by Claire Dobbin
"Hi Walter," Ben's deep, warm voice broke into his reverie and Skinner
straightened and looked up at him, his expression remaining blank.
The man stood slightly taller than Skinner's own height. Dressed impeccably and
groomed to perfection, well educated and in great physical shape, he was
everything Walter Skinner should be looking for in a partner.
Strange, Skinner mused, how the things that are good for us are seldom the
things we want.
The smile on Ben's handsome, tanned face faltered as he sat down. "Uh-oh," Ben
said in his typically intuitive way, "I'm picking up unwelcome vibes here,
Walter. What is it?"
Skinner glanced away, too uncomfortable to look into the man's face, while he
said what had to be said.
"Ben, it's been good between us but I'm concerned that your idea of where this
may be heading and mine are out of sync. I don't want to hurt—"
"Too late, Walter," Ben interrupted. "But thank you for the concern. You're
right, it has been good and I believe it could be even better. But for that to
happen you'd have to been able to get 'Alex' out of your head. Something you're
clearly not ready for." He smiled faintly when, at the name Alex, Skinner turned
sharply back to look at him.
"Oh yes, Walter, Alex has been with us since the beginning, though at first I
couldn't tell from the dreams if you love or hate him. Maybe it's both, but I
guess on balance it comes down on the side of love in one of its permutations."
Skinner was dumbstruck.
Ben fingered the edge of the elaborate menu that lay on the linen tablecloth in
front of him. "When you asked me here to lunch I should have known; couples only
come here when they are making a commitment or breaking up. But I must be a true
optimist because deep down I hoping that..." his voice trailed off when a waiter
briskly approached their table.
"What may I bring you gentlemen to drink?" he inquired. Ben looked from him back
to Walter. "Nothing for me, thank you," he said. "Having lost my appetite, I'm
going to skip lunch. I'll say goodbye, Walter. If things change you know where
to find me." He stood up and walked calmly from the room. Skinner watched his
dignified retreat with shame and self-loathing. Sometimes he just didn't
understand himself. Here he was letting a decent, caring man, who clearly had
strong feelings for him, walk away in favour of a first class, gilt-edged
bastard—correction, a dead, first class, gilt-edged bastard—who would have
gutted him as quick as look at him, given the right instructions from his
handlers.
Time for therapy, Walter, he thought bitterly, before it's too fucking late.
The waiter cleared his throat quietly and Skinner looked back at him.
"Jack Daniels," he said, his voice sounding flat. "Make it a double." The waiter
melted away and Skinner tried to process what had just happened. He didn't get
very far. It was all too tangled and painful and when the waiter returned with
his drink he barked, "Bring me another," before he drank the first in one
gulping swallow.
He had enough sense to linger over the second and even ordered a plate of pasta,
which he picked at half-heartedly while he contemplated his life. It didn't make
a pretty picture. It was definitely not the rosy future he'd foreseen when he
graduated from high school, with the world at his feet. Looking back, the
reality of his life had been mostly disappointment and unhappiness. In fairness,
a lot of it was self-inflicted, like the disastrous marriage to Sharon which had
blighted her life as well as his own. Whatever the warmth of his feelings for
her and the friendship they shared, it couldn't satisfy the man within and
inevitably it became exposed for the lie it was.
As for the rest of it, Vietnam, the X Files... that was how the dice fell sometimes
in the crap game of life. You took your turn, watched them roll and got on with
it. He was strong; he'd handled it all, the brutality, the bargaining, the
betrayal of others and himself. But what he couldn't handle was Alex's betrayal.
It had cut him to the core at the time and the ugly wound lay open still, its
cruel ache undiminished
A glimpse of ebony hair or a flash of green eyes was all it took to set his
pulse racing. It happened every time, and every time, a second later he would
fall into the well of despair he carried around inside himself. A well that
seemed to be getting deeper and blacker with every day that passed.
A couple strolled past his booth, both laughing at some unheard joke.
