Can't Stop Yesterday
by Claire Dobbin
Now it was his.
And he didn't want it anymore.
The betrayals of him and by him had been a price too high to pay. The memories
were too raw. But how did you walk away from this? How did you go out there,
start afresh at age forty-seven when you hadn't a clue about what else you
wanted to do?
His assistant bustled in with coffee and an armful of files. He straightened his
chair and reached for the steaming cup.
"Morning sir. I've made your travel arrangements for the conference next week.
The details are in your desk diary."
"Good morning, Marie." He sipped at the hot coffee. "I'll review them later. Did
you get in contact with Webber in Chicago?"
"No sir, he's had to take some compassionate leave because of a family illness.
I'll try to reach him again this morning."
"Let it go, it's nothing that won't keep. Just request the office to have him
contact me when he returns to work. If you don't hear back before the end of
next week, follow it up."
"Yes sir, is there anything else?"
"No, thank you. I'll make a start on last month's budget transaction report.
Bring in the mail about eleven."
Silent steps were followed by the quiet snick of the heavy door. He finished his
coffee and pulled out the thick budgetary statement. Another sigh escaping him
as he opened at the first page.
An hour later the half of the document he had worked his way through was covered
with numerous yellow sticky labels, each denoting an anomaly that required
further scrutiny or an expenditure he was going to make sure would never arise
again. He'd need to make this point more forcibly at the next Department Heads
staff meeting.
At least, Mulder's extravagances were entertaining...
He clamped down on the thought ruthlessly, but his concentration had been
broken. Throwing the report on the desk, he stretched out in the chair and eased
his shoulder muscles, rolling his head gently from side to side.
It was then that the red plastic tab caught his attention. It was attached to
one of the files his assistant had left on his desk that morning. He reached
forward and extracted it from the stack. Months ago he had entered a command
into the system requesting that it flag, for his attention, any reference to the
names on a list he had keyed in. This was the first result it had thrown up. He
sat back and opened the file. The name in the title leapt out at him, causing
the gut churning feeling to return.
Request for databank search/TR23 – Subject: Krycek, Alex – DOB – 6/23/62
He quickly scanned down the page and found what he was looking for...
Disposition—White Oaks Psychiatric Facility, Richmond, Virginia
A visual image played in his memory. Krycek, sullen and defiant and cuffed,
being escorted from the Committee Hearing Room ten months ago. The transport he
had been loaded into had White Oaks emblazoned on the side. He'd stared at
Mulder, Scully and himself until the vehicle had turned the corner. Skinner
remembered the relief he'd felt as it had disappeared from sight. And the
frustration. The bastard had gotten off too damned lightly. Okay, so he'd come
in with enough information to initiate the investigation that had laid the
Consortium wide open. And no government, at home or abroad, could cover up what
had come out of that investigation, even if it was not to be made public.
The purge that followed had been swift and complete. And Alex Krycek, a man who
clearly relished his work, was there every step of the way. It had been a
one-man score-settling fest, and when it was done, he'd faced the Committee's
judgement with a smug, contented smirk on his face.
The Chairman had told him he would be given blanket immunity from prosecution,
only if he was prepared to sign himself into a mental institution for an
unspecified duration.
"...until the Committee, acting on advice, considers you to be no longer a
threat to society..."
Skinner had no idea what Krycek had expected, but it was clear from his
expression that it was not this. The smirk had been replaced by a blank look and
the colour had drained form his face. That had been the only reaction he had
shown before he swallowed hard and gave his terse reply.
"I agree," said the cornered rat.
He'd signed the papers placed before him and had allowed himself to be cuffed
and led away.
Since then he'd only entered Skinner's conscious thoughts fleetingly, although
he'd made some dramatic appearances in nightmares. In them, his presence was
always accompanied by suffocating pain and terror.
Skinner turned the page and absentmindedly rubbed at his left shoulder. He
reached across to the desk intercom. "Marie, no calls for the next hour."
"Yes sir."
He lifted the file and settled himself on the office couch.
The data search had been initiated by an Agent O'Keefe on behalf of a Dr. Robert
K. Massie, the Resident Physician, in White Oaks. The request was for a trace on
the name Svetlov, Alexander; born 1959-63. The file contained the doctor's
statement and a transcript of a treatment session.
Krycek,A/RKM – Session 31 (Hypnosis-Regression#1) 1/8/2000 – 10.40 am The
patient has been medicated and has entered a light trance state. He is calm and
co-operative.
RKM Are you comfortable Alex?
AK Yes
RKM Let's talk about your childhood. What is the earliest memory you have?
AK I remember the swing
RKM The swing?
AK In the orange tree. It wasn't Olga's fault
RMK Olga?
AK My sister. She tried to catch me but she couldn't
RMK Did you get hurt?
AK My arm... I hurt my arm
RKM Calm down Alex, it was a long time ago. It's over
AK Yes. And Olga made it better. She said, 'Don't cry, Sasha.' Then she
carried me to Mama
RKM Why did Olga call you 'Sasha'? Isn't the diminutive of Alexei
'Alyosha'?
AK My name isn't Alexei, it's Alexander
RKM Alex, tell me your full name
AK Alexander Petrovitch Svetlov
RKM Then who is Alex Krycek?
At this point the patient became highly agitated and the session was ended.
Skinner read through the rest of the file then threw it on the coffee table in
disgust.
"Total hypno-therapy, psycho-babble bullshit!" He muttered aloud. "I'm
personally going to make sure you don't get away with this, you son of a bitch!"
He flicked on the intercom. "Marie, get me Agent O'Keefe in the Richmond Office,
then bring me in the file on Alex Krycek."
Skinner hit the button for an outside line and dialled a number from memory.
"Special Projects, may I help you?"
"This is Deputy Director Skinner. I want some time on the system today. As soon
as possible."
"Let me check, sir." The clatter of a keyboard. "We can accommodate you at
2.30pm this afternoon. System Supervisor Brightman will be available to
assist."
"Thank you. I'll be there." He hung up.
The phone buzzed. "Yes?"
"Agent O'Keefe for you sir."
"Thank you, put him through."
"O'Keefe, your request for a data search on Alexander Svetlov, what's its
status?"
"It hasn't turned up anything as yet, sir.
"Call Processing, tell them I'm giving this priority. And Agent, there are
several English spelling variants of that name. Check them all out."
"Yes sir. Do you want me to report directly to you?"
"Yes, my assistant will inform you of my location. I also want you to contact
this Doctor Massie. I'd like to meet with him at his earliest convenience."
"Will do, sir."
Skinner ended the call as his assistant carried in the thick file he had
requested.
"Marie, reschedule my appointments for the rest of the day and tomorrow. "
"It may be too late to contact the Senator to cancel your luncheon meeting."
"I'll keep that engagement, but I'll be gone the rest of the day."
It took the rest of the morning to review the documentation on Krycek and he
carried it with him to the restaurant. It rested in his briefcase as he sat
impatiently through the meandering, chitchat- laden meal, but by 2.15pm he was
pulling into the warehouse complex that housed Special Projects. Entering the
vast building set aside to contain all the material related to the Consortium,
he was met by a supervisor who guided him to the terminal he would use, keyed in
the password and left him.
He first searched the database under the name Alex Krycek. Everything it turned
up matched the material in the FBI file, which had been fully updated. It
contained no reference to the name Svetlov, in any of its forms. So he searched
under the name Alexander Svetlov. Within seconds the high-speed data processors
began downloading information and Skinner began reading the story of how a
four-year-old boy had been kidnapped so he could stand in the place of the son
of one of the Consortium's leading lights when the aliens came to extract their
price. And how the man's duplicity had been revealed easily, ignorant as he was
of the extra-terrestrials' sophisticated use of DNA and how, according to this
record, he was executed and his family was removed from the program. It also
revealed that the Consortium considered it too dangerous to return the kidnapped
child to his family, and told of how he was placed with surrogate parents until
he could be put to some use.
How convenient Krycek Skinner mused, knowing only too well the deviousness of
the man's thought processes. How long have you been setting this up, you
bastard? How are you going to get around the fact that we have access to DNA
now, too?
"Deputy Director Skinner." The supervisor spoke quietly behind him. "There's an
Agent O'Keefe here to see you, sir."
"Bring him in." Skinner hit the print button and watched the pages collect in
the tray.
A stocky young agent hurried in and enthusiastically shook the DD's hand. "I've
the information you need here, sir. The incident happened in Florida, but there
was a copy of the file here in Washington." He opened a briefcase to reveal a
yellowed and somewhat dog-eared file marked Svetlov, A.
As Skinner flipped it open, a series of photographs fell out. Posed family
portraits and newspaper proofs, along with clippings telling of the family's
kidnap nightmare. The briefest glance told him that he wasn't going to need any
DNA profiles. The two smiling faces, one very young, one middle-aged and
greying, were both of unmistakable Krycek stock. He corrected himself, of
Svetlov stock.
The second set of security gates slid closed behind Walter Skinner as he nodded
his thanks to the security guard and he drove the short distance to the
anonymous sixties building that was White Oaks. It had taken almost forty-five
minutes to go through the procedures that had gained him admittance. He smiled
to himself grimly. Given the embarrassing record the FBI had with regard to
holding and keeping alive people connected with X Files cases, it was little
wonder they had chosen the facility with such care. Agent O'Keefe was hovering
on the steps awaiting him.
"Morning sir, Dr. Massie is expecting us. I'll take you to him now."
"Thank you, Agent."
Institutional was the only way Skinner could describe the building they passed
through. The emphasis was clearly on security. He knew the patients it housed
were classified as severely disturbed. A danger to society and themselves. Few,
if any, would ever be rehabilitated. A kind of twenty-first century Bedlam. A
shiver ran through him at the thought.
To live here?
They arrived at a glass office door marked 'Dr. Robert K. Massie' and O'Keefe
knocked sharply on it, then opened for his superior. A small, grey haired man in
his early fifties stood to greet them.
"Dr. Massie, good of you to see me on such short notice." They shook hands.
"It's no problem." He said. "I didn't expect to hear back so quickly on this
matter. I believe Agent O'Keeffe said you had the information."
"Yes Doctor, I have it here."
Skinner took the file out of his briefcase and handed it to the doctor.
"Alexander Svetlov was taken from his father, Peter, at gunpoint on 19th May,
1966, approximately one month before his fourth birthday. The local police
called in the FBI when they failed to make any progress. The child had simply
vanished. I've reviewed the investigation. It was... adequate. I have
ascertained, from other sources, that there was little or no chance of this
investigation being successful. It was a professional kidnapping and not for
ransom. They wanted the child."
Dr. Massie looked up from the file. "That's very unusual isn't it? >From what
Alex has told me himself." He noted the scowl the name brought to Skinner's face
"And from details in the documentation that came with him, I know he is from an
average middle class background. The parents were comfortable, but not wealthy.
I know there were no siblings, but if they're going to snatch a child isn't it
more usual to take a newborn?"
"This is in every way a unique set of circumstances." The doctor looked at him
quizzically. "I can say no more than that. The information isn't relevant to his
treatment."
"I think I should be the one to determine that Mr. Skinner." But he let it go.
"How is his treatment progressing?" Skinner heard himself say.
Looking up at him again, Massie remarked. "It isn't progressing at all. Alex
isn't sick."
"Uh... but..."
"There is no but about it. This man should not be here. Even with this new
information, he is, mentally, a completely functional individual. One with a
heavily skewed moral code in comparison to the average Joe Citizen's. But he can
clearly differentiate between right and wrong. He made calculated choices in the
attainment of some unspecified goal. I'm sure you're aware from your FBI
background of the number of people walking around out there who could be
diagnosed clinically as psychopaths or sociopaths. Even though he seems to have
accepted the necessity of achieving this goal, by whatever means, he is not one
of them. And when he considered this goal no longer valid he made a conscious
decision to end it. The information I have been provided with is very selective
but I do know that he never engaged in any anti-social activity outside of the
'work' he was engaged in. Very like, I would imagine, the men and women who do
similar 'work' for our own government."
Skinner's scowl deepened but he said nothing.
"I can offer him no treatment because there is nothing to treat. I can help him
deal with the damage done by the traumatic events of his life, help him cope
with the guilt he will feel, and," he held up a photograph of the chubby faced
toddler, "I can help him come to terms with this."
"What about the people he damaged, Doctor?" Skinner asked, ignoring the
appealing countenance.
"I'm afraid I don't have a private practice, but I can recommend someone good."
Skinner dropped his gaze as the doctor continued. "I do the best for the people
in my care, Deputy Director, I leave the judging to others."
"What about the way he enjoyed it?"
"Something not unknown in the human condition." His finger tapped the features
of the babyish face. "Perhaps it could have been a very different story."
Dr. Massie got up to pour them all some coffee. Agent O'Keefe drew his first
deep breath as the tension in the room lessened.
"Are you going to recommend he be released?" Skinner asked as he reached for his
cup.
"Not for a while." He handed O'Keefe his cup then sat down again with his own.
"He has work to do, a lot more now with regard to the kidnapping. But I will
recommend he be moved out of the lock-down section of the facility."
"What's the level of security outside of it? He's... talented."
"Mmm... same level of security, just different. He'll be electronically tagged
and given a designated perimeter. Staff supervision, one to one,
twenty-four/seven. But more importantly, even though he doesn't want to be here,
he realises he needs to be."
"Then I'd say he has made some progress, Doctor." Massie smiled for the first
time and held his hands up in capitulation.
"I didn't say there hadn't been any progress. The last ten months have been
interesting, in the sense of the Chinese proverb. The first two were
particularly interesting. Alex has redefined the meaning of the word
obstreperous for me." He smiled again, ruefully this time. "What about the
Svetlov Family, Mr. Skinner?"
"I spoke to their local Police Chief. The father was quite badly injured in the
kidnapping he never fully recovered either physically or mentally. He died about
ten years ago. The mother continued to run the family farm and raised the other
two children, a sister four years older and a brother two years younger. She
still lives on the farm though the children have moved away." He handed the
doctor another, slimmer file. "That's your copy, to use at your discretion." The
doctor took it from him as he continued. "Apparently the family was pretty
devastated, but the extended family was very supportive, as was the community,
so they managed. The Police Chief remembers the whole thing. He called them
'good people'."
