SquidgeWorld Archive

Stoli
by Satina
http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/xtasy

It's a wonder I didn't submerge the manilla envelope in water the minute it was dropped on my desk. It's probably a sign of my depression that I didn't. Instead, I turned it over in my hands a few times, sighed at the lack of a return address, then decided I'd open it at home. Scully had gotten so tired of my little personal tangents, and I figured this was going to be one of them. So I decided to do her the courtesy of leaving my new red herring for unveiling in my apartment rather than the office.

I'm a very curious person and not really good at delayed gratification, either, so it was hard not to think about the small package in my coat pocket as I went through the rest of my day. When I got home, I didn't even get a drink before getting settled in on my couch to open it.

I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. Except I'm Jewish. I tore the envelope open, my heart beating fast. It might have been fear. I mean, I really didn't know if it was something I needed to be afraid of. It could have been. But I think it's just that whole 'unknown' thing. I can't get enough.

Truthfully, I was relieved to feel something for a change, if only fear. I was tired of walking through my days asleep. It's as if my mind had decided to just quit taking a stand. First I believed in aliens, and nobody else did, and Scully made me feel like I was crazy, then I didn't believe in aliens and Scully did and she made me feel like I was crazy. Then I met an alien. Sort of. Although I can't remember it. So now I think my fevered brain just wants to not give a shit for a while. I hope it's just for a while, because I don't like this lack of passion.

I gently slid the envelope's contents out into my palm. It fit there nicely. It was about the size of two packs of cigarettes and heavier. And it was wrapped in a deep red wrapping paper. Again, no card, no indication as to who it might be from. I stared at it stupidly for a minute before remembering that it was Valentine's Day. My heart sped up just a little bit more. I didn't let myself believe it was going to be something innocuous, but I couldn't stop myself from hoping it...just a little.

If it wasn't, I wouldn't have been upset or anything. Like I said, I'd had a hard time feeling anything for several weeks. I was kind of surprised at my little flicker of hope, actually. I wanted it to be a valentine first, an x-file second. Maybe I was realizing that the kind of passion I was missing wasn't the kind to be found in the back of a filing cabinet.

Either way, I'd drawn the moment out as long as I could, so started tugging away the wrapping to unveil my gift.

My eyes narrowed as I caught sight of the label. "Stolichnaya" it said. "Imported from Russia" "Russian Vodka" and finally, clearing things up quite a bit more, "Finest Swiss liqueur chocolate with Stolichnaya vodka syrup centre"

Yum.

And as you can imagine, one person came immediately to mind. I mean, how many Russians are in my life? And of those, how many have a ridiculous addiction to expensive chocolate?

Alex Krycek was sending me a valentine.

Damn.

I turned the small, gold-leafed, heavy box over and over in my hands, letting all my thoughts and feelings just kind of wash through me, giving them only part-attention. Then when I felt like they were through, I went back and pulled each one out to examine it.

I was surprised to find that the very first feeling, rather than the knee-jerk hatred and anger I'm used to, was a kind of melancholy. I entertained visions of a young, bright, glowing Alex Krycek licking fine Swiss chocolate from the corners of his mouth with his little pink tongue. I never let him see the smiles that inspired. He'd told me that there was nothing like Swiss chocolate. He wouldn't even look twice at a Hershey bar, but many a stakeout was spent with smell of the good stuff wafting around in the Taurus.

Everything else he'd told me might have been a lie, but there was no doubt that he had a major jones for good chocolate.

Where had the anger gone? Well, I could guess. It wasn't just some freaky, unexplained disappearance. What it really felt like was that the hate and the anger just didn't have enough steam behind them to keep going. Like someone had thrown a wet blanket over them, bringing them to their slow, hissing demise. Someone. Like maybe Krycek.

He dropped in on me several weeks ago and gave me the location of a real, live alien. He kissed me and gave me his gun. It was enough to put me on my ass if I hadn't already been there. After he left me there, a trace of his saliva still cooling on my cheek, I just felt the weirdest leaching out of all of my old feelings. I didn't hate him anymore. I couldn't. And that really worried me. I even hated myself a little for being naive enough to quit hating him.

