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A New War #32:
Calm Before The Storm
by Lianne Burwell
January 2000
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"Are you telling us that this was all it took? A few computer commands 
and the aliens are stopped?" Michaels, a member of the Consortium's inner 
circle, raised his voice in disbelief.

Spender stubbed out his cigarette, frowning at the man. He was a fool, 
but considering his position, he was a very useful fool. "No, that is 
*not* what I am saying. It required very specific knowledge that one of 
the aliens implanted in the minds of the members of the Blackwood Project 
a decade ago. And before you ask, no, they did *not* know that it had 
been done. Apparently, the knowledge was not activated until they were 
literally in a position to use it."

"But why? What did she do it?"

"I suppose it would explain why they were so interested in getting 
Blackwood: To prevent this from happening," one of the others said 
thoughtfully, and Spender sighed.

While in the long run, only a handful of the Consortium elite had died in 
the alien trap the year before, unfortunately that handful had included 
some of the most powerful and intelligent of that elite. However, he 
refused to allow that to interfered with the Consortium's -- or more to 
the point, *his* -- long-term plans. This was merely a temporary setback.

"Enough!" he finally barked, interrupting the squabbling session that was 
well underway. "It doesn't matter how or why it happened, it did. Now we 
need to decide what *we* will do in response."

"What can we do?" one idiot asked. Spender resisted the urge to hit him.

"We still have the technology we've obtained from the aliens, as well as 
our various projects," he said, pointing out what should have been 
obvious. "Not to mention underlings at every level of the government and 
military. We are *not* without options.

"Now, let's discuss those options, shall we?"

* * * * *

During the escape, Mulder hadn't noticed how badly his feet were hurting, 
the adrenaline rush covering up the discomfort. It wasn't until they got 
into the van and he sat down for a while that they started to throb and 
ache. The anesthetic cream and bandages Scully had put on them helped, 
but even with Alex's support, he was limping badly as they entered the 
small, spartan bedroom. He was not going to be moving very fast for a few 
days, which meant he better clear things up with Alex. Running again was 
not an option.

Mulder sighed in relief as he sat down on the bed, noting that the 
mattress was firm, the way he liked it. Back home, he still slept on his 
couch rather than the waterbed that some idiot had installed in his 
bedroom while he was out on assignment. He still suspected the Lone 
Gunmen, despite their constant protests of innocence.

Mulder watched while Alex closed the door behind them and shrugged out of 
his jacket. His expression was closed, and Mulder found himself fidgeting 
nervously.

"I'm sorry," he finally said.

"Sorry? Sorry!?" Alex exploded. "Are you really?"

Mulder grimaced. "Well, maybe not. Scully's important to me, Alex. I'd 
probably do the same thing over again if I had to."

Alex tossed his leather jacket onto the dresser angrily, then spun to 
face him. "Damnit, Mulder, do you know how much that hurt? You promised 
you'd be right back and then you vanished. Kincaid had to tell me where 
you'd gone. Couldn't you at least have come and said goodbye?"

Mulder winced at the obvious hurt in the other man's voice. "There wasn't 
time," he said weakly. "Spender gave me a tight deadline to get to the 
airport." Alex glared at him. Mulder dropped his eyes. "All right, I was 
scared. I ran."

"Scared of me." Alex's voice was flat.

He shrugged. "More scared of how you make me feel. Every time I'm near 
you, I feel off-balance. Even when we were enemies -- hell, when you were 
eager young agent Krycek -- you always had me off-balance. It scares me. 
I needed to get away from you so that I could think."

"And turning yourself over to Spender was going to give you a chance to 
think?" Alex said in disbelief, amusement starting to filter into his 
voice. Mulder chuckled nervously. It did sound pretty stupid.

"All right, so did you think?"

"About us? Almost non-stop, between bouts of worry over Scully and what 
they were planning for her, me and everyone else."

"And what did you decide?" Alex asked, leaning back against the door. He 
was the picture of nonchalance, but Mulder could see the underlying 
tension. He wondered if anyone else would. He probably knew Alex better 
than anyone else in the world, just like Alex knew *him* better than 
anyone, even Scully.