"They'll have to be told and Alex will have to have some input in that."
"What does he remember of his real family?"
"As with the memories of any four year old, very little. His name, a vague
memory of his mother and a sharper one of his sister Olga, tied in some way to a
traumatic fall in which he injured his arm. I think the loss of that arm may
have turned the key on that memory. The regression therapy simply opened the
door to it."
"Why was he receiving that kind of therapy?"
"He was consciously blocking some memories he needed to deal with. He agreed to
try the hypnosis to lessen the inhibitions. When it turned up this, he was as
surprised as I was." He lifted the phone and dialled a number. "He's also very
anxious about it. I don't want to prolong this anxiety any longer than
necessary."
He spoke to someone, "Dan, could you bring Alex Krycek to treatment room one
straight away? I'll be waiting there, thank you."
"Why don't you come with me Mr. Skinner, Agent O'Keefe can help himself to
another cup of coffee."
Skinner, both intrigued and repulsed by the idea of breathing the same air as
Alex Krycek again, found himself following in the footsteps of the diminutive
man. He entered the room and removed his topcoat before taking one of
comfortable chairs. The entire building seemed suddenly claustrophobic to him
and he felt a familiar clenching in his gut. Before he could settle himself the
door opened and an orderly ushered in the patient.
He took one look at Skinner and a muttered, "Fuck..." escaped his lips.
"Good to see you too, Krycek," he said, sarcastically. Glad that, at least, the
man appeared much more uneasy about the situation than he was.
"Alex, sit down Mr. Skinner has brought the information you have been waiting
for." The doctor handed him the file.
He opened it cautiously and began to read. It occurred to Skinner then that the
man was about to take a huge step into the unknown and he realised he could only
imagine how frightening that must be. It was also his first opportunity to take
a close look at Krycek. He wore no prosthesis, so the sleeve of the yellow
jumpsuit was pinned up. He had turned in the chair slightly so that side of his
body was partially hidden. He had lost weigh, not much, for he'd never carried
any extra fat, but he did look diminished. The face was even more angular than
Skinner remembered. It also bore a tired, stressed look. The habitual, arrogant
expression was missing. This man had changed, and the extent of the change was
made plain as he awkwardly extracted the photographs from the file, desperately
trying to stop the unshed tears from spilling and the pieces of paper from
falling.
"Let me help you Alex," Doctor Massie said gently as he gathered up the loose
pages. The family portrait slipped from his grasp and fluttered to the floor.
Instinctively Skinner picked it up and handed it to the other man, who swiped
the back of his hand across his eyes before taking it. With a notable hitch in
his breathing he focused on the image, then bit down hard on his lower lip.
My God, thought Skinner, Alex Krycek can feel vulnerable, and hurt, and sad
... of course he can, you idiot And then an even more amazing revelation. From
somewhere deep inside came a glimmering of sympathy. But that was too much.
This is the sadistic bastard who tried to kill you... who did it to others.
But the ferocity of the feeling had lessened, as had the churning in his gut.
He opened his briefcase and took out the pages extracted from the Consortium
database. Why not he thought, there's no one left to take revenge on. "This
will give you the full picture. I'll be here for another hour or so. I'll need
it back before I go." He stood up, lifted his briefcase and coat and went to the
door. As he opened it he heard a mumbled, "Skinner... thanks." He didn't look
back.
Since Deputy Director Skinner had heard nothing of Alex Krycek in the five
months following his visit to the psychiatric facility, the demanding schedule
of his job had fairly quickly ended all contemplation of the man's situation.
He'd had one atypical dream in which the former assassin was trying to tell him
something very important, vital to the X Files. But no matter how hard he tried
Skinner couldn't make out the words, and upon waking he had swiftly dismissed
from his conscious mind.
Now, out of the blue, he found himself staring indecisively at his desk
intercom, listening to the impatient tapping of Marie's pencil. She paused a
moment before asking. "Sir... do you want me to tell Doctor Massie
you're not available?"
"No." He made up his mind. "No, put the call through." He lifted the receiver.
"Doctor Massie, how may I help you?"
"Good morning, Mr. Skinner. I'm calling to ask a favour. I have obtained
permission from the House Committee for Alex Krycek to travel to Florida to meet
his mother and, as he is technically a 'guest' of the FBI, I would be grateful
if you could arrange for an agent to accompany him."
"They're letting him out?" he asked incredulously.
"He's ready for this. He needs this."
"Why can't his mother visit him there?"
"Alex has made it plain he will not consider that possibility. He will not allow
me to inform his family that he is alive never mind tell them of his
whereabouts. You can hardly be surprised by that," he observed.
Silently Skinner conceded that one 'Hi Mom, guess what? I'm alive and well and
living in the nuthouse.' Wouldn't that be a kick in the head?
The man read his thoughts. "Actually I'm thinking of his family's well-being. If
anything, travelling there may be more difficult for Alex. He's going to feel a
little lost outside of the White Oaks environment."
"Aren't you concerned he may 'get lost'?"
"No, that's not going to happen." He ignored Skinner's snort. "He'll be wearing
a tag, and anyway aren't FBI agents pretty hard to shake?"
"You're confusing us with the Mounties. It's academic anyway. I don't see how I
can justify using Bureau time for this little jaunt."
"Well then Mr. Skinner, why don't you take some leave and accompany him
yourself?"
When Skinner got his breath back he asked, "Tell me Doctor, do they let you
out of White Oaks?"
"Come on Mr. Skinner, I'm sure you have plenty of leave available and anyone
would jump at the chance to swap DC in January for Florida," he quickly
responded, not fazed a bit by Skinner's scathing comment.
Jesus thought Skinner, glancing at the memo telling him he had sixteen weeks
accumulated vacation time, this man is a mind reader
"Yes Doctor, that's right at the top of everyone's 'to-do' list, visit the
Sunshine State with a homicidal maniac. Besides you don't appreciate the history
there is..."
"As a matter of fact I do."
"What has he told you?" he asked coldly.
"Only what he needed to, and in the very vaguest terms. He never mentioned your
name. But, just like you, I spend my working day joining up the dots. I'm going
to go out on a limb here..."
"Really?"
"Okay, further out than usual. Just like Alex, you have issues you need to deal
with Deputy Director. I don't know what this mess was all about and frankly, I
don't think I want to know. But what I do know is that this is a chance to
resolve one of them at least, in terms of your own peace of mind, and in terms
of a terrible wrong that was done over thirty years ago. Whatever he's done this
man has paid a heavy price, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Mr. Skinner
it's time to take back control from whoever did this. It seems to me they are
still calling the shots."
There was a long moment of silence. "Let me give the matter some thought,
Doctor."
And that was how Walter Skinner came to find himself driving once more into the
confines of the White Oaks Facility the following Monday morning.
It was hard to keep the smug expression off his face as Skinner watched Alex
Krycek prowl the small room. Dr. Massie had waited until Skinner had arrived to
tell his patient of the trip, and experiencing the man's reaction to the news
Skinner could understand why. The doctor's little plan would have been stillborn
had he approached Krycek first.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he snarled at the Doctor. "I'm not going
there and I'm not going anywhere with him!"
Reverting to type, Alex? Skinner thought, but said nothing.
"Are you telling me you don't want to see your family, your mother?"
"No... no, but it's too soon."
"No, if anything it's too late. Everything will be exactly the same tomorrow, or
next week, or next year, as it is today. What counts is how you go forward from
here. You're at a crossroads in your life, Alex. But this time you don't have to
face the choices alone. Go home; get to know your family. Take it slowly. As
your doctor, I can tell you it's time. I'm not saying it will be easy. It may
not work out at all. But you've got to take the risk. I'll be a telephone call
away. I'm here if you need me." He stood and guided Krycek back to his chair. He
had calmed a little, and now that the rage was dissipating Skinner could sense
the underlying fear. Somehow that helped vindicate his decision to accompany the
man.
"And Mr. Skinner will be with you."
At this, they regarded each other with undisguised distaste and Skinner felt as
if he had fallen into some sort of surreal Oprah Winfrey show.
"Why are you doing this, Skinner?"
"I suggest you direct that question to Dr. Massie, because I don't have a
fucking clue. All I know is I'm here, I have two tickets to Florida and a clear
calendar. Now, are we going to do this or not?"
They sat silently as Alex battled his indecision. The doctor laid a supporting
hand on his shoulder.
"What do I tell her?" He asked.
"That's one of the easier questions, Alex. The truth." The doctor smiled at him.
"Now go with Dan and pack. I think Mr. Skinner could do with a cup of coffee."
Looking a little weary, Alex left the room. As the door closed Skinner remarked,
"Doctor, I'm glad you're on our side." That earned him a laugh. "But seriously,
what makes you think I can do this?"
"Because you do have a history. Shared experiences, albeit from very different
perspectives. He has nothing to hide from you. You'll be his moral compass. But
most of all you'll be strong. He'll need that. And you're a caring man, Walter
Skinner. The macho FBI persona doesn't fool me."
"I have a staff and an ex-wife who might take issue with you on that."
"Let's go get that coffee."
They walked together to his office and the doctor poured the coffee. Then he
took out a file and shuffled some papers. One of them he placed in front of
Skinner. "I'll need you to sign this. You know the procedure. I'm handing him
over to you in good condition."
He took a pen from his inside pocket and signed the paper. "Does this mean he
belongs to me now?" He asked, his tone sarcastic.
"Only temporarily. And I'll expect him back in the same condition. As to the
practicalities, here is my card. You can reach me day or night on one of these
numbers." He took a key from the top drawer of his desk. "This will unlock the
tagging device in case of emergency. You're familiar with them?"
"Yes."
"Send your expenses directly to my office. About dealing with the family,
there's no textbook 'right' way to do it but I suggest you meet with the mother
alone. Prepare the way a little, especially about the arm. That will be hard for
her and it would come as too big a shock in the initial meeting. The rest you'll
have to play by ear."
The door knocked and Krycek entered, carrying a large bag. He was wearing his
prosthesis and looked very uncomfortable in it.
Skinner checked his watch and said, "We'd better get moving we have a plane to
catch." He shook Dr. Massie's hand and left the office. He glanced back in time
to see the man give Krycek a reassuring shoulder pat, and heard his instruction
that he should call every day. Then he accompanied them to the main desk and
authorised their departure. Within minutes Walter Skinner was driving out of the
visitors' car park, Alex Krycek by his side.
Unbelievable he thought as he noticed the other man's blank expression.
Instinctively he knew he was going to need to make the first move if this whole
experience was to be tolerable. He also needed to establish his authority, so he
found a suitable place to pull in and stopped the car. Krycek gave him a wary
look.
"Give me your ankle."
Now he looked confused, so Skinner took the key out of his pocket and held it
up. Krycek nodded, then eagerly lifted his foot onto the seat pulling the pants'
cuff out of the way. Skinner swiftly unlocked the bulky device and put it in his
pocket. He looked directly at Krycek and spoke with cold determination.
"If you run, I'll come after you and shoot you down like a dog. Now, I'm sure
you're no more fond of airplane food than I am, so when you see someplace you'd
like to eat, let me know."
Message given and received, they resumed their journey to Dulles.
An uneventful flight brought them to Sarasota-Bradenton Airport and they emerged
into the bright blue of a Florida afternoon. Skinner watched Krycek, the native
Floridian, unfold in the warmth. He immediately began shedding his northern
layers and by the time they had reached the car rental office he was down to a
long-sleeved cotton twill shirt, his overcoat and jacket held between the
handles of his bag.
"Stay here," Skinner instructed and left his own baggage beside him, entering
the glass-walled building to sign for their rental. As he worked through the
check out process he kept an eye on Krycek who had settled himself on a low
wall, his face turned to the sun. For the first time Skinner admitted that,
however bizarre the circumstances, it was good to escape from the gloomy
coldness of Washington into the 'suddenly summer' of Florida. Even better, was
the escape from the Hoover Building and its grinding routine.
He finished the paperwork and took the keys. Passing Krycek he jangled them,
picked up his bag and said, "Bay 83." It was clear to Skinner that the other man
likewise felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. The realisation that he was
free of the close confinement of the psychiatric facility after almost a year
and a half had finally dawned on him. He stood straighter and had lost the aura
of desperation.
They located the top of the range saloon and settled themselves for the short
drive. Krycek lowered the window and allowed the softly scented air to flow
through the vehicle. Going north on I 75 they turned left onto University
Parkway, then south on US 41 until they reached the Best Western. The
receptionist quickly dealt with the check in. Pausing only to ask if it was a
twin or a double that had been reserved. Skinner ignored Krycek's smirk to
confirm that it was definitely a twin. He threw in a Deputy Director glower for
good measure, then inquired about the opening hours of the restaurant.
As soon as they got to their room Krycek walked to the patio doors and opened
them. The salty tang of the ocean swept in and they both drew a deep breath
savoring it. Then Krycek turned towards him and remarked, "There's a balcony."
Skinner froze for a moment, unable to read the other's neutral expression.
Tension crackled between them.
"Then I guess you'd better behave yourself."
The unbearable silence ended with Krycek's, "I guess I better had." He smiled
slightly then turned back to step out onto the balcony. Skinner followed him out
and they stood side by side taking in the magnificent sweep of Sarasota Bay with
its crystal blue sea and white, powdery sand. Rather different Skinner thought
from that other balcony. Never say never And that thought made him smile. When
he glanced at Krycek he found the man had forsaken the scenery and was watching
him.
"What?" he asked.
"You can smile."
That was a tad too personal for Skinner's taste so he did an about face,
muttering some about needing to make phone calls.
Krycek remained on the balcony listening to the other man bustling about
unpacking, then making a courtesy call to the local police chief to inform him
that he was in the area following up the case they had discussed. He listened as
Skinner repeated and wrote down the directions to the Svetlov family home. And
at that a flutter of butterflies took up residence in his stomach, chasing away
his appetite so that when they went down to dinner he picked half- heartedly at
his food while Skinner ate his with vigour. As they drank their coffee the
Deputy Director tackled the subject of contacting Krycek's mother.
"It's too late to call today. I suggest we get a good night's rest and call in
the morning."
He noted Krycek's panicked look and continued, "I'll make the call and arrange
to meet with her. Hopefully tomorrow. You'll stay put here. And I mean that
Krycek."
