The Price We Pay Dreams. They just torture me now, like everything else.
I can still smell and taste the alien oil, feel it still at the back
of my throat like acid burn after vomiting. I'll never forget what
it felt like heaving that creature up, like trying to give birth to a full-grown
baby through your mouth. I remember feeling the stuff pushing at the
back of my eyes until I thought my eyes would pop out. The first
time I went to sleep the remnants gummed my eyes shut. I can't see.
Not that there's much to look at here.
The Consortium's men took the ship already. When I felt the breeze
from the open door and tried to escape, I got rifle-butted back into unconsciousness
for my trouble. That's gratitude. When I came to everything
was gone.
I'm trash now that they've used me up, too insignificant even to be
worth the effort of killing. Why bother when I'll slowly die on my
own? After an eternity of waiting, I stopped praying that my real
bosses would come save me. I'm useless to them too now that I'm on the
outs with the Consortium.
This isn't fair. I've done some bad things, but did I really do
anything terrible enough to merit this? Could anyone do something
horrible enough to deserve this?
I flinched when I heard the banging noises after an infinity of silence.
I could feel the change in air circulation as the door opened. I
tried to move fast, to get out before whoever-it-was noticed, but my abused
and starved body refused to answer. I groaned, already bereft of
pride, and felt the welling tears get trapped under my glued-shut eyelids.
Gentle hands picked me up. "It's all right, Krycek. I'm
getting you out of here." I know that voice, and it can't be him.
It can't be Mulder. Thoughts of alien shapeshifters whirled through
my head. I didn't care. If the devil himself pretended to be Mulder
I would still go with him if it got me out of here.
As I stumbled weakly beside my rescuer, his hand on my arm to guide
me, I started to wonder if I was dreaming again. If so, I would be
in for one cruel awakening.
I knew the moment we got outside. I smelled fresh night air and
even enjoyed the cold rain that pounded my skin. I took in such a
deep breath that I almost choked.
"Easy, Krycek," Mulder or an imposter said. I felt something gently
dabbing at my eyes as the rain loosened the oil. I blinked for the
first time in forever. It certainly looked like Mulder standing next
to me with a flashlight in his hand. He had a long cut on his forehead
just above his left eyebrow, lending a touch of verisimilitude. Mulder constantly
got bopped on the head, especially on the left side for some unknown reason.
The look of concern on his face made me wonder though.
He rushed me to a car and got me into the passenger seat. I could
only imagine the mess I would make of it between the rainwater and accumulated
filth and alien ooze on me. If it were a rental car, Mulder would
be paying dearly for this.
When he got in and closed the door, I suddenly felt as if I couldn't
breathe, as if the car crushed me. "Mulder," I gasped, not understanding
what was wrong. My voice came out as a croak from panic and abuse.
He looked at me then opened a window. With the influx of cold
North Dakota air, I suddenly felt a little less like I was suffocating.
Oh shit. I didn't need to be saddled with claustrophobia for the
rest of my life, especially not in my profession. Then again, I haven't
woken up yet, so it may be that I'm actually escaping alive. Maybe I should count my blessings.
Mulder stretched back to rummage in the back seat and came back with
a blanket. He wrapped me up like an invalid then sat back in his
seat and started to drive, leaving me to wonder what the hell was going
on.
The last time I had seen him as just myself, he had just beaten the
shit out of me and told me to clean up. The last time I had seen
him as a passenger in my own body with the alien in control, he had decided
on pursuing an uneasy truce. Actually, he had been slumped over the
dashboard semi-conscious and bleeding while the alien walked my body away
with me screaming at it all the while. None of that told me why he rescued me now, unless that
blow to the head had turned him soft on me.
Maybe he really wasn't Mulder. For that, I could only wait and
see. Maybe he came back for the ship, but that didn't explain why
he didn't just leave me when he saw it wasn't there. Leaving me in
the silo seemed to be quite popular right now.
