by Jennie
As my old friend Will Shakespeare once said, 'tis better to have loved and
lost...
Sometimes I take comfort in those words. In the darkest hours of night,
though, I hate the sanctimonious bastard for writing them.
Odd as my relationship with Mulder was—and I'll be the first to admit that
no promises were spoken on either side, no admissions of, dare I say it, love—it was good. Better that good. Mind blowing. Although our intimate
encounters were few and far between, there was a frantic need, a perfect
quality, that flavored each coming together of our desire for each other.
It was always love on my side. And maybe, just maybe, if I'd ever given him
the words we might...
Shit!
I never gave up on my silly dreams, you know. Right up until the day he and
Scully exchanged vows. Joined in matrimony. A part of my soul died that day.
Despite his much-vaunted lack of trust in anyone except her, despite the many
reasons I'd given him to not trust me, I couldn't quite give up hope. I
kept imagining him realizing—finally—that I'd only done what I'd done for
love of him.
Saddest of all, my hope still, after all these years, hasn't completely died.
Through it all, William's maturing into young manhood, the births of their
other three children, the strengthening of their marriage, I continued to
dream. Oh, as the years passed, I thought of him less frequently. Then, a
line on a television show, an article in the paper of some case that would
have excited the interest of the Mulder of old, would bring it all back. A
good bottle of booze, a few nights of insomnia, would help to quash that hope.
But, it hurt. It hurt badly.
I'd retired from the game years ago. Moved to the other side of the fucking
country in the vain hope that distance would help.
It didn't.
They say that time heals all wounds. They are full of shit!
I won't forget, can't forget.
And never, never, will I regret what I did for love.
What I Did for Love
Kiss today goodbye,
Look, my eyes are dry.
Gone,
Kiss today goodbye,
Love is never gone
Kiss today goodbye,
Part Two
The invitation came out of the blue. Hell, I had no idea he/they they knew
where I'd settled.
Or, rather, run to.
"You have to come!" Said the note.
"We miss you." He wrote.
"William misses you." Oh yeah, Mulder. Dig that knife in even deeper.
"I know you're not the religious type, but family (honorary uncles included)
are obligated to attend." He said.
Bastard. Knows how to push my buttons, that man. He knows, damn him, knows
how I feel about him.
I'd hate him if I didn't love him so much
Fuckfuckfuck!
Of course I went. How could I not? Couldn't believe William was growing so
rapidly. The kid was seven years old.
Where had the years gone?
I crept into the church—at the very last minute, naturally. It took me
several minutes to realize that I'd settled next to Skinner.
We didn't acknowledge each others' presence. Not overtly, anyway. After a
quick glance, from the corners of our eyes, we fixed our attention on the
ceremony taking place up front.
William's First Communion!
I'm getting old. Hair is shot through with grey. Aches and pains are the
norm these days. Lines become more visible on my face. Old, I tell you,
old.
The fact that Skinner is also showing signs of age doesn't comfort me at all.
Nor does knowing that he's at least ten years older than I am.
Out in the parking lot, once mass had ended, we silently agreed to stick
together. Removed from the crowd, we watched from the very edges of the
gathering as congratulations were exchanged. Reluctantly, we even suffered
our pictures to be taken. William and me. Skinner and William. Both of us
with the whole Mulder clan.
When Mulder and Scully invited us to a celebratory gathering at their home,
we hesitated. After exchanging a look, Skinner shrugged. "I'm in, if you're
in, Krycek."
Still I hesitated.
"C'mon, guys," Mulder urged. "You two are part of the family, you know."
Then he played his trump card, "William's feelings will be hurt if you don't
show up."
Game, set, and match.
So we went. Ooohed and aaahed over the gifts presented. After cake had been
consumed and all the kids went into the yard to play games, I found myself
standing off to one side with Skinner. We stared, unobtrusively, at the
proud parents.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" I said to Skinner, sotto voice.
He looked at me, pain visible in his eyes. "Yes," he admitted gruffly. "I
always hoped..."
I nodded. "Never thought they'd end up together. "He's happy, though. Her
too."
"The quintesential American family," he said with a sneer. "And we... shit,
Krycek, we ended up alone."
"Yeah."
"You ran to the west coast," he accused.
"While you stayed... 'Uncle Walter'. What are you, some kind of masochist?"
"I guess I must be." With a wince and a shrug, he stared into my eyes.
"Krycek... what say we head out? Get some coffee and—we need to talk. A
lot was left unfinished between us."
"Yeah," I reluctantly agreed. "I guess we should—clear the air, talk."
Mulder, even Scully, objected to our leaving. I could see Skinner
hesitating. "Come on Walter. Let's go. We have," I explained to the happy
couple, "quite a bit to discuss. Wouldn't you say it's about time we made
peace?"
They weren't happy, but they did nod. "Guess so," Mulder said.
"Don't forget to tell William goodbye—and congratulations," Scully
instructed.
From somewhere deep inside of me, I dredged up a sarcastic grin and a salute.
"Yes ma'am."
She snorted.
Skinner assiduously avoided meeting anyone's eyes.
Mulder smiled.
We did as directed. Damned if either of us would even consider disobeying
her. Suicidal, we weren't. Duty done, we left together.
Imagine that!
Part Three
That first dinner was a little... strange. The original plan was coffee, if
I remember correctly. Yeah, coffee. And I was headed for a privately owned
coffee house I liked when it happened. His stomach growled. Now, I know
that's not such an unusual thing. After all, neither of us had eaten
anything at Mulder's. We were both too busy staying out of the way, trying
to avoid...
Well, no need to go into all that much detail.
But, like I said, his stomach rumbled.
Mine responded in kind.
Then he snickered.
Which was pretty much when things changed. Or, maybe it was when I looked
over at him and saw an embarrassed tide of red coloring on his face. I'm not
sure. But, somehow, it all just seemed easier after that. Maybe because,
for the first time, he seemed human. That cold, invulnerable facade of his
faded into an actual human being. One that shared all the foibles the rest
of us endured.
I hadn't even realized that I didn't think of him as having normal human
motivations and needs. Not too surprising, I suppose, when one considers our
history. He killed me, for godssake. Not to be outdone, I returned the
favor some years later. In the end, we'd made a kind of peace. More for
Mulder's sake than anything else.
Which, when you think about it, is pretty damned odd. We should have been at
each others' throats over him. But, by then, it was obvious that Scully and
William were going to be Mulder's future. Leaving us with nothing, really.
Except, as it turned out, each other. Only took us seven years to figure
that one out.
Instead of the coffee place, I pulled up in front of my favorite Jewish deli.
"C'mon, Krycek. Let's eat."
Without argument, he followed me in. Proceeded to charm the hostess into
giving us a booth in the middle of the dinner rush. Unheard of. Hell, I'd
been eating in the place for well over fifteen years and she'd never once
given any group a table larger than necessary. Something about Krycek's
roughened voice, brilliant smile, and fluttering lashes seemed to reach a
girlish part of her that I'd never even suspected could possibly exist.
I hadn't quite recovered from the sight of Miriam blushing like a teenager
under Krycek's approving grin, when the waiter approached our table. "What
would you like to drink tonight?" he asked me.
I ordered my usual scotch, and Harold turned to Krycek. "For you, sir?"
Krycek lowered his eyelashes, looking up at the waiter through those sinfully
long lashes of his. He licked his lips and managed to look oh-so-innocent.
"Vodka, please. And, it's Alex."
Harold blinked. Coughed. Shuffled his feet. Then he smiled shyly back.
"Yes, s—ah, Alex."
I did what any normal man would do under the circumstances. I kicked Krycek
in the shin. Worked, too. Harold was forgotten as Krycek turned an
incredibly innocent and questioning gaze upon me.
"What did you do that for?" he asked, leaning down to rub at his injured leg.
"Kid's not in your league yet, Krycek. Leave him alone."
The 'kid' snorted and drew himself up. I glanced up into the deeply offended
blue eyes of my favorite nephew. "Go get our drinks, Harold." He opened his
mouth to argue, but I cut him off, "Don't sass me, boy. Go on now."
Krycek watched him depart with measuring eyes. "Looks plenty old enough to
me."
"He's twenty years old, Krycek."
That gained me a smirk. "Like I said, plenty old en—"
"He's also my younger sister's son."
"Shit."
"Exactly."
He raised his hand in a disarming gesture. "Didn't mean anything, old man.
It's just... "
"I know exactly what 'it' is, Krycek. I've watched you do it for years, but
the game's over now, so can it. We're here to talk, remember? Or was that
just a convenient excuse for Scully's sake?"
"No." He shrugged uncomfortably. "No, it wasn't. This is just a little
strange, you know?"
I snorted. "Tell me about it."
Harold returned with our drinks and took our food order, shooting me
reproving looks the whole time. Once he'd left, Krycek gave me a
'see-I-can-behave' expression.
Yeah, right.
"So, tell me, Krycek, what are you doing with yourself out in LA?"
He swallowed the knee-jerk smartass comment I could see lurking in his eyes,
and shrugged. "Private security."
"Assassin to the stars?" I sneered.
"Something like that."
"You like it?"
After draining his drink, Krycek gave a noncommittal smile. "It's a living."
He looked at me for a moment, then asked what I was doing these days.
"Writing."
Eyebrows raised, he waited for more information. I hesitated, then decided
to elaborate. "I edit and write for Quantico—procedural manuals,
textbooks, that kind of thing."
"And in your free time?" he asked.
"The usual... I exercise, do yard work, and try to attend family gatherings."
"And, Mulder and Scully, are they part of this 'family' you spend time with?"
"I turn up there often enough to keep me on Scully's good side," I answered
reluctantly. "But, like you said, it hurts."
"I really never saw that one coming, you know. I mean, after how many years
of being partners, they're suddenly the all-American family? Four kids?" He
shook his head in confusion, then grinned wryly. "Long way from you and me
to her."
Ah. An opening I'd not been expecting presented itself. "Krycek... you and
Mulder... when... I mean, how long... I mean—"
"Was he doing us both at the same time?"
I nodded, then waited to hear the answer with mingled dread and curiosity.
"I was with him on and off from the beginning. The last time we were
together was just before his abduction. So, yeah, he was bouncing back and
forth between us."
Damn. "And that didn't bother you?" I asked him incredulously.
He snorted. "Of course it bothered me, Skinner. But, at least I knew you
would keep him as safe as you could when I couldn't be there."
Unable to gather any kind of coherent response to this little revelation, I
settled for a noncommittal grunt and took refuge in my drink. When Mulder
had admitted to having actually had an intimate relationship with Krycek, I'd
been damned well eaten up with jealousy. It had taken one hell of a lot of
work on my part to come to terms with the idea. But, the fact that Mulder
had survived, apparently uninjured by their association—and the knowledge
that it was over and done with (at least, I'd assumed it was in the past)—
had convinced me to reluctantly accept their past relationship.
Now, to learn that it had gone on while Mulder was with me... well, dammit!
"That little slut!" I growled.
With a sympathetic look, Krycek shook his head. "Walter, you know him. His
insecurities. His needs. We each gave him something. I really think that
we both, in our different ways, kept him as stable as possible during those
years."
My doubt must have shown clearly in my expression, for he sighed impatiently.
"Look, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but... Tell me, when you were
with him, you were on top, right?"
I shrugged, then nodded a reluctant confirmation.
"Okay. And I—well, when he was with me, he was on top. He needed both.
The comfort of letting you be in charge, and the confidence that my
submission gave to him."
Damn him. He was right. I didn't like it—but he was right.
Harold returned to take our food order just then, breaking the suddenly tense
atmosphere between us. Once he'd departed to put our dinner order in and get
us each a refill on our drinks, Krycek offered me a surprisingly sympathetic
look.
"Can't we just let that go for now? Enjoy a meal together? Try to get to
know each other just a little better?" He met my eyes, no pretence in his
expression. "We're the last ones, Walt. We're both on our own now—we've
moved on from the bad old days. Let's talk and see if we have any chance
of being, if not friends, friendly acquaintances."
Boy had a point. I was lonely. He, I could see, was quite obviously lonely,
too. And, really, who else could we talk about our pasts with? Besides, I'd
always been curious about him. About how such an intelligent man had come to
be what he'd been. And, I found that I really wanted to know more about him—Alex Krycek, the man.
"Okay, Krycek—Alex. No more Mulder. No more past, for tonight. We talk.
About now—where we are, and where we'd like to be in the future."
Visibly relieved at my words, he nodded gravely in agreement.
And, damned if we didn't have a nice meal. As the evening wore on, I was
surprised to find a surprising depth in him. A lively, curious mind. A
well-educated mind. A man who took great interest in current events and had
opinions on many subjects that closely matched mine.
