Their Only Chance After all we'd been through together it hurt to be leaving like this.
As I walked to the elevator, I tried to hold onto the image of his slowly
softening expression and the feel of his warm skin beneath my lips. I didn't
know when I would see him again.
"Alex, wait," I heard Mulder say from behind me. I turned to face
him. He stood in the doorway of his apartment with his arms wrapped
around himself looking as if he would fly apart at any moment. I
wanted to rush over and hold him together, but I knew I couldn't do that.
I could hold him, but not necessarily together.
Mulder has seen and experienced things that would have broken most people.
I sometimes wondered with some cynicism if he survived because he hadn't
been sane even before he got involved with the X-Files.
"What, Mulder?"
The words dripped out slowly and softly like water from a stone. "Please
don't go. Not yet."
Even as I walked back I knew I was doing something stupid but it didn't
matter. I couldn't say no to the look in his eyes. With my
heart pounding, I followed him back into the apartment.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a finger that said, wait.
As he fiddled with a beat-up looking stereo system, I wondered what he
was up to and thought of the past. While in Tunguska I had someone
keeping track of news on Mulder, news that I received in a chunk every
few months when I returned to St. Petersburg.
Life had let Mulder survive his run from the prison camp intact, better
than I did, but then proceeded to gut punch him. He dealt with the
more every-day horrors of the X-Files as well as he usually did, but horrors
of a more personal nature kept striking. Scully discovered that she
had cancer in an inoperable portion of her brain. I never understood their bond,
but I can see it exists. The prospect of losing her must have seemed
like Samantha all over again but this time with more personal blame involved.
When I found out that Mulder went to a quack doctor to get holes drilled
into his head, I wanted to return to the States just so I could shake some
sense into him and then keep him locked up somewhere safe so he could never
hurt himself again. He had it done to stimulate his memory.
William, one of Mulder's personalities, once claimed to be a repository
of all of Mulder's memories but apparently wasn't sharing for his own cold, self-interested
reasons.
Through an unusual bit of luck I didn't get to hear about Mulder's "suicide"
until after the news that it was a hoax arrived too. I knew Mulder
well enough to guess that he must have been close to an actual suicide
to think up that gambit. It seemed that the Consortium expected whatever
they had done to him to make him do exactly that. I had a feeling
that bitch Scully had contributed somehow.
Against all odds Mulder found a cure for her but she remained cold to
him. A woman with the ability to push people's minds almost tricked
him into killing his partner. A sentient machine trapped him and
tortured him mentally.
And something had shaken the beliefs that formed the foundation of his
life. It stunned me that I had to sell him on the idea of the alien war.
What did he use to keep his mind together now?
Every time I heard something terrible I wanted to go to him, but I was
too afraid. Afraid that my presence would do more damage. Afraid
that he would reject me, especially with my amputated arm. Afraid
that I would see that, while he had kept up the facade that had kept his
secrets safe for years, his mind had broken, and no one else had realized.
I also had my work, and I even I found it harder and harder to justify
what I did. I tortured that boy and sewn his eyes and mouth shut.
I've done worse over the last few months in my dual positions as KGB officer
and advisor to the scientists refining the cure for the black cancer.
I told myself the usual stories about the ends justifying the means and about the benefits
of the many being more important than the suffering of the few, but I knew
that Mulder would be horrified if he ever found out. So he won't.
When the music turned on loud, I immediately recognized the singer's
voice from my road trip with Mulder and identified the CD as being a Depeche
Mode album. Fox loved them. When Mulder turned to me I scrutinized
him for signs that Fox had taken control, but the posture and eyes still
said Mulder.
I often found it hard being involved with a man who had multiple personality
disorder, since it was worse than marrying into someone's family.
You could like some of them and hate others but couldn't refuse to deal
with them, especially not when they could pop out at any time. I
liked Fox but wanted Mulder.
He stopped in front of me and said softly, "I decided to leave the audio
bug in and take advantage of it. Audio, but no video for those prying
bastards. Maybe they'd think I found the one but missed the other.
You knew about it, didn't you."
He wouldn't believe a lie this time. "Yes," I said as softly.
"Mulder, I want you to know that I had a plan in Tunguska. I was
going to get us out."
"Of course." He sounded so cold, but he still seemed to be Mulder,
not William.
"Please, Mulder."
"I've done a lot of thinking lately. I can't trust you, but I
can't trust Scully or Skinner or myself either. So why am I so angry
at you for being untrustworthy? No reason really."
Panicked, I momentarily felt the urge to blurt out all of his old reasons
at him, no matter the damage to myself, because I wanted to shake that
horrible equitable tone from his voice. He scared me. He sounded
defeated.
I grabbed his arms. "Mulder, it's important to feel what you feel.
You just can't think around some things. Not everything is logical
or makes sense. You should know that."
The music briefly ceased then changed into something warm and loping
with keyboards and guitars. He altered with it and smiled with a
muted happiness. "I love this song."
"Mulder?"
"He's been feeling bad for a few months now. Just give him time
to process your information and kiss, and he'll be better. He just
has to think through it. Once it hits, you'll have made him very
happy."
"Which one are you?"
His smile broadened as he took me in his arms and started to rock me
around in time to the music. "Guess," he said softly into my ear,
making me shiver.
Through the distraction of his breath and voice at my ear and the feeling
of him slow dancing in my arms, I tried to think. I instantly crossed
William off the list. Fox followed. Fox loved Depeche Mode,
could sing, and had a penchant for being touchy-feely, but the one singing
right now didn't use the higher-pitched talking voice that had the faint
New England accent or the rich, crowd-pleasing singing voice Fox did.