"Sure..." he lowered his eyes and fiddled with the handle of his coffee
cup. "What are you going to say?"
Skinner watched him for a moment and tried to identify the feelings the man
stirred in him. One thing was sure, they had changed. The loathing he'd felt for
years was gone.
Dammit he thought, you only can rely on death and taxes
He couldn't identify the lesser emotions that had taken its place. Before, he
would have used an opportunity like this to turn the knife in Krycek, but now he
had no inclination to do so.
"Trust me on this one, Krycek. Believe it or not, I do possess some 'people
skills'. I'll smooth the way. Then it will be up to you. Your mother's been hurt
enough. I have no intention of adding to it."
Krycek favoured him with a grateful but anxious look.
"And remember..." Skinner counselled, "never underestimate a mother's
capacity to love."
Krycek averted his eyes again. "That's something I'll have to take your word
on."
He stood up abruptly and left the room, those few words and their ramifications
leaving Skinner with a hollow feeling. By the time he signed the check and
returned to their room Krycek was already in the shower. Skinner busied himself
checking and locking away his gun in the room safe. He then hung up Krycek's
clothes in the closet, leaving the underwear and socks in the bag and sat down
to await his turn in the bathroom. When the other man emerged from the steamy
bathroom, dressed in boxers and scrubbing at the back of his hair, Skinner
couldn't stop himself staring at the disfigured arm. This was the first time he
had seen it, though he'd read the clinically detached medical report in Krycek's
file. The reality of it was horrific in its implication of pain and waking
terror. He knew all about pain, not least at Krycek's own hand, but this was so
... calculated in its barbarity.
Krycek pulled a hairbrush from his bag then glanced in the closet. His murmured,
"Thanks." released Skinner from his thrall and he quickly grabbed his things and
closed the bathroom door between them. He turned on the shower then leaned back
against the door, trying settle his queasy stomach. When the sensation passed he
went to the sink counter to set out his toiletries beside Krycek's. As he did so
he realised this was something else he'd have to come to terms with on this
trip, living in close proximity with another human being. It had been a long
time. He glanced in the mirror and thought,
Too damned long
Finishing up in the bathroom he dressed in fresh boxers and returned to the
room. Krycek was turned away from him, a sheet lightly covering the destroyed
arm. He got into bed and switched off the light. Nothing was said as they
settled into a night that held little promise of restful sleep for either.
The following day Skinner drove along the poplar lined farm road that led to the
Svetlov farmhouse. He was feeling uneasy about the meeting ahead. He blamed
Krycek for that. The man had been jittery all morning, unable to settle or to
eat. When Skinner had made the phone call he'd bolted from the room as soon as
the word "Hello" was spoken. A pleasant, slightly accented voice had answered
and confirmed that she was Mrs. Vera Svetlov. He'd introduced himself and
explained that he needed to discuss an important matter with her.
Unsurprisingly, she was curious but accepted his request for a face to face
meeting. He agreed to drive out to the farm in Bradenton County about 12 noon.
He didn't have to go far to track down Krycek. The man was leaning against the
wall just outside the door, looking like death warmed over.
"It's arranged. I'm going over there shortly." He headed back to the room but
sensed that Krycek wasn't following. He looked back. "Why don't you call Dr.
Massie while I get ready to go"
"Then I could take a walk on the beach?" Krycek asked hopefully.
"Sure, and go get something to eat."
"Okay." The younger man returned to the room and took out the doctor's card. He
punched in the number as Skinner changed into a shirt and tie.
"May I speak with Dr. Massie?" A pause then, "Okay, I'll call back in an hour.
Will you tell him Alex Krycek called?" Another pause. "Thanks." He hung up.
He looked up at Skinner who nodded and said, "That will give you something to
do." Skinner checked the file in his briefcase, snapped it shut and headed for
the door.
His hand drummed on the briefcase where it rested on the passenger seat beside
him. Looking over at the woman waiting for him on the porch seat he decided a
more informal approach was needed, so he left it in the car. He already knew
from the photographs that Krycek did not favour his mother. He recognised her
softer, rounder face, now showing the signs of thirty years of work and hurt.
She stood tall and straight, her grey hair caught in a bunch at the nape her
neck, held by a ribbon. Wearing in a calf length, lilac muslin dress, she
stepped forward to greet him.
"Mr. Skinner?" she held out her hand and shook his warmly.
"Thank you for seeing me today," he held up his badge and she glanced at it
briefly.
"Let's go into the kitchen," she led the way through the screen door into the
shaded interior. The big room still had the house's original fittings: old and
solid and well worn. She took out a large pitcher of iced tea from a noisy Bosch
refrigerator and placed it on the table.
As she poured two tall, cool glasses, she said, "Please sit down, Mr. Skinner.
What's this about?"
He sat down and accepted the glass of tea, tracing his finger over the cool
exterior for a moment before speaking.
"You are going to need to prepare yourself for a shock, Mrs. Svetlov." He looked
into her anxious face, her expression a mirror image of the one he'd just left.
"But, in a good way," he reassured. "Alexander is alive."
She sat very still, not even breathing, then she covered her face and drew a
ragged breath. He put his hand on her arm and asked, gently, "Do you need a
moment?"
"No, no... I'm fine," she dropped her hands to the table and looked at
him. "Thank God, thank God. I knew he wasn't dead, all along I knew. When you
called today, I thought maybe... but I didn't dare hope. Where is he? Is
he well? How...?"
"We'll take it one step at a time. Take a drink." He put the glass in her hand
and she took a little sip to humour him. When she set it down she caught hold of
his hand in both of hers and waited expectantly.
Skinner smiled at her, "He's in Sarasota. He is well." She let out the breath
she had been holding. "Three months ago something triggered a childhood memory
that led to your family name. From there it was a simple matter of checking the
FBI files."
Her face took on a radiant expression and tears threatened to spill. She
searched for a tissue in her pocket. "I have to call Olga and Peter," she said
standing up, "They'll have to make arrangements... book flights... when will
he be here?" Her thoughts tumbled out.
Skinner caught her hand again and gently guided her back to the chair.
"We're taking this one step at a time, remember?" he queried.
"What's wrong?"
"Well, the FBI doesn't normally do this, I'm here because Alexander is..." he
struggled with his conscience, and briefly wondered about how Krycek had become
'Alexander', "... in a kind of witness protection programme."
The wonderful, happy expression disappeared. "Is he in danger?"
Only from me thought Skinner, but he said, "No immediate danger, but we need
to be circumspect. I will be with him 24/7. Let's keep it just between the three
of us for a while..."
She picked up on his hesitation and asked, "There's something else. Tell me."
He held her hand tighter. "He's had some bad experiences. A couple of years ago
he lost his left arm, traumatically."
"Oh my poor baby," she cried openly.
"That's something else you need to think about, your 'baby' won't be coming home
to you. Alexander is a grown man with almost half a lifetime's experiences. Not
all good. He's under the care of a doctor at present." She began to sob and he
stood up and searched the cupboards until he found some brandy. Taking a glass
from the drainer he poured a little brandy into it and encouraged her to drink.
Sitting again he continued, "I don't think he could handle a big family reunion
all at once. He doesn't remember much at all. It's going to be new to him."
"But I need to see him. Soon" she murmured softly, but insistently.
"I'll go back to the hotel, talk to him. Maybe we can drive out tonight."
"Please, please... you'll come to dinner."
"I'll see what he says and call you."
"Straight away?"
"I promise." He stood up to leave and she followed him.
"Mr. Skinner, thank you." She took his hand again, "You've been kind; to
Alexander too, I think?"
Skinner dropped his gaze at that, embarrassed and unsure, then he remembered Dr.
Massie's advice, regarding telling the truth. "Alexander was one of my agents
for a time."
"Alexander was in the FBI? " she asked, shocked. Caught up in some long ago
memory. "But he was to be a farmer."
That nugget of information was just too much to process. Krycek a Florida
farmer? Growing oranges and sitting on a porch?
"Mrs. Svetlov," he said as gently as he could, "this isn't going to be easy.
You're going to have to accept Alexander for the person he is."
"You make that sound frightening."
"I don't mean to. Just don't expect too much of him."
She took a deep breath, then nodded. "He's alive, he's coming home. That's all I
want."
He opened the door and they walked together to the top of the porch steps.
"Call me," she reminded.
He nodded as he got in the car and drove away.
Skinner used the key card to let himself into the room. A tray with a half eaten
sandwich rested on the dresser and Krycek lay curled up round the phone on his
bed. It seemed the restless night had caught up with him. Skinner felt tired
too; the kind of tiredness that comes with emotional overload. He looked down at
the sleeper, his hair sticking out in all directions, his breathing deep and
regular. This was proof positive of the change in the man. The Krycek of
eighteen months ago would have been in the best strategic position in the room
by now, a weapon in his hand.
From potential farmer to assassin in six easy lessons he thought bitterly.
Jesus, this world can be one shitty place
He placed his hand on Krycek's shoulder and gently shook it. "Alex."
"Mmmm..." He resisted the call to wakefulness and Skinner shook him harder.
"Alex, wake up."
The green eyes opened and focused and even in this twilight state Krycek queried
the name. "Alex?"
"Well, I can't call you Krycek, can I?" Skinner explained.
Memory slammed into gear and Krycek sat up abruptly, asking, "What did she say?"
"She wants to see you, yesterday if possible. She's lovely, everything a mother
should be and she's waiting by the phone. She wants you to come to dinner,
tonight."
"Dinner...?" Krycek looked down at the artificial hand that made even the
simplest tasks difficult.
"She knows about it, I told her." Krycek looked up at him surprised, then
grateful as Skinner continued. "I think dinner would be too much, too soon. What
about coffee after dinner? I'll drive you out. There's a comfortable porch
settee. I haven't sat on one of those for a long time. I could do with the
practice. And you can spend some time with your mother."
"Yes," he said, then watched as the other man took out his notebook and dialled
his mother's number. His mother. It was her voice he could vaguely hear as
Skinner made the arrangements.
"Yes Mrs. Svetlov, that would be best I think. About seven then? Good, we'll see
you then."
Skinner hung up and looked at him. "That gives us time to clean up and have
dinner, okay?"
"Okay..." he agreed as Skinner stood up. "Walter?"
It wasn't a question. It was a request.
Skinner froze. Decision time. Part of him wanted to go to his grave hating Alex
Krycek, part of him wanted to be let go of the whole unholy mess. This was what
Dr. Massie was talking about. It wasn't Alex Krycek and what he'd done; it was
about Walter Skinner letting go. Taking his life back. Krycek looked as though
he were waiting for the other shoe to fall; for the little flag to unfurl with
the word 'bang' written on it; for a huge anvil to plummet from the sky directly
on top of him. Nothing of the sort happened, other than Skinner's face softened
as he made the decision.
"Walter," he replied, and Alex nodded.
"I think I'll try out that beach now," Walter told him, feeling more at peace
than he had in a long, long time.
For the second time that day Skinner reached the turn off for the Svetlov farm.
When he signalled the right turn Alex put a hand on his arm and said, "Can you
give me a minute?"
"Of course," Skinner told him and glanced in the rear view mirror, changed the
signal and pulled over to the side of the main road.
The young man immediately got out and walked ten or twenty yards down the road
into the rapidly gathering dusk. He leaned on the ranch fencing and gazed out
over the fields. Skinner could read the tension in the lean body. He was facing
some personal demons, and he had to do it alone, so the older man remained in
the car. After a few minutes, Alex stood up, took a few calming breaths and
returned to the car. Neither of them spoke and Skinner turned the car towards
the farm road. He drove along it slowly, giving Krycek time to take in his
surroundings.
"Does anything seem familiar?" he asked, as the car's powerful beams lighted the
big, blue painted farmhouse ahead of them.
Alex shook his head, his anxiety interfering with his ability to speak.
"That's not surprising, you were very young." Skinner reassured him.
They both noticed the face at the window at the same time.
"That's your mother." Skinner said as he put the car in park and got out. Krycek
followed but stayed behind him on the short walk to the front door. The older
man opened it and stepped back. Alex passed him to stand facing his mother.
Skinner leaned against the door reluctant to turn away from the other two
people. There was an awkward silence, then the woman held out her arms and said,
"Alexander."
Alex moved stiffly towards her and was wrapped up in her embrace. She closed her
eyes and rocked him gently, whispering a litany in Russian. Skinner's grasp of
the language was good enough to pick up the odd phrase. "My son, my beautiful
son," she told him. "So like your father." Then Skinner felt obliged to leave
them and he walked to the end of the porch and settled himself in the old,
well-used settee to enjoy the night that seemed balmy compared to DC in January.
Even the light spilling out of the windows behind him could not dim the
brilliance of the stars. They were far out of the city and the surrounding
country was velvety black. The chorus of frogs and crickets was mixed with the
murmuring of conversation from the house. Mostly the mother's voice he realised.
She had called him 'her beautiful son'. Skinner acknowledged that by anyone's
standard Alex was beautiful, not handsome, just beautiful. Even the way he moved
was beautiful. It was the first thing Skinner had noticed about him, way back
then, before his life was turned inside out. Alex had been one of the few men
he'd noticed since he'd closed that door on the day he asked Sharon to marry
him. The decision had not been difficult to live with. Even with Alex and the
signals he gave out sparking between them; the agent's college boy demeanour had
ensured that. Now Sharon was gone, and Krycek was all grown up. But Skinner
knew the inside man. Sweet water from a foul well he thought, unkindly.
Though, that was not what stopped him taking Krycek that night on the cold
balcony in DC. It was the fear that he'd end up killing the man that made him
lock the door and turn away, leaving the hunger unsatisfied.
Neither the spark nor the hunger had been rekindled since Skinner had
encountered Alex in the White Oaks facility. And that was fine with him.
The screen door opened abruptly and Alex ran to the car. Leaning against it, he
dropped his head between his outstretched arms, pulling in lungfuls of air.
"Alexander..." his mother called, moving to the steps.
Skinner held up his hand. "Wait, let me speak to him," he requested.
Quickly moving to stand behind the distressed man, he laid his hand on the
shaking shoulder.
"I can't do this... I can't be what she wants... I shouldn't have come here,"
he blurted out.
Skinner dropped his hand, then remarked, "I always knew you were a goddamned
coward, Krycek."