"That somewhere along the line, you became a part of me that I didn't 
want to lose. I don't know if you can forgive me for taking off like 
that, but could you give me a second chance?"

Alex stared at him for a long moment, then moved forward slowly, stopping 
right in front of him. "Second chance and last chance," he said softly. 
"I won't let you run out on me again. If something like that happens 
again, come *talk* to me. We could have figured something out and gotten 
you to the airport in time. You're just damned lucky that Hammond had 
some damned good radar gear available to track you." Mulder was relieved 
to note that there was an assumption that he would have still gone, even 
if he *had* gone to talk Alex first.

"I will," he whispered, mesmerized by the clear green gaze. He could see 
everything in them and was reassured.

Alex's hand came up to caress his cheek, then the man leaned down and 
brushed a soft kiss against his lips. Mulder moaned softly and reached 
out to wrap his arms around the man's slim waist. "I dreamt about this," 
he whispered against Alex's lips. "Every time I shut my eyes, I saw your 
face, remembered how you felt against me. By the time you came, I was 
more scared that I'd never feel it again."

Alex pushed him back until he was lying on the bed. Mulder scooted until 
he was fully on the bed, then waited until Alex moved to cover him. "You 
dreamt of me, hmmm?" the assassin murmured with a wicked grin. "And what 
did I do in those dreams?"

"Everything," Mulder gasped as he felt something hard press against his 
groin, hot even through the layers of fabric separating them. He started 
pulling desperately at Alex's shirt, needing to feel the man's skin 
against him. All his blood was rushing to his groin, making thought 
difficult. He groaned as Alex started to rock against him. It had been so 
long since he'd gone to bed with anything besides his own hand for 
company, and it had never been another man, but it felt so damned *right*.

He finally succeeded in getting Alex's T-shirt up and over the man's 
head, and when Alex settled back down against him, he was surprised to 
find that Alex had managed to get his own shirt off without him noticing. 
Bare chest rubbed against bare chest, sending electric shocks along his 
nerves. He arched up into the sensation, barely noticing the hand busily 
pushing down his track pants and briefs.

Then the sensations went away and he opened his eyes, wanting to protest. 
What he saw stopped the words before they could come.

Alex had rolled off the bed and was stripping the rest of his clothes off 
as quickly as he could with one hand. His prosthetic arm hung limp, as if 
he couldn't summon enough control to use it. When he was naked, his cock 
almost slapping against his stomach in its eagerness, he then reached 
over and grabbed the waistband of Mulder's pants, now bunched around his 
knees, and pulled them down and yanked them off in one smooth motion.

Then he was back on top of Mulder and nothing stood between them. Mulder 
separated his legs to let Alex get between them, needing him closer. Alex 
started the rocking motion again, rubbing their cocks together in a 
friction that set off fireworks behind Mulder's eyelids. He wrapped his 
legs around the back of Alex's thighs, pulling him down harder. Their 
lips clashed and Alex's tongue thrust into his mouth, following the same 
rhythm as their hips. It was all so intense that Mulder couldn't stop 
himself. He arched upwards and froze, his head thrown back, and came in 
heavy spurts, the speed and volume inspired by long celibacy.

Shivering in reaction, he sank back down against the bedspread, Alex 
still on top of him. Against his still twitching groin, he could feel the 
heat and weight of the other man's erection.

"Doing everything is going to take a while," Alex said with a wicked 
grin. "Think you're up to it?"

Mulder moaned as his cock started to harden again. Alex's grin grew wider 
and he started to move again.

* * * * *

Kincaid grinned as the rhythmic thumping above their heads started again. 
He was glad to see -- or maybe that should be *hear* -- that the reunion 
was going well.

Well for Mulder and Krycek, that was. Over in the corner, Mulder's 
partner was scowling at a notebook she was scribbling furiously in. 
Before the rescue attempt at Spender's estate, he hadn't had the chance 
to meet the woman. All he had to go by were Krycek's comments -- highly 
unflattering -- and Mulder's -- probably overly-flattering.