I enjoyed myself. From all appearances, he did too. When I dropped him off
at his hotel, I couldn't quite conceal my dismay at the news that he'd be
returning home the following morning.
As he climbed out of my car, he paused. "I'll, uh, be coming back later in
the summer. Maybe we can get together then?"
Without hesitation, with rather embarrassing alacrity, to tell the truth, I
agreed. Pulled out a slip of paper from the glove box and wrote down my
email address for him. "Here," I said gruffly, shoving it into his hand.
"Write me. Let me know when you'll be here. We'll make plans."
It might have been a trick of the light, but I suspect not. He blushed as he
tucked the paper into his wallet. "I will," he promised.
As I drove away, I couldn't help thinking that I—we—just might find,
with time, that we had even more in common than I'd imagined.
Part Four
I kept telling myself that it was stupid. That he didn't really care when—
or if—I returned. That our dinner together that night was just an
aberration. Two losers taking solace in each other. Needing to connect with
someone—anyone.
Needless to say, I didn't convince myself. Oh, I tried. But somehow, it
seemed we'd made a connection that night. Much to my surprise, I found
myself kinda liking the guy. I'd always trusted him—as much as I ever
trusted anyone—but like? Go figure...
After umpteen false starts, I finally sucked it up and sent him an email.
And he answered. Within the hour! Would wonders never cease?
Subject: Your visit
Send me the particulars and I'll arrange to meet you at the airport.
WS
Okay, so it wasn't the most enthusiastic response he could've sent, but,
after all, this was Skinner. And, he was apparently planning that we would
spend time together while I was in DC. I had to be in town for a week,
interviewing prospective employees for the agency that employed me. I hated
that aspect of my job—but, the chance to spend a little time with Skinner—
Walter?—made it seem a little less tedious.
Subject: Arrival time
My flight arrives at 7pm on the 25th. United Airlines flight 689, Dulles.
I can just as easily take a cab. No need for you to fight your way through
traffic.
Thanks for offering, though. I'll call you when I get to the hotel.
Alex
Subject: re: Arrival time
I will meet you at the airport.
WS
Subject: re: re: Arrival time
Yes, sir! Once a marine, always a marine, eh? Who am I to argue?
See you on the 25th.
Alex
From the tone of his emails—terse as they were—I assumed that he was
actually looking forward to my visit. Damned if I knew why, though. With
our history I'd have thought I was the last person on earth he'd want to see.
Even more confusing was my own eagerness to see him. Of course, I'd always
found him attractive—hell, the man could give me a woody just by looking at
me. I mean, face it, the guy is built. I mean built. But, things being
as they were: his relationship with Mulder, the fact that I'd kicked his ass,
betrayed him more than once—not to even mention the fact that I'd held the
power of life and death over him—well, I'd always figured that my chances
with him were slim to none.
And now the sonofabitch was coming on to me. Believe me, I can read people:
that talent has gotten me out of more life-threatening situations than I care
to count. And Skinner was definitely showing an interest in me. In that
hard-assed-Marine-Assistant-Director way of his.
He was definitely not my usual type—far from it, but he knew me. Knew what
I'd done to keep myself and Mulder alive. He was honest. Proud. A man
capable of killing when necessary. Not afraid to show me his own pain over
the way Mulder had used him. And he never once looked at my truncated arm
with pity.
I couldn't help wondering what he'd be like in bed. Dominant—but in a
gentle way. Attentive to detail. He struck me as the type that would be
damned sure his partner was well satisfied.
Damn.
Double damn.
Me and Skinner? No way, no how. I'm an attractive guy, I know it and so does
he, but Skinner wouldn't ever allow himself to get beyond our history. Never
be able to trust me enough to let me into his life—his bed.
Oh, what the hell. We could learn to be friends. That was better than
nothing. Much to my surprise, I'd actually enjoyed having dinner with him
that night. It had been fun—talking to him—teasing him—discovering
that we had a lot of things in common (besides Mulder). Chess, soccer,
politics, old movies—weaponry.
Okay, so I'd go to D.C. Spend more time with him. See where it led...
Funny, I hadn't thought of Mulder once today.
Part Five
Down the passage which we did not take
It was easier than I'd hoped. In fact, he fell for it like a ton of bricks.
I picked him up at the airport on Friday night, as planned. Rather
uncharacteristically, he was more than a little subdued. Shy, I'd have said,
had it been anyone but Krycek. I chalked it up to jet lag, though, and made
no comments. Which, I might add, was not easy. Damn, I really, really wanted
to tease him. Wanted to see if I could get a blush out of him. A flustered
Krycek would be a sight to behold.
Instead, I put my clever and devious plan into action once we'd stashed his
luggage in the back of my Blazer and were on our way to his hotel. Hell, he
practically dove into my clutches.
"What," he asked, with a glance back to the cargo area of the vehicle, "are
the planters and soil for?"
"Gonna transplant some of the roses in the garden and bring them inside for
the winter."
Dangling my line in the water.
"Oh." He frowned in thought for a moment, then inquired casually, "You have a
place for them inside with lots of light?"
I nodded. "The new house has a sun room off of the kitchen."
He was silent for a mile or so. Then he cleared his throat. "You ever
transplant roses?"
"Nope."
"Did you plant the roses this summer?"
Ah ha. The bait had caught his attention.
I shrugged. "They were already in residence. The old lady I bought the house
from planted them years ago."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Studied me from the corner of his eye
and chewed on his lower lip, obviously undecided as to whether his advice
would be welcome. I waited patiently, ostensibly concentrating on the
traffic.
"You know," he began hesitantly, "roses are touchy. You might be better off
to... Never mind."
"To what? Any advice would be appreciated, actually." I glanced at him,
eyebrows raised in hopeful anticipation. "I know very little about roses.
Never had any before."
"Well, if the roses were planted years ago, the tap roots are pretty deep by
now. You have to dig up the whole thing for a successful transplant, and
they're probably at least three feet long," he offered meaningfully.
"Damn! Three feet?" God, I should be on the stage, I thought to myself.
Little did he know, my mom had taken great pride in her roses. Couldn't
possibly count the hours I'd spent toiling in her garden over the course of my
life. "So, what would you suggest?"
"Hit your garden store, buy new plants, and put those inside." After
another look into the back of the Blazer, he cleared his throat. "You really
need larger containers, though."
"Huh. I'll see what I can find. The place I usually go is open tomorrow,
I'll head over in the morning."
"I could, uh... I don't have any plans for tomorrow," he said in an off-handed
manner.
Oh yeah. Hook swallowed.
"You sure? I mean, I want to get an early start. The store opens at eight,
so I'd have to pick you up by seven at the latest. Unless..." I shook my
head, "Nah, forget it."
"What?"
After a moment of hesitation—damn, I'm good—I said slowly, "Well, you
could just stay at the house tonight."
Starting to reel him in.
Apparently stunned, he was quiet.
"Bad idea. I'll pick you up at seven, okay?"
"No!" He protested with gratifying haste. "No, it makes sense, staying at the
house. We can both sleep in that way. If you're sure you don't mind."
"Mind? Hell, you'll be doing me a favor, Alex."
Unfortunately, it was dark and I couldn't actually see the blush I was sure
colored his face.
"You want to check into your hotel before we go to the house, make sure they
don't give your room away?"
"My reservation is guaranteed. I'll call, though. Tell them I'll check in
tomorrow."
"Or Sunday," I said quietly.
He coughed. "Or Sunday."
Just like that, he was mine for the weekend. I had every intention of making
the most of it.
Not only had I reeled him in, I'd netted and landed the slippery little devil.
"So," I said when he returned from the second floor, having carried his
luggage up to the guestroom. "You hungry?"
He shook his head negatively. "Ate on the plane."
I held up my drink and shook it, rattling the ice cubes. "How about a drink?"
"Yeah, sure," he agreed.
Rising, I walked over to the bar. "What'll it be?"
"Whatever you're having is fine."
"You sure? I'm drinking scotch."
An almost undetectable shudder ran through his frame. "Ewww. No, no scotch."
"Vodka okay?"
This time the shudder was quite obvious. "Never did develop a taste for that
shit. Um... you have any beer?"
"Of course." I turned and headed into the kitchen, returning quickly with a
bottle of Sam Adams.
With an approving nod, Alex took a deep swallow of the brew, then perched on
the edge of the couch. I joined him, sitting at the opposite end of the
sofa.
Didn't want to make him too nervous. At least not yet.
I'd given this a lot of thought, you see. A full month had passed since
William Mulder's First Communion and the dinner we'd shared afterwards. And
Mulder—good old Mulder—had taken every possible opportunity since to drop
what I'm sure he thought were subtle hints on the subject of Krycek's long-
standing attraction to me. On one memorable occasion, Scully had slyly chimed
in with comments about how well suited Krycek and I were to each other. I
strongly suspected that they'd scripted that particular conversation.
Ingenious, they weren't. I managed to contain my amusement though. I'd
listened soberly, nodded noncommittally, filed away all their
comments for future contemplation, and changed the subject.
When I gave the matter my full attention, I came to the conclusion that they
just might be right. God knows, I'd long been attracted to Krycek. And,
judging by his flirty manner during that dinner, he seemed to return my
interest. What the hell, I decided, I'd go for it.
The evening passed quietly. I popped in a movie, made popcorn, kicked back,
and watched the tube. After about a half hour of the movie, Alex finally
relaxed into the corner of the sofa.
Before I knew it, we were both yawning at the news. I stretched widely, and
clambered to my feet. "I'm gonna head up to bed now. You're welcome to stay
up. I know it's much earlier according to your internal clock."
"No. Think I'll turn in, too. I didn't get any sleep last night; besides, we
have to get up early tomorrow."
"True," I agreed. "You'll need your rest—I plan to work you hard. It's not
every day I get free labor in my garden."
He raised one eyebrow at me. "Never said I was free, Sk- um, Walter."
"I suppose you're not easy, either."
There it was—the blush I'd so wanted to see. He tried to cover it with a
frown and a skeptical noise. Didn't work, though. His face was pleasingly
reddened and he couldn't quite meet my eyes. After shuffling his feet, he
walked past me towards the stairs.
"Not anymore," he mumbled under his breath.
When I chuckled quietly, his back straightened, but he forbore any comment. I
decided not to push it any further—after all, I had tomorrow and Sunday to
play him. Didn't want to tire the boy out too soon...
I followed him up to the second floor, said goodnight in a quiet voice, and we
went to our separate rooms.
Alex:
Naturally enough, once I hit the bed, my sleepiness vanished like so much
smoke. After a frustrating fifteen minutes of restless tossing and turning, I
gave it up. Propping my pillows up against the headboard, I reclined against
them and proceeded to think.
As I ran the evening's events past my mind's eye, I often found myself
stifling an audible groan as the full extent of Skinner's skillful way of
toying with me sank in. Shit, shit, shit! He'd played me like a fine
Stradivarius, striking me speechless several times. I'd actually stammered in
confusion more than once, and, worst of all, I'd blushed. Twice!
Alex Krycek does not blush, dammit.
And, what was with that movie? Max et Jeremie??? A foreign film? With
subtitles yet! Ye olde buddy film, with a French twist. Older guy/younger guy.
The younger taken (reluctantly) under his elder's wing. A strong, underlying
homoerotic content. Not a female love interest in sight.
Okay, so he was, apparently, interested in me. Knew god-damn-fucking-well
that I returned his interest. Bastard.
Tomorrow, I decided, he would pay, and pay heavily. Two could play at this
game!
I eventually fell asleep while plotting my revenge.
All my years of sleeping with one eye open paid off the next morning. The
minute he turned on the water in his shower, I woke. After a few—very
satisfying—moments spent contemplating the fun I'd have that day, teasing
the living shit out of him, I rose and dressed.
Luckily, I'd packed a close-fitting pair of straight-legged jeans. Not only
were they nicely worn in all the right places, they were low-slung, resting
enticingly around my hips. A T-shirt, cropped so that the hem stopped a good
inch above the waistline of my jeans, a sage green bandana tied around my
brow, a pair of sneakers, and I was primed and ready to go.
I headed downstairs to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee brewing. By the
time he joined me, I'd arranged myself into a casual sprawl, hips resting
against the counter, while I sipped a cup of steaming java.
Pausing just inside of the doorway, Walter gaped at my pose and attire. I'd've
smirked triumphantly if I hadn't been so busy trying not to swallow my tongue.
The no-good-sonofabitch
was wearing cut-offs. Very tight, very short, cut-offs.
Bastard. FUCKING BASTARD!
I swallowed heavily, controlled my immediate impulse to jump his bones, sipped
my coffee, and concentrated on just how dearly he'd pay for this.