I pulled back as far as he would let me and looked into his eyes.
They weren't Fox's eyes.
I got it. I dealt with Fox Mulder, the semi-integrated one, right
now. I didn't know if he was a separate personality or an odd collaboration
of Mulder with a few of the others, but I had always liked him. He
comprised some middle state between Mulder's depressed over-thinking and
Fox's cheerful, sensual self-interest.
Mulder once said that, once he felt comfortable and content working
on the X- Files, he had been integrating his selves before the Consortium
started to lean on him. Seeing how agreeable and spontaneous Fox
Mulder could be, it made me wonder how he would have ended up if left to
work the X-Files with no interference.
"Picking up the conversations/Deep in your imagination/Tune into the
lonely voices/ Talking of their only choices/Let yourself go/Let yourself
go/Let your spirit grow"
I finally realized through the haze of physical stimuli that he sang
about himself. Or themselves. The music picked up tempo for
the chorus he danced us around a little faster with a little more sensuality.
The feeling of him moving against me drove me insane. "Step out of your
cage/And onto the stage/It's time to start/Playing your part/Freedom awaits/Open the
gates/Open your mind/Freedom's a state" As an instrumental piece played
he kissed the tip of my ear.
I gasped and asked, "Are you speaking for Mulder with this?"
"I can't speak for all the inmates; we don't all agree very often.
But I think, yes. The last few months underscored how short life
can be, and he's never gotten over you." His hand played along my
spine. "I can taste the tears falling/The bitterness inside you calling/Yearning
for a liberation/Emotional emancipation/Let yourself go/Let yourself go/Let
your senses overflow"
As I stroked his hair I felt a few tiny lumps at the hairline.
Scars. He shivered as my fingers lingered over them as if they were
Braille and let me read Mulder's madness and desperation. He pulled
back a little then kissed my left shoulder, probably to tell me that he
didn't mind the fake arm at all.
As the song swung into the next chorus, he sped us up again and swiveled
against me. As I moaned he sang, "Step out of your cage/And onto
the stage/It's time to start/Playing your part/Freedom awaits/Open the
gates/Open your mind/Freedom's a state"
We danced to the closing instrumental with our lips locked together
and our bodies synchronized. We didn't have any time. He had
to be at the military base at a certain time or he'd miss the transfer.
I had places I had to be. I let this moment, the sensations, block it out
for as I long as I could.
He shuddered against me. "Alex, please—" he moaned. I saw
Mulder looking at me with glittering, dilated eyes.
No time. I kneeled in front of Mulder, unfastened his pants, pulled
down his boxers, and took him in my mouth, working his cock over with my teeth and tongue.
He bit down on his lower lip, but strangled sounds of pleasure still came
out, if muffled. I remembered the audio surveillance of his apartment.
He tried so hard to control himself and not hurt me, but he still bucked
against me violently as he came. I wondered how long it had been
for him.
He slumped to his knees in front of me and kissed me hungrily.
As his tongue explored my mouth, his hands unfastened my pants and shoved
my own underwear to my knees. One of his hands expertly stroked and
pumped my cock as the other played with my balls. I so missed having
two hands. When I came I screamed into his mouth.
For a while we leaned against one another forehead to forehead, propping
one another up off the messy floor. I chuckled as I realized that
he still wore his trench coat in addition to his suit jacket. It
died as I remembered.
"I have to go, Mulder."
He trembled a little. "I know."
"Mulder, I'll be staying at the Americana Hotel on Spring Street in
Room 10 for two days."
He smiled. "Okay." He was still smiling as I left.
He showed up at 10 am the next morning looking like hell. I spent
hours worrying that I would never see him again for various reasons.
I tasted tears on his skin when I kissed him. "What happened?" I
asked.
"I didn't get him. I barely even got to see him. That alien
killer came, then everything whited out. The MP didn't stop interrogating
me until a half hour ago." He sighed and kissed me back. "I
took today off with Scully's blessing."
"Mulder, before we go any further, I think you should see this."
I took off my shirt to show him what remained of my arm. I never
wore the uncomfortable prosthetic when I was by myself, so Mulder saw the
stump in its full mutilated glory.
I saw no revulsion in him. He came closer, an innocent curiosity
in his eyes, to examine and finally kiss it. The warmth of his mouth
against the sensitive skin made me shiver.
"So your scars are on the outside. It doesn't matter to me.
This time I'm taking my time."
THE END AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Depeche Mode's Ultra album makes a good soundtrack,
with only "The Love Thieves" and "Sister of Night" breaking the pattern,
to the lovelife and times of our favorite angst-filled puppy.
While most of them work with Mulder's relationship with Krycek, I think "Useless"
provides an incredible accompaniment to the Mulder/Scully dynamic at its
most painful (I believe that he loves her but know that, if they ever did get together,
it wouldn't work out or bring him happiness. This is the woman who
told him that everything he believed and based his life on was a lie and
that she was dying because of him, punching almost every self-destruct
button she knows he has, then sent him home alone to think about it.
The only way she could have been more devastating would be to produce Samantha's
corpse as well. The phone call saved his life.)
Try it today!
Weaknesses V
by Viridian5
Holding me close, cheek to cheek, he started to sing along with David
Gahan, "I can hear your soul crying/Listen to your spirit sighing/I can feel
your desperation/Emotional deprivation/Let yourself go/Let yourself go/Let
your feelings show"