Instinctively he found himself gazing at them, resenting their good humour. The
taller blond man went ahead to slide into the booth opposite Skinner's. His
companion remained standing while the maitre d' pulled out the chair for him and
took his coat. Skinner ignored the familiarity of the man's demeanour and homed
in on the shock of ebony hair. His pulse raced. Then the man glanced over his
shoulder at the retreating figure of the maitre d' and the voice that haunted
his dreams called out, "Excuse me, I think I left my cell phone in my coat
pocket."
It was too much to take in and Skinner sat frozen as he watched the maitre d'
return with the coat. Unexpectedly, as he checked the pockets of the coat the
man turned fully to face Skinner, obviously aware of the intense stare being
directed at him. Green eyes flashed and Skinner's stomach lurched so hard he
thought he was going to be sick.
The look Krycek gave him was disinterested and vaguely annoyed and when he found
the cell phone his eyes flicked away to smile his thanks at the maitre d'. Then,
completely ignoring Skinner, he straightened in his chair and returned his
attention to his companion. Walter Skinner had often heard the expression
'seeing red' but that was the first time he truly understood what it meant. It
was the best and only way he could describe the rage that thundered through him.
Before consciously thinking about it he was on his feet, pushing the table to
one side so hard its feet dug into the polished parquet floor and the dishes and
silverware rattled and fell askew. A water glass rolled over the edge and
plunged to the floor where it exploded into a thousand gleaming shards with a
sound that drew the attention of every person in the room.
Skinner was oblivious to them all, bar one. Krycek's disdainful expression
quickly vanished when Skinner's powerful hands grabbed hold of his jacket lapels
and hauled him to his feet to bring them eye-to-eye.
"You fucking bastard," Skinner spat at him. Krycek swallowed hard and spoke the
man at the table behind him. "Mark, call the cops."
Skinner sneered at him and transferred his burden to one hand so he could pull
out his FBI badge and display it. "That won't be necessary, Mark," Skinner
hissed at him, "the cops are here already."
He became aware of the developing unease around him and the approach of the
flustered maitre d'.
"Sir, what's going on here?" the man asked sotto voce, clearly horrified by the
scene before him.
Skinner glanced at him and calmed himself. Above all he did not want anyone to
call the cops. He needed to get control of the situation. Using the most
reasonable voice he could muster he spoke to the maitre d' and Krycek's 'date'.
"I'm Assistant Director Walter Skinner and I'm arresting this known and
dangerous felon."
They both looked at Krycek, who had begun to squirm in the uncomfortable grip.
Skinner tightened it, regretting his decision to no longer carry a set of cuffs.
"Don't listen to him, Mark," Krycek said defiantly, "he must be some kind of
fucking nutcase. Call the cops."
Skinner frowned at his captive, bewildered by the man's sudden fascination with
Washington's finest. He spoke to the maitre d', "I know of at least four
outstanding federal warrants on his man; now, I need to take him to a secure
location so I can contact my office for assistance. Do you have somewhere I can
use?"
As he made the request he pulled out his service weapon and placed its muzzle at
the back of Krycek's head.
"Of course, I... er... you can use my office," the maitre d' spluttered, wanting only
to remove this unedifying spectacle from his dining room. He led the way towards
the main entrance. Skinner turned his gaze on the hapless Mark, who looked about
to throw up.
"I'm going to have to detain you too, sir," he ordered quietly. "Please follow
the maitre d'."
As meek as a lamb Mark left the security of the booth and headed towards the
door.
Skinner jabbed the gun viciously into Krycek's neck and hissed, "Move or I'll
kill you where you stand, Krycek."
The man stumbled forward as he said, "You've made a mistake, my name is Donnan,
Christopher Donnan."
"Sure it is, Alex, you have so many to chose from. Now move." Another jab and
Krycek was reluctantly following in the footsteps of the maitre d' and his
friend.
"You are making the biggest fucking mistake of your life," Krycek threatened. "I
have an excellent lawyer, so not only are you going to be kissing your career
goodbye, but I'm going to sue you and the fucking FBI for every cent I can get."
Skinner stepped up the pace as he retorted, "Great performance, Krycek, but take
my advice and save it for the judge."
A few seconds later they were all standing in the restaurant's admin area and
Skinner looked at Mark. "You stay here," he indicated the seating area and the
young man sat down. "Is that your office?" he asked the maitre d'.