I could ask, and he might even tell me the truth, but I feared the answer.
Mulder drove in silence with that thoughtful, abstracted look he gets
when he's mulling over a problem. I quietly watched him and felt
the ghosts of stakeouts past swirl through my head. Mulder sitting
with me in a car in the dark talking about whatever bizarre thing floated
to the top of his odd brain or in companionable silence. This may
not quite be companionable now, but I'll take what I can get. If
events hadn't escalated so fast and Mulder hadn't been so damned observant,
I could have had more of that. I enjoyed being an FBI agent and Mulder's
partner. I had to trade all that too soon for more killing and betrayal.
When we reached a small motel, Mulder got me out of the car and rushed
me under the awning as he unlocked the door. I appreciated the solicitude,
the concern for my health being imperiled by the cold rain, but I wouldn't
have minded being out in it, with the wetness and even the cold and the
sound being welcome after the null space of the silo. I was sucking
down whatever water ran off the end of my nose. I left dignity behind a long time
ago.
He opened the door and made sure that the room had a window open before
he brought me inside and closed the door behind me. The room had
frozen in time somewhere during the seventies. No one combines browns
and greens like this anymore. For reasons known only to Mulder, he
preferred to book rooms at places like this, unconnected to the popular
chains.
Mulder brought me into the small bathroom and started to run the water
for a bath. Unable to help myself, I groaned in pleasure at the thought.
He looked up at me with one eyebrow cocked then went back to checking the
water. His silence, so unlike Mulder, unnerved me, but I was afraid
that if I asked him something he'd remember how much he hated me and start
knocking me around again. Right now a stiff breeze could knock me over. I
didn't want to push my luck. Well, not for a while anyway.
Finally he stood up and helped me undress. While I had dreamed
of this many times, none of my scenarios involved me being this grimy or
stinking so badly. I'm going to have to burn these clothes, which includes
one of my favorite leather jackets. The smell didn't seem to bother
him, but I suppose his time with the Violent Crimes division and the X-Files
brought him into contact with much worse. My nakedness seemed to
bother him, but I couldn't see in his dark eyes the exact reason why.
Shyness? Family taboo? Disgust? Pity? Desire?
Oh, yeah, Alex, he would really want you now. You do the filthy,
emaciated look so well. You didn't look your best even before you
got beaten up, possessed, then left for dead. Life on the run doesn't
do much for a man's looks.
He helped me into the tub, saving me twice from falling, then left the
room, leaving the door open. I felt a little disappointed but then
decided that I still had some pride left. I soaked for a few minutes
in the deliciously hot water, splashing like a child a little as I luxuriated
in it, then started to soap myself up.
Mulder came back with a glass of water. I almost lunged for it,
but he held it back then put it to my lips saying, "Easy, Krycek.
If you drink too fast you'll just vomit it up again."
I sipped it and felt myself absorb it like a sponge. The water
was lukewarm but probably better for me that way; cold might be too much
of a shock. It was so good. Never thought I could have an orgasm
just from drinking water.
When I finished he took the glass away then poured some shampoo into
his hand and started to suds up my hair. I tried to remind myself
to breathe. One night I had him on his leather couch writhing under
me, my tongue about to plunge down his throat, but this somehow seemed
more intimate, not the least for being so unexpected. He doesn't
remember that night; he doesn't know how I feel. He hates and blames
me for the death of his father.
I melted under the feeling of his long, sure fingers massaging my scalp.
I wanted to purr. I wanted to do things to him that he would shoot
me for thinking about. I wanted to cry at the kindness of it, after
so many months without even the memory of kindness.
He put one hand to my forehead as a block to protect my eyes while he
rinsed my hair from a cup of water he got from the sink. Then, to
my delight, he started to lather my hair again. I began to hope for
conditioner.
It was hard, but I managed to avoid letting him see how much I was enjoying
this. If he did, he would probably stop. I must have maintained
a blank face because he used the conditioner on me too.