The truth was no doubt somewhere in between. Considering the scene after 
they'd rescued her, when she'd nearly attacked Krycek with her bare 
hands, it was safe to say that the two were never going to be friends, 
even though they had one thing in common: Mulder. Instead, they behaved 
like two bad-tempered dogs fighting over the same bone, and Krycek had 
won.

However, the attractive red-head wasn't about to give up, going some of 
the things she'd been muttering to herself.

Out of the blue, the woman snarled and threw her pen across the room, 
barely missing him. Then she started, obviously having forgotten that 
she wasn't alone in the room. She glanced at him, her expression a 
combination of embarrassment and anger. Kincaid grinned back: He loved a 
woman with fire.

He picked the pen and gently tossed it back to her, then got up and 
headed to fill the kettle. He put it on the stove to boil, then turned to 
pull down a mug. "Tea?" he offered, twisting to smile invitingly at the 
woman.

Her jaw clenched and her eyes flashed. Finally, though, she relaxed a 
fraction. "Please."

Nodding, he pulled down a second mug, then grabbed a couple chamomile 
tea-bags from a drawer.

Technically, he should have offered a choice since they had several 
blends, one of the Hunters being a closeted tea-drinker, but he figured 
that the woman could use the calming effect.

About the time that the tea was ready, there was a shout and the noises 
overhead stopped again. Red glared at the ceiling and Kincaid had to 
swallow a snicker as he handed her the mug. "Careful, it's hot."

She took it gingerly and blew across the surface before sipping. The 
flavor, heat and steam acted in concert and she slumped back, the tension 
starting to drain. Kincaid took the seat across the table from her and 
leaned forward on his elbows, cradling the heated ceramic in both hands. 
"I take it you don't approve," he said, nodding towards the ceiling.

"No, I do *not* approve," she said frostily.

"Why not?"

She glared at him again. "He's a killer and a traitor."

Kincaid shrugged. "From what *I* understand, he's a double-agent who 
supplied you with very valuable information."

"He just did that to get into Mulder's pants," she said dismissively. He 
snorted.

"No one risks their lives for just a good lay. He also wouldn't be this 
protective of Mulder if that was all he wanted. No, there's more to Alex 
Krycek than self-serving hormones if you care to look."

"I don't," she said, staring at a spot on the wall behind him. He didn't 
let that deter him.

"In fact, he probably the best thing Mulder has going for him right now. 
Think about it," he said when her head jerked around to stare at him in 
disbelief. "Mulder's got a lot of enemies, from what I hear, and now 
there's a contract on his life. He needs someone with sufficient 'mean' 
to protect him. You have to admit, Alex certainly has that in spades."

"He'll get Mulder killed."

Kincaid laughed. "More likely it will be the other way around. After all, 
he's already lost an arm because of Mulder. And let's not forget, he took 
a bullet for the man in Colorado *before* they were lovers. No. Anyone 
who tries to hurt the man now is a fool." He hoped she got the hint in 
that.

"It doesn't change a thing," she spat. "Because of him, my sister is 
dead. Because of him, I was abducted. Because of *him*, I'll never have 
a child. It doesn't matter what he does, it will never change his past."

Kincaid sighed. Obviously the woman had made up her mind and wasn't going 
to allow anything to change it, not even pesky little details like facts. 
It made her a little less attractive.

Krycek better watch his back around this one.

* * * * *

Two days later, matters hadn't changed. Most of the Hunters had already 
left for their home-bases, leaving only Wolfling and Green behind. As 
soon as it was safe, Green would be heading north with Broots' daughter. 
Wolfling was sticking around out of curiosity, or so he said.

Meanwhile, Broots spent his time going through gigs of data, trying to 
find the information that they needed to locate Debi. Jarod alternated 
between helping him and distracting him. 

Alex and Mulder wandered down from the honeymoon suite where they'd spent 
most of that time, just in time for dinner. They sat down and both winced 
at the same time. Mulder's lips were swollen and slightly bruised and the 
bite marks on his neck were very obvious. Alex couldn't wipe the grin off 
his face. He knew that he was wearing the same sort of marks. He also 
wasn't leaning against the chair back. Mulder hadn't cut his nails during 
his captivity and Alex's back was now covered in scratches.