He disappeared, so I didn't get the chance to tell him how his tip had panned out. Not that I really knew, myself, since they'd wiped that memory from my mind. But since that night, I'd been growing increasingly angry with myself. Because I was wanting to trust him again in spite of myself.

I just wanted throw myself up against a wall and throttle myself, screaming, "You stupid idiot! What does someone have to do before you give it up? He's never going to be worthy of your trust! Or anything else! So knock it the fuck off!" But schizophrenia was never one of my gifts, so I couldn't allow myself the fun of my delusion. I could only feel the warring factions in my head yelling at one another and shaking their fists in the air. And no, multiple personality disorder isn't one of my gifts, either. I just have a very vivid imagination.

So I sat there, turning the chocolate over and over in my hand, and one of the factions began smiling smugly at the other one. Was this a piece of evidence to support a case I've been wanting to build? And if so, isn't that funny? I'd hoped it was a valentine rather than a new mystery to solve, and here it turns out to be both.

Of course the other faction was telling me to look for tiny puncture holes in the box, whispering that the chocolate might be doctored above and beyond the Stoli. But as I held the red and white and gold box up to the light, I realized that faction two was acting even more insane than the other one, so I put the box back down in my lap.

It's all about the vulnerability, faction one exclaimed. He showed it even showing up at your place! He certainly showed it when he kissed you, then he showed it again when he handed you his gun. And now, he's showing more...in fact, if you think about it, he's showing it *all* by giving you a gift that says so many things at once. It says he's thinking about you. It says he wants more than just a sometimes working relationship with you. It says he wants you to know it's him. Russian vodka chocolates. How much more Alex Krycek can a gift get? And then finally, it says one more thing. Something you really never thought you'd hear him say.

Alex Krycek wants you to be his valentine.

I found my throat closing up at the thought. My traitorous, naive, 'I wanna believe' heart was pounding, my breaths coming in shuddering pants. With a cold, stark fear, I realized my eyes were welling with tears.

I wanted so badly to just...believe.

And then, my heart swelled again when I realized that for the first time in a long time...since that night, really...I was feeling something passionately. But it wasn't anger, and it wasn't hate, and it wasn't really even a fascination with the unknown. I passionately wanted to believe that Alex Krycek...God, could I even say it to myself? I wanted to believe that Alex Krycek...loved me.

Did I love him? God, I wanted to. I had wanted to for so, so long. That second faction of mine had won for a very long time, though, sneering at the other one, calling up all the evidence to support the fact that Krycek was about as unlovable as any human could be. I had gotten very close to letting faction one win way back in the beginning, before the real evidence had amassed, when only my paranoia was arming the other side. He hadn't known that, of course. My walls are high. And thick. And solid. But when he wasn't looking, I'd peer at him over the top of them and wish I had the courage to take down some bricks.

It hurt so much when I was right. Right not to let myself trust him. Right not to let myself love him. Right not to let myself want to be loved by him. Sometimes I just really, really, really want to be wrong.

I looked at the box in my hands, blinking away the unbidden, unexpected tears blurring my vision. Maybe I am wrong, I thought. Or right, depending on how you look at it and which faction you're talking to. Maybe I can stop hating myself for wanting him to love me. For wanting to let myself love him.

I was so fucking tired that I really didn't care anymore whether he was gonna spit on me and turn his back or not. His exit already hurt deep down in a permanent way. It couldn't possibly get any worse. In fact, in reality, a clean cut would probably get rid of a lot of the arguing in my head. Faction two could claim victory and lay waste to faction one once and for all, thus letting me get on with my life.

I made a decision and stood.

I had a phone number. A number I'd never known whether to use or not. But I could never really stand to let myself get rid of it, either, so I'd tucked it into the back of my wallet under some old department store receipts and let its presence slip my mind.

Only it hadn't. I picked up my phone and watched my fingers tremble as I punched in the numbers slowly and carefully. It took some convincing, and I'm sure the person on the other end of the line probably wondered at the sound of my voice. I'm usually kind of an ass on the phone, demanding and impatient, eager to shake the truth out of the next imbecile that steps out in front of me. Tonight I imagine that my uncharacteristic quiet had done me no favors in convincing the person answering the phone that I was who I said I was. But finally, finally, the man left and after a pause, the call was received.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, it's me."