The unexpectedness of it brought his Krycek's head up sharply. His pale
countenance reflecting the harsh light.
"You have no idea..."
"Of course I don't, Krycek. What would I know about pain and fear?" Skinner
asked, sarcastically.
The younger man dropped his head again and murmured, "Please, explain to her I
need to go now."
"Are you coming back?" Skinner asked bluntly.
A few ragged breaths, then, "Yes, tomorrow... I'll try."
Looking back at the woman holding onto the porch railing, he said, "I'll tell
her."
He walked back to her and gently relayed the message. She told him she'd be
there all day, waiting. He gave her his promise that he'd look after Alex and
wished her goodnight. Coming back to the car he found Alex already in the
passenger seat. The journey back was silent and strained. When they got to the
room Skinner suggested Alex call Dr. Massie then he went to take a long,
tension-easing shower.
Skinner was ripped out of his sleep by a hand closing down his windpipe in a
brutal grip. He struggled ineffectually trying to get a purchase on the body
holding him pinned to the bed. No sound could come from his throat. He was
completely at Alex Krycek's mercy.
Christ, he's going to kill me he thought, terrified.
Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The hand pulled back and
Skinner's screaming lungs tore at the air. He leaned over the bed and began to
retch and choke, his hands reaching out to steady himself on the floor.
"Jesus, Walter..." Krycek muttered, snapping on the light. "Are you all right?"
Skinner paused for a fraction of a second coughing up his lungs, to look up at
the fucking idiot asking that fucking stupid question.
"Water..." Krycek muttered, went to the dresser and shakily poured the last of
the mineral water into a glass. He returned with it, but Skinner pushed it away
and continued the racking coughing. The phone rang.
"Yes?" Krycek barked into it. Colour flowing back into the white face. "No, it's
okay, he had a nightmare. No, we don't need any help." Then Krycek covered the
mouthpiece and asked, "Do we? Do you need a doctor?" Skinner shook his head and
initiated another bout of coughing. Krycek spoke into the phone again. "We're
okay. Sorry about the disturbance." He put the phone down and dropped heavily
onto his own, crumpled bed. He reached out and ran his hand soothingly over
Skinner's sweat covered back, then helped the gasping man to pull himself back
up into his bed. The bruising was already livid against Skinner's skin.
"What the fuck was that about?" Skinner croaked, accepting the again proffered
glass and sipping cautiously.
"I was... reliving some old memories." His face showed the horror he felt at
what had happened. "I'm sorry."
"There's a first time for everything," Skinner ground out.
"I'll go get some ice," he said dully, and disappeared with the ice bucket while
Skinner struggled into the bathroom. Flicking on the light he winced at his
reflection in the mirror. He splashed cold water on his reddened face and took
down a fresh towel. When he glanced in the mirror again he saw Krycek enter with
the full ice bucket. Awkwardly, the man packed a hand towel with ice and placed
it in Skinner's hand. Then he watched in the mirror as the older man placed it
gingerly against his throat.
"Walter, I'm sorry about it all." He spoke quietly, and left the small room.
When Skinner followed he found Krycek had strapped on his prosthesis and was
pulling on some sweats.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'll sleep in the car the rest of the night, you won't want..."
"No, you stay here. You're my responsibility. I can handle any... eventuality,
now that I know what to expect." He pushed Krycek back towards his bed. "Go back
to bed. Let's try to get some sleep."
With obvious relief Krycek did as he was told and in a few minutes the light
was out and an uneasy silence settled in the room.
"Did you mean it?" Skinner's croaky voice questioned.
"About being sorry?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry and I'm ashamed."
Much as he wanted to pursue this, Skinner's throat was too painful for anything
more than monosyllables. "Why?"
"Mulder once called me 'an invertebrate scum-sucker, whose moral dip- stick is
two drops short of bone dry'." He wasn't surprised by Skinner's huff of
amusement. "Yeah, never one to skate around an issue is Mulder." He turned onto
his right side, towards the other man. "When you spend thirteen months with
nothing to do but think about your life and at the end of it you find yourself
agreeing with that definition, I guess sorrow and shame is pretty much par for
the course."
Skinner cleared his throat and rasped, "I meant why did you do it?"
"Ah..." He rolled onto his back again. "You probably never did smack?"
"What? No!"
"I have. In an appropriately sleazy hotel in Los Angeles. It was quite a ride.
But I never did it again because I found something that gave me a better high.
The power of life and death."
The blunt statement hung in the air between them for some minutes before he
continued.
"In the beginning I genuinely believed the bullshit the Consortium was peddling.
I was raised to believe it, and by the time I recognised it for what it was, I
was hooked. I had begun to make my way up the greasy pole. I was good at it, I
would have made it to the top. Sure, I had to follow orders, but I could come
and go and pretty much do what I wanted within those bounds. For me, morality
and the rule of law didn't apply. People took notice of me, were afraid of me.
Playing God is addictive"
There was another long pause as Krycek waited for the tightness in his chest and
throat to ease. Thirteen months of therapy and this didn't get any easier. It
was harder a hundredfold telling this to Skinner, one of the people on the
receiving end of his 'God complex'.
He began again, "But then they crossed the line, even for me. Things were done,
were planned that... I couldn't accept. It was the death throes... they'd lost
the plot. When I acted, well, let's just say the clean up was the ultimate power
trip."
"I noticed," Skinner commented.
"I didn't anticipate surviving it."
"Do you regret that," Skinner asked, "surviving it, I mean?"
"At first, in a way. Especially the confinement. Then the memory thing happened
and I was all over the place. But, I got this idea in my head that maybe I could
be somebody other than Alex Krycek." He laughed bitterly. "Jesus, self-delusion
or what? But then I've always been good at that. Tonight proved it to me.
Krycek's who I am."
Skinner thought for a moment, and then said, "He's not all of who you are. That
young and naïve agent who walked into the Hoover Building; the man who knew when
enough was enough, he's part of you too. Who knows what you can make of him, if
you take this chance."
"I'm scared, Walter. What if I fuck up these peoples' lives too?"
"You have the power here too, Alex. To get this right. You want it enough. God
knows your mother wants it. These are good people, Alex, take the risk."
Skinner sensed the agitation in Krycek, but was thrown a little when he asked,
"Why are you doing this Walter?"
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" Skinner
took refuge in flippancy. "Especially, one this old?"
Krycek replied, "Hey, not so old... anyway... thank you."
"You're welcome. Besides, I need to thank you too."
"What for?"
"This trip is helping me lay a few ghosts. And, I want to thank you for the
straight answers I got tonight. Christ, all those vague half answers Alex 'I'm
so deeply mysterious' Krycek used to spew out drove me up the fucking wall."
That earned him a hearty laugh from Krycek. Something he'd never heard before.
With it still ringing in his ears he settled for the night.
Vera Svetlov was nothing if not a smart woman, and when Alex and Walter knocked
on the farmhouse door the next day she kept her distance, remaining at the stove
as she called out, "Come in, it's open." Desperately trying to be casual and
relaxed she went to the refrigerator and took out some lettuce. "I hope you're
hungry. Lunch is almost ready."
"Smells good," Walter said, "can we help?"
"You could rinse and chop this," she held up the lettuce, "the salad bowl is
here on the counter, Mr. Skinner."
"Walter, please." He requested, turning on the faucet.
"Okay Walter, I'm Vera," she said, walking over to Alex who stood beside the
table.
"All the tableware is here." She opened a cupboard and a drawer. "Could you set
the table, Alexander?"
"Sure," he said, taking out some cutlery. He felt her hand settle briefly on his
back as he turned away and he looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. She
answered with a relieved and delighted smile and returned to the stove.
"Let's get this on the table," she said.
A few minutes later they were all seated before a meal that must have taken the
entire morning to prepare. The feast for the prodigal Walter mused to himself.
He glanced at his two very tense companions and thought, It's a pity I'm the
only one who's going to enjoy this food
Sure enough, Alex picked and his mother hovered, terrified of saying anything
out of turn. Walter felt obliged to take the lead in making neutral
conversation.
"Do you run the farm by yourself?" he asked.
"No, I gave that up about five years ago. My neighbour leases the land from me.
It's worked out well for both of us," she explained. "I help out sometimes when
I'm needed and I grow my own fruit and vegetables. That I enjoy."
"I thought this tasted home grown, " Walter nodded to his plate. "I'm a farm boy
myself."
"Oh, where are you from?"
"Iowa, born and raised," he told her, then looked significantly at Alex. Who
ignored him and continued his methodical dissection of a piece of chicken.
"You're not living there now?" she asked.
"No, not for a long time. I live and work in Washington DC."
She looked at Alex and he put down his fork. "I'm... staying near Richmond, in
Virginia," he told her, "but I'm from Flor..." He stammered to a halt, "I mean,
I was raised in Florida, in Fort Lauderdale."
"Fort Lauderdale," she repeated, desperately trying to keep the anguish of her
face.
Walter stepped in to save them, "It's good to get away from the cold. It's been
a hard winter."
She looked at him, and said distractedly, "Yes, I saw the news report of the
blizzards last week." Then she asked the question she had been dreading. "How
long are you staying?"
Walter turned to Alex, "My schedule is flexible for the next few weeks. I'd like
to visit around. This is my first time on the Gulf coast."
"Oh yes, you must, there is so much to see and it's the perfect time of year,"
she said eagerly. "And you'd be very welcome to stay here." She and Walter
looked at Alex.
"I'd like that," he said simply.
"Then I guess that's settled," Walter said. "After lunch I can go over to the
hotel and pick up the luggage."
Vera smiled at her son radiantly, "I'll make up beds for you and show you round.
Now, would you like to try some of the pie?"
They finished their meal and Alex and Walter insisted they wash the dishes while
Vera saw to their rooms. Walter took up position at the sink and Alex dried and
put away. There was a crash and Alex looked down to where the glass had slipped
from stiff artificial fingers.
"Oh shit," he murmured, looking at the thousand pieces that had obviously been
one of the 'good' glasses.
Walter looked under the sink and found a hand brush and dustpan. He got down to
sweep up the fragments, "Don't worry, I'm sure it can be replaced, besides,
don't you realise you can do no wrong?" He looked up the lean body to Alex's
flushed face and stopped dead in his tracks. The beauty of the face and the
scent of the man scattered his wits and sent his blood roaring through his body.
No, no, no, Walter hollered in his mind, this is not why I came here
But right down at the molecular level of his brain cells, Walter Skinner knew
that to be a complete and utter lie. Consciously, or otherwise, it was one of
the reasons he had made this journey. He drew a shaky breath and quickly swept
up the pieces, dropping them into the garbage pail. He straightened to wipe down
the sink as footsteps approached from the hall.
"I broke a glass," Alex told his mother.
"That doesn't matter, Alexander." She waved her hand dismissively. "I'll show
you where everything is, if you are all finished here?"
Skinner nodded and wiped his hands. They followed Vera out of the kitchen and
across the spacious hall into the family room. Big, comfortable, floral printed
couches stood one either side of an open fireplace. Bookcases rested between the
two tall windows. An old- fashioned upright piano dominated the third wall. The
fourth wall was covered in photographs. Alex found himself drawn to them. Some
were old and yellowing, others were crisp and newly hung. It was a visual
representation of a family history. Alex's eyes swept over them anxiously.
"Why don't I show you the rest of the house?" his mother asked, "We can come
back to these later."
"Okay," he murmured.
The next room was the dining room. It was filled with lots of very ponderous
mahogany furniture.
"Easter, Christmas and Thanksgiving," Vera commented and they moved on. She
opened the door on the smallest of the downstairs rooms. It was a kind of
office/study. Corkboards covered with correspondence and postcards covered two
walls. A functional desk held a PC and phone.
"I have an internet connection here and if you need to make a private call, come
in here."
They followed her up the central staircase. At the top she said, "Only one
bathroom, the door at the end. Fresh towels in the airing cupboard beside it.
Walter, I've put you in here." She opened the door to a bright, airy room with
pink trimmings. "Olga's room," she explained.
"It's fine, thank you," he told her and they moved to the room next door. Vera
ushered them inside.
"You'll be in this room, Alexander," she watched him, her face hopeful of some
recognition. He looked around the blue toned walls, whose shading showed where
posters had once hung. A baseball bat rested against the edge of the closet
door. On the dresser stood one large and two small sports trophies. The wall
beside it held several framed certificates; one was from the Boy Scouts of
America. He walked around the two single beds to stand at the window. Outside
was a spreading live oak tree, and a little further away was a big barn. He
turned back to the others.
"This looks very comfortable, thank you."
Vera released the breath she was holding. "Good," she said and led the way back
downstairs.
Alex wandered back towards the family room. The jingle of keys as Walter took
them from his pocket made him turn.
"I'm going to get the luggage," he said.
Alex nodded and stepped into the room, his mother following. She smiled as
Walter gave her a 'thumbs up' sign.
Walter took his time driving to the hotel, packing and paying the bill. Loading
the bags into the trunk, he locked the car again and went for a walk on the
beach. The mother and son needed some time together and he needed some time by
himself. He thought back on the incident in the kitchen. The zing of arousal
still sang in his blood. He was glad he would not have to share a room with the
other man tonight. Temptation incarnate and proximity would have been a recipe
for disaster. Alex didn't need to handle such a complication right now. And, it
was a complication he himself could to do without at any time. A relationship
with Alex Krycek, even a fling, would be madness. Would be wrong. Especially
since Walter Skinner didn't want a fling. It was time to settle down, for the
long haul. Alex Krycek was not a 'long haul' kind of guy. He tried explaining
that to his libido. And failed miserably. The sun was turning orange and dipping
towards the sea when he turned his back on it and headed for the car.
The now familiar road carried him back to the farmhouse. He stepped up on the
porch and was surprised to hear laughter coming from the kitchen. It was mixed
with snatches of conversation in Russian. It seemed they had found some point of
contact. Alex was telling her about something, Skinner couldn't understand what,
that had happened to him in a restaurant in Kiev. But it was making her laugh.
She asked a question, and laughed again at his answer. Hoping that he wouldn't
ruin the mood, Skinner knocked on the door and stepped inside. They both turned
towards him, two happy people. He had never seen Alex's face so open and
relaxed.