"Yes, Sir."
"I'm going to be using it. I need to call my people. Keep an eye on him." He
indicated the seated man and used his gun hand to open the heavy mahogany door.
He propelled Krycek into the inner office and closed the door behind them with a
resounding slam.
"Assume the position," he barked, tucking the gun into the waistband of his
pants.
"What?" Krycek asked in an insolent tone of voice.
"You heard me, you bastard," Skinner yelled and backhanded him hard enough to
knock him against the wall.
Blood spurted from the man's lower lip and for the first time he looked
frightened. Skinner ignored the growing unease he felt about the whole situation
and used Krycek's sudden fear to manhandle him into position against the wall.
He took out the wallet and found it, unsurprisingly, full of identification in
the name of Christopher Donnan, then he began a rough and degrading search of
the man's person.
It was only when he ran his hands down the man's left arm that he realized what
he should have noticed immediately. It was warm and responsive and all too
human.
He gasped in a ragged breath and turned the man towards him. The face was wrong,
too. It was as young as it had been the first time he had ever laid eyes on
Krycek.
"Jesus, who are you?" he asked, feeling like he had run a marathon. The man
wiped the blood away from his mouth and said, "I'm who I said I was, Christopher
Donnan, you asshole."
Skinner stood motionless behind the one-way mirror, staring at the still figure
of the man lying with his head on his arms on the interrogation room table. He
had been in that position for over twenty minutes and Skinner realised he must
have fallen asleep. Little wonder, since they had questioned him for fourteen
hours straight. The man, Skinner found it difficult to name him, must be totally
exhausted.
He was on the verge of exhaustion himself but he couldn't let go. He needed to
understand what was going on, make the pieces fit in some coherent way, before
he could sleep. In the reflection he saw the door open and watched Mulder enter,
carrying two mugs of coffee.
"Come sit down, Walter, I have the results," Mulder told him. He took one last
look at the sleeping figure and turned away, wearily taking his glasses off to
rub at the bridge of his nose. He placed them on the table as he sat down and
picked up the coffee mug. He took a deep swallow before looking up at Mulder.
"They confirm he's Krycek, right?" he asked.
"Unequivocally," Mulder replied, pushing the grey file towards him. "The DNA,
like the fingerprints, comes up a perfect match." Skinner ignored the file and
looked into Mulder's tired eyes. "Except he can't be."
"The doctors are agreed on that. Physically, he's ten years younger than he
should be. Dental and medical records from his time at the Bureau don't match
and most importantly we know—"
"We know I put a bullet in his head," Skinner interrupted. Mulder nodded and
took a sip of coffee.
"Since he's completely human that leaves only one possibility," Skinner said.
"He's a clone."
"That's what it looks like," Mulder agreed. "The lab is picking up some strange
genetic sequences in his code and although he seems to have vivid and intact
memories of childhood and adolescence we can find no records for him pre-1997."
Silence descended on the room as they both leaned back and drank their coffee,
trying to come to terms with the fact that the first, proof positive,
functioning human clone rested within the next room, completely oblivious of his
origin.
Abruptly the door opened and the Director himself walked in. He glanced
dismissively at the two of them and strode to the mirror. The way he looked at
Krycek reminded Skinner of the way he'd seen people stare at the stuffed
two-headed dog in the carnival when he was a child. It made him bristle and he
stood up and walked to the glass, taking a defensive position between his boss
and his prisoner.
"Is this shit ever going to end?" the Director asked impatiently. Skinner
bristled further. "Define shit, Sir?" Skinner asked coolly. The antipathy
between the two men brought Mulder to his feet. "We have it under control, Sir.
It looks like this man is a forgotten remnant of one of the Consortium's
scientific research programs. He's had no connection with the actual conspiracy.
He seems to be a blank they created, then imprinted with a new identity,
probably just to see if it could be done. Then they turned him loose to see if
he'd survive. He poses no threat, Sir, not least because his programmers are no
longer alive."