"Morning," he finally greeted me in a rusty voice. "Sleep well?"
"Like a rock," I assured him, lying through my teeth. "You?"
He nodded. Seating himself at the small, cafe-style kitchen table, he focused
on the coffee he'd poured and doctored with extreme precision. I joined him at
the table and downed my cup o' caffeine, honoring—for the moment—his
desire for silence.
Once finished, we set off for the garden shop. First, we chose which roses
he wanted. He took an ungodly amount of time making his decision, ending up
with three: Lagerfeld, Angel Face, and Double Delight.
Sending me a message, old man?
I stifled my amusement and dragged him off to choose planters and soil. Top of
the line, of course. Then, I insisted that he needed something to ease the
rooting process, an anti-fungal spray, three kinds of fertilizer, and very
attractive—and very expensive—stones to use in lieu of mulch. Oh, and a
soil additive that purported to hold moisture, lessening the need for
watering.
I'll say this for him, he didn't complain once. He did glower at me a time or
two, but refrained from voicing his dissatisfaction at my free and easy way of
spending his money.
We spent a good amount of time—well, okay, he spent a good amount of time
- mixing the soil to my satisfaction. I supervised. In the process, he lost
his T-shirt. And he sweated.
Oh, yeah.
Once he'd completed his task to my satisfaction, we filled the planters half-
way and dragged them into the sunroom. We were just about to get on with the
'Planting Of The Roses' when company arrived in the form of Mulder and his two
sons.
He looked inordinately pleased to see me there, toiling away at Skinner's
side, almost as if he'd planned the whole damned thing himself. Well, that
hadn't changed. The whole world, it seemed, still revolved around Mulder-the-
magnificent-and-all-important.
"We got a DOG," Jamie, the younger son at four years of age, announced
importantly.
"No sh—"
"Congratulations," Walter said heartily, cutting off my admittedly bitchy
response. "Tell us all about it."
"She's an Australian Shepherd," William informed us.
"Yeah!" Jamie agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "Mommy and Daddy let us name
her."
"Sooo," Walter teased, "you gonna tell us the name, or do we have to guess?"
"Guess!" Jamie challenged.
"Lucy," William said at the same time.
"Daa-aad! Will'm told! I wanted 'em to guess!"
I winced and somehow managed not to cover my ears at Jamie's high-pitched and
very loud complaint.
"William," Mulder said repressively.
"Sorry, Dad," William mumbled, not a shred of remorse in his voice. Always had
liked that kid.
"Jamie, you can tell your uncles the really exciting part."
With a gape-toothed grin, Jamie danced from foot to foot as he spoke. "Lucy
had puppies yesterday. Two of 'em! An... an, guess what? You get to have one,
Uncle Walter."
"Oh reeeally?" Skinner said with admirable restraint, shooting Mulder a
killing look. "I'm not sure I'm ready for a dog, boys."
"But Mommy said you would!"
"She did, did she?"
Jamie nodded solemnly. "She said you were lonely. She said a puppy was just
what you needed."
At that point, I wouldn't have bet a plug nickel on Scully's chances of
surviving the week.
Up until now, I'd managed to restrain my vast amusement. The glare Skinner
pinned Mulder with, combined with the expectant and pleading looks both kids
directed at 'Uncle Walter', threatened to send me off into an undignified fit
of hysterical laughter. I choked, holding back my hilarity.
Carefully hiding my expression of glee from Skinner, I headed into the house.
"Need," cough "a drink."
As I departed the scene, I could hear William relating the advantages of dog
ownership to Walter. When I reached the safety of the house, I damn near
collapsed in laughter. Chuckling, snorting, and guffawing, I made my way into
the kitchen and fell into a chair, still laughing.
"Whatcha laughin' at, Uncle Alex?"
Oops, Jamie had followed me in. "Um... er... I have an itch," I told him. I
raised my head and wiped tears of mirth from my face.
The kid frowned. Walked over and climbed into my lap. "Don't cry." He patted
my cheek with what I'm sure he thought was gentleness. "You get a puppy,
too."
Skinner:
We finished potting the roses in short order, Alex sulking prettily all the
while. Once the job was done, planters watered to his exacting
specifications, we headed up to shower in silent accord.
Back downstairs, each dressed in loose sweats, we slumped wearily at either
end of the couch.
"Damn," Alex grouched, "'m beat."
"Me, too."
After a long period of quiet, my stomach growled, loudly protesting its
emptiness. "Guess we'd start thinking about dinner," I suggested.
"Uh huh."
Neither of us made any effort to actually go into the kitchen and do anything
about it, though.
"Pizza?" I eventually asked him.
He grunted. I decided to take that as a yes.
"Phone's at your end of the sofa," I hinted.
With much groaning and moaning, Alex shifted about and reached for the phone.
Just as his hand closed on the receiver, the damned thing rang.
"Phone," he informed me unnecessarily.
Waving one hand carelessly, I told him to answer it.
With a put-upon sigh, he lifted the receiver. "H'llo?" he mumbled.
...
"Oh, hi, Scully. S'up?
...
His eyes widened in dismay as he listened. He lowered the phone, muffling the
speaker against his chest. "She wants us to come over for supper tomorrow."
Oh, hell.
"Put her off," I hissed. "Make something up. Tell her... tell her we have
plans."
"Oh, no!" Shaking his head in an emphatically negative gesture, he shoved
the receiver into my hand. "You tell her."
Giving in to the inevitable, I raised the phone to my ear. "Hi, Dana. How
are you and the girls?"
"You'll find out when we see you at our house tomorrow."
"Well, actually, we have plans for to—"
"Nonsense," she said briskly.
"But—"
"Walter," she said in clear warning. "Tomorrow, our house, four o'clock."
Damn the woman.
"Okay, okay, we'll be there."
"We'll have a cookout."
"Fine. See you at four."
"Or earlier," she hinted with all the finesse of a bulldozer.
"Or earlier," I agreed with a grimace. "Listen, Dana, I have to go. Our
dinner is ready."
I hastily averted my eyes from Krycek's 'It is?' expression. After a hasty
goodbye, I handed the phone to him and slumped defeatedly back. "Hell," was
my only comment.
He sighed heavily, then turned his head to look at me. "Pizza?" he reminded
me.
"So call 'em, already," I grumped at him.
"Need a number."
Oh yeah. He punched in the number I gave him and ordered our meal.
Finished, he hung up and groaned. His right hand reached up and rubbed at his
left shoulder and neck.
"Stiff?"
He shot me a 'well, duh' look.
Moving carefully, I scooted over to the middle cushion of the sofa. "Turn
'round," I told him.
He stared, his expression displaying a total lack of comprehension.
"Turn, Alex," I said patiently. "So that your back is to me."
"Why?"
"Just do it. Please?"
Obviously having no idea what I planned, he nevertheless followed my
instructions.
When my hands settled on his shoulders, he tensed. "Relax. I'm not gonna
hurt you."
And, gradually, as I gently massaged his knotted muscles, he did just that. I
worked quietly, the silence broken only by his appreciative sighs and moans.
Without conscious decision, I gradually softened my touch until my hands moved
lightly, caressingly, over his upper back and shoulders. His
relaxation deepened, warm weight leaning more and more heavily against me,
until he was damn near resting in my lap.
He snuggled into me, pulling my arms around to embrace his chest. And, hell,
I never claimed to be pure of heart. My body reacted in the expected way. My
cock slowly hardened, my breathing grew heavier, and my pulse increased.
Gotta get up, I told myself firmly. Can't push it now—not when things are
going along so well...
I started to withdraw, pulling my arms away and grasping his waist, intending
to lift him off of me. With a muffled sound of protest, Alex turned,
adjusting his position so that he faced me. I stilled, holding my breath,
while I waited to see what he'd do next.
Slumberous green eyes held my gaze as he leaned forward. He couldn't possibly
be planning to... to...
He kissed me. Once. Twice. Then he sighed and nibbled on my lower lip
before tracing a light path around my mouth.
Jesus! I groaned and closed my arms around him. Pulled him closer and parted
my lips to allow that questing tongue entrance.
And the doorbell rang.
We jolted apart and stared at each other with wild eyes.
The bell rang again, followed by urgent knocking.
If Mulder had returned...
Alex drew in a shaky breath, and smiled. "Pizza," he reminded me.
Alex:
We scarfed down the pizza with embarrassing haste. Still sitting on the
sofa together. Still seated close to each other. Not knowing what to make of
this, but enjoying the opportunity, I made no effort to move away. Pizza
finished, we sat back, shoulder against shoulder, and watched the news.
The voices from the television faded to a pleasant buzz, and I found my
eyelids growing heavier and heavier. I floated in a pleasant haze. "Mmmm," I
vaguely heard a distant voice purr. Oh, that was my voice, I realized.
Walter chuckled. Why did he sound so close? And why didn't I object?
And, why the hell did I feel more than hear that sound?
My hazy mind pondered these questions.
I decided that I really didn't care. With a deep sigh, I relaxed more heavily
against the lovely, pillow he'd so kindly provided for my comfort.
What? I pulled myself awake, opening my eyes. Oh... shit! I'd drifted off
to sleep—cuddled against him. My head rested on his shoulder, right arm
wrapped around his middle. Reluctantly, I tried to pull away.
His hold tightened for a beat, then loosened. He turned to look at me,
a mixture of curiosity, mild inquiry, and almost undetectable reproach lurking
in his eyes.
"Um," I croaked. A short pause to clear my throat. "Sorry about that."
"No problem."
"Guess I'd better head on up to bed."
He yawned widely. "That makes two of us."
At the top of the stairway, I headed in the direction of my room. My room?
No, the guest room.
"Alex, wait."
Turning back to face him, I canted my head to one side with curiosity.
"Yeah?"
"Why don't you... That is... I'd like for you to..." He drew in a deep breath
and squared his shoulders. "Sleep with me tonight?"
Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod!
Fighting the overwhelming impulse to scream 'YES!' at the top of my
lungs and dash into his room before he could think better of his offer, I
closed my eyes. "No," I murmured. "I don't think that's a good idea, Walt.
I'm so damned tired... Our first time should be..."
He chuckled. "Alex, shut up," he rumbled. "I just want to sleep with you.
Hold you. Feel your warmth against me."
Oh. OH! Stunned, I hesitated.
"C'mon," he coaxed. "It's been so long. And I've been so lonely for the feel
of another body in my bed."
I could no more resist his plea than I could fly to the moon. I nodded and
followed him into his room. He shucked his clothing—all of his clothing -
and slipped between the sheets. Patiently, he watched me with warm brown eyes
as he waited for me to join him.
Vowing to myself that I'd see a doctor about this sudden onset of delusions, I
removed my own clothes and joined him. "Just holding?" I asked.
"Mmmhmm," he hummed.
Well, the situation, I decided, was okay then.
"C'mere," he encouraged in a low voice. One thick arm worked its way under my
shoulders, and he pulled me closer. After several moments spent adjusting my
position until I lay curled against him, head pillowed on his chest. He
sighed contentedly.
"'Night."
"G'ni—" My eyes closed, and I knew no more.
My pillow was moving. And making noise. Cautiously, I opened one eye, only
to see a vast expanse of chest. Hairy chest. Male chest.
What the hell?
Slamming that eye closed, I searched my, admittedly vague, memories of last
night.
Kissing.
Pizza.
The warmth of Skinner's body as he held me close.
But... how had I ended up in his bed? We... we couldn't have. Couldn't
have!
Could we?
He stirred, snorted, grumbled under his breath. I stilled, waiting with dread
for his reaction to finding me in his bed.
"Mmmph," he mumbled. Rolling onto his side, he opened both eyes and stared at
me. "Morning."
Morning.
Morning???
"Time izzit?" I inquired.
He checked the clock. "Eleven thirty."
"Whaaat?" I asked, astonished that we'd slept so late.
Grinning, he smacked my rear with a little more enthusiasm than I felt was
strictly necessary. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead."
Yes, indeed. Definitely gonna kill the bastard. For his annoyingly
cheery morning attitude, if nothing else.
"Fuck you, Skinner."
Not only was he not frightened by my threat, he had the audacity to chuckle.
Rolling to the bed's edge, he sat up and stretched, arms raised over his
head.
I gulped and stared at the acres and acres of smooth flesh covering his
rippling muscles. His naked skin. Allowing my rapt gaze to travel lower, I
realized—to my horror—that he was nude.
Oh, shit!
My cock jumped and brushed against the sheet draped over my lower body.
Damn.
I, too, was naked.
After yet another stretch, Skinner rose to his feet. "I'll go downstairs and
start the coffee brewing while you dress," he offered.