"Walter, Mama knows Uncle Guilly's in Kiev, she used to go there on her..." his
voice trailed off as he realised what name he had used.
Vera's eyes filled with tears but she sniffed hard and finished the sentence for
him. "On my birthday. I looked forward to it all year. Sometimes I dream about
the strawberry crepes. I can't believe it's still there."
"Sounds wonderful," Walter commented.
She stood up. "I can't give you Uncle Guilly's speciality but how about a
sandwich?"
"I could eat," Alex said.
"Me too," Walter admitted, "that chicken was good."
She began taking things out of the refrigerator and soon had a table full of
sandwich fixings. They helped themselves. Talk of favourite foods flowing
between them. Walter was surprised at Alex's appreciative knowledge of good
food. Then he thought to himself, that's what expense accounts are for, one of
the perks of the assassin's trade; that and first class travel. But the thoughts
jarred with the moment and he chased them away.
When he glanced at the clock he realised how late it had gotten and he excused
himself from the table to bring in the bags. He refused Alex's offer of help and
went out to the car. He made two trips, first bringing Alex's bags, then his
own. He leaned into the kitchen doorway to wish the other two good night and
found them in a gentle hug. So he stepped back and silently made his way
upstairs.
Regular as clockwork, at 6 am on the button, Walter Skinner woke up the
following morning, For him, that was the end of sleep. The loss of routine and
the lack of exercise was making him restless and he pulled on some running
shorts and a t-shirt, paid a quick visit to the bathroom, did his stretches and
hit the farm road. For almost an hour he pounded the dirt road that wound its
way through the Svetlov farm, as he thought over the events of the past few
days. It had gone well, all in all. Seeing them last night, easy in each other's
company, had pleased him. Vera Svetlov deserved that. She had been sensitive to
Alex's low emotional threshold and she had never once even glanced at his arm.
Which was a remarkable achievement.
Approaching the house he geared down to a slow jog. In the yard between the
house and the barn, he pulled off his t-shirt and began a sequence of push-ups
and crunches. It felt good to work his body and he began the cycle again,
enjoying the endorphin high. As he turned over onto his back for the crunches
his eye caught the figure at the window, openly watching him. Typical Alex, the
only person he knew who could turn a casual observation into a death threat. He
glared back at the watcher who took the hint and moved back into the room. The
hangdog expression on Alex's face as he turned away though gave Walter pause and
instead of finishing the exercises, he reached for the discarded t-shirt and
used it to wipe the sweat from his face. Getting to his feet, he jogged into the
house, made a detour to his room to pick up some fresh clothes and hit the
shower.
It was damp from recent use and the second he stepped into it he was surrounded
by a scent that was intrinsically Alex. He breathed deeply, instantly aroused
and angled his head to allow the water to stream across his face as he took
himself in hand. Days of abstinence and the spicy musk enveloping him brought
completion quickly. He didn't attempt to resist the images of Alex that carried
him there. Instead he leaned back on the tiles and savoured the moment, his
mind's eye full of flashing green eyes and a pouty mouth doing all sorts of
wonderful things to his body. He smiled to himself, as he thought that between
the two of them this shower was going to see plenty of action. He reached for
the soap and briskly began washing.
When he emerged from the bathroom the smell of cooking breakfast filled the
upper floor and drew him downstairs in anticipation.
"Morning, Walter," Vera said, as she began flipping the pancakes on the stove's
hotplate. "Can you get the orange juice for me?"
He opened the fridge and took out the pitcher, "Mmmm... smells good."
"Almost ready," she smiled at him. "Did you notice if Alexander is awake?"
"Yes," he replied filling the three tall glasses with the freshly squeezed
juice. He then filled the big breakfast cups with coffee.
Vera brought the pancakes to the table and reached into the oven for the bacon
and eggs. "That's everything," she said as she sat down.
Walter returned the coffee pot to the stove and joined her, as she sat uneasily
watching the door.
Ah, the guest of honour hasn't arrived he thought.
"Excuse me, Vera, I've forgotten my watch," he told her as he left the table and
went upstairs. Snagging his wristwatch from the nightstand, he went to Alex's
room and opened the door without knocking. Alex, fully dressed, lay on his bed,
a book in his hand.
"As I'm sure you're aware, breakfast is on the table."
Alex turned away from him mumbling, "I'm not hungry, I'll get a cup of coffee
later."
Walter picked up the catcher's mitt from the bookshelf beside the door and took
aim. The thwack it delivered made Alex sit bolt upright in surprise. He looked
askance at Skinner.
"That's not how it works, Alex. Your mother has cooked us breakfast and is
waiting for you, so you have thirty seconds to get your butt off that bed and
down those stairs." He left the stunned man and returned to the kitchen.
Sure enough, scant seconds after he had entered the room, Alex trouped in and
greeted his mother.
"Good morning, Alex," Walter said sweetly. "Isn't this a great way to start the
day?"
Alex made sure his mother was otherwise occupied before fixing Walter with a
menacing stare, which the other man blithely ignored as he began serving
himself. Alex also began filling his plate and, to his mother's satisfaction,
began eating and enjoying a huge breakfast.
"I need to go into town today, do some shopping," Vera said, checking her
cupboards.
"I'll drive you in, there are a few things I need to get. What about you Alex?"
Walter asked.
"Mmmm..." the younger man replied around his last mouthful of toast.
"Okay then, I'll do the dishes and we'll head out." Walter organized.
The woman took a notepad out of her purse and started to make a list while
Walter filled the sink with soapy water. He took the plates out of Alex's hand
and said softly, "You should to go see if Dr. Massie available. You'll have
about half an hour."
Alex nodded and left.
Within the hour they were following Vera's directions to the Big K mall in
Bradenton. Once inside, Vera pulled a cart free and said, "I'll be a while here,
why don't you go get what you need?"
"Okay," Alex agreed. "We'll meet you back here."
They headed off towards J.C. Penny's where Walter bought some cotton socks and
t-shirts.
"You need anything here?" he asked Alex, who shook his head and they walked on.
"Did you have a good talk with Dr. Massie?" Walter questioned.
"Yeah, he seems to think it's going well." Alex replied, then continued. "I
can't tell. Home... wasn't like this." He waved his arm around.
"What do you mean?"
Alex drew a deep breath and said, "My... Mom and Dad, didn't do family stuff."
"Let's sit down, Alex," Walter told the younger man, leading the way to a
deserted corner of the food court.
They sat and Alex immediately began fiddling with the packets of sugar in the
little bowl.
"What did you mean about, 'family stuff'?" Walter persisted.
Alex glanced up but looked away before speaking. "Like this morning, I wasn't
trying to hurt my mother, though when I came down I understood what you meant.
That would have been okay at home. Everyone did their own thing. We didn't do
holidays or birthdays or stuff like that. Hell, Mom didn't even shop. A delivery
van arrived every week with everything we needed. There was a maid who cooked
and cleaned, and an endless line of 'sitters who took me to school and Little
League, even to the doctor's office." He went back to fiddling with the sugar.
"When I was small, I just accepted it. But when I got older, I could see it was
different for other kids. I thought maybe it was because Mom and Dad were away a
lot of the time. I knew they had important jobs..." he smiled sarcastically
at that. "Now I understand of course," he ran his hand through his hair. "Two
Consortium agents who had a four year old brat foisted on them, unwillingly. I
see that now. Well, at least it explains the indifference."
Walter Skinner thought back on his own love filled, rough and tumble childhood
and tried to imagine the one Alex had experienced. He couldn't even begin.
"When I was sixteen I went to private school. I heard from them exactly three
times in the two years I was there. Once I started college I... never heard
from them again, except for a cheque that arrived every month from a lawyer. It
didn't really count as contact, I guess. Can you see why this is hard for me?"
he asked.
Walter nodded.
"I mean, I want it. At least I think I do," he mumbled into the bowl again. "But
it's late in the day and the things I did..." His voice trailed off.
Walter took off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know
what to say Alex. But I think you made the right choice to come down here and
try." He replaced his glasses and looked the other man square in the eye. "And
Dr. Massie's right, it has been a good start." He lifted his packages and stood
up. "Come on, it's about time you were introduced to the wonderful world of
grocery shopping."
Alex made a distinctly reluctant face but followed along behind Skinner. As they
passed a menswear store on the way back to the supermarket, Walter noticed
Alex's attention fleetingly drawn to a leather jacket displayed in the window.
He'd wondered about the leather jackets since collecting Alex at the facility.
The clothing he'd brought with him was a tad generic for the stylishly
understated Krycek of the Consortium days. He remembered that at the hearing
he'd worn one of his leather jackets, but he obviously didn't have it now.
Krycek without a leather jacket was like asparagus without the hollandaise.
They tracked down Alex's mother in the vegetable aisle of the supermarket.
Walter looked at the overflowing cart and laughed. "Are you buying in supplies
for the winter?" he asked.
"I remember what it takes to feed two boys like you." She smiled at him
knowingly, and said, "I'm almost finished, just some fresh bread."
Walter guided Alex to push the cart while he steered from the side and they both
followed Vera's knowledgeable pathway through the maze of aisles. From the
bewildering array of bread, she selected six packages and placed them on top of
the mountain of food in the cart.
"Okay, check outs are this way." She pointed.
Alex hesitated briefly then began pushing the cart again in the desired course.
They chose the smallest line to join and when Vera glanced at the cart in front
she said, "Oh, I need to get some milk."
"I'll get it," Walter offered.
"No, I can be back here in the time it would take you to find it," she explained
and disappeared towards the back of the store.
"Skinner," Alex whispered, face flushed. "I should pay for this but... I don't
have any money."
"What?" Walter asked him.
"How else can I say it? I don't have any money."
Walter looked at him, nonplussed. "Oh... I guess not... sure..."
Walter took out his wallet and extracted some bills. "No Consortium Swiss
numbered accounts, Alex? How come, I would have thought...?"
Alex cut him off, "I left it with the clothes on my back. Now I need some money.
I'll pay you back..."
He watched Alex hide his embarrassment when his mother returned with a large
carton of milk. As the younger man took it from her and placed it into the cart,
Walter slipped two one hundred dollar bills into the back pocket of his jeans.
His fingers lingering fractionally longer than was absolutely necessary. Alex
squirmed slightly, more so when Walter leaned over and whispered condescendingly
in his ear, "Now, we take the things out of the cart and put them on the check
out desk." But his annoyance had dissipated.
When all the items were put through the check out the assistant read off the
total Alex took the money out of his pocket, but his mother had already handed
over her debit card and would not hear of either of them paying for the
groceries.
"You are my guest, Walter, and you are my son, Alexander. Let me do this,
please?" she pleaded.
Alex smiled at her, realizing how good it felt to make her happy. It left him
short on words.
Walter stepped into the breach, "As long as we can take you out to dinner
tonight," he bargained.
"That would be lovely," she answered.
Alex pushed the refilled cart to the car and he and Walter loaded the groceries
into the trunk. When it was settled and the cart had been returned he began,
"About the money..."
"You keep it Alex. Let me know when you need some more," Walter said, feeling
slightly shamed by his earlier snide comment.
Alex nodded his thanks, "I'll pick up the tab tonight."
"Fine," Walter agreed, and they made their way back to the farm
They drove to The Sandbar on Anna Maria Island for dinner. It wasn't warm enough
to sit out on the deck so they took a table beside the large picture windows
that overlooked the beach. As the sun disappeared below the horizon a guitarist
began to play and sing softly and the waitress lighted the candles on their
table. The meal was enjoyable and relaxed and throughout it Alex and Vera
encouraged Walter to practise his Russian. He found he remembered more than he
expected and he didn't mind when they occasionally lapsed into fluent Russian
that left him far behind. He watched them interact easily, happy that they so
obviously liked each other as people. He felt hopeful for the future of their
relationship. When they'd finished their coffee they took the long way to the
car along the beach. Walking ahead of Walter, Alex slipped his mother's arm
through his own. It was the most emotionally positive gesture the younger man
had yet made towards the woman who had suddenly become his mother.
They were just walking into the farmhouse when the phone began to ring. Vera
lifted the receiver and said hello. Her face became agitated as she listened to
the response.
"I'm sorry sweetheart, I was a bit distracted the last couple of days..." Her
answer was cut off.
"No, I'm fine. Everything's fine... really..." she assured the caller.
"Just a moment, dear." She covered the mouthpiece and looked at Alex. "It's your
sister, Alexander."
Alex went very still and Walter put his hand on his shoulder.
"What should I do Alexander?" His mother asked.
He drew a deep breath and answered, "Tell her."
She nodded her agreement then spoke into the phone. "Olga dear, I want you to
sit down."
"Olga... take a breath," her mother suggested. "Are you sitting down?"
"Good, now listen. Two days ago I was contacted by Agent Skinner of the FBI with
news about your brother..."
Alex listened to his mother's words as he leaned into the firm pressure of
Walter's supporting grasp.
"He arrived yesterday." Vera said in answer to an unheard question. "It all
happened very quickly."
She looked up at Alex. "I wasn't ready to call you, Olga. We needed a little
time."
She listened again before answering, "I know, it's a shock, believe me I know."
She waved her free hand helplessly at them. "Olga, please, can I get a word in?"
She smiled then.
"Thank you dear. Yes, it's wonderful. It's unbelievable... except that I'm
looking at him right now."
This time the other two heard the joyful exclamation. "I'll see... Alexander?"
She held the phone, mouthpiece covered, towards him. "She wants to speak to
you."
Alex stepped forward and took the phone. "Hello?" he asked in a quiet voice.
Walter watched his anxious face as Alex listened to whatever his sister was
telling him.
"No Olga, I do remember you. Not much... but I remember... and I know your
voice. He smiled at his mother then. Walter felt the tension in his body ease.
"I'm glad you're happy... yes... I'm happy too," he said, and listened again
for a long time. As he did so Walter could feel the tension returning.
"I'm not sure about that. I don't know if I'd be..." His voice trailed off.
Walter looked at Vera a warning in his eyes. Picking up on it she interrupted,
"Excuse me Alexander," and took the phone from his hand. "Olga, I'll say good
night to Alexander for you and I'll call you shortly." The tone was very firm.
"In a little while, yes... yes. Bye" She hung up the phone.
She squeezed his hand and asked, "Alexander, Olga tried to organise you didn't
she?"