"This is highly irregular." The cultured British voice belied worry and even some irritation.

"I know, sir. I need something from you. You offered me a deal once."

There was silence on the other end of the line. What seemed like a million years ago, this man had offered me Krycek in exchange for information. I had given him some information, but had quickly realized he didn't have Krycek to give. I'd been bitterly disappointed then, and I hoped that I was deducing correctly now. Krycek had said he was sent by men who knew that resistance was in our grasp. This man seemed the best candidate. I waited.

"What do you have to offer me in exchange, Agent Mulder?"

That was the hard part. Everything I knew, I knew they knew already. But there was one thing that I guessed that maybe, *maybe* he wanted to see. After all, he's the one who'd thrown us together again after all that time.

"Partnership."

"Excuse me?"

I smiled at the unguarded surprise. "I've come to some decisions, sir. You probably think I'm a conceited imbecile, the way I've ignored or even rebuffed your attempts to pull me in and give me access. Well, I'm tired of rebuffing. I'm ready to deal."

There was quiet on the line for a minute, and I was actually grateful, because that meant he was taking me seriously. Finally, he spoke.

"If indeed you are offering your partership to our little...faction," I grinned at the unintentionally perfect word. "Then you and I want the exact same thing, Agent Mulder."

"You want Krycek and me to work together." God, my heart was in my throat as I even said the words. I couldn't breathe.

"I think that would be the smartest course of action to take at this time, yes," he replied.

I swallowed and took several deep breaths, trying unsuccessfully to steady my voice. It came out hoarse and wavering. "Tell me how I can find him. Please."

Silence again. I thought for a moment and continued. "I think it's best he doesn't know I'm coming, sir. He's liable to run. He doesn't trust me, and he won't believe you when you tell him I've decided to partner with him."

"I think you're right about that," said the man firmly. "He has reason to be concerned, Agent Mulder. The first time we offered you Mr. Krycek, it was so that you could kill him in revenge for the death of your father."

His voice was so calm and assured. And he was right, of course, which only made it more irritating and humbling. "Yes, I know," I said quietly. "A lot of things have changed since then."

"Have they." He didn't ask it as a question. "What assurance do I have that you aren't going to use the information I give you to take out our very best operative? He's absolutely essential to the resistance, and his loss would be fatally crippling."

I felt myself become light-headed, knowing the veracity of his words and hating myself for never having been open enough to hear them before. Ironically, I was the one being forced to prove my trustworthiness, having nothing adequate to the task. Krycek had always had more than that when he'd come to me, and look at how he'd been received.

"I don't know what to say, sir. I don't want to hurt him. I lo--" I stopped, horrified, practically choking as I tried to figure out how faction one had gotten total control over my speech center. I recovered quickly. "I won't hurt him," I said weakly.

"I believe you, Agent Mulder," the gentleman replied slowly.

He'd heard my slip, I'm sure. I could hear the amusement in his voice. I decided that maybe faction one had had the right idea and had maybe saved us a lot of time. Me, I mean. Saved me a lot of time.

He gave me the address and told me that Krycek was there now but scheduled to leave the country in two days. If I was going to make my approach, I'd better be quick. I planned to be.

I thanked him and hung up, then went into my bedroom to change.

.............................

I stood outside the door of his apartment fingering the small, solid box in my pocket. I still hadn't opened it to taste the gift within. I thought we should share it. At first, I wondered if maybe I was being incredibly stupid, just knocking on his door and expecting not to get shot. But then I stopped listening to faction two and relied on the rational arguments of faction one, and admitted to myself that Krycek had never once, in all the time I'd known him, made any direct attempt to hurt me. I readied myself for the gun I knew would be shoved in my face and knocked.

I saw the light dim behind the peep hole and made a note to myself to suggest he get a camera for his new place instead, because you make yourself rather vulnerable when you block the light, letting the visitor know you're inside. On the tails of that, I realized he'd seen me and the door wasn't open yet. I resisted the urge to speak or knock again, giving him his space.

The door flew open quickly and I stared down the barrel of a gun.

"Mulder."