By now the tub water had turned filthy. "You'll have to pull the
plug and refill the tub, Krycek. I-I'll be outside," he said before he
left the room. I saw the internal battle going on in his head from the
way something seemed to be skittering behind his hazel eyes. It made
me wonder who the two sides were and which one was winning.
I worried. I never had nerves before I met him. I knew he
was seriously screwed up, as he often admitted himself with varying degrees
of seriousness. What he'd already seen and been through would have broken
most people, but he still functioned, more or less. He had his fragile
spots though. All you have to do is to hit the right places and he
would explode or shatter.
I drained the tub, rinsed myself, and refilled it with fresh hot water.
I'm not the type of person to turn down anything good thrown in my path.
I can worry about him and still be clean and warm. I leaned back to soak.
Suddenly Mulder was back and holding me up roughly by the shoulder.
"What?" I asked in a panic.
"You fell asleep. I grabbed you before you went under." I appreciated
the slight hint of fright in his voice. I felt the same. It
would be incredibly stupid to kill myself in such a ridiculous manner after
escaping from slow, certain death. For one thing, it would make sure
I'd never have the chance to flip off the people who lined me up for said death.
He apparently decided I'd had enough because he started thrusting towels
at me. After pointing out the set of sweats he left for me on the
toilet seat he left again. I carefully stood and toweled myself dry
before getting dressed. Hardly my usual choice of attire but they fit well
enough.
I looked at myself in the mirror and decided that I now looked like
a cleaner piece of shit. The days-old stubble and dark circles under
my eyes gave me that stylish bum on a week's bender look. Mulder
walked back in with a can of shaving cream and a razor.
My mouth went dry. "Please don't be teasing me about this."
His eyes went dark. "Do you want me to?"
I answered by offering my neck. He lathered my face and neck up
then carefully shaved me using sure, slow strokes. He stood pressed
right up against my back, and I thought I felt an erection from him.
God knew I had one. Once again I thought I might be dreaming.
This was too good, too surreal. It was over far too soon. He washed away the last
of the shaving cream and walked out once again without a word. Feeling
frustrated, I followed.
When I walked into the bedroom I had a choice between checking out the
pile of my stuff that Mulder must have shaken loose from my clothing or
sitting down and eating. Despite my hunger, I went to my belongings
first. They lay on the table in a pile, as if Mulder had simply upended
my pockets and let things fall. Or he had taken a look through them
and put them on the table haphazardly to make it look like he hadn't.
Mulder had a wise-ass grin on his face. As a profiler and fellow
paranoiac, he probably followed my mental conversation sentence by sentence.
To spite him, I decided not to worry about it. I picked up my
empty gun holster. The alien goo had given the Cancer Man my gun
along with the all-important tape. It killed me to think that I had
such a valuable treasure as that tape literally in my hands only to have
that thief trade it for something it wanted. With visions of lost opportunities dancing in
my head, I put down the holster and opened my wallet. It still had
my current identity's ID as well as the currencies of five different countries,
all small bills. The condoms I usually kept in the wallet were instead
on the table underneath it. I glanced at Mulder but he had his head down,
concentrating on his dinner.
Satisfied, I sat down to eat. I tried not to vacuum down the crackers
and bland soup, and Mulder gave me a look of approval. There's a
switch. So I asked, "What brings you back here?"
I expected a wise-ass answer. Instead he said, "You did.
I finally remembered bits of the drive to New Mexico. You didn't
have to help Scully get me out of town, especially not after I beat on
you. I'm hurt that she thought I'd never wonder how she managed to
drag me around."
I didn't know what to say. Mulder did that to me sometimes.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Besides, it gave me another shot at the ship."
"You had to know it would be gone."
He shrugged gracefully. When I yawned widely, he said, "After
you eat, you should get some sleep."