He nodded.
"Since she was ten she's been like that. Even tries to organise my life. You
just have to put her firmly in her place. You'll learn to handle her." She
gently patted his cheek. "I'll go have a talk with her right now. If the phone
rings let me answer it. Is there anything you need?"
Walter answered for them both. "We're fine, Vera. Thank you."
"Good night then," she said, giving Alex a hug before leaving the kitchen.
When they were alone Walter asked him, "Are you sure you're okay? That was
pretty much out of the blue?"
Alex shrugged his shoulders. "It was going to happen sometime... and it was
good to hear my sister's voice. It's strange, I mean it was so long ago and she
was a little girl and yet I know her voice." His face darkened a little and
Skinner knew instinctively that Alex, like himself, was thinking of another lost
sister. "I'm really lucky," the younger man continued. "But all those questions
she wanted answers to... God, Walter, what am I going to tell her and Mama and
my brother?"
"Don't rush at this, Alex," Walter assured him, "your mother will speak to her,
explain that she needs to go slow."
Alex looked at him. "You were right, when you said I was a coward."
Walter smiled at him, "That was just scare tactics. Let me tell you what's
happening here scares the shit out of me and I'm just along for the ride."
Alex started to thank him when Walter spoke again, "No need Alex, I'm just being
honest. Why don't you call it a night?"
"Sure," Alex said, "Good night Walter."
The howling woke Walter up. He glanced at the luminous dial on the clock, 3:26,
before pulling himself, semi-awake from the bed. He didn't need to think about
the source of the ungodly sound as he found his sneakers and he stumbled to
Alex's room only to find Vera was seconds before him. Knowing how dangerous Alex
could be in this state he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly behind him,
ignoring her cry of protest. "Turn on the light," he told her. She did so, and
the room was bathed in harsh light from the overhead fitting.
"Alex... Alex," he called loudly to the man writhing on the bed. That initiated
a babble of pleading in Russian from the sleeper. "Alex," he shouted, "Wake up,
now."
The man stilled, then sat upright in the bed and winced as his eyes reacted to
the light. He looked from Walter to his mother before clutching at what remained
of his left arm. Walter stepped towards him as he moved his hand to cover his
mouth. Vera recognised the signs and quickly handed the waste bin from below the
desk to Walter. She then went to kneel on the bed behind her son and held him as
he was violently ill.
When the spasms had ceased Vera, still holding on tight, looked up a Walter.
"Can you get me a damp washcloth?"
He nodded and took the waste bin with him to the bathroom. Rinsing it out, he
dampened a washcloth with cool water and returned with it and the waste bin.
Pausing at the bedroom door, he watched the mother take her first clear look at
her child's disfigurement. He was glad Alex couldn't see his mother's face. It
showed anguish too great to be hidden. He handed her the washcloth and she
gently wiped Alex's sweaty, pale face.
"Hush, Sasha." She rocked him. "Everything's fine. Mama has you now."
"Mama," he called out, finding his voice again, "Mama they took my arm..."
Walter practically ran from the room, though he stopped just outside the door;
not wanting to stay, but unable to leave. He leaned back against the wall and
hugged his arms across his chest. Alex's voice carried like a sombre bell from
the room behind him.
"... I couldn't move... so many holding me... they wouldn't listen... it
hurt so much..."Alex was becoming more and more coherent as he told his mother
what had happened to him that cold night in a forest in central Siberia. Walter
made himself listen to the details he didn't want to know, to the details that
made a mother sob quietly as she comforted the distraught young man. He made
himself listen because he knew this was the first time Alex had spoken of this
and someone needed to listen. An old blessing rose up into his consciousness
from sometime long ago... and may a friend wake for you in the night... he
had become a friend for Alex, but he knew that, in his heart, he wanted more
than that. He wanted to be the comforter, the one to hold him securely, keeping
the darkness at bay.
His attention was drawn back sharply to what was being said in the bedroom. Alex
had begun to tell his mother about his life, and his choices. He told it as
bluntly as he had recounted his ordeal, offering no mitigation. He talked for a
long time, until his voice began to break. At some point Walter had sunk down to
rest on the hall floor and he watched detachedly as the first grey glimmerings
of dawn crept along the hallway towards his feet. When the voice from the
bedroom began to slow and become again disjointed, he silently stretched his
aching muscles and pulled himself to his feet. As he stepped into the room he
saw that Alex had fallen asleep, and that his mother was pulling the comforter
around him. She looked up at him, looking ten years older than she had at the
dinner table that night. She winced as she straightened up, and saying nothing
she walked past him out of the room and down the stairs.
Walter watched her retreating figure for a moment before looking back at Alex.
His instinct was to stay with the young man, but he knew he was needed elsewhere
right now and knowing that Alex would not stir from this exhausted sleep for a
long time, he quietly closed the bedroom door and went looking for Vera Svetlov.
Walter found her standing at the edge of the porch gazing out at the misty
landscape, her robe gathered tightly round her. Standing close beside her he
leaned heavily on the porch railing. There was probably little he could do or
say to influence what would happen between these two people, he knew that, but
he still needed to try. Alex had experienced so much abandonment in his life
already, if his mother turned away from him now it might well finish him. He
somehow knew instinctively that only this woman could provide the affirmation
that Alex needed to be a healthy, functioning individual. The man had glimpsed
what was potentially his; it would be too cruel to snatch it away now.
But how could he blame her if she did turn away. It was an ugly story,
describing the ugly person Alex had been; and it couldn't have been delivered in
a harsher manner. No rose tinted revisionist history to hold onto, just the
unvarnished truth.
They were silent for some time, until Vera said, "Is he delusional?"
Glancing at her profile Walter answered, "No."
"The whole thing is so far-fetched I thought maybe..." she didn't finish the
sentence.
"No, it's all true. I was there," he told her.
She looked at him sadly and remarked, "That he's ill would be easier to accept."
Walter's heart sank at the words.
"He was such a perfect baby. I love all my children, but Alexander was the
sweetest. Olga would never let me baby her and Peter was born cantankerous and
has remained so ever since. Sasha never cried, he was all smiles and cuddles and
holding on, either to me, or Olga. And then we lost him, they took him away from
us. How could Alexander become like this?" she finished, looking away as the
hurt spilled over.
Walter thought for a moment then said, "I read a novel once, I don't remember
much about it, but several of the lines stayed with me. The young soldier asks,
'Where did you learn to be so evil?' and his commanding officer replies, 'The
world taught me'. Whatever you may have heard last night, the most of the misery
and depravity of this whole sorry mess was down to people just like you and me.
People who allowed themselves to be twisted, for a whole variety of reasons,
money, power... even something as simple as fear." He looked at her his face
open and revealing. "You heard what he did to me. I did what I was told because
I wanted to stay alive. Some of the things I did put good people at risk. I have
to live with that, just as he does. I'm not excusing him, or me. We were wrong.
The young soldier in the novel stares evil in the face and has the courage to
say no to it. I have been privileged to know a few people like that. Alex and I,
we... couldn't do that. But Vera, when it came down to the wire Alex made the
right choice. Some kind of internalized morality said 'enough is enough' and he
stopped them. In the time I've spent with him I've seen his regret and remorse."
She took a shaky breath and said, "You must have forgiven him, to be here with
him..."
"I think I have..." He smiled slightly. "No one's more surprised about that
than me. I hated him for a very long time... but it feels damned good to be
free of that."
Walter stood silently, allowing the woman to process what he had said.
"I feel lost, Walter. I don't know how to deal with this."
"Would you rather he hadn't told you?"
"Of course I'd rather not know. But that wasn't an option. You heard him last
night, he needed to tell me. What does he want from me?"
"I'd say he wants forgiveness. But I think he expects rejection."
She pulled herself up straighter and turned to face him. "Rejection was never a
possibility, Walter, but I can't give him forgiveness he wants. I... I don't
know how to deal with this, with him."
Relief washed over Walter at her words. "Can you accept him for the person he
is?"
"He's my son. I love him."
"Then love him and help him to be the person he wants to be."
She took on a determined stance, "The young child I knew was nothing but
goodness and the man I see today is good, I'm sure of it. I want my son with
me." She wiped her eyes with a tissue and said, "We need coffee."
Walter agreed strongly and started to walk back but she caught his arm, "This
goes no further in the family," she said.
"I think you were the one he needed to tell," he said and she nodded agreement.
At the foot of the stairs she stopped again and looked up. "You go on up to
him," Walter suggested. "I'll bring the coffee up."
She murmured her thanks and began to climb the stairs.
He carried the two steaming mugs of coffee into the bedroom and set one on the
desk beside Vera. The other he placed on the night stand between the twin beds.
Settling himself on the empty bed he joined the vigil. The young man lay in the
same position they had left him. The pallor was replaced by the flush of sleep
and all the strain was gone from his face. As they sipped their coffee the two
watchers talked quietly, learning about each other and their lives. Several
hours passed before the sleeper stirred. It was fully morning by then and the
sun was making its presence felt, shining strongly into Alex's sleep-sensitive
eyes. His mother sat beside him on the bed while Walter moved to pull down the
shades on the two windows.
"How are you feeling, Alexander?" Vera asked him, smoothing the hair from his
forehead.
"I'm... okay..." He answered in a croaky voice, a kind of desperation clouding
his face.
She took his face between her hands and said softly and deliberately, "We are
going to be all right, sweetheart." She kissed his forehead and released him.
Walter drew in a sudden breath when he saw the way Alex looked at his mother.
The man had always been beautiful, but this went beyond beauty. Vera reacted the
same way and she wrapped her arms tightly around her son and whispered, "My baby
..."
Feeling as though he were intruding, Walter made to leave but the look Alex gave
him stopped him. It told him this was his place too, that he was wanted here.
They smiled at each other, as Alex pulled away from his mother. "I'm sorry I
brought this to your door, Mama..." , "Shhhh," She held her fingers to his
mouth. "You're here where you belong. That's all that matters. We'll talk later.
Now I need to call Olga." She smiled and moved her hand in a circle in the air.
"Put her in a holding pattern. And I need to call Peter too. In fact, I have a
whole family to call." She stood up and walked to the door. "There'll be a
gathering, but you have nothing to worry about Alexander, Walter and I will
protect you."
When she left them and they looked at each other unsurely. Something had changed
but this was not the time, nor the place to deal with it. They silently agreed
to set it aside, but when Walter moved towards the door he was halted a second
time. This time by Alex's voice. "We both need sleep. Stay here?"
The young man looked at him hopefully and nodded to the other bed. Walter sat
down and pulled off the shoes he'd hastily put on the night before, then he took
off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. He lay down facing the young
man, covered himself with the comforter, and with surprising suddeness slipped
into an exhausted sleep.
The three people who sat down to a very late breakfast that day had each been
irrevocably changed by the events of the previous night. For the first time in a
long time, Walter felt as if the gloom that had pervaded his life since the day
he had learned of the existence of the X Files, had been dispelled. On that
sunny day in a Florida farmhouse, Walter Skinner felt good to be alive. He also
felt a kind of contented anticipation tingling through him as he helped with the
domestic trivialities of preparing and serving a meal. It was as if he was
waiting for the final winning number on his lottery ticket to be announced,
though he didn't know what the prize was going to be.
When he looked at Vera he saw a woman whose maternal instincts had been
rekindled with a vengeance. She had not come through the experience of seeing
the dark side of her son unscathed, but whatever it had taken, she considered it
a price worth paying. All the barriers that had stood between the two of them,
in the first few days of reconciliation, were gone and nature's bond had re-
established itself.
Woe betide anyone Walter thought, as he watched her protective stance, who
ever again tries to harm this precious chick
But, of them all, Alex was the most changed. He had a sense of peace about him
that Walter had never seen before in all the years he had known him. It seemed
as if the cathartic experience and the unconditional acceptance he had gained
from his mother had placed him on an even keel. Perhaps for the first time in
his life. There was a subdued confidence in his manner that was very different
from old 'Krycek' cockiness, which Walter had always thought likely was built on
a shaky foundation. Whatever its origins, that persona had served Alex well in
the life he'd lived in the Consortium, and he had almost preferred it to the
'lost' Alex he'd found in the White Oaks facility. Now he sensed strongly, that
this incarnation of Alex, was the genuine article, and he very definitely liked
what he saw.
Early days, early days... he told himself.
When they'd finished the quiet and comfortable meal Vera refused all help and
said, "Alex, you haven't seen around the farm, why don't you and Walter take a
walk around, familiarize yourself with the place."
"That would be good. Walter?" He looked questioningly at the other man.
"Yeah, may as well take advantage of this fresh air and sunshine."
Alex walked over to give his mother a quick hug and she held onto him and said,
"When you get back, we'll have to talk about arrangements. I can't hold Olga off
indefinitely."
"Yes," he replied, smiling, "I want to met Olga, see if she lives up to her
reputation."
She looked at him a little unsurely, saying, "Alexander, your sister is a lovely
person... a little over enthusiastic perhaps but..." Then she realised he was
teasing her and she shooed him out of her kitchen waving a dish towel.
Alex and Walter walked out into warm, clean, air of the farm. They walked
shoulder to shoulder, their arms brushing. There didn't seem to be any need for
talk, beyond an occasional comment on the farm or the beautiful day. The path
took them towards a wooded dip, and as he looked at it, Alex became suddenly
still.
"The river," he said and began jogging down into the trees. Walter followed,
intrigued. He found Alex standing at the edge of a fairly large stream. The
younger man looked at him with disappointed eyes and said, "But it's small..."
Walter laughed heartily. "No Alex," he told him, "you're big."
"I guess so," Alex agreed, "but it was my Mississippi." He turned to his right,
eyes searching as he walked to a large oak. "We had a tractor tyre tied up here
to swing on..." He caught hold of an old frayed rope and held it up, "It was
here, see, and..." He rushed past Walter excitedly, "Dino... was over here."
He scrambled through some over grown bushes to reveal an oddly shaped tree stump
that had been worn smooth by the rain and the playing hands and feet of
children.
"Dino?" Walter questioned.
"You know, Fred Flintstone's dinosaur," Alex explained as if it shouldn't be
necessary.
"Right...a dinosaur," said Walter, "I see it now."
The younger man ignored the humouring tone and moved back to stand beside him
again, at once exhilarated and thoughful. "This is home. I've come home."