The Director looked at him with undisguised dislike. Spooky Mulder's success in
exposing and destroying the Consortium had turned him into a true 'untouchable'
but it hadn't altered the way the powers that be in the establishment viewed
him, quite the reverse. The difference was he now led a charmed life, protected
by the people who had once tried to destroy him and his work, while his X Files
department enjoyed an unquestioned budget that had Bureau auditors seeing
therapists.
Scully and Skinner, by association, were afforded similar status and protection.
It was little enough reward for the sacrifices they had made and Skinner could
tell from the expression on the Director's face that it was begrudged. Glancing
back for a moment at the sleeping 'Krycek', the Director turned to Skinner.
"Whatever this is, Assistant Director, you brought it in, so it's your problem.
Deal with it." Two seconds later the door slammed behind him and Skinner looked
at Mulder in exasperation.
"Why the fuck is it my problem?" he barked.
Mulder nodded towards the glass and said calmly, "He's somebody's problem,
Walter. You heard the way the Director talked about him. They'll turn him into a
freak show in some laboratory unless we do something about it. You know my
thoughts on Krycek, Walter, but this creation bears no fault."
"I see him as a person, Mulder," Skinner told him.
"I know you do, that's why I think he should be your responsibility." Mulder
went to pick up the grey file. "I'm going to bury this, and Walter, make sure
you send any expenses to my department." They shared a weary smile before Mulder
continued, "Give me an hour, then we'll take him home."
Skinner's Lexus drew up and parked outside an apartment block in a fashionable
downtown area of DC. Mulder leaned across and firmly shook the dozing man awake.
"You're home, Christopher," he said.
Christopher grunted and sat up abruptly, trying to smooth his hopelessly
crumpled designer silk suit. He stumbled out of the car and taking out his keys
led the way to his apartment. They followed him inside and watched as he flicked
on the lights and called, "Mark."
"He's not here, Kry... Christopher. When my Agents drove him here he packed and
left. He said to give you this," Skinner took an envelope out of his pocket and
held it out towards the shocked man. Ignoring it, Christopher walked to the
bedroom. They could hear the sound of drawers being opened and slammed back into
place. When he returned Christopher took the envelope from Skinner's hand and
tore it into four pieces before dropping it in the garbage.
"Well, you've succeeding in totally screwing my life, so you can go now," he
ground out.
"It's not that simple, Christopher," Mulder began.
"It's exactly that simple. Just walk out the door and leave me the fuck alone.
The only time you'll ever hear from me again is the harassment suit that will be
landing on your desks in the very near future. And by the way, it's Mr. Donnan
to you."
Skinner lost patience at that point. "Mr. Donnan, go pack a bag. You are being
placed in a witness protection program. Now, this location is probably safe
enough but we can't be one hundred percent sure so I'm giving you five minutes,
then ready or not we're out of here." He moved the edge of his coat far enough
back to reveal his holstered gun.
"You're serious, aren't you?" Christopher asked, ashen faced.
"Completely," Mulder assured him, "and the clock is ticking." Looking numb, the
young man walked back into the bedroom and the sound of more drawers opening
could be heard from the room. Skinner found himself moving around the apartment.
There were gaps on the shelves where Mark had hastily removed his belongings. Of
the personal items that remained Skinner was drawn to the photographs. It was
eerie. The youthful snapshots and family portraits had to be those belonging to
Alex Krycek, all carefully doctored, no doubt, to fit the artificial life
created for this man. It was moments like this when he sensed the truly evil
nature of the Consortium. He began to dread telling the truth to Christopher,
who, whatever his origins, was as human and as breakable as he was himself.
"He needs to be told, Walter." Mulder spoke softly beside him. Skinner looked
over into the compassionate face. "Apart from the medical point of view and the
security considerations, the man has a right to know his origins." He put his
hand on Skinner's shoulder before continuing.
"I know Krycek was a complicated issue for you Walter, but try to set it aside.
Christopher will have enough to deal with as it is." Skinner nodded at him. It
was true; whatever Skinner's trouble, it was nothing to what lay in store for
Christopher Donnan. Footsteps behind them drew their attention and they turned
to find Christopher standing close by, a small suitcase in his hand. They moved
to flank him as the three of them left the apartment and walked the short
distance back to the car. Within two hours they were locked into the secure
house in Virginia and Christopher Donnan, unknowingly, had closed the door on
one life and opened the door to a new one.