I wanted to ask why he cared, but I'm not that big a fool. After
I finished my food in slightly uncomfortable silence, I meekly went to
my own bed. I felt a stupid disappointment that I wouldn't be sharing
a bed with him then had a laugh at myself for how high my ambitions had
risen in just a few hours. I was alive, clean, warm, and fed, all things
I had thought only hours ago that I would be leaving behind me forever.
And I had Mulder tucking me in almost tenderly. I should count myself
ahead. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
I woke up screaming and hyperventilating in the dark with stale air
crushing me. I couldn't see. I had never left the silo, and
I was going to die so slowly that I would be able to know each step in
detail.
"Krycek!" I couldn't believe it was Mulder calling me. If I did,
my heart would shatter at the truth. But then I felt myself being pulled
in and held against his body, warm and snug. Safe. Till I fall
asleep again. To my disgust I started to sob against his shoulder.
He stroked my hair and whispered comforting nonsense to me, rocking
me a little. He told me he'd dreamed about digging his way free of that
burning boxcar in New Mexico for months after it happened. This was
normal and natural.
I still couldn't forgive myself. I faced death so many times before
without all this melodrama, but those anticipated deaths had taken only
moments. The silo gave me a chance to reflect on my coming demise
in leisure, and that had almost broken me. I didn't want to think
about death anymore.
When I started kissing him, he kissed me back. My arms locked
around him, and I felt a change in him. I wasn't sure what it was
but didn't think much about that or anything else. "Fox," I moaned
against his lips as I'd always wanted to. I was sure that once we
got close enough, I wouldn't have to keep using his surname. It made
me feel like something out of an old detective novel.
He stopped doing anything, just passively let me kiss and stroke him.
I had the zombie love doll again. "Fox?" I pulled away.
In the dim light from the parking lot I could see the confusion and
lust in his eyes, but they weren't his eyes. I mean, they weren't
Mulder's eyes, didn't hold any expression I recognized as his. The
body language also said not-Mulder. I tried to tell myself that he
was just one of those people who are very different in passion than in the rest of their lives, but
it didn't fit. This was like someone else wearing Mulder's body.
I remembered that long ago night when I last could have taken that body
without the Mulder I knew in residence. I assumed—well, I made a
lot of assumptions. Foremost being that what I saw had been the result
of exhaustion, nightmares, and sleepwalking. And having been molested
by his father. Second that I had witnessed something rare for him.
When he spoke, he didn't even sound like Mulder. The voice sounded
higher and younger and had a trace of a New England accent. "Please
tell me what you want me to do! What am I doing wrong?"
"Who the hell are you?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"I'm Fox."
I remembered a stakeout long ago with me trying to bond with Mulder.
When I called him "Fox," he immediately said, "Don't call me Fox.
Nobody calls me Fox." He sounded more upset than he should have.
Oh, shit. Now I understood. I began to realize that I let
William Mulder die too quickly.
I moved closer to him and felt his eyes watching me intensely as he
tried to figure out what to do for me, what I wanted. Like his father
trained him. He looked scared, and I wondered if he got hit when
he didn't please. It all made me sick.
I said as gently as I could, "No offense, but I'd like to speak to Mulder.
Please."
"But—"
"Do you want to do this? I'm not asking you to tell me what you think
I want to hear. I'm not your father. I would like to know what
you want."
The expression in the eyes settled a little until it still didn't say
Mulder but looked less vacuous and mindlessly young and more certain.
"We want you, but we're afraid of losing control. Shit, you weren't
supposed to figure out what we were so quickly. It took even Phoebe
awhile." He closed his eyes wearily. "Now you're disgusted by us."
I tried to think. Could Mulder even have sex, or had it always
been Fox, who must have worked as the old man's playtoy? No, I had
felt Mulder there at first. What had I done that made him leave?
What had I done the last time?
I took control, much like Bill Mulder must have, and this time I compounded
it by calling him "Fox."