Walter felt the need to offer some physical reassurance so he put his arm around
Alex's shoulders and held him to his side. For a few minutes they stood like
that and then Alex turned towards Walter's chest, laying his head on the other
man's shoulder. Walter felt warmth flood through him at the gesture and brought
his other arm up to encircle the body pressed tightly against his. Any sexual
tension in their closeness was masked by Alex's need for ordinary human contact.
Alex pulled away, not exactly embarrassed but sensitive to the need to maintain
his dignity. Walter was having none of that and so he put his arm back around
the younger man's shoulders as they climbed back out of the bank of trees. They
separated as they stepped back into the open and Walter commented, "Let's see
what else you remember."
Two hours later found them walking back into the farmyard, Alex a little
disappointed that nothing else had seemed familiar. "Let's take a look in the
barn," he suggested and pulled back the large bolt that held the wooden door
securely in place. It was dark and cool inside, but enough light flooded in
through the open door and the gaps in the wooden slats of the walls to allow
clear vision. It was filled with large machinery, a storage place for seldom
used equipment. Alex found it more intriguing than Walter and went off exploring
while the older man leaned against the open door, watching the disturbed dust
motes dance in the streaming sunlight.
"Hey Walter..." Alex called, "come take a look at this."
Alex had the oily tarpaulin completely stripped off the motorcycle by the time
Walter found his way to the back of the barn, and had taken a few appreciative
steps backward. Walter let out a long whistle as he looked at the powerful
machine. Even neglected and dusty, they both found it beautiful.
"An Indian, a genuine Indian Roadmaster Chief," Alex's voice was slightly awed.
He rubbed on the paintwork with the cuff of his shirt. "Pearl grey." He mused
approvingly. "I wonder who owns it?"
"I'll ask your Mom," Walter volunteered, "I could use a beer anyway. You?"
"Sure," Alex replied, distracted by his examination of the machine.
Walter left him too it and wandered into the kitchen. Vera wasn't there, so he
took two bottles from the fridge and went looking for her. He found her in her
study.
"Sorry to bother you, but we found a motorcycle..." Her expression clearly
showed her concern at this news.
"That... thing..." she groused, "It's Peter's. Put me through agonies of
worry while he used it at college."
Walter could understand the terror, a mother who had already lost one son, would
feel about that dangerously powerful machine.
"At least, Frances, that's Peter's wife, had the good sense to put her foot down
about it. That's why it's here. We've been trying to persuade him to sell it."
She thought for a moment. "Don't tell me Alexander...?" She didn't need to
finish the sentence.
"'Fraid so," he said, sheepishly, "... me too."
Vera put her head in her hands.
"So it's okay to tinker around with it?" He asked hopefully.
She shook her head resignedly. "Of course, but Walter? I expect you to be
sensible."
"Yes Mom," he said dutifully.
"Well off you go then, and play nice." Her voice taking on a playful tone.
Walter turned back at the door. "Oh, by the way, we found Dino."
Vera looked lost as she asked, "Dino?"
"The dinosaur..."
"Dino!" she interrupted, realization dawning. "By the river? Alexander
remembered?"
"Uh-huh."
"I think I'm going to cry again," she warned him.
"I'll leave you to it then." Walter smiled.
He carried the bottles back to the barn and wasn't surprised to find Alex
engrossed in the motorcycle. He uncapped the bottle and held it out to the other
man, who muttered, "Put in down here." He indicated a place beside a toolbox
he'd found somewhere in the barn. He looked up at Walter as he pushed his hair
back, leaving a black oily smear on his forehead as he did so. "Can you help me
move it into the light?"
Walter set his own bottle down beside Alex's and together they wheeled the big
machine to the doorway of the barn. He went back for the toolbox and the two
beers. Setting them down within easy reach he said, "It's your brother's bike.
And we have reluctant permission to tinker."
Alex looked at him perplexed.
"You know Alex, Moms and motorcycles don't mix. It's a law of nature." As soon
as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. But this time they didn't
hurt the same. A real smile crossed Alex's face, "I guess I'll have to get used
to stuff like that." And his attention returned immediately to the task of
stripping down the disused bike. Walter smiled at the bowed head and lifted his
beer to drink. The cool liquid tasted extraordinarily good. Today, his senses
seemed to be especially acute. He watched the sweat soak the back of Alex's
shirt as he worked. He could smell it, a kind of honest, provocatively male
scent that teased him. He clamped down on his awareness and knelt to begin work.
They worked well together, both familiar with what needed to be done. Little was
said as they unconsciously shared out the tasks and passed tools to each other.
Walter was impressed with the patience and ingenuity that Alex displayed in
dealing with his disability. The small, intricate pieces were hard to handle
with two good hands. Doing it with an artificial hand was torturous. When Alex
failed for the third time to locate a screw on its proper thread Walter could
not stop himself from intervening, although he knew it was the wrong thing to
do. As he tried to take it from Alex, the younger man palmed it and pushed him
away forcefully.
"I can do it..." he insisted.
They glared at each other for a moment before Walter's eyes were drawn to look
at the pouty mouth that showed Alex's annoyance. Walter glanced back up into the
green eyes, and one of those brightly incandescent looks sparked between them.
The now forgotten screw slipped from Alex's grasp and clattered noisily into the
depths of the toolbox, breaking the moment.
Walter stood abruptly, suddenly reintroduced to his cramped and aching muscles.
"I'm done here," he said, stretching hugely.
"I'm not," Alex said decisively as he stood up, his hand catching Walter behind
the neck and pulling him into an aggressive kiss. The older man responded
instantly by bringing his hands up to hold Alex's head steady as he plundered
the willing mouth. He twisted them both around and pushed Alex back until he was
against the wall of the barn. With the advantage of position and weight, he
insinuated his leg between Alex's and rubbed his thigh against the growing
erection, causing the young man to break the kiss, arching his neck and biting
down on his lower lip to contain the groan that rose in his throat.
Walter pulled back, but held the younger man in position. "Be careful what you
start, Alex," Walter warned. "I'm interested, but not in a quick fuck, and I
have no intention of taking advantage of your emotional state."
"You know I've always been interested." Alex had recovered his voice and it had
taken on that silky tone that Walter recognised, from times good and bad. As
always, it went straight to his groin.
"I know what I'm doing, Walter. I know what I want. What I've always wanted," he
continued, "but I'll do it your way. If there's a chance, I want this to be
right between us."
Walter relaxed his muscles then and moved back in for another kiss, this time
tender and needy. When it ended he leaned his forehead against Alex's and
murmured, " Can it be right...?"
Alex traced his fingers along Walter's lips. "Whatever it takes. It's your call,
Walter".
Walter's barely vocalized, "I want to try, Alex," brought a relieved smile to
the younger man's face.
They shared a final lingering kiss and Walter straightened up.
"You have some oil on your forehead," Alex said, as he wiped his thumb across
the mark.
Walter smiled at him and said, "Really?"
They straightened themselves up and walked back to the bike.
"You should call Dr. Massie," Walter reminded Alex. "I wouldn't include the
latest development if I were you."
"Walter I tell him my neuroses, not my business."
Laughing, Walter agreed, "Good policy."
Alex knelt down again and resumed the painstaking work.
"I'm going into town now, do you need anything?" He ran his fingers through
Alex's silky hair
"No, nothing, thanks."
"I've things to do, so don't wait dinner for me. It'll give you some quality
time with your Mom anyhow."
"Okay," Alex answered, absorbed in his task.
"So don't stay out here too long with the bike."
Alex was growing exasperated, "Okay Walter, now... go already."
The older man watched him for a moment longer, mentally adding another item to
his shopping list. He turned towards the house intent on a long and relieving
shower.
It was well after eleven o'clock when Walter returned from his trip to town.
He'd taken a long time over his shopping, visiting a number of stores until he
found the exact item he wanted. After that he had gone to a hotel, reserved a
table for dinner and used one of their small meeting rooms to make some calls,
starting with his overdue one to Dr. Massie. He then made a lengthy call to his
secretary who brought him up-to-date on what was happening at the office. As he
suspected, the FBI was managing to get along fine in his absence, though he
could tell from Marie's tone of voice that Agent Mulder was making a nuisance of
himself, in an attempt to extract Skinner's location from her.
"My instructions stand, I am not available to anyone, even by phone," he told
her.
"Yes, Director. Have you any idea when you will be returning?"
"No, but I can say with certainty that I intend to take at least a month. After
that I'll keep you posted."
"Very good, sir."
"That seems to be everything, Marie. I'm sorry to have bothered you at home."
"It's not a bother, Director. I hope you enjoy the rest of your vacation."
"I'll do my best. Good night." He hung up the phone and went in to dinner.
Although it was good he didn't the solitary meal and, after a couple of hours in
the hotel lounge nursing a single whiskey, he'd gratefully steered his car
towards Bradenton. All appeared to be asleep when he approached the house. He
hoped they had remembered to leave the door unlocked as he quietly stepped up
onto the porch towards the kitchen door. Sure enough, it was open and he locked
it behind him and turned off the light. Reaching the stairs he noticed a dim
light flickering from the family room, then he heard Alex's voice. "Walter, I'm
in here."
He walked into the room. Alex, who had been stretched out on one of the couches,
sat up as he entered. The TV was muted and a half-full bowl of popcorn rested on
the floor.
"Waiting up for me?"
"Sure thing, what kind of hour is this to be coming home?"
"I get the impression that I was missed," Walter replied softly, feeling
gratified.
"Sit down, let me show you just how much." Alex rasped, his voice dropping into
a lower register.
Walter found himself pressed into the chintz cushions by a suddenly aggressive
young man who began a sensual assault on his neck and face. When the hungry lips
brushed across his Walter put a hand on Alex's chest and gently but firmly
pushed him away.
"Alex," he whispered, "I know you want this, believe me I know, but we'll get
ourselves hot and bothered and we won't be able to do anything about it."
Alex looked incredulous, as Walter continued; "I'm not going to do this under
your mother's roof."
Alex had the grace to look a little shamefaced at that and he drew back to his
side of the couch, only to be followed by an equally aggressive Walter intent on
holding him tightly, spooned together. When they'd settled comfortably, Walter
asked, "How did it go with your mother tonight?"
He could sense the other man's smile. "It was great. We talked for hours. Thank
you for the time. I didn't realise I needed it."
Walter nuzzled the side of his face, and had to prompt him to continue.
"She explained the whole family tree, who everyone is and how they're related.
She told me how my grandparents brought her and the rest of the family over from
the Urkraine in 1945. They settled in St. Pete's. She moved here when she met
and married my Dad. He was second generation Russian American. Both sets of
grandparents helped them and they took out a huge loan to buy this place. Made
it pay too. Mama talked for nearly an hour about Dad. I feel like I know him a
little. The pictures helped too." He indicated the pile of photo albums on the
coffee table.
"I'd like you to show me those," Walter requested.
"I've already hidden my baby album, so no problem."
"Bad, huh?"
"Black mail potential I'd..." he stopped abruptly, suddenly uneasy.
"Alex, don't," Walter warned, wrapping him arms more tightly round the younger
man, "let's leave the past where it belongs.. Okay?" He kissed him then,
deepening the kiss as he felt the other man relax into it.
They necked for a while until Alex ended it with a throaty plea, "We have got to
stop... now..."
Reluctantly Walter released his hold and gathered what remained of his wits.
Alex stood, adjusted himself, and held out his hand to the other man who
gratefully accepted the help to get to his feet.
"Soon, Walter, it's got to be soon."
"Oh yeah..." the older man agreed as Alex switched off the TV and guided him
to the stairs.
The following morning Alex was nowhere in sight when Walter came down to
breakfast. Vera used a cloth to take a plate of bacon sandwiches from the oven
and put it on a tray that already had two mugs.
"Morning, Walter," she greeted as she filled the mugs with coffee.
"Morning Vera, is he..." he nodded in the direction of the barn.
"Since about six this morning. Will you take this out to him?" her tone slightly
exasperated.
"Sure, thank you."
He carried the tray to the barn, set it on the ground beside Alex and knelt down
behind him so he could wrap his arms around him. "I think I'm jealous," he
growled into a convenient ear.
That made Alex turn towards him quizzically, and Walter took the opportunity to
initiate a kiss. When it ended he nodded to the bike by way of explanation.
Alex laughed and looked at the now gleaming machine. "Well balanced, beautifully
proportioned, powerful engine... no, the bike doesn't stand a chance."
Walter released him and gently cuffed the side of his head. "Yeah put the
pressure on, why don't you?"
Alex was suddenly all over him, mouth finding mouth, as a hand snaked down to
rub against his cock.
"Nothing to be anxious about there, Walter," he told the moaning man, "zero to
sixty, in what? Ten seconds?"
The snap of the screen door closing alerted Alex to impending disaster.
"Shit!" he hissed and pulled Walter upright, putting a sandwich into his hand.
Vera walked into the barn just as Alex took a first bite of his own sandwich. He
spoke with his mouth full, "These are great, aren't they Walter?" He prodded the
other man.
"What...?" He focussed on Alex who held up his sandwich. Catching the clue bus,
Walter muttered, "Oh yeah, great."
Vera looked at him for a moment. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine Vera," he glowered at Alex, "never better."
Alex grinned at him.
"You seem a little flushed," she said placing an assessing hand on his forehead.
"Well, I don't think you have a temperature."
Walter's discomfort grew exponentially and he could tell that Alex was relishing
it. It was a relief when Vera returned to the matter that had brought her out to
the barn.
"Well, Olga called back Alexander. She and Peter will be arriving on the 6pm
flight tomorrow evening. Frances and Mark will bring the children next weekend."
She looked a little apprehensive.
"What is it Mama? You're not worried about the meeting...?" Alex had caught
her apprehension.
"No, of course not sweetheart, it's just... with the children and all, is there
any danger...?"
"Absolutely none," Walter assured her. "I may have misled you slightly in the
beginning. I'm here simply as a guarantor for Alex. Which means I'll have to
stay with him. I know I'm intruding in a family situation, but I hope that won't
be a problem?"
Alex gave him a look that said it had better not be a problem. A look that
wasn't altogether lost on Vera.
"Walter, I haven't said it but you're very welcome here."
"You've made me feel welcome, Vera, thank you."