"Can you settle him, Walter?" Mulder asked. "I need to check on Scully and
William."
"Sure," Skinner said and went in search of their reluctant charge. He found him
in the kitchen making coffee.
"Not a good idea, Mr. Donnan," Skinner advised. "You need to sleep."
"Either I get an explanation now or I'm out of here. I've had enough of this
bullshit," he said with cold determination before beginning to search through
the cabinets for the things he needed.
"You cannot leave this house without our assistance," Skinner warned. "Try and
you'll be knee deep in Federal Agents. And I don't know about you, but I could
do without that tonight."
"A simple explanation will take care of the problem, Mr. Skinner," Christopher
bargained.
"I wish there was a simple explanation, Mr. Donnan," Skinner told him, "but I'm
afraid there's only a very complicated and unpleasant one, and you have a right
to it. I guess it might as well be now, the light of day won't make it any more
palatable."
He shrugged out of his heavy coat and jacket and hung them on the rail by the
back door, before opening the fridge to take out the milk carton and place it on
the table.
By the time the coffee was made, Mulder had finished his call and was sitting at
the table with the other two.
"Well?" Christopher prompted impatiently.
They told him then, weariness removing any diplomatic gloss from the account.
Christopher/Alex sat stony faced and listened, asking only the occasional
question or looking at the evidence they placed before him from a number of
classified files.
When Mulder finished his lengthy explanation, they both sat back and waited for
the man's reaction. It was not at all what they expected. Despite his earlier
behaviour, there was no disbelief and no rage. Instead he laid his hand on the
files and said calmly, "This may explain some things. My memories come and go.
I've had some medical problems. I need to think..."
He suddenly covered his mouth and made a dash for the bathroom. Skinner and
Mulder looked at each other as they listened to the sound of the man trying to
throw up on an empty stomach. Skinner reluctantly trailed after him into the
bathroom carrying a glass of water. Waiting till the man had finished heaving he
picked him up from the floor and set him on the toilet seat. After wiping a cool
washcloth across his face, he held the glass to his lips and encouraged him to
take a few sips.
"You need to sleep and no arguing this time," he said in a fixed voice.
With little resistance Christopher allowed himself to be led to the most secure
bedroom in the house where Skinner seated him on the bed, removed his shoes and,
laying him back, covered him with a comforter. He walked to the door and dimmed
the lights.
"Try to get some sleep," he said, more gently than he intended, before he closed
the door. Less than two hours later the relentless screaming had him out of his
bed and stumbling down the corridor to Alex's room before he came fully awake.
He burst through the door and turned up the lights to find the young man
literally crawling the walls in an attempt to escape something.
"It's okay, Alex," he murmured, "you're safe now."
He wrapped his arms round the trembling man and guided him back to the bed where
he laid them both down. The change in muscle tension in the body he cradled told
him the man was coming awake.
"It's okay to wake up, Alex," he crooned into the man's ear.
"Alex?" the croaky voice asked, and Skinner realised his tactless mistake.
"Jesus, I'm sorry Christopher..." he blundered to a halt.
"It's okay," Alex/Christopher mumbled. "You see, I am Alex. The dreams tell me
that."
"Then that's who you are," Skinner agreed, tightening his hold to show his
acceptance.
"Now try to sleep."
The lights dimmed as he spoke and he looked up to watch Mulder lift the fallen
comforter from the floor and tuck it around the both of them. He wasn't the only
one offering acceptance that night and his grateful glance at Mulder was
acknowledged with a silent nod. Unbelievably, he followed Alex into exhausted
sleep so quickly he didn't even hear the sound of the bedroom door closing.
Over the next few months Skinner's transition from being Alex's guardian to
becoming his companion happened so gradually it was impossible to trace. The
true discontinuity came the night they moved into Skinner's apartment. It was
late and they were tired and, despite the fact they'd spent every night in the
safe house sharing the same bed, there had been no discussion about sleeping
arrangements. They climbed the stairs and Skinner stopped outside the guest
room.