"No, not by you and Mulder. By your father."
That earned me a saucy grin from Fox. "And you killed him for
it."
"You don't know—"
"I do. We do." Fox stroked my face and sighed. "We don't hate
you for it. I especially don't. I just have to keep reminding
myself that I don't have to let myself be used ever again."
Then he closed his eyes, and I watched his whole posture change.
When he opened his eyes, Mulder lived in them again. He put his hand to
his face, obviously ashamed.
"Mulder, I'm not disgusted by you. Or by him. Do you want
to talk about it?"
"Why not? You seem to have figured most of it out on your own
anyway." We settled back down on the bed. To my delight, he
snuggled in against me. In a tone deader than Mulder's usual, classic
monotone, he said, "It started after Samantha's disappearance, after the
divorce, when I was twelve. Mom had gotten custody of me, and Dad
asked to see me for the weekend. I blamed myself for the divorce and had some stupid kid thought of trying to
get them back together again.
"When I got there he was civil. We talked and had a nice dinner.
Then he hugged me, which is something he rarely did, and I really liked
it. But then he started to touch me in ways that I, even starved
for affection as I was, felt was wrong. I started to fight him, and he
knocked me to the floor. Dad always had a talent for controlling
a blow so it would hurt but not leave a mark. I was never obedient
enough for him; he always accused me of thinking I was smarter than he
was. I still struggled, and he hit me until I blacked out.
"I came to feeling sore and knowing that something terrible had happened.
He blamed me, told me that I flaunted myself in front of him. That
this happened because I was always demanding physical affection from him.
I blamed myself. From then on he molested me every time I saw him."
"Didn't anybody notice something was wrong with you?" I asked, shuddering
at the images in my head.
"My sister had disappeared, and my parents had divorced. I had
started to withdraw even before the divorce. I started indulging
in some anti-social behavior and became a bit of a firebug."
"But you hate fire. That fire at your friend's house—"
"Who do you think set it? It got out of control, a perfect metaphor
for my life. I realized that I could hurt other people, so I did
a little aversion therapy on myself. Anyway, what Dad did just hastened
my downward spiral. I wondered sometimes if Mom knew. I still
don't know.
"I couldn't deal with it, even as I tried to analyze his moods and reactions
to lessen his violence. I realized that he preferred me passive,
obedient, and childlike. To my disgust, I did that for him so he
wouldn't keep hitting me. I don't know exactly when the part of me
who acted that part out for him became Fox. All I know is that eventually I started to white-out
during those episodes. Fox protected me. Not having to remember
made it easier for me to put up a front for the rest of the world.
Withdrawn and ashamed, I buried myself in my studies and kept myself isolated
from other people. I felt unclean.
"This went on till I went to Oxford. Suddenly I was free of the
people I'd known and their expectations of me. I started to become
the person I wanted to be and made friends. I started to tell people
to call me 'Mulder.' Life was good until I fell hard for my first
love. I would go overseas and find the worst woman possible for
me to fall in love with.
"She was wonderful at first but quickly turned into a predator.
Putting me down, isolating me from my friends. A psych major, she
quickly figured out what was going on with Fox and me. Her way of
feeling that she won an argument was to trigger Fox and use him, getting
a horrible thrill out of knowing that she could command me in that way at least. He didn't
understand why she would still hurt us after he did what she wanted.
I broke up with Phoebe a thousand times but kept crawling back. I
thought I deserved her.
"I broke it off for good with her three weeks before I would be going
back to the States for good. I felt so pathetically proud that I
didn't do the cowardly thing and just stay with her until I left forever.
We were all having final examinations, and tension ran high through all
my classmates.
"Shit, Mulder." I felt him quiver a little against me.
"Fortunately, very few people remembered anything the next morning.
It still horrified me, made me feel like we really were the whore Dad claimed
we were. Peter begged me to get help, and I lied and told him I would.