"Go-good idea." Snickering at my stammered agreement, he pulled on a pair of
shorts... even skimpier—if possible!—than the cut-offs he'd worn
yesterday.
Yawning and scratching absently at his chest, he left the room. "Don't
forget," he called back to me, "we're expected at Mulder and Scully's house
in a couple of hours."
I pulled the covers over my head.
Just kill me now!
Our afternoon at Mulder's proved to be every bit as excruciating as I'd
anticipated. We were barely inside the house before William, Jamie, and
Melissa (their two year old daughter) dragged us off to admire Lucy's
puppies. All three of Mulder's demon spawn urged us to select a pup for our
very own.
Lucky us.
"Kids," Mulder said from the doorway, "give your uncles a break. Let them
wait until the pups are a little older before making their choices."
Saved by the Mulder.
For the time being.
We were then treated to a viewing of each kids' room. After showing
appropriate admiration for each and every toy cluttering their rooms, we
escaped to the backyard. Collapsing into chairs, we watched as the children
played a lively game of tag. For reasons unknown, Scully landed me with their
youngest. Six month old Maggie grinned happily—and drooled all over
herself and me.
Ewww.
"So," Mulder said casually. "I hear through the grapevine that your company is
opening an office in D. C."
I glowered at him.
"And," he continued, smiling blithely, "rumor also has it that you'll be
transferring here to manage that office."
"YAY" Jamie yelled, damn near rupturing my eardrum. "That means we can
visit your puppy, too."
I was doomed.
"Dinner," Scully announced.
Just in the nick of time...
As soon as dinner was finished and the debris cleaned up, Walter and I made
our escape. Thankfully, he didn't ask any questions about my upcoming
transfer. Instead, he found a classical music station on the radio and we
listened in silence as he drove me to my hotel.
We arrived with no delays, and I climbed out of his Blazer. I retrieved my
luggage from the cargo area and stepped away towards the lobby.
"Alex," he called through the passenger window.
I turned back. "Yeah?"
"Dinner tomorrow?"
"Sure."
"Six okay?"
I nodded affirmatively.
"Come around here," he ordered, indicating the driver's side window.
"Why?" I asked suspiciously.
"So I can say goodbye properly."
Oh. Okay...
I walked around to his side. Waited.
One hand closed around the nape of my neck before he pulled me close. And
pressed a gentle kiss against my lips.
"Six tomorrow?" he asked, withdrawing from me.
I nodded numbly. "Six. Yeah. I'll, uh, see you then."
He smiled at me and put the car into gear, pulling away slowly.
Part Six The trip was sheer hell.
First, we had an extended delay at LAX because some fool tried to carry a weapon
through the security checkpoint. Then, when the plane finally was en route,
we ran into turbulence somewhere near Topeka. A three hour layover to wait out
the weather brought me close to the edge of insanity. Ever been to the Topeka
airport? No? Consider yourself lucky.
Upon arrival at Dulles, I waited—and waited—for my luggage to appear. It
seemed that there had been cut—backs in the baggage handling department. I
strongly suspected that there were two, maybe three, very old, very slow men
carrying our bags from the plane to the terminal. One piece at a time.
Just about the time I was gearing myself up to climb back into the luggage area
and locate my own damned bags, they appeared.
Off I went to Hertz.
"I have no reservation in the name of Krycek, sir," the snooty little bitch
informed me snidely.
If only I had my gun...
Pulling out my wallet, I withdrew my confirmation form and just barely
restrained the impulse to throw it in her haughty face. Which was not nearly as
attractive as she thought.
"There." I carefully pointed to the paper. "Krycek comma Alexander. Vehicle to
be picked up on this date."
She carefully read the form, looked up into my do-as-I-
tell-you-or-I-will-shoot-your-not-so-pretty-ass expression, and blanched.
Before you could say 'Ratbastard', I had a set of keys in my hand.
"Space forty-four, maroon Lexus," she called after my rapidly departing self.
Naturally enough, it was pouring rain as I trudged my way to 'space forty-four'.
Which was, by the way, as far from the rental office as possible.
Severely irked, wet, and with the beginnings of what promised to be a truly
nasty migraine, I got on the road as quickly as possible. I managed to find a
classical station on the radio, and concentrated on the music, trying to let go
of my frustration, and relax.
I arrived feeling somewhat calmer. The prospect of seeing Walt had overcome my
bad mood, helped in large part by the recording of 'Carmen' on the radio and the
soothing beat of rain against the car's roof.
As I turned onto his street, I saw that he'd left the outside light on for me.
To guide me. To welcome me.
To welcome me home.
It was strange, in a very good way, to see him open the front door and step
out to greet me the minute I pulled into the driveway. When I climbed wearily
out of the car, he looked at me with concern and pulled me into a warm hug.
"Rough trip?"
I groaned. "The worst!"
Releasing me, he grabbed my bags from the back seat and led me inside.
It really did feel like coming home.
He didn't press for details. He didn't even reproach me for being over three
hours late and not calling. No, Walt simply took my sodden jacket away to
drip-dry in the bathroom, telling me to sit on the couch and relax.
I collapsed, removed my boots, and leaned my head against the back of the sofa.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes. It vaguely occurred to me that he'd been gone
far longer than necessary but I was so damn tired, I couldn't even gather enough
energy to go and investigate.
"Alex."
I knew that voice.
"Alex, wake up."
Huh? Groggily, I opened my eyes to find Walt standing in front of me a mug of
steaming something in one hand.
"Come upstairs. I have a hot bath ready for you. You can soak while you drink
this," he said, indicating the mug.
"Whazzat?"
He grinned. "Up, Alex. Bath. Hot toddy. Then bed."
Frowning grumpily—I'd have been perfectly content to sleep on the sofa all
night—I climbed to my feet and followed him upstairs. I did wake up a bit
more when we went into his bedroom and my bags were there. So, that last email
I'd sent had been well received. That was a good thing.
We continued through the room into the master bath. Suddenly the prospect of a
warm soak sounded better. And, whatever he'd put into the water smelled
heavenly. I sniffed the air appreciatively.
"Lavender and rosemary," he said, reaching to unbutton my shirt. "The lavender
will relax you and the rosemary should help with that headache."
How the hell did he know I had a headache? And why was he fussing over me? I
tried to bat his hands away from my clothes, informing him gruffly that I'd been
undressing myself for quite some time now. He just chuckled at my objection and
continued to strip me.
Once I was naked, he held my arm as I stepped into the tub and settled into the
warm water. Warning me to not 'fall asleep in there and drown', he put the mug
of whatever it was on the bath's edge and turned to leave.
"I'm going downstairs and finish up the chapter I was editing, then I'll be
back."
"Mmmhmm."
Laying there, luxuriating in the care he'd shown me, I sipped his 'hot toddy'
and just let my mind go blank. The past week had been hellacious. Moving, I'd
discovered, was not fun. Not when one led a 'normal' life. Between wrapping
things up at the home office and taking care of the endless details of
relocating myself to another state, I'd had maybe six hours of sleep in the past
five days.
In some ways, my former life had been easier. No bank accounts, no credit cards
—at least not in my own name—and no apartment to clean out. On the other
hand, I'd never had a Walter Skinner waiting for me in my new location.
All in all, I considered my new life to have the edge.
I'd finished the drink and was just nodding off again when he returned. Within
mere minutes, he had me out of the tub, dried off and tucked into the bed. His
bed. Joining me, Walt pulled me against himself, settled my head on his
shoulder, and reached to turn off the bedside lamp.
I wanted to tell him goodnight. Needed to tell him how grateful I was for his
care. All I could do though, was fall asleep.
The first time I woke up with my head on Walter's shoulder, my immediate thought
was, 'What the hell have I done?'. This time, however, I knew where I was and
why my pillow was moving. Even the snoring and rumbling didn't shock me. I
cracked one eye open, noted the dimness that indicated a very early hour, moved
my hand into position over his heart, and faded back into sleep.
Some hours later, when awareness returned, I was alone in the bed. The
tantalizing smells wafting up from the kitchen assured me that he was nearby. I
sat up and groaned. God, I needed coffee! With that goal in mind, I pulled a
pair of sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt out of my suitcase, dressed hastily
and stumbled downstairs.
As anticipated, Walt was busily cooking. He turned at my entrance and smiled.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, coming over and pressing a light kiss on my
forehead. "Feeling better?"
"Too early to tell," I croaked.
His eyebrows rose above twinkling eyes. "It's almost noon, Alex."
"You're shittin' me!" Looking at the clock, I saw that it was, indeed, nearly
noon. "Damn," I groaned, collapsing into a chair. "Got coffee?"
After two cups of much-needed caffeine, I began to feel somewhat human.
"What're you cooking?" I asked.
"Hashed browns," he said over his shoulder, not turning away from the stove. "I
also made hollandaise sauce. For eggs benedict."
Wow. I mean, wow...
Guess Walter really was glad to see me.
We ate a leisurely breakfast—or brunch—after which I insisted on handling
the clean-up. It seemed the least I could do. Then we lounged on the sofa, legs
companionably entangled, and read the Sunday New York Times and the Washington
Post. Don't think I'd ever spent such a comfortable Sunday morning—well,
okay, afternoon—in my life.
Suddenly, he looked at the clock on the VCR and grabbed the TV remote. "Hope
you like baseball," he said.
"Depends on who's playing."
"Cleveland Indians at Texas Rangers."
"You're in luck, then, big guy. My favorite team is the Indians. Been
following them for years."
"Then prepare to watch them go down in flames. The Rangers are gonna stomp 'em
into the dirt."
We amiably argued the finer points of each team all through the pre-game show.
Just as the first batter came up to home plate, the damned doorbell rang.
Grumbling all the way, Walt went to open the door. Whoever was there shut him up
in a hurry. I recognized the voice as female, but had no idea which female it
might be, until Dana Scully walked into the living room before him.
Oh nooooo. This meant Mulder and their insufferable brats might well be close
behind. I really didn't think I'd survive an afternoon of that. Trying to
appear casual, I looked past them.
Scully laughed. "Don't worry, I'm here alone. Mulder and the boys are at a
Scout Jamboree."
I tried—and failed—to picture that in my mind. Shook my head, then frowned.
"And the girls?" I asked suspiciously.
"Are with my mother." She sat in a wing chair and sighed happily. "All day."
"Would you like something to drink?" Walt asked, ever the gentleman.
"A beer," she said absently, watching the television. "Hey, is this the Indians
—Rangers game."
"Uh huh," I answered, as Walt had gone into the kitchen to get her drink.
"Hot damn!" said the always proper Scully. "The Rangers are SO going to lose
this one."
Oh. Well, in that case, maybe she wasn't such an intrusion, after all.
It was fun, actually—ganging up on Walt the way we did. The three of us
yelled, shouted, and cursed; in other words, we behaved the way good baseball
fans should.
Two six-packs of beer and a large pizza with everything later, Walt poured
Scully into his car and drove her home, yours truly following in her van. We
dumped her off, making good our escape before Mulder and the children got home.
"She do that often?" I asked, as he drove us home.
"Every chance she gets. Which isn't often—Mulder and all four kids are seldom
gone at the same time."
Home again (it was getting easier and easier to think of Walt's house as
'home'), we cleaned up the debris from the afternoon and then just sat and
talked quietly while watching the news.
"We have an early day tomorrow," he informed me at one point.
"Oh? Why?"
"I made arrangements with a real estate agent to show us some apartments."
Us?
That was... interesting.
"Okay," I agreed, more easily that I'd've expected.
"The boxes arrived Friday. I put them in your room."
My room?
I made a noncommittal noise.
It's never ceased to amaze and confuse me that sitting around all day doing next
to nothing makes one even more tired and sluggish than a full day's activity.
By 10:30 we were both sleepy-eyed and yawning.
Again, we slept in his bed together. And I do mean slept. Although both our
spirits were willing, the constant yawning really got in the way of our attempt
to 'make out'.
Which was probably just as well, he reminded me. We did have that early
appointment, after all.
Apartment hunting with Walter Skinner is an experience I wouldn't wish on my
worst enemy. By the end of day three, my blood pressure had no doubt risen to
new and dangerous heights.
The man was trying to drive me insane!
Objection after objection. Nothing we looked at met his exacting
specifications.
"New building, Alex," he said on day one. He pointed upward and shook his head
as the tenant in the unit above us stomped noisily across the floor. "Walls and
ceilings are too thin."
We weren't even inside the next building before he let his disapproval be known.
"Structures this old call for too many repairs. You'd be constantly calling in
the super to fix your wiring, your pipes, and God only knows what else."
The next building was: "Too close to the Beltway. The noise would keep you up
all night."