"You can have this room or you can bunk in with me as usual," he offered.
"Is that your best offer?" Alex asked.
"What did you have in mind?" Skinner asked in reply.
"This," Alex said, catching Skinner by the nape of the neck to pull him into a
desperate kiss that Skinner returned in kind. They tumbled awkwardly towards the
door of the master bedroom, each taking it in turn to pin the other to the wall,
the better to ravish the mouth beneath. Reaching the open doorway they stumbled
inside, falling to their knees at the sudden loss of support. Alex's hands moved
to Skinner's fly, where he fumbled open the belt, popped the button and dragged
down the zipper. A groan escaped Skinner's lips when Alex's sure hand slipped
inside his boxers and pulled out his fully erect cock, but he held Alex's head
in position and immediately resumed feeding on his mouth.
It took all of Alex's strength to push Skinner onto his back and hold him in
position there when he pulled out of the kiss and moved down towards the prize
that lay hard and pulsing in his left hand. He bent to kiss the darkened tip,
then slowly swirled his tongue around it, causing Skinner to growl loudly, his
hips lifting off the rug. The big man's hand threaded itself roughly through his
hair and held fast. Alex glanced up to find Skinner's eyes tightly closed, his
forehead deeply furrowed and his lower lip caught between his teeth. The man was
too needy and strung out for the act to be prolonged. He needed a quick release.
So Alex took him fully into his hot, wet mouth and moved his head in random,
complicated patterns to provide the stimulation his lover needed. He could feel
the tension increase in the balls cradled in his right hand. Little more was
needed, for either Skinner or himself, so he reached down to his own groin and
stroked hard with the heel of his hand against his trapped erection while he
sucked strongly on the cock head. Skinner began to thrust and Alex relaxed his
throat to welcome each deep penetration. Within seconds Skinner's movements
became frenzied as he laboured towards climax. When it came it was with an
intensity he hadn't experienced for a very long time. It empowered and renewed
him and he bellowed in triumph for all the world to hear.
The sound of his lover's joyous shout and the feel of his life force pouring out
of him was all it took to trigger Alex's release. He writhed against his own
hand and revelled in the feeling of wetness spreading out from his cock. In his
mouth Skinner softened and reluctantly Alex released the sensitive organ and
looked up at his lover from under lowered lashes. The expression on Skinner's
face made him want to cry and he bit down hard on his lip in an attempt to
control the urge. Between them they struggled into each other's arms where Alex
found Skinner also was teetering on the verge emotional meltdown. They shared a
few hitching sobs until the comfort of each other's closeness soothed the raw
nerves and sealed their new connection.
They lay together like that for a very long time, but eventually the discomfort
of the hard floor could no longer be ignored and Skinner pulled Alex to his feet
and undressed them both. They slid together into the big bed and moved back into
position, each having found his right place in the world.
A year to the day of their fateful meeting in the restaurant Skinner left the
office much earlier than usual. There had been no discussion between himself and
Alex regarding anything as formal as an anniversary, but he sensed in the
younger man a growing awareness of the imminence of the day and as it approached
Alex became quieter and more attentive, if that were possible. He knew without
being told that Alex would be waiting for him at home. Driving towards the
small, two-bedroom house in Alexandria they now called home, Skinner found
himself smiling. A whole year of being cosseted and loved to distraction by Alex
was definitely worth celebrating and he intended to throw himself into the
celebration with a heart and a hand.
Waiting in the fridge he had a bottle of vintage champagne and a jar of Alex's
favourite caviar, resting beside them was a bowl of red Californian cherries
marinated in liqueur, ready to be fed one by one into his lover's luscious
mouth. Skinner chuckled aloud at the thought. Being with Alex had tapped into a
vein of romance and sensuality he didn't know he possessed. He was even more
surprised to discover how much he enjoyed it. That jogged his memory and he
checked his inside breast pocket anxiously. Yes, the rings were still there. A
tad presumptuous perhaps, but worth the risk.