He didn't even know how bad I really was. I mean, 95% of my sexual experience
came from my other personality. But I couldn't have that kind of
mark on my record and get into the Bureau. Mulder took the psych tests and passed beautifully,
providing exactly the right answers. With my talent for profiling
and Fox's ability to read people, we soon hit the fast track. Then
we crossed paths with Patterson.
"He was a mentor and father figure, and, to our shame, we quickly fell
into bed with him. That was bad enough. Unfortunately,
his ego really liked Fox's total obedience in bed, so he decided he would
try to create a Fox Mulder who only had the traits he liked. A genius
profiler who worshipped him. So he was exactly like our father. We transferred
out as quickly as possible, and Patterson never forgave us. Seeing
him again recently and having to put him away was one of the hardest things
I've ever done.
"My love life is nonexistent. Scully, you, Detective White, everyone
I ever felt anything for I tried to keep at arm's length for fear that
they would see how screwed up I am and I would lose everything. I
keep hitting you because that's the closest I can get to you as Mulder.
I'm amazed that you're still here."
"Mulder, I want you. I don't know if you feel the same way—"
"Oh, yeah, I came back for a ship I knew wouldn't be there anymore.
Do you know how hard I had to fight to keep control of myself in the bathroom?"
"—but I am more than willing to do anything I have to to make you comfortable.
I have an idea on that, actually, if you're interested."
"I'm listening."
"You tell me what you want me to do. If you don't like something,
just tell me and I'll stop. Feel free to touch me any way you like.
The novelty might be enough to keep you from flipping over to Fox."
After my recent ordeal, I had more ideas than energy. I really hoped
I wouldn't disappoint him.
"It's worth a shot," he said, but he had the body language of a man
going to the firing squad. He didn't expect this to work. "Okay,
kiss me then."
"Where? Lips, neck—"
"Start at my neck and work your way down. I'll tell you when to
stop."
"Mulder, before we do this—" I said and grinned at his growl of frustration,
"I want you to know that as much as I love you, some things won't change.
I have things I'll have to do. Don't trust me where it crosses them."
"Likewise. I won't stop either. When we're in public we
have to still be what we were. Did you say you love me?"
Oh, shit, I did, didn't I? And it was true. I nodded.
"Good," he said. "Now stop teasing me and keep your promises."
I followed my orders and unbuttoned his shirt as I slowly moved down
his neck to his chest, rubbing my body against his as I kissed him.
I teased one nipple with my tongue and the other with my fingers, caressing,
sucking, nipping, and pinching. He moaned low in his throat.
His hands started to tentatively then more confidently explore my body with a curiosity
that I first found touching but soon intensely arousing. He had the
hands of an artist.
I kissed my way lower, down his ribs, and over his stomach. I
unzipped his jeans and pulled them and his boxers down. I kissed
and nipped at his hard cock then, with a grin, went down to his thighs.
"Stop and go back!" he gasped. Well, at least I knew he was playing
along.
I nipped, sucked, and licked at his cock, treating it like a piece of
hard candy. He made the most incredible sounds, and his body flowed
against me like water. He begged me for release. I took him
into my mouth as deep as I could and started to suck in earnest.
I resisted the urge to clutch him, because I knew he would flash back if I did. It must have been
a long time for him because he started to roughly thrust into my mouth.
His fingers clenched on my back, and it hurt, but I wanted it all.
I wanted to give Mulder, and I knew that I still had Mulder with me, something
no one else had ever given him. He came with a scream in my mouth and almost
snapped my back in half.
I finally crawled up beside him. "Alex, that was incredible,"
he said softly before he kissed me, parting my lips with his tongue, tasting
himself from my mouth. I noticed two things that made me smile.
First, I approved of him taking some of the initiative. Second, I
heard him use my first name. I knew why he never used anyone's first
name, knew that using everyone's last name made his own demand that everyone
call him by his own last name seem a little less strange. That "Alex"
showed a depth of feeling that warmed me.