We didn't even bother to go in and view that vacancy, moving on to another
possibility: "Too isolated," he complained. "The silence would drive you
crazy."
Things didn't improve on the second day of looking:
"Too far from the office. The commute would be awful."
"Questionable neighborhood. One night you'd come home to find that you'd been
robbed."
"Too expensive."
"Too cheap."
"The landscaping isn't maintained. If the manager doesn't keep the outside up,
it's likely that the same problem exists inside."
And so it went...
Amazingly enough, the real estate agent hadn't snatched herself bald in
frustration. I, on the other hand, was this close to killing the bastard
At the end of day three, our real estate agent threw up her hands in disgust and
suggested, rather nastily, that I leave Walter behind—if and when I found
myself a new agent.
I seethed all the way home. Walt, innocence personified, tried several times to
start up a conversation. I knew that if I opened my mouth, I'd lose control and
say things that couldn't be taken back, so I remained silent, eyes fixed firmly
on the passing scenery.
By the time we arrived at Walt's house, I'd worked up a pretty good head of
steam. I went upstairs, changed into a ragged pair of jeans, pulled on a
sweatshirt, and headed out to the garden. Pruning the roses, I'd decided, would
serve two purposes: 1) it was the right time of the year for the project; and,
2) the satisfying crack as each branch was cut would help me work a bit of my
anger and frustration out of my system.
Once the teas were done, I turned my attention to the shrubs. Walt stepped
outside to inquire if I might need any help. A snarly refusal on my part sent
him back inside hastily.
As I worked, not only was I not calming down, I found myself growing more and
more angry every time I caught sight of him peering at me through a window. The
fifth time I saw him watching me I snapped. Abandoning the shrubs, I headed for
his prized climbers with evil intent.
I'd just finished demolishing 'First Prize' and was starting in on 'America'
when he came storming out of the house.
"What in the hell are you doing?"
"Pruning," crack "your roses." crack crack
"You don't prune the fucking climbers until after they bloom in spring."
"I know." crack
"Then why the fuck—"
I dropped the shears and turned to face him. "If you didn't want me living
here, why didn't you just come right out and say so?"
"I don't—"
"I'm calling my boss. We're opening a branch office in New York City. I have
seniority—he'll have to agree when I tell him that I want New York."
The bastard actually had the nerve to look hurt. "Why? I mean, what makes you
think I don't want you here?"
"Go to hell," I snarled, moving to get past him, into the house and to the
nearest phone.
"ALEX!" he yelled, grabbing my arm. "What the fuck is your problem?"
"How many apartments have we seen?" I asked witheringly. "In how many
neighborhoods? Not one of them met with your approval. Do you really think
I'm so stupid that I can't see when I'm not wanted?"
"Alex," he sighed, "that's not—"
"You bring me into your house, feed me, take care of me, sleep with me, and
now you don't want me living near you?" I was practically shouting by this
point. "I can take a hint. Don't have to spell it out for me. You like me well
enough in the short term but, when push comes to shove, you don't want me around
full—time."
Futilely trying to jerk my arm out of his iron grip, I glared at him. "Let. Me.
Go."
"Not until you calm down and listen to me."
"Like hell," I grated.
What followed was more than a little undignified. Two grown men, wrestling in
the grass like a couple of kids, neither really wanting to hurt the other.
Finally, he pinned me down, his heavy weight holding me in place, my wrists held
above my head, our legs tangled together.
I determinedly ignored the way his erection rubbed against mine.
"You're wrong," he panted. "I don't... I mean I do want you to stay in town,
Alex. And," he avoided my eyes, a faint flush coloring his face, "I suppose a
couple of the apartments we saw weren't too awful. It's just that—"
"Just that what?"
"I'd rather you... lived here... with me."
Oh.
Oh?
OH!
"You could've just said so, you know."
His color heightened. "Didn't know how," he said gruffly.
"Okay... Well, I suppose this is a good time to tell you that I'd love to live
with you."
His hold on my wrists slackened and he stared at me, apparently quite stunned at
my admission. "You would? Really?"
With a sigh, I wrapped my good hand around the nape of his neck. "Yes," I told
him. "Really."
Then he kissed me. Or I kissed him. Whatever. Details aren't important. What
mattered was the way his hands closed on either side of my head, holding me
still. The way he groaned when my tongue slipped into his mouth. The jolt of
electricity that shot through me when he ground his hips against mine.
It was silly—embarrassing, even—to have our first intimate encounter in his
yard. The idea of stopping, though, was unthinkable. Damn good thing he had a
six foot fence around the back or we might have sent any unsuspecting neighbors
into shock.
With absolutely no finesse, we rolled to and fro, grunting and groaning,
clutching desperately at each other, and, in general, acting like teenagers
discovering sex for the very first time.
With a shout—his poor neighbors probably thought someone was being killed—he
came after an incredibly short amount of time. The look on his face, the sound
of his voice, and the feel of his cock pulsing against mine, combined to send me
hurtling over the same edge of ecstasy.
"I haven't come in my jeans since I was a kid," he complained when he finally
caught his breath.
I laughed. Couldn't help myself, he looked so damned cute all embarrassed and
proud and satisfied at the same time. Climbing to my feet, I offered one hand
and hauled him up, too. Together, we staggered into the house.
"You," he grumbled, "owe me two new roses."
"No problem."
No problem, indeed. This, after all, was now my home, too. I'd never had a
yard of my own. This one, I vowed, would become the showpiece of the
neighborhood.
Part Seven Alex:
We dragged our aging bodies inside once we'd recovered from the argument, the
tussling, and the resulting make-up sex. Together, we staggered upstairs and
shared a hot shower.
Not surprisingly, I found him sound asleep on the sofa when I walked out of the
kitchen a bit later, bearing cups of coffee for each of us. A quick U-turn,
and I was back in the kitchen. Settling at the table, I prepared to do some
heavy thinking.
The phone rang. Loudly. Nearly giving me a heart attack.
"H'llo?"
"Alex?"
"That you, Scully?"
"Yes."
"Oh. What can I do for you?"
"Actually, I called to see if I could do anything for you."
Huh?
"Are you okay, Alex? Is Walt?"
What the hell?
"We're fine, Scully. Any special reason you'd think otherwise?"
She chuckled at the obvious suspicion in my voice. "Georgia is a friend of my
mother's."
I drew a blank. "Who?"
"Georgia. Georgia Mann? Your former real estate agent."
Oh.
Damn.
"And?" I asked cautiously.
"She called Mom this afternoon. Told her all about your apartment hunting.
Hinted that one, or both, of you might suffer fatal injuries once you got
home."
"So, your mother just had to call and share."
"Of course! Mom knows that you and Walt are friends. She thought I should
know."
The humor of it all began to tickle my fancy. "We're fine, Scully. Just fine."
"Alexxx. Georgia told Mom that you were seriously pissed off when she left
you. What happened when you got home?"
"We had a bit of an argument."
"But you made up?"
"Yeah. We did."
"How?"
"HOW?"
She sighed. "Yes, Alex. How."
I cleared my throat. "We, uh, we had a little wrestling match after—maybe
during—yeah, during—the argument."
"Details, Alex. I want details."
Now, keep in mind that I had no idea why I was telling her all of this. I just
seemed to... I don't know... I needed to talk about it.
"Hang on a sec," I said in a hushed tone. Peeking into the living room, I saw
that Walt was still happily sawing logs. "Okay. Where were we?"
"You were about to give me details."
"Why," I inquired cautiously, "are you so interested?"
"Because you and Walt are my friends. Because I'm an old married lady with no
life beyond my home, husband, and children. Prurient curiosity. Take your
pick."
Walter and I were her friends?
Huh.
"Alex? Talk. Now."
"Okay, okay. Don't get your panties in a twist. Let me gather my thoughts."
I went back through the afternoon for her. Took her right up until the moment
the wrestling match had started.
"Don't stop now! What happened next?"
"He asked me to live here. With him."
"And you said?"
"I agreed."
"Then you had sex, right?"
I nearly dropped the phone in shock. "SCULLY!" I sputtered.
She laughed. "I am right."
"I... we, yeah. He pinned me and made me talk to him. And he was on top of
me. And, well, it just kinda happened."
"Right there in the backyard?"
"Yeah."
"You did it outside?"
"NO! I mean, not exactly. We never took off our clothes or anything. It was
pretty PG, actually. We just..."
"I get the picture." Sounded like she liked the mental image, too. "So, later
tonight the two of you will get down and dirty?"
I paused. Held the phone away and frowned at it. "Have you been drinking?" I
asked suspiciously when I could speak again.
"Not a drop. Scout's honor. So... later?"
"Scully," I said repressively, "We've never—"
"No!" she gasped. "You haven't...?"
"Uh uh."
"Okay, this is what you do—" And she proceeded to give me detailed
instructions for seducing Walter.
By the time she wound down, I was speechless with shock and embarrassment.
"Alex?" she prodded.
"Yeah," I croaked. "Still here."
"You'll do as I say?"
"I... I'll try."
"I have every confidence in your abilities, Alex."
Jesus!
"Listen, Mulder and the kids are going out in the morning." I strongly
suspected that this would be news to Mulder. "You come over here around 10.
We'll have coffee and talk."
"Talk?"
"You don't really imagine I'll let you off the hook now, do you?"
I groaned, suddenly filled with sympathy for Mulder.
"10 a.m., Alex. Be here."
And she hung up on me.
Walter:
When I woke, my stomach was grumbling. Loudly. Whatever Alex was cooking
smelled good—really good. I wandered into the kitchen and he turned away
from the stove to smile at me, rather shyly, in greeting.
Walking up behind him, I peeked over his shoulder, curious at to what was
making me salivate in anticipation. Of course, in order to get a good look, I
had to press very closely against his back. He didn't seem to mind. Actually,
he leaned back into my body and sighed, turned his head, pressed a light kiss
on my cheek and then blushed.
I decided to give him a break and not tease him about the flush coloring his
cheeks or his apparent bashfulness. This reticence of his, this quality of
shyness, was quite a surprise to me. I suspect he felt the same.
"What's cooking, Alex?" I asked, instead, wrapping my arms around his waist.
"It smells wonderful."
"It... I... Veal scaloppini."
"Mmm," I hummed in approval. "I think I have some white wine to go with it."
"You do. I already found it."
I stretched one arm to the back burner, aiming for the lid of the pan sitting
there. "What's in here?" I ask.
"Sauce. Marinara sauce. For the pasta." Slapping my hand away, he covered
the pan again. "It'll be done soon. I just have to make the angel hair pasta,
and everything'll be ready."
I could get used to this. In fact, if the food tastes as good as it smells, I
plan to get used to this. "Soon?" I ask eagerly.
"Yes, Walt. Your dinner is just about finished cooking." He pushed back
against me in an obvious attempt to get me out of his way.
I choose not to understand. Instead, I gasped when his very pretty ass pressed
firmly against my rapidly hardening cock. "Do we have time to-?"
"No. Now, go... go set the table."
Hard-hearted bastard.
I sighed mournfully. Stepping back, I fixed him my best sad look in the hope
that he'd take pity on me. He glanced at me over his shoulder and grinned.
"Later, stud," he said throatily. "First, we eat."
Gathering silverware, plates, and napkins, I reluctantly headed into the dining
room. Showing far more care than is my usual wont, I set two places, then
viewed my efforts. It looked okay, but something was missing. What? Ah!
Glasses. After retrieving two wine goblets from the china cabinet, I searched
my mind. It still didn't look quite right.
Inspiration struck. I placed the candles from the sideboard onto the middle of
the table and lit them, then dimmed the light fixture. Yep, that was it.
Perfect.
Once again, I walked into the kitchen. "All done," I announced proudly. "What
else can I do?"
Mumbling to himself, he was busy putting pasta, sauce, and the scaloppini into
bowls he'd located in my cabinets. Pausing, he frowned. "Salad. Get the
salad and dressing from the 'fridge. We'll need salt, pepper and parmesan,
too." The mumbling resumed as he redirected his attention to transferring the
food from pans to bowls.
After all of the food was on the table, Alex stepped back and viewed it with a
meticulous eye. Looking back on the early years of my marriage, I remembered
how Sharon had fretted over our dinners together. At first it had been every
night, but, within a short time, these 'special' dinners had only happened on
holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. As the years passed, the occasions
dwindled to include only my birthday, our wedding anniversary, Christmas, and
Thanksgiving. Towards the end, they stopped altogether.
I promised myself that would never happen with Alex.
We took our places at the table and I poured the wine I'd opened earlier.
Afraid to push him, I chose not to offer a toast. Much to my surprise, he
did.