Alex was waiting for him, in their bed, naked. The soft, sexy strains of a jazz
quintet filled the room as Alex stripped off his clothes and began making love
to him. If he had felt cherished before, Alex's attentions that afternoon
escalated to worship. His body felt like it was being played by a maestro whose
sole intent was his pleasure, and when he came the second time it left him
floating in a sensual haze. Sweet, liqueur flavoured lips drew him back to
reality and he looked up into Alex's smiling face.
"That was—indescribable," he murmured, huskily.
"Pretty good description," Alex chuckled as he encouraged him to sit up. "Let's
eat."
He climbed off the bed and returned with a tray bearing a feast. In between
kisses and fondling, they fed each other from it playfully until their hunger
was satisfied. When they finished Alex lifted it away to place it on the
dresser. Skinner watched the graceful body move away from him and the momentary
separation made him ache.
"Alex," he called, "there's something I want to ask—" Alex turned back to him
and held his finger to his lips, requesting silence. Skinner looked at him
quizzically.
"Humour me," Alex asked, his eyes darkening.
He turned back to the dresser and opened a drawer from which he took a black
silk bag that he carried back to the bed, never breaking eye contact with
Skinner. Climbing up onto the bed again he arranged the pillows and Skinner
until he was happy with their positions. The comforter he folded and placed over
the footboard. Picking up the black bag he untied its drawstring and tipped the
contents out onto the bed.
When Skinner saw them he drew in a sudden shaky breath. Four lengths of white
silken rope lay coiled round each other on the pale blue cotton sheet. The sight
of them made him deeply uneasy, not because he was prudish, God knows they had
done just about everything possible to each other over the past year and
relished every second of it, but because it just didn't feel right on this day
of all days.
He looked doubtfully up at Alex as he whispered, "I don't want to disappoint you
but there is no way—"
Alex placed a finger on his lips as said softly, "I have no expectations of you
my love, other than you trust me." Skinner looked at the open, anxious face, and
nodded his consent. He didn't like this unexpected turn of events but he steeled
himself to give Alex what he needed.
One by one his arms and legs were tied to the sturdy bedposts with an exceeding
gentleness that belied the tightness of the fastening. When Alex checked his
handiwork and found it acceptable he moved up to straddle Skinner's chest, where
he bent down to take a demanding kiss before opening the nightstand drawer from
which he drew a fine, multi-coloured silk scarf. With hesitant reluctance he
placed it across Skinner's mouth and tied it firmly. It was uncomfortable and
Skinner had to struggle not to fight against the imposition. Alex ran a hand
down Skinner's cheek and across his jaw by way of apology. Then he settled back
on his haunches, making sure his weight was not resting fully on his lover's
prone body.
By then Skinner was desperately worried and he searched Alex's unhappy face for
some kind of explanation. He didn't have long to wait. Alex closed his eyes and
drew a shaky, ragged breath before opening them again to look at the man he
loved more than life itself.
"Skinner," he said, simply, his face and his voice subtly altered.
As if a veil had been lifted, Skinner understood immediately. Before him,
resting on his naked body, was Alex Krycek.
The rage that consumed him was boundless. It lent him a strength that sorely
tested the bonds holding him. And when they remained secure the damage was
inflicted instead on his own skin and muscles where they strained against the
ropes.
Alex cried and begged him to stop, his hands soothing the heaving chest, his
lips kissing the tearing skin at wrist and ankle. Neither of them knew how long
the struggle lasted, other than it seemed endless, but at last sheer exhaustion
took its toll and Skinner sighed deeply and went limp. Alex collapsed on top of
him, similarly exhausted, their combined sweat cooling rapidly in the darkening
room. Alex reached down and pulled the comforter over their bodies. For a long
time there was only silence, then Alex began to murmur. At first Skinner tried
to resist the insidious words, but the gag did its job and he had no choice but
to listen.