"Alex, I want you inside me."
"Won't that—"
"Alex, I'm still here! If we can do that and still keep me in
control, it would be such a victory for me. And I want it.
You said I could have what I want." He gave me a look that made me
even harder then undressed me in a way that seriously threatened my self-control.
"I'll be right back." I brought the condoms over but couldn't
figure out what I could use as lubricant. I mentioned it to Mulder.
He smiled and put the condom on me, then put his fingers into his mouth
and worked them over until I almost came from the sight alone. He let his
fingers go with one last caress of his tongue then stroked my cock with
them for lubrication. Seeing that I had reached the point of no return,
he turned around, offering himself so prettily that part of me wanted to
thrust in right there. I smacked that part around and told it to
shut up and grow up.
I slowly pushed in and pulled out, progressively working my way deeper
with each thrust with Mulder gasping, "More, deeper," each time.
But as I started to move faster, I can feel him begin to change under me.
I started to shout his name over and over again, which brought him back.
Eventually that fell into rhythm with us too. I took his hands in
my own and made him stroke his own cock. I felt his orgasm coming in the rippling of his muscles
so I slowed down a little to try to prolong the moment. He growled and
tried to impale himself deeper. When that didn't work, he pulled
his hands free of mine and used his long arms to reach back and grab my
ass. Then he thrust his own slick fingers into me. I exploded, saw
stars, screamed his name, and collapsed.
We rolled over onto our sides with my cock still in him. Mulder
pressed up against me in purest contentment. I didn't ask any of
the stupid questions that came to mind, like where he learned that trick
with his fingers, and instead passed the time admiring the back of his
neck and marveling at how limber he had to be.
"Thank you," he said as we both crossed over into sleep.
Hours later I woke up again as Mulder rubbed against me. I was
still loosely in him and felt myself start to get hard again. I smiled
and let my hands play across his ribs. Then I realized that it wasn't
Mulder. I pulled out quickly and left the bed to dispose of the condom
and settle my mind.
Fox sighed. "You're very talented. If Mulder got laid more
often he might be easier to live with."
"You were watching?"
"I was with you all the way, actually. Mulder misses out on most
of the sex because he flashes back to Dad and shuts down. I like
sex any way I can get it, so I get to experience his encounters too.
I'm freaking you out. I guess I shouldn't mention all the nights
we were alone and I consoled Mulder, but I just want to see the look on
your face. Well, that was worth it."
Even I blushed at the mental images I now had. I tired to change
the subject. "You have Mulder's sense of humor."
"Actually, he has mine. We started to integrate a little when
he first started to work on the X-Files. It was frightening but exhilarating
too. Then the Conspiracy got involved and Mulder started trying to protect
me from things again. But the boundaries are much more blurred than
they used to be.
"Really?" And here I was, King of the Traitors. I felt sick.
"If anyone else ever finds out, I'll track you down and kill you."
I almost started to laugh, but Fox's tone stopped me. "You wouldn't."
"I'm very self-protective. I'm the one who beat the shit out of
Duane Barry. While Mulder was losing it at the sight of Scully's hair and
blood on Barry's medical bracelet, I leaped up and did what should be done.
Mulder came back before I finished though. Stupid FBI regulations."
He smiled darkly at the look on my face. "You probably think we're split
into mind/body, but it's closer to say that we're split into thought/emotion,
though that still isn't completely accurate, not even from before we started
to melt into one another a little. I would kill you to protect us."
I knew then that he would do exactly as he said. "What if they
find out some other way?"
"Well, if I were you I would try to make sure that didn't happen."
"I love him."
"Will that stop you from betraying him if you feel you have to?" Fox
asked. I hung my head. He sneered. "I didn't think so."
"You're not what I expected."
"I'll take that as a compliment. I want to like you. You scored
some points for yourself that night by walking away instead of taking advantage,
and you killed Dad when I couldn't."