"Tonight," he said softly, holding up his glass.
"And every night," I added.
For once in my life, I'd said the right thing. He smiled, then sipped his
wine, green eyes sparkling at me.
The meal proved to be every bit as delicious as it smelled. I devoured two
helpings of everything, then sat back in my chair with a groan of satisfaction.
"I'll get fat if you keep feeding me this way."
He chuckled. It was the nicest sound I'd heard in years. Rising, he started
gathering dirty dishes.
"Let me do that," I offered. Half-heartedly, I admit, but I did offer.
"No," he said firmly. "You'll go into the living room, watch TV and digest
your meal."
I opened my mouth to voice a token protest, but he gave me an admonishing look.
"Go on, Walt. I'll clean up while you recover." A wicked gleam entered his
eyes. "You'll need your strength later. I have plans for you."
Plans?
Need my strength?
Oh. Yeah.
At some time in my life, I'd apparently done something right. Grinning, I
did as he instructed, eagerly looking forward to these 'plans' of his. I
settled onto the couch, propped my feet up on the coffee table, and clicked the
television on with the remote. Tuning in CNN, I lowered the sound to a quiet
murmur and relaxed, allowing my mind to wander.
I'd been around long enough to recognize a seduction scene when I saw one.
There was no doubt in my mind that Alex had every intention of seducing me into
bed and having his wicked way with me.
Not, mind you, that I had any objections. Sounded like a damn fine idea to me.
I did wonder, though, just what he was expecting. I'd grown to suspect that,
whether by choice, due to the desires of his partner, or through necessity,
he'd always been submissive in bed.
It had also become clear that the boy had never been in a long-term
relationship. Well, he was now, by God. I had him, and I intended to keep
him. I'd not gone into this lightly. For years, I'd remained solitary,
keeping my heart to myself. Somehow, this man, this Alex Krycek, had wormed
his way into my life.
I'd wanted him ever since the first time I laid eyes on him. How could I not?
He was beautiful, intelligent, and sexy as all hell. Even through the dark
years, the attraction I felt for him never ceased. Attraction, lust, may have
been the beginning but, having come to know him these past months, I found that
I wanted more than just sex.
I wanted... everything.
Vague sounds from the kitchen and the low voices on the television washed over
me, soothing me into a light doze. My mind considered various scenarios for
tonight. Our first time. I knew it had to be exceptional. He deserved that.
What, I wondered, would make it as special for him as I knew it would be for
me?
Our gradual courtship had been a revelation to me.
The way he draped himself along my side at night and never let go his hold on
me while we slept, that unexpected shyness of his, the surprised happiness in
his eyes as he slowly came to understand that I wanted more than a quick roll
between the sheets from him... All of this, and more, wandered through my mind
as I sat there. I began to form a plan of my own.
I rose when he finally emerged from the kitchen. "Alex," I said softly,
holding one hand out to him. "I want you. Can we go upstairs now? I really
don't think I can wait much longer."
The relief in his eyes told me that I'd, once again, said the right thing. He
nodded once, and placed his hand in mine. "I... I want you, too, Walt."
Together we walked upstairs and into the bedroom. He paused midway into the
room and stared at the bed. "I... "
I pulled him to me, enfolding him in a tight embrace. "This is it, Alex," I
whispered into one ear. "No going back after tonight."
"I..." Once again he was at a loss for words.
"We're going to make love to each other, Alex. For the first time. The first
of many, many times." I leaned back, staring into his eyes. "After tonight,
you can't run from me. You can't leave me. I wouldn't be able to bear losing
you."
He swallowed heavily. "Oh."
"If this," I nodded at the bed, "is not what you want. If I am not what you
want, tell me now. Before it's too late."
His arms tightened around my neck, his lips attached themselves to mine, and he
started backing towards the bed. I was already aware of his talent in the
kissing department. Nevertheless, the mobility of his soft lips, the way his
tongue thoroughly investigated every surface and corner of my mouth, the soft
sounds he made—which I felt more than heard—all combined to thrill me just
as much this time as they had the first. Something deep inside told me that
this would not change, no matter how long we remained together.
The kiss continued as we undressed each other with great care. The process was
a long, drawn out procedure, as both of us kept pausing to stroke and kiss each
bit of skin as it was revealed. Sure, we'd seen each other naked before, but
this was different. It was a celebration and a confirmation of our
relationship. All of which was new to him, I realized. Fucking, or rather,
being fucked, he knew. This, though, this care I was taking with him was
completely new to Alex.
We hadn't talked about it, not really, but the knowledge was there. We were
now a couple. In this for the long haul.
Naked, we tumbled onto our bed, and I pulled him close and kissed him. I tried
to tell him without words how much he meant to me, how much we meant to me.
That I loved him.
I did, you know. Still do, in fact. Yeah, since that night, I have told him—
many times. But back in the beginning, he was so unfamiliar with the concept
of love that I feared he would run as far and as fast as his very attractive
legs would carry him if I were to voice my feelings.
Eventually, the need for oxygen forced our lips apart.
"You do that very well, Alex," I told him, once I'd caught my breath. "I look
forward to discovering your other talents."
With an evil grin, his lips moved down to my neck. "I'm a very talented man,
Walter. It'll take years to reveal all of those talents."
"Mmmm," I hummed appreciatively as he nibbled on my earlobe. "I can't wait."
Giggling in a teasing manner, he tried to roll onto his back and pull me atop
him. "Want you, Walt. More than you know. Been waiting for so long..."
Rather than follow his wishes, I remained in place and urged him to lay his
lovely length atop me. "Make love to me, Alex. I want to feel your touch,
your lips, your weight pressing me down—I want to feel you inside of me."
Confused and hesitant, he met my eyes. "But I... I assumed... Walter, I've
never done that."
"Never been on top?" I asked softly, my hands running over his back.
"Um, no."
"Why? Because you haven't wanted to, or because that was what they wanted?"
A bright flush crept up to color his face and he averted his eyes. "I never
minded. Feels good, being on the bottom. Most of the time." He hid his
expression from me, ducking his head in a shamed way.
Damn them. Damn each and every man who'd used him. Even Mulder. Although I
knew in my heart that Mulder hadn't abused this beautiful and vulnerable man in
bed, he just hadn't taken the time to be gentle. Alex, I realized, had loved
him. Well, actually he'd only thought that what he felt was love. It had
been, I now understood, a combination of lust, need, and a desperate desire to
be loved. Not having ever experienced that emotion, Alex had simply assumed
that the unfamiliar feelings equaled love.
Well, he was loved now. By me. And, however long it might take, I would make
him understand that.
Placing my hands on either side of his face, I turned his head so that I could
watch the expression in his eyes. He lowered his eyelids, lashes fluttering
down until they were highlighted against the tender skin below his eyes.
"Look at me, Alex."
Reluctantly, he did so. As he watched me warily, his teeth worried his lower
lip. I moved one hand and brushed my thumb over his mouth. "Stop that," I
said firmly.
"Listen to me. If you really don't want this, I'll understand. But, you
should know that I do. Want this. I've imagined your cock filling me so
many times..."
"But I thought... The way you were with Mulder..."
"Was what he needed from me, Alex. I like it both ways. And, tonight, with
you, I want you to take me."
Staring at me doubtfully, he started chewing at his lip again. "What if I do
it wrong?"
"You won't," I assured him.
"But I—"
I rolled onto my stomach, placed a pillow under my hips, and said, "Make love
to me, Alex. Please."
The lingering doubt in my mind about whether or not he loved me disappeared in
the next few moments. With trembling fingers, he stroked me, caressing every
inch of my back and legs with such care that I could have cried. If I were
capable of tears, that was. His lips followed, nibbling, kissing, tasting,
me.
And I, I feared that I would lose control, coming before he ever even touched
my ass, let alone fucked me. The only words I remembered were: "Please",
"Yes", "More", and "Alex".
As my desperation grew, so did his confidence. When he finally let his hands
move to my ass, I groaned blissfully and started to push my groin against the
pillow supporting my hips. An interminable amount passed as he touched me, the
cheeks of my butt, the crease between them, then—at last—the opening to my
body.
I writhed under his touch. Moaned in appreciation. Sighed happily. Pushed up
against his fingers, needing to feel him inside of me. Pointing to the bedside
table, I somehow managed to croak out, "Lube. Condoms."
A snort of laughter escaped him before he leaned to one side, opening the
drawer and withdrawing a tube of slick and a foil-wrapped condom. "A little
impatient there, Walt?" he teased.
"A lot impatient," I grumbled. "Hurry up, Alex. I'm ready for you. I am SO
ready!"
"Hold on, big guy," he said, opening the lube and squirting some onto his
fingers. "Don't wanna hurt you. Just... just hold on while I get you ready
for me."
"Yessss," I hissed, as he slowly pushed one finger into me. "More, Alex. You
won't hurt me."
And he didn't. He did, however, damn near drive me out of my mind, he took so
long, carefully stretching me before he'd even consider entering me with his
cock—but, when he did... Damn! It was perfect. Just perfect. He languidly
rocked against me, his cockhead brushing my prostate with every inward thrust.
More than once, I impatiently tried to hurry him up, but each time I pushed up
against him, he tightened his hold on my hip, holding me still.
I was sobbing and begging when he finally lost control. Pounding into me, he
grunted with every thrust. It didn't take long. The build up had been so
long, and I'd been waiting for just this for so many years, that I soon lost it
and came hard, my entire body wracked with shudders.
Lost in a haze of pleasure, enjoying the aftermath, I was only vaguely aware of
his orgasm. I know he yelled. Felt his grasp on my hip tighten. Was
gratified by the incoherent sounds he emitted.
He collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily. After a few minutes, he made a
move to withdraw.
"No," I protested, loving the feel of his weight on me.
"We need a washcloth."
"Fuck that. We need sleep."
He yawned. "'Kay," he agreed wearily.
Reluctantly, I woke. In the midst of a dream—a very nice dream—the last
thing I wanted was for my bad old insomnia to intrude. Gradually, though, I
allowed the peace of sleep to recede and realized that—Jesus!—it was real.
That there was, in fact, a warm mouth engulfing my cock. Clever fingers playing
with my erection. Nimble fingers manipulating my balls.
I gasped sharply at the comprehension of where I was and just whose—
"Alex! Jesus God, Alex, what are you... Oh! That's incredible. Please,
please don't stop."
Of course, he stopped immediately. Raised his head and grinned at the dazed
pleasure on my face. "You like?"
"Fuck, yes, I like! If I liked it any more, I probably pass out from overload!"
His grin morphed into a wide smile, and he slithered up my body until we were
face to face. Still smiling, he kissed me, reducing what few brain cells I
retained to mush.
"This time—" he started moving back down again.
"I want you—" The warmth of his tongue tasted its way, in a series of
heart-stopping caresses, down my neck.
"To just lie there—" He paused to nibble on my collar bones.
"And let me—" Oh, God. OhGodohgodohgod! His mouth closed over my right nipple.
"Show you what I can do."
I couldn't have protested right then if an entire platoon of Green Berets had
stormed the room. None of my former lovers, not one of them—including Sharon
or Mulder—had ever touched me with such painstaking care. And this nipple
thing... holy shit! I'd never even suspected they were so sensitive. That
they would respond so enthusiastically to a lover's manipulation.
A series of moans, whimpers, and ecstatic sounds greeted each new sensation.
His hand had, in the meantime, lightly pinched my other nipple, then gone on to
explore my chest. The hair he found there seemed to enchant him. He stroked
it. Ruffled his fingers through it. Pulled at it. Finally, he moved his
mouth lower to further examine it more closely, tunneling his tongue through it
and tasting the skin beneath.
When he started to wriggle down even further, heading back to my cock, I
protested, "Alex, if you take me in your mouth now, it all ends here. I'll
come within seconds."
"Mmmm", he rumbled against my belly. "That being the case..." He crawled on
down, settling between my thighs. "Lift and spread, Walt. Give me room to
work."
Now, I'd no idea what he intended, but, judging by his performance thus far, I
felt sure I'd have no objections. Following his instructions, I grasped each
thigh and raised it to my chest.
For a nanosecond, I felt embarrassingly exposed. That passed quickly, though,
when he hunkered down and took one of my balls into his mouth. After
thoroughly laving one, he moved on to the other.
Coherency is vastly over-rated, I decided.
My testicles sufficiently attended to, he moved down further, licking along my
perineum, making his way slowly to the pucker of my asshole. There, he
proceeded to rim me.
This man had talents I'd never suspected. God almighty! I pulled my legs
further up, giving him more room, and writhed under his touch.
Finally, when the sounds coming from deep in my chest took on a distinctly
begging quality, he granted me mercy.