He felt fucking fantastic.

Food was placed in front of them and they both started to eat greedily, 
ignoring the knowing smirk from Kincaid and Jarod as well as the frosty 
glare from Scully. Silence reigned supreme in the small space. The longer 
it continued, the broader Alex's grin got. Idly, he wondered how high 
Scully's blood pressure was these days.

"Wolf, get in here! There's big trouble!"

The shout from the front room broke the slight tension in the room. The 
Canadian got to his feet and headed for the source of the shout. Curious, 
everyone else followed.

They found Green, Broots and Debbie sitting in the living room in front 
of an almost antique television set. Both the men had shocked expressions 
on their face.

On the screen was a shaky-looking anchor-woman. Behind her was a picture 
of the White House with the words "Presidential Shooting" written across 
it in red letters.

"I repeat, there has been a shooting at the White House. The Vice 
President is dead and the President has been rushed to hospital, in 
critical condition. Unconfirmed reports say that the gunman was a member 
of the President's Secret Service detail. We will bring you more details 
as we get them."

"Shit," Alex said, speaking the thought they were all having. "This is 
*not* good."

* * * * *

"The latest reports say that the President came through surgery alive, 
but is in critical condition and may not survive the night. It has been 
confirmed that the gunman was a twelve-year veteran of the Secret 
Service. He was shot down by his fellow agents within seconds of opening 
fire, but it was too late.

"We go live to the Capitol where Speaker of the House, Jerome Michaels, 
is about to hold a press conference."

The glass impacted the wall, right above the large screen television set 
into it, shattering into shards. The scotch it had contained dripped 
slowly down the wall, staining the image of Michaels, earnestly promising 
the American public that he would find and punish whoever was behind the 
assassination

There was, he claimed, now evidence linking Michael Assid, the gunman, to 
terrorist factions in the middle east. As a result, he was ordering the 
Secret Service to suspend operations pending a full-scale investigation. 
In the meantime, the military would be stepping into their role until 
they had answered questions about how they could have allowed a terrorist 
to infiltrate their ranks. As well, every member would be put through a 
thorough background check, looking for more traitors.

Of course, Spender knew that there was no plot. Michaels was the 
mastermind behind this. Evidence would certainly be found and blame would 
be laid, but the only people caught would be scapegoats who didn't know a 
thing.

"You damned *fool*!" Spender snarled at the screen.

This move confirmed the fears he'd had the moment he'd heard what 
Ironhorse and Blackwood had done: Without the alien threat/promise to 
unite them, the Consortium was starting to splinter.

Now Michaels and his supporters had made an obvious and precipitous move. 
What the hell did he think was going to happen, the country would fall at 
his feet? Now matter how well he'd covered himself, sooner or later 
someone would figure it out. Probably there were already investigators 
quietly taking a look at him as someone with a lot to gain. In essence, 
he *was* the President, for the time being.

Spender had his own plans, far more subtle, but now they were in 
jeopardy. The only way to protect those plans was to deal with Michaels; 
quickly, permanently and very, very publicly.

Several possibilities presented themselves, but one appealed the most. It 
would dove-tail nicely with his original ideas and would permanently 
weaken Michael's faction. But first, he needed a new set of pawns for the 
chess board.

He buzzed for his assistant and lit a cigarette while he waited for the 
young man.

"Yes, sir?"

Spender nodded, pleased at the speed with which the man had responded. 
"I'm activating the Sentinel Project, David," he said, and his assistant's 
eyes went wide with surprise. "Make the arrangements.

"Bring them in."


END A NEW WAR


Now, put away those sharp implements. It may be the end of the New War, 
since the alien threat has been dealt with, but it is far from the end of 
the story.

However, I need to do some outlining, as well as finish off a couple of 
other series and tackle some of the projects languishing untouched for 
far too long.

So, coming in a couple months: A New War Book 2: The Sentinel Project!