"You remember that night? You were pretty out of it."
"In bits and pieces. Who do you think convinced Mulder to come
get you?"
I stopped trying to figure Fox out and set my mind to matters I could
affect. "How long is Mulder here for?"
"He took a five day vacation. Everyone was so stunned by how sensible
that was that no one thought to ask about his plans. If you behave
yourself, you might have a good time with him."
"We could do a lot in five days."
Fox smirked. "That's the spirit. Now get back to sleep.
You may have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."
I did as I was told and slept peacefully through the rest of the night.
A sleepy and conspicuously contented Mulder woke me late the next morning
with slow kisses that led to us spending another hour in bed, ending only
when the cleaning crew started pounding on the door to prompt us to check
out. That became our traditional way of starting the mornings.
We hit the road traveling southeast toward warmer weather. Sometimes
he even let me drive. Mulder and Fox had to stop at almost every
homegrown attraction we passed, the stranger the better. They were like
big kids. I got the feeling that this was something else they never
got to do as children, and I happily indulged them. We ate at tiny
diners and stayed at Mom-and-Pop motor inns, where we made love until we passed out. Seeing the country
the Fox Mulder way.
Sometimes he was Mulder and sometimes he was Fox and sometimes he was
Fox Mulder, a shifting blend of both at once. I loved them all.
He flowed from one to the next seamlessly in front of me, which I took
to be a sign of confidence in me. I would complain as Mulder shouted
along to Roger Waters' nervous breakdown that The Wall was hardly happy
traveling music only to have Fox grin at me and put on a Skinny Puppy CD.
Mulder liked more mainstream music and vehemently said that he couldn't
sing. Fox liked bands like the Sisters of Mercy and Depeche Mode and sang
very well as both himself and whatever singer he decided to imitate.
He was eerie as Depeche Mode's lead singer. It made me wonder if
Fox occasionally slipped out at night during their teen years all dressed
in black and looking for trouble. When not in the presence of his father,
Fox was anything but docile.
We talked nonstop during the rides, and I started to find ways to make
Mulder laugh. He had an incredible laugh. Sometimes Fox helped
me.
I stretched the moments as long as I could because I knew this vacation
from the people we usually pretended to be couldn't last. Soon the
time-out would be over, and we would go back to wearing our professional
masks. But for now, this was enough.
The End
Weaknesses III
by Viridian5
Sometimes I dream that I'm free again, but then I wake up. I don't
know how long I've been trapped in here, but it has to be less than a week
because I haven't died of thirst. Yet. That's one of the other
things I dream about besides fresh air and open spaces. I fantasize
about water—cool, warm, hot, it doesn't matter—slowly dripping down my
throat, flowing over the dry, abraded tissue. I dream of food too.
And I dream of him, remembering the sound of him shouting from the
hall as they caught him and took him away from me and the truth he so desperately
searches for. In my dreams they let him go, and he comes back to
save me.
Forget it. All my other IDs were scattered on the table too along
with keys for a variety of lockers and doors across the world. My
little velvet pouch still had all its loose diamonds in it. Without
settings they were harder to trace and easier to sell.
Lonely, depressed, and stressed, I went to a party, got drunk off my
ass, and blacked out. When I woke up the next morning in my friend
Peter's room he told me that I had acted as a bit of a party favor.
He pulled me out just as the third person was coming up to get a shot at
me. I can only think that Fox was drunk and looking for affection.
That was the only way we knew how to get it."
One night, while Mulder and I were trying to keep an eye on Tooms,
I got to talk to Scully unsupervised. Mulder and I were taking turns
keeping watch but we were tiring. When Scully came by I couldn't
wake him, so I flew solo. She shocked me when she used my name, but
I think I handled the situation well. Either that or she chalked up my
quirks to fatigue." Fox closed his eyes. "So now you know about us.
You're the only one Mulder ever told."