Or so I thought.
Meeting my eyes, he said huskily, "Fuck me, Walt."
The sound of his voice alone brought me perilously close to the edge. I
grunted and moved one hand down to close my fist firmly around the base of my
cock. Once the crisis was averted, I sighed and opened my eyes. "How?" I
managed to enunciate.
"I want to see your face." He averted his eyes for a beat, then once again met
my gaze, allowing me to see his excitement and anticipation. "Move up, Walt.
Mmmhmm. Now prop yourself up against the headboard. Yeah, just like that."
Smiling—I don't think that smile had left his face since he'd stopped blowing
me—he moved, straddling my hips, reaching for the lube at the same time.
"You're big, Walt. You'll fill me nicely."
After squirting a dollop of lubrication onto his fingers, Alex knelt up and
reached back to prepare himself.
What a sight that was!
Ready for me, he glanced at the drawer containing the condoms. Hesitated.
"You know," he said, "that when I had my insurance physical, they tested me for
every disease known to man, including AIDS and other STD's. The results were
all negative."
"And," I answered with a certainty that came to me out of nowhere, "you haven't
had a lover since."
He blushed and shook his head, mumbling, "No," very quietly.
"So... you're clean. I am, too. You know how the FBI is, they regularly test
employees six ways from Sunday. My last physical was six months before I
retired."
Eyes open wide, he stared at me in amazement. "But... that was over seven
years ago."
I grinned sheepishly. "Yeah."
He digested this information in silence for several long minutes. "Sooo," he
finally said, "we're both clean."
I nodded.
"Then we can forego the latex?" he asked hesitantly. "I've never... and I
want to feel you, just you, inside of me."
Took me a little while to recover myself after hearing that. "Alex, I...
Jesus, I don't know what to say. Except 'yes'. I want that, too."
The smile I got was dazzling. As was the kiss that followed my words.
"I want to see you, see your face while you're fucking me, Walt," he repeated.
"While we make love, Alex," I corrected.
"Uh. Oh. I... Make love? Don't think I've ever done that."
My heart ached for him. "You did earlier. With me."
He looked away, quite clearly flustered and not knowing how to respond. He'd
learn, I thought. I would show him, every time I got the chance, that he was
worthy of love. That what we did together in bed was more than just
'fucking'.
No time like the present to start, I decided. Picking up the lube from the
mattress, I slicked my cock, and adjusted my position. When he was perfectly
poised to take me, I steadied my erection with one hand and placed the other on
his hip.
"Lower yourself onto me, Alex. Slowly—I don't want to hurt you."
Gradually he did as I directed. The sensation of his silky passage gripping me
was indescribable. Somehow, I managed to keep still throughout the process,
despite the screaming desire to bury my cock in him with one hard thrust. The
dawning joy in his expression stayed my impulse, though.
Finally, he sat fully impaled on me. With a grin, he tightened his inner
muscles, then rocked his hips from side to side. "Ready?" he asked.
Ready?
Ready?
"Don't," I gasped, "ask stupid questions, Alex."
With a giggle, he raised his body and slowly lowered himself again. I moaned.
Which inspired him to giggle again and repeat the motion. I'd created a
monster!
I let him play for a while, enjoying the pleasure he took from having me at his
mercy. Eventually, though, I couldn't take any more.
"Enough teasing, Alex," I growled. "Make me come." Closing one fist around
his cock, I pushed my hips up against him.
With a soft grunt, he started moving on me with more force. Rising and falling
with increasing speed, he let his head fall back as I started jacking him off,
matching my strokes to his rhythm.
It didn't take long. Which, when you think about it, is pretty goddamned
amazing, considering my age and that this was the third time in twelve hours.
I guess he just inspired me.
He came first. With a scream of pleasure. His ass pulsed around me, and I
couldn't hold on any longer. I didn't scream. A hoarse shout doesn't count as
a scream. Does it?
Alex:
I woke up with a start. Confused, it took me a few minutes to figure out why I
had this nagging feeling that I had an appointment. Then it hit me. Scully.
I'd promised to meet her this morning.
Temporary insanity, I felt sure. Must've been completely out of my mind to let
her talk me into that.
Even though all I wanted was to lay there, enjoying the feel of Walt's body
curled around mine, I dragged myself out of bed.
"Mmmmph," he complained sleepily. "Get back here."
"Can't," I apologized. "I have a meeting this morning." I looked at the clock
and groaned. "In an hour. Sorry, Walt, gotta get cleaned up and go."
Despite my efforts, I was late. Scully opened the front door and glared at me
reprovingly as I walked up the drive.
"Hey," I protested, "I overslept. Then I had to shower. You wouldn't want a
stinky Krycek in your house, would you?"
Silently, she waved me in, closing the door rather forcefully behind me.
"Kitchen," she ordered, then herded me in that direction.
Once I'd seated myself at the table, I risked a look at her face.
Still looked pretty pissed off to me...
I adopted a sorrowful expression. "I'm only fifteen minutes late, Scully.
Didn't even take time for coffee or breakfast."
Although she frowned and placed her hands on her hips in that universally
recognized you-are-in-BIG-trouble attitude that all mothers seem to be adept at
using on husbands and children, I detected a distinct twinkle in her eyes.
Phew!
Relieved, I sighed. "You," I teased, "are an evil woman."
She laughed. "Had you going for a couple of minutes, didn't I?"
As I grumbled to myself about her evil ways, she poured two cups of coffee.
"Here." She set a cup in front of me and put a plate of muffins on the table.
"Can't have you fainting from hunger or going into caffeine withdrawal."
Too busy gulping down my coffee and stuffing a blueberry muffin down my throat,
I didn't make any comment, smartass or otherwise.
After refilling my cup, she sat down across from me and stared at me
expectantly.
"What?"
"Talk, Alex."
"Talk about what?"
"Last night, you idiot. Did it work? Did you and Walter finally do the
deed?"
I choked on the banana muffin that had mysteriously appeared in my hand and
from which I'd just taken a bite. Coughed and cleared my throat. Washed it
down with a sip of coffee.
Still she watched me in anticipation.
"Scully, this fascination you've suddenly acquired regarding my sex life is
more than a little confusing. Not to mention scary as hell."
With a shrug, she grinned. "I don't have any 'girlfriends' to gossip with.
Truthfully, I find most women tiresome and boring."
"But why me?" I whined.
"I've developed a certain fondness for you, Alex. You make Walter happy and,
well, I feel like I can talk to you." She paused, sobering for a moment.
Stunned, I could only stare at her. First, I was her friend. Now she was
fond of me? Wanted to be... what? Girlfriends???
Jesus.
I was just opening my mouth to say something—I had no idea what, so don't
bother asking—when the door opened and a woman walked in.
"Dana, good morning," the unknown person said in greeting. She 'noticed' me
and jumped in a stunningly unconvincing show of surprise. "Oh! I didn't know
you had company."
Scully sighed, meeting my eyes and grinning. "Elaine, this is Alex, a friend
of mine. Alex, meet Elaine. Elaine is our next door neighbor."
I nodded. "Nice to meet you," I said, lying through my teeth.
"Same here." She stepped closer to the table and I feared that she would join
us.
"What can I do for you this morning, Elaine?" Scully asked, rising to her feet.
"Do? Oh! Oh yes. I need to borrow some eggs. I'm making a cake—for Tom.
Today," she informed me, "is my husband's birthday. When I went looking, I
found that I'd run out. Of eggs, that is."
Scully withdrew a carton from the fridge and handed it over to Elaine. "Here
you go. I'd ask you to stay, but since you're busy, I won't."
Deftly, she escorted her neighbor out of the house. "Eggs," she said
scornfully once the woman was gone. "Her husband's birthday was three months
ago. She just wanted to find out who you are and why you're here. Damned
busybody," she grumbled, resuming her seat. "Now, tell me about last
night."
Stalling for time, I hid my amusement behind another bite of my muffin. No
bite of pastry has ever been so thoroughly chewed, let me tell you.
"Well," she prompted impatiently once I'd swallowed.
"Um... we had a nice dinner—thanks for the recipe, by the way, the scaloppini
went over very well."
"Yeah, yeah. Get to the good part."
"Well, after dinner I cleaned up while he relaxed in front of the TV."
"Alex! That is not the good part."
"Okay. Once I was done in the kitchen, we went upstairs and... you know."
She made an impatient noise. "You'll have to do better than that, my friend.
I want details. Thought I told you that last night."
Damn. The woman was like a terrier in her pursuit of information.
"Sculleeee... what if I asked you about your sex life?
"I'd tell you, of course," she calmly said. "Probably bore you to tears,
though. You know how Mulder is in the sack."
Horrified, I gaped at her. "You know about that?" I asked weakly.
"Alex, I've known about that for years. About you and Walter."
"He... Mulder told you?"
"In a way. He talks in his sleep," she said, grinning smugly.
"And you don't mind?"
"Mind? Hell, no! I'm not blind, Alex, I've always found both you and Walt
attractive. I'd've jumped your bones back then if either if you had ever shown
the least bit of interest in me..."
She'd have... No. Oh, no. Couldn't be true. I must be—
Reaching down, I pinched my leg. Nope, I realized with a wince, I was not
dreaming. Of course, I couldn't rule out the possibility that I'd finally lost
it and was having delusions. Or, maybe I had somehow fallen into an
alternative reality...
"I... You... Can't believe... Must be imagining... Scully!"
Great. Just fucking wonderful. The woman had reduced me to near-speechless
idiocy. And was laughing at me.
"Alex." chuckle "Calm down. I'm only teasing." chuckle "You're too easy.
And so cute when you blush." snicker
"I AM NOT CUTE. And," I continued, defending my masculinity, "I never blush."
Reaching across the table, she patted my hand. "Of course you're not," she
soothed, "and, of course you don't."
Sarcastic bitch!
I sighed and sipped my coffee. In a very dignified way.
Laughter under control, Scully said, "Don't think you've distracted me, Alex.
I want to hear about last night. Who was on top? Is Walter as good in bed as
I've always imagined he'd be? Oh, and make it Dana, would you? Bad enough
that my husband still calls me 'Scully', I don't need my friends calling me by
my last name."
"Scul—um, Dana... this whole 'friend' thing is seriously freaking me out here."
"Get used to it, Alex. You're stuck with me now." Smiling gently, she reached
out and touched my hand again. "We're going to be great friends, you and I.
Now, on with the dirt. Who was on top?"
Groaning, I lowered my head. "First time, I was. Second time, he was," I told
the tabletop.
"You did it twice? Wow! I can't even remember the last time Mulder and I
had the time or energy for twice in one night."
"Dana, I really don't think I'm ready to hear about that. Give me a little
time, okay?"
"Fine," she agreed easily. "We'll work up to it. For now, we'll concentrate
on yours."
The woman is shameless and unstoppable when she wants information. I learned
that lesson—and learned it well—that morning. Inexorably, she pulled every
detail of my night with Walter out of me during the ensuing hour. Well, okay,
not every detail. But enough to make her smile in an alarming sappy manner.
Satisfied that I'd told her everything, she turned her attention to another
subject: Dogs, or rather, puppies and the need for two in mine and Walter's
home.
I didn't bother to protest or argue. I know when I'm beat. She dragged me
downstairs and lectured me on the joys of dogs. Insisted that I play with the
puppies. Assured me that Lucy wouldn't mind if I did so.
Eventually, I had to admit that they were cute little devils.
"You'll break the children's hearts if you don't take them," she told me. "It
was their idea, you know. They really want you and Walt to adopt the
pups."
The children's idea, my ass! I knew full well exactly whose idea this was. I
also knew that we didn't stand a chance. Not against this woman. Walter and I
were doomed to become dog owners.
Walter: Lucy and the waterbed
Mulder actually noticed it first. He turned up at the house one afternoon,
sans Scully and children for once, and seemed inordinately relieved to find
that Alex was downtown, busily setting up his office. After going on at great
length on the subject of the brilliance of all four of their kids, he moved on
to the subject of recent UFO sightings, then some damned creature he'd read
about in the National Enquirer.
I listened as patiently as possible for about an hour as he rambled on and on.
Finally, feeling the beginnings of a 'Mulder headache', I pinned him with my
best AD stare. "Mulder," I interrupted. Rudely, I admit. "This walk down
memory lane has been lovely. Though why you think I've forgotten how you can
drive me absolutely insane with your wild theories and improbable stories is
beyond me." I shook my head, removed my glasses and rubbed at my eyes, then
pinned him with THAT stare again. "Now... Tell me why you're here. No more
bullshit, just lay it on me."
Hell, I could take it. I'd been a Marine. I'd been his supervisor for years.
