let it take him back to another night far away, a more
innocent time. A time when he'd thought they couldn't do anything more or
worse to him... The ghost breath of that hot summer ran down his skin
wherever Alex touched him. He so desperately needed someone to comfort him.
//If Alex wants to, why shouldn't I let him?
//Because Alex hasn't been Alex for a long time. Because ignorance is only
bliss as long as you remain ignorant. Because...// Mulder ripped himself
away. He knew he should have tossed the moment off with a joke, maybe
something about Krycek buying him dinner and then expecting him to put out,
but it all hurt so badly that the pain came roaring out.
"I have to know, Krycek. All that time we were together... Did you know what
your bosses intended to do to Scully all that time? Did the thought of
fucking me over literally appeal to you? Did you enjoy hearing me beg for
your touch as you thought of the betrayal to come?"
"It wasn't like that, Mulder!"
"Then how was it? Do you know what it did to me? It tore me apart. I can't
think of our time together without thinking of Scully's abduction, resulting
sterility, and near death. I wanted to die. I couldn't kill myself, not with
Scully out there somewhere needing rescue, but I could become so reckless
and self-destructive that I almost let the world do it for me.
"That night you took me home on Skinner's direction... I can't remember that
pretty mouth of yours wrapped around my cock without seeing Scully locked in
Duane Barry's trunk on her way to your bosses." Mulder all but choked on his
own breath. "I can't forgive you. I can't forgive myself."
Alex hadn't thought Mulder could find a way to make him feel worse. "Mulder,
please—there's so much you don't know..." Alex started to trail off,
obviously unable //unwilling// to finish the thought, and Mulder turned to
leave. "Wait... it's not your fault!"
Mulder's laugh lacked humor. "And it isn't yours either?" Mulder walked
away, pausing only briefly to say, softly, "Thanks for the dinner, Krycek."
Alex remained motionless as he watched the dark, slump- shouldered figure
shrink and fade into the distance. When he couldn't see Mulder anymore, he
punched the brick wall next to him and tried to find comfort in physical
pain. But it provided no satisfaction, just more pain.
THE END
Past
by Viridian5
"And now there's nothing left to say;
Well, nothing you'd believe."
—"Torn Apart" by Stabbing Westward