"As to arrangements, I thought I'd put Olga back in her old room. That means
either Walter or Peter will have to go in with you, Alexander?" She went on to
answer her own question. "Walter, I think. It may be best to let you and your
brother get to know each other a little first and, anyway, we'd have to change
everything around when Frances gets here. Will that be all right?"
"Fine with me," Alex told her. "Walter?" He looked at the other man.
"Sure, you want me to move my things?"
"Tomorrow will do. Now, I have things to take care of." She looked at the bike.
"I suppose you'll be wanting to take that thing out on the road, Alexander?"
Alex glanced at his artificial hand and answered, "I'd like to but I don't think
I could handle it."
She was torn between relief for herself and disappointment for him. She looked
at Walter.
"Then I'll drive it. Feel like hitting the road?" Walter asked.
"Yeah," Alex agreed eagerly.
Vera held her hand up. "One minute," she said and opened a locker beside the
door. From under some rough blankets she pulled out two motorcycle helmets.
"I'll be busy all day, but I'd like a call sometime."
"I promise," Alex said taking the helmet from her as she went back to the house.
Walter took the other and the two of them pushed the bike out of the barn. He
went to get a jacket from the trunk of his car and, when he returned, he carried
a package. He set it on the seat of the bike and took Alex's helmet from his
hand. "Open it," he suggested.
Alex lifted the lid and pulled back the tissue. Immediately the scent of new
leather wafted out of the wrappings as the contents were revealed. He had a kind
of stunned look on his face.
"Put it on," Walter said lifting out the beautifully cut black jacket.
Despite being new it was soft and pliable and it slid over Alex's body like a
second skin. He ran his hand over it then looked up into Walter's eyes, his own
green ones full of barely contained emotion.
"Come on, let's take this baby on the road." He set the wrappings aside, put on
his jacket and helmet and swung his leg over the bike. Immediately he felt Alex
take his position behind him, hands firmly gripping his hips. He started the
engine, delighted as it purred smoothly into life, and rolled the bike slowly
forward, getting a feel for it on the farm road. When they reached the main road
he asked, "Which way?"
"North," Alex answered and he swung them right into a gap in the traffic, and
released the throttle as the powerful machine carried them away.
They skirted the northern limits of Sarasota until they reached the shores of
Tampa Bay in search of I-275, and within minutes they were skimming along the
metal and concrete of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. Riding along the deceptively
strong structure that seemed to float above the azure ocean, filled Walter with
the notion that anything was possible. He increased the speed a little and was
rewarded with Alex wrapping his right arm round his waist and pulling up tight
to his back. It was a long time since he had enjoyed the freedom of a motorcycle
on an open road. The beautiful day and the presence of a 'soon to be' lover made
it like no previous experience.
They exited the Skyway and Walter chose the older, coastal route that wound its
way through small towns, with their pastel painted buildings and palm trees.
Every now and then a silver curve of beach or a clutch of yachts came into view,
before they were whisked away by the bike's onward progress.
Around lunchtime they stopped at a traditional diner and ate steak sandwiches
and strawberry shortcake. They said little to each other and Walter enjoyed the
quietness between them and the closeness it signified. He paid the check and
together they walked back to the bike. He got on and watched as Alex walked
further down the street to a drugstore. After five or six minutes, the young man
emerged, tucking a small brown bag inside his jacket, which he zipped up before
taking his place on the bike.
Walter resumed the journey northward but he knew they wouldn't go much further
and, when they reached Port Richey, he slowed the bike to look for a hotel. The
Comfort Inn, a bizarrely coloured wedding cake of a building, came into view. He
indicated right and pulled into the parking lot. Behind the main building he
could see a row of individual cabana-like buildings that seemed to be located
right on the beach. Leaving Alex, he entered the main lobby and checked in to
one of them. When he returned with the key Alex manoeuvred the bike along the
row until they located number 8, then he locked up the bike and followed Walter
inside.
They stood facing each other for a moment before Alex unzipped his jacket and
threw the brown bag on the large double bed. Carefully, he hung his leather
jacket up in the closet and returned to Walter. Sliding his hand inside Walter's
open jacket, he guided it off his shoulders and dropped it over a nearby chair.
Walter leaned into the warmth of the calloused hand that rose to cup the side of
his face and coaxed him forward towards an eager mouth. Their lips brushed
lightly before meeting in a gentle, almost chaste kiss. Walter encircled Alex
with his arms and pulled him against his body. He felt languid in his arousal,
the unhurried pace promising a satisfaction usually only achieved with a
familiar and precious lover.
He smiled as he considered that since this union had been some five years in the
making, that wasn't so surprising. Alex, feeling the smile, broke the kiss and
pulled back to look at him questioningly.
"At last," he murmured as explanation, and moved to taste the sweet mouth again.
This time the kiss was intense and thorough and sent messages zinging to all the
right places in Walter's body. He felt Alex's groin rub against his own, seeking
a matching hardness. The young man was not disappointed and took shameless
advantage, causing Walter to pant and moan.
Pleased with the results, Alex placed one more fleeting kiss on Walter's swollen
lips and stepped back. He lifted the bag from the bed and murmured, "I won't be
long," then disappeared into the bathroom.
When Walter's breathing steadied, he moved around the room. Its window, covered
by a thick voile, looked out over the ocean. He pulled it aside for a clearer
view. Distantly he could hear the sound of the waves. He watched their restless
motion for a while, before letting the net fall back into its place. Stepping
back he decided against closing the drapes. The filtered afternoon sun filled
the room with a natural warmth that he didn't want to shut out. Going to the bed
he pulled back the comforter, then the blanket and top sheet and sat down to
remove his shoes and socks, placing them carefully to one side. As he was
removing his wristwatch, he heard the snick of the bathroom door opening and
turned around to watch Alex walk towards him, a towel wrapped around his waist.
With a sensual grace, he came to stand between Walter's open legs, putting a
tube of KY and some condoms on the pillow as he did so. When Walter looked up at
him again, Alex gently slid his glasses off, folded them up and placed them on
the nightstand. He looked down into the depths of the brown eyes and ran his
hand along the side of the older man's face, letting it come to rest on the back
of his neck. Walter leaned forward to kiss the taut stomach and abs, but paused,
remembering a less gentle contact; As if reading his troubled thoughts, Alex
tilted his face up and shook his head, smiling.
"Clean slate Walter, just like you said," he whispered, his voice rough with
arousal.
Walter nodded, words no longer an option, and pulled on the towel to free it
from Alex's body. It fell away to the floor and he gazed at the perfection of
the half-hard cock standing proud of its nest of sable curls. Drawn to it
irresistibly, he ran his tongue along its length, his hand moving to cup the
balls, warm and full in their silken sac. The action caused Alex to draw in a
sharp breath and Walter glanced up to see him bite hard on his lower lip, his
eyes squeezing shut as the sensation travelled through him. The older man
reached up to rub at the captured lip, demanding it be released. Alex obeyed and
his eyes opened to lock with Walter's. He read there the message that his lover
wanted him to watch what he was doing and his gaze fell on the mouth that was
opening to take him in.
It had been a long time since Walter had done this and he had almost forgotten
the pleasure of having a man's cock filling his mouth. Almost forgotten the joy
of creating this ecstasy, and of knowing that the slightest quiver of his lips
or flick of his tongue could cause his lover to scream or to whimper. He
wondered how he could have let himself forget the way it made him feel, powerful
and vulnerable at the same time. And to be doing this with Alex only served to
intensify the feeling. As for the taste and the smell? It was Alex in his purest
form and it made him yearn for the complete intoxication of his come. To that
end he sucked strongly on the silky steel and felt the hand on his neck grip
more tightly, as if to steady him for an even deeper penetration.
Relishing the prospect, Walter readied himself. He swallowed and relaxed his
throat, providing the extra stimulation needed to push Alex over the edge. A few
knowing strokes on the man's balls and he felt the moment Alex's body gave way
to the irresistible urge to come. He sucked hard again and savoured the
explosion of taste and the shouted babbling he wrung from his lover.
Alex's legs gave way as Walter released the softening cock and moved his strong
hands to grasp him round the waist, taking his weight and swinging him down onto
the safety of the big bed. He let him lie there, sated and blissful before lying
down beside him, to begin guiding him back with feathering kisses and stroking
hands. Watching the green eyes open and focus he bent down to take the relaxed
mouth, feeling it come alive again at his touch. Together they shared the
lingering taste of Alex's come.
As the kiss ended, Walter felt Alex surge upward to push him onto his back, He
rolled with the movement and parted his legs to allow the other man's thigh to
rest between them. A sensuous rub of that thigh along his erection caused a
throaty growl to erupt from Walter's vocal chords, and brought his hands down to
mold themselves to the curves of Alex's ass as he held on for dear life.
Laughing aloud, Alex wriggled his way out of the death grip and settled back
against the pillows. He then nudged Walter towards the edge of the bed with an
insistent foot.
Walter stood up and turned to face his reclining lover, who made a slight
movement of his head to indicate that it was high time the clothes came off. The
older man gave him a lop-sided smirk, unbuckled and slid his belt from its
loops. With a sensuality that surprised himself he slowly shed his clothing,
enjoying giving the display almost as much as Alex seemed to enjoy watching it.
When it was over he stood waiting for his lover's judgement, his cock purple and
leaking. He watched Alex's gaze sweep up and down his body, finally coming to
rest on his face. A sexy smile indicated the man's approval as he held out his
hand in invitation.
Eagerly, Walter took hold of the hand and climbed onto the bed to straddle his
lover, both hands moving to support himself on the headboard as he leaned
forward to nuzzle into the thick, clean smelling hair. He watched Alex take a
condom from the pillow and listened to the sound of the foil tearing. As a
gentle hand rolled it onto his erection, he closed his eyes and tried to surf
over the wonderful sensation. His strangled cry of, "Alex..." must have alerted
the other man, because the hand instantly withdrew and began a soothing motion
on the outside of his thigh. The change of stimulus took the pressure off, but
when Alex's hand returned to apply the KY, Walter stopped breathing.
He watched Alex look up, understanding written plain on the man's face as he
said, "I'm ready for you Walter, I want you to fuck me now."
That was nearly his undoing and it took every ounce of his will to hold back.
For a moment he felt as if he was back in his hormone driven teens, but then
maturity kicked in and he used all his experience to take control. He knelt up
to allow Alex to move his legs into position. As the satisfying weight settled
onto his shoulders Walter looked down at the treasure set before him and almost
lost it again. Yet despite the precariousness of his situation he reached for
the lube and coated two fingers which he pressed gently against the opening to
Alex's body. A quick circle of the rim, that made Alex whimper, and the fingers
slid inside as easily as had been promised.
The man was indeed ready but Walter took the time to stroke his lover's hotspot,
for the sheer joy of watching him moan in pleasure as he arched off the bed.
"Now... now... please..." Alex begged him, drawing in a gasp of air as
Walter replaced his fingers with the head of his large cock.
Walter knew what they both needed and he pushed in hard enough to bury himself
completely in a single thrust. It was heaven and it produced a frenzied wail
from Alex. There was a moment of calm, in which Walter searched Alex's face for
any sign of distress and finding only the signs of further arousal, he pulled
back and thrust again. With the second thrust he realized how close he was, so
he leaned forward to catch hold of the headboard once more and began to pound
into his lover.
Their bodies vibrated with the force of each thrust and sweat gathered as they
laboured towards completion. Alex's legs slid from Walter's shoulders and
splayed outward, hanging over the other man's upper arms, his toes curling with
the sensory overload. And when the bigger man changed his angle of penetration
to repeatedly hit Alex's prostate he came powerfully, for the second time.
His lover's climax sent Walter into a frenzy and he dropped his hands onto the
bed on either side of Alex's head. On all fours, directly over the now limp man
he drove into him several more times before giving up his own load, Alex's name
pouring out of him at the same time as his come.
Fortunately, he had sufficient brain cells remaining to cause him to fall to one
side and only a heavy arm came to rest on Alex's body.
He was floating somewhere, on gentle waves of endorphins, that kept time with
the beat of the sea. It was wonderful. He wanted to gather Alex to him and share
it with him, but he couldn't have moved, not if J. Edgar himself had given the
order. So he floated alone, until Alex draped himself across his broad back, as
he pulled the sheet and blanket up over their cooling bodies. Having been given
the proximity he desired, he drifted off to sleep.
When they woke an hour or so later, by mutual consent they moved into each
other's arms. Teasing hands and mouths investigated all the nooks and crannies
that had been overlooked before in haste. In between the touching and tasting
they exchanged knowledge of their likes and dislikes, and experiences. It was
intimate and arousing and inevitably led to another bout of intense lovemaking.
This time when Walter awoke the room was dark and he fumbled to find the light
switch.
"Alex... wake up, it's..." he checked his wristwatch, "...eight-twenty..."
That information jump started the younger man. "Oh fuck..." he said as he
reached for the phone. But as he lifted it, he glanced down at his come streaked
body and dropped the receiver like a hot potato.
"I cannot speak to my mother like this," he stated.
The comment made Walter roar with laughter and he ushered Alex into the bathroom
for the quickest shower on record.
Less than ten minutes later, a still rather damp, but fully dressed Alex was
dialling home and Walter closed the bathroom door in anticipation of a more
leisurely bathing experience.
By nine o'clock they were both ready to go and Walter walked out, going towards
the bike. As he turned to get on the motorcycle he noticed Alex glance back into
the room. Walter busied himself with starting the bike so the younger man would
not know he had been observed, but he filed the memory of the look on Alex's
face away for later consideration. This time, Alex immediately slid his right
arm around Walter's waist and held himself tight against the larger body as the
Indian Roadmaster took them south and home.
alter S. Skinner, Deputy Director, sat down in his office chair, tipped it back
as far as it would go and sighed heavily. It was only 8.30am and he felt as
though he had already done a day's work. He had been awake when the alarm
sounded, and its bleeping signalled the onset of the churning in his stomach
that had become familiar over the past few months. Stoically, he had ignored it
at first. Now, it would not allow him to do so. He didn't want to be here. It
was as simple as that. He looked around his office, with its elegant
furnishings. His was a position of power that commanded respect and the job he
did was worthwhile and necessary. He'd worked towards this goal all his life.