Whatever was on his mind, I felt sure I would handle it like a man.
He cleared his throat. He shuffled his feet. Worst of all, he avoided my eyes.
My ulcer—my Mulder-induced ulcer—made its presence known for the first time
in seven years.
"I was just wondering," he began in an oh-so casual voice, "if you'd noticed..."
I growled. GodDAMN, this man could push all of my buttons. Even after so many
years, he hadn't lost his touch. "Mulderrr."
"Okay, okay." He started pacing.
My bad feeling got worse.
"AlexandScullyhavebeenspendingtimetogether."
Once I'd deciphered his words, I decided I must have misunderstood. I reran
the words through my mind. They remained the same. After staring at him for a
moment, I chuckled.
"Mulder, you know as well as I that Alex is gay. Not only that, but Scully
would never even consider—"
"Nononono. I know it's not that. But Walter... they've been Spending Time
Together. Meeting for coffee. Alone."
Oh. I finally caught on. Realized—and understood—his concern. Scully had
proved to have an unsuspected, and rather disconcerting, ability to drive
Mulder to the edge with her teasing. The woman had a wicked sense of humor. I
think she was making him pay for all the years he'd directed his so-called wit
in her direction. And Alex... well, Mulder and I both knew full well that the
man was hell-on-wheels. Also had a wicked sense of humor. Was capable of
almost any damned thing.
Mulder and I were in deep shit. Whatever Alex and Scully were up to boded dire
consequences for us both.
With a deep sigh, I looked up at him. "Well, let's face it, whatever they're
plotting, we can't do anything but wait it out. Neither of them will spill the
beans. Best we can do is watch, wait—and be on our guard."
"She calls him Alex now. All of the time."
It suddenly dawned on me... "He's refers to her as 'Dana'. Ever since they
'bonded' over that damned baseball game."
Mulder sighed heavily and looked down, seeming to find the carpet quite
fascinating. "Uh... I... I guess I wanted us all to be... friends. And...
well, I've always felt guilty about the way I er, let the both of you down back
when we... when we were lovers. I guess I kind of threw you together—not
that I'm sorry about that. I'm really happy that you and Alex have each
other now. You're better together than either of you could have been with me."
Looking up at me, he shook his head. "Still, this 'bonding' between Alex and
Scully... I never took that into account."
Well. I have to admit that I was stunned by this outpouring. Not once in the
years since we'd been lovers had Mulder referred to our relationship. Yes, the
man did tend to run off at the mouth, but certainly never about personal stuff.
As I digested his words, I realized that he still saw the world as revolving
around him.
Some things never change, I guess.
Reaching out, I patted him awkwardly on one shoulder. "We make better friends
than lovers, Mulder. As for Alex and Dana..."
He looked at me mournfully. "We are fucked, Walt. In a major way."
I could only agree.
Suddenly, we'd acquired a standing appointment to get together with the Mulder
clan every Saturday morning. Whether we went to their house, or they came to
ours, the pattern remained the same. After coffee for the adults and juice for
the kids, Mulder and I found ourselves neatly maneuvered into entertaining the
children, while Alex and Scully cleaned up the kitchen, drank more coffee, and
'chatted'.
Both Mulder and I felt decidedly endangered.
As the weeks passed, I couldn't help but notice that Alex was becoming not only
accepting of the fact that he and I were going to adopt the puppies Mulder's
dog had birthed, he was excited at the prospect.
I, on the other hand, still had deep reservations on the subject. I'm not a
fool, though. I tentatively mentioned—just once—that perhaps we might be
best off to take one puppy. The resulting pout and the near-argument that
followed made me hastily drop the subject. I didn't bring it up again.
Then, the shopping started. Books on the care and feeding of puppies began to
appear around the house. More books, these on the proper way to train and
socialize puppies. An entire tome on the how's and Why's of training and
exercising herding breeds. Every evening, Alex devoted himself to reading up
on the subject. Once each book was finished (he devoured them at an alarming
rate), it turned up on my desk, my bedside table, or, on the coffee table.
"I've raised dogs," I told him the first time he eagerly asked if I'd started
in on my puppy-reading.
After a half-hour lecture on the importance of 'doing this right', I gave in
and started reading the damned books. What the hell, right? It made Alex
happy. Which made for a happy me. A happy Alex, it turned out, was a horny
Alex.
Dog toys slowly filled the basket he'd purchased to hold said items. Pull
toys. Chew toys. Squeaky toys. Educational toys—who knew there were
edu-fucking-cational toys for dogs? He bought beds, bowls, collars, leashes,
and crates. Which, he informed me with utmost sincerity, were absolutely
necessary for the feeling of security they'd provide for the pups.
Why he felt in necessary to buy the largest damned crates available, I did not
ask. One took up at least half of the kitchen. The second took up a fourth of
the living room. And the third—yes, he bought three crates—took up
approximately one third of our bedroom.
Sure, it was cute. His excited anticipation of first-time dog ownership. A
little sad, too. Such a little thing. A piece of normalcy he'd apparently
missed out on during his youth.
It was also more than a little frightening. If this 'dog thing' didn't go
well... I did not look forward to the possibilities inherent in that
scenario.
Scully, damn her eyes, had one hell of a lot to answer for. If Alex ended up
hurt or disappointed by this experience, I would kill her.
Their meetings continued.
He found new books to study.
More and more dog paraphernalia appeared around the house.
And the beat went on.
I, being the mean-hearted type that I am, chose not to enlighten Mulder. He'd
have only laughed on discovering that the great secret was the fact that Alex
and I were soon to be dog owners. That would've forced me to kill him. Which
would have pissed off Scully. And pissed off Alex in turn.
On Thanksgiving, nothing would do but that we have Mulder, Scully, and the
demon children, come to our house for dinner. Alex cooked for two days. He
cleaned. He polished. He showed a domestic side that I'd never suspected
might lurk within him...
They showed up right on time. The kids immediately started fainting with
hunger. Luckily, Alex had foreseen this—probably warned by Scully—and was
prepared. We ate the meal, and I have to admit it was outstanding. Even the
antics of the children couldn't ruin that meal for me.
When dinner was finished, Mulder and I offered to do the clean-up.
"Absolutely not," Scully told us in no uncertain terms. "You two entertain the
kids. Alex and I will take care of this mess."
Yeah, right. Stick us with the kids while you brainwash my lover even more.
Yes, I was bitter. Can you blame me?
Mulder produced a copy of that morning's Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. As
luck would have it, the kids were fascinated. Riveted to the television.
Relieved, we two adults collapsed in a heap on the couch, and prepared to doze
off our meal.
I thought it was a dream at first. Seemed the only answer. No way could
that raucous noise be coming from my kitchen—from Alex and Scully.
I opened my eyes.
The sounds continued.
"Um... Walter?"
Uh oh. Mulder's voice. He sounded as confused and disbelieving as I felt.
"This is not good, Walter," he informed me.
I chose not to reply.
Together, we rose to our feet. Turned and made our way slowly into the
kitchen. Froze when we entered the room, mouths hanging open in stunned
amazement. We stared. And stared some more.
They were laughing, you see, Alex and his new best pal, Dana. Actually,
laughing doesn't really cover it. Their hilarity was so out of control that
tears ran down their faces and I feared they might fall off of their
chairs.
I'd never seen anything quite like it in my life. Sure, I'd seen Scully laugh,
in her dignified and lady-like way. Alex had smiled on several occasions since
moving in with me. He'd chuckled once or twice. I'd even teased the odd
giggle out of him in bed.
But this... this was... DAMN!
Finally gathering myself, I crossed my arms over my chest, stared at them, and
asked—very politely—if they might not care to share the joke.
They laughed harder. For several minutes. Mulder—that traitor—was no help
whatsoever.
After more than a few deep breaths, they almost got their laughter under
control.
"Lu-Lu-Lucy—" Alex sputtered.
"Waterbed," Scully contributed.
And they were off again.
"What the hell...?" I turned and glared at Mulder. "This making any sense to
you?"
"Unfortunately, yes." He poked me in the side with one elbow. "C'mon, these
two are obviously beyond coherency. Let's go back to the living room and I'll
fill you in."
Gales of laughter followed us as we departed the scene.
We returned to our seats. Mulder sighed deeply.
"So, give," I demanded gruffly. "What the—um, what is so da—darned
amusing?"
"It's that dog of ours. You know we got her from a friend of Scully's?"
I frowned. "No, actually, I did not know that. Are such details germane to
the situation?"
"Yes. Her former owner let her sleep at the foot of her bed."
"And this matters because...?"
"You're aware that she had puppies two days after we got her?"
"Yes, Mulder. I know about the puppies."
I could feel my blood pressure climbing as I had to pry the story from him word
by word.
"A couple of weeks ago, Lucy decided it was time to start weaning them."
"Mulder. I. Am. Going. To. Strangle. You. If. You. Don't. Just. TELL. Me. The.
Story."
The threat worked. For once.
"Okay, okay! Lucy came up and jumped into our bed the one night. Apparently,
she'd never been on a waterbed. We'd only gotten her two days before the pups
were born." He frowned. "She spent the first nights here in the whelping pen
Scully made for her in the basement. Unfortunately, Lucy figured out how to get
past the barrier. She knocked over a basket of clean laundry and gave birth on
top of the clothes." A grimace. "You wouldn't believe how messy birth is. A
couple of my favorite shirts got ruined. Blood, fluids, you know... It was
worse when Scully had the kids, though. Three or four times the amount of
blood and fluid, plus the episiotomies—"
Now, I knew all about Mulder's tendency to wander off on tangents. He'd
certainly done it often enough back when he worked for me. And, most of his
reports had involved something gross. Certainly my time in Vietnam and the
years I'd spent in the FBI had given me more of an immunity to blood and guts
than the average man.
But—
"Mulder!" I snapped. "The waterbed." A horrifying thought occurred. "This
story doesn't involve any bodily fluids, does it?"
"Oh! No," he assured me. "No fluids. Okay, so, she's on the bed, right?
Well when the mattress moved, she froze. The look on her face was, I have to
admit, funny. She did, eventually, settle down, but then, Scully started
teasing her. Making little movements, causing waves, you know? Lucy went
nuts. Growled at the waves, bit at them, kept trying to catch them. Then she
jumped down and started searching all around the bed for whatever creature she
imagined was crawling around under the covers."
I waited for the punch line. Mulder shrugged. "That's it?" I asked him
incredulously.
"Yep."
Now, maybe it was just me, but I was damned if I could see just what was so
hilarious about that. Mildly amusing, yes. But,
drop-to-the-floor-roll-around-in-tears funny?
I just couldn't see it.
"Ummm, they did tell you that you and Alex are scheduled to pick up your
puppies tomorrow... Didn't they?"
Suddenly, I needed aspirin and anti-acids. Lots and lots of each.
Waterbed story courtesy of Cash.
Notes: 1) No, I don't deal with The Arm in this series—at least no more than I
absolutely must. Been there, done that, got the one-armed T-shirt.
Part One
Can't Regret
t was inevitable. I knew that from the very beginning. Still, that knowledge
never could completely kill that kernel of hope that lay deep within some
hidden recess of my heart.
Marvin Hamlisch and Edward Kleban
The sweetness and the sorrow.
Wish me luck, the same to you.
But I can't regret
What I did for love
What I did for love
The gift was ours to borrow.
It's as if we always knew,
And I won't forget what I did for love,
What I did for love
Love is never gone.
As we travel on,
Love's what we'll remember.
And point me toward tomorrow.
We did what we had to do.
Won't forget, can't regret
What I did for love
What I did for love
What I did for love
As we travel on,
Love's what we'll remember.
And point me toward tomorrow.
We did what we had to do.
Won't forget, can't regret
What I did for love
What I did for love
What I did for love
Toward Tomorrow
Toward Tomorrow
Date: 09/22/2009
From: wsskinner@earthlink.com
To: Alyosha@Hotmail.com
Date: 09/22/2009
From: Alyosha@Hotmail.com
To: wsskinner@earthlink.com
Date: 09/22/2009
From: wsskinner@earthlink.com
To: Alyosha@Hotmail.com
Date: 09/22/2009
From: Alyosha@Hotmail.com
To: wsskinner@earthlink.com
The Door We Never Opened
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose garden
—TS Eliot
—Four Quartets. Burnt Norton, pt 1
The Great Apartment Hunt
Bonding, Seduction, Sex, Love, Friendship, and Truth
And Copper. She's gone now—but will never be forgotten.
Copper's antics will turn up in another story. She was quite the character,
methinks.
Thanks, Cash!
2) The Indians won that game. In fact, they won the series. What the hell...
they won the pennant that year! Hey, it is fiction!