"...I was dead, and yet I wasn't. I kept seeing you pulling the trigger. Over and
over. I thought I was mad and that after death came some infinite insanity. I
wanted to die completely. To be extinguished as though I had never existed. But
like everything else they robbed me of that. I don't know how long I was in the
tank and when I came out of it I genuinely didn't know who I was. The memories
came back very slowly. And even then I wasn't sure if I was Alex Krycek or
Christopher Donnan. He was an alias I had been working on for over four years,
in preparation for my 'retirement' if I lived so long. His life seemed real to
me. Wishful thinking maybe. When the Consortium crashed I was able to escape
from the lab. The Donnan persona was ready and waiting. I slipped into it so
fully I began to believe in it. I looked at my body and it wasn't the body of
Alex Krycek any more. That's the only thing I have to be grateful to them for. I
began to convince myself that if my body could be changed, then my mind could
be, too. And if I could be a different person who was worthy of you, I could be
with you. Christopher Donnan was worthy of you and he wanted you as much as I
did. I knew you weren't happy. I'd been watching you for nearly a year. I knew
Christopher could make you happy. I wanted you to be happy. The day I walked
into that restaurant it wasn't planned. It just happened. I took it as a sign.
Jesus, it was so hard to pretend not to know you. All I could do was go with it.
And then that night I told you I was Alex and you accepted me. Walter, that was
the sweetest moment of my life when you took me in your arms and told me it was
okay to be Alex..."
He broke off the flow of consciousness to get control of his emotions.
"... I had no intention then of telling you the truth, Walter, but the half truth
is no longer enough. I need you to know and if it means that this year is all we
have then so be it. Can you forgive me? Forgive Alex? Can I be Alex? You'll have
to make the decision. Right now I just want to be close to you for a little
while longer... I'm so sorry love, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
The mumbling voice ceased and quiet reigned in the darkened room. Gradually the
breathing of the two exhausted men settled into the rhythm of sleep.
Walter woke to brightness and pain. Every muscle ached and his bladder screamed
for release. He eased himself into a sitting position and tried to focus his
thoughts. When he saw Alex, fully clothed and sleeping in the chair across the
room, all the unhappy memories of the previous day slotted into place. He looked
at the dressings on his wrists and ankles, and a ripple of the anger he'd felt
shuddered through him. But it was only a token of what he'd felt; the real anger
was gone and all that remained was the plaintive voice asking for forgiveness.
He stumbled into the bathroom and relieved himself, then splashed cold water on
his face. He took his robe from the hook on the back of the door and pulled it
on. When he emerged from the bathroom it was to find Alex's eyes on him. He
dragged himself back to the bed and sat down wearily, scrubbing his hands across
his face.
Reaching out a hand he said, "Come here, Alex. Bring my jacket." Without
hesitation Alex stood, picked up the jacket from where it lay folded across the
back of the chair and walked to him. He took hold of the offered hand and sat
down beside the older man.
"Take the packet out of my inside pocket," Skinner requested.
He did so.
"Open it," Skinner continued.
Tearing off the top of the packet, Alex glanced inside then looked over at
Skinner, two lines furrowing the smooth skin above his nose.
"You need to pay the price for what you have done," Skinner said, his voice
solemn, "and yesterday you gave me the power. So I've made my decision. Even
though I forgive you, Alex Krycek, I've decided to condemn you to a life
sentence. To be served here at my side." It took a little while for the
significance of the words to sink in, but when it did Alex's face lit up as
though Skinner had switched on a light. He tipped the rings out onto the palm of
his hand and picked up the slightly larger one reverently. Skinner held out his
left hand and watched as Alex slipped the gold band into position. He then
copied the action and Alex looked disbelievingly at the symbols of commitment
they had exchanged.
Skinner leaned across to feather kiss the smiling lips of his beloved. Alex
kicked off his shoes and together they lay down, content within the warm embrace
of each other's arms.
alter Skinner leaned back into the booth in an uncharacteristic slouch and idly
observed the comings and goings of the other restaurant patrons while he waited
for his luncheon date to arrive. He was not looking forward to seeing Ben again
and was only keeping the engagement out of a sense of decency that wouldn't let
him dump the guy by phone or email. It was the least he could do to tell the man
face of face. Ben was attractive and witty and good in bed. Skinner had enjoyed
their time together. God knows the sex had been more than welcome, but it was
becoming clear that Ben was reading something into the relationship that wasn't
there and it wasn't fair to let him get in any deeper.