"Hey, Krycek." I watched his lashes flutter as he blinked rapidly, then watched the lines by his eyes deepen as he squinted, trying to size up the situation. Krycek didn't have laugh lines. His were all worry lines. I couldn't take my gaze away, tracing over and over the lines on his face, feeling my throat open, my heart beating freely though wildly beneath my ribs. With a start, I realized he was very uncomfortable with my blatant appraisal.

"Can I come in?"

He blinked again. It made him look so...vulnerable. And it called attention to his eyes, which, notwithstanding his hard, graceful body, really are his best feature. Well, that and his voice. That gets me instantly hard. Especially when it says my name. So you can imagine what his nervous greeting had done to me already. I tried to let him see some of that. The need behind my eyes. I poured it out for him with a deep sigh. He stepped back, waving me in with his gun, eyes narrow with suspicion.

I walked in past him, letting myself really breathe him in for the first time in a long, long time. Not fighting my body's reaction, the way I just wanted to inhale and close my eyes, awash in his scent. I'd fought so many things for so long. What a waste of energy. No more.

He didn't take the gun off me as he turned his body and used his false hand to close the door quickly. His gunarm didn't even tremble, and I evied him that control, because my own body was a panting, humming, sweaty wreck already. Ignoring the gun completely because I knew it didn't factor into our equation at all, I stepped in closer to him, holding my hands out slightly to show my harmlessness. He jerked back, blinking again.

"You don't need that," I said softly, giving the barrel a glance. "I'm not here to hurt you." He started to open his mouth to speak, and as much as I looked forward to hearing his voice, I didn't want to listen to his refusal to trust, or his fear, or even his anger. I wanted to talk, instead. I stepped in closer, and his face twisted into a scared frown as I backed him slowly up against his own front door. I smiled at how useless the weapon between us really was, but allowed that it probably made him feel safer.

"Krycek," I said and felt stupid. "Alex," I amended. His eyes went wide at that, the whites glowing like a panicked animal's. I stepped in closer, and he was forced to either lower the gun or press it into my chest. He chose to lower it. His hand was trembling just slightly, now. I sighed with relief.

"I'm here because I lost an argument with myself. Or won one, depending on your take on the situation." He stared at me. I made my voice soft, my eyes softer, and continued. "I've wanted to trust you for so long, Alex," I went on. "And I've accumulated so much evidence over the years that I couldn't." His face fell a bit at that, and I was stunned to realize he was letting me see his emotions play over his face. He could have shut me out so easily. He's better at it than I am, and I'm damned good. But he was letting me see the unhappiness there as he looked down at my chest, now unable to meet my eyes.

"I've wanted to believe," I said, cringing at the overused phrase but knowing it was a perfect fit. "In so many things. And one of the things that I just haven't been able to stop trying to believe in is you." He swallowed hard and still said nothing, and I watched the tiny beads of sweat form on his brow. I wanted to reach up and stroke away the hair on his brow, but I knew he'd never be able to allow that. Not yet. So I went on.

"I wanted to believe in more than just your trustworthiness, Alex," I said, breathing steadily, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. I actually visualized the small box of chocolate in my pocket, the overwhelming evidence he'd courageously given me, and it gave me enough strength to say what I said next.

"In fact, I think there was something I wanted to believe even *more* than I wanted to believe you were trustworthy," I said, stalling the words that were lodged in my throat and stealing my breath. He was breathing hard now, making little attempt to hide it, his lips parted in perpetual shock as I
poured this all out to him, not letting him speak. The gun hung limply in his hand at his side, and I could tell he was using the door for support, leaning in against it slightly. Leaning away from me. It hurt, but it made it easier on me to say what came next. I wanted to draw him to me.

"I wanted to believe that you liked me, Alex," I hedged, studying his eyes, cheating by basing my next words on his reaction. To my utter shock, he blinked again, and this time there was a faint sparkle there. A wet sparkle. He bit his lip, holding back his own words. I was grateful even though I wanted him to be able to tell me, because I still had one more thing to say. Well, possibly two, again, depending on the outcome of the first.

"More than that," I said, stepping in so close that our chests touched on each inhalation. "I wanted to believe...that you could love me, Alex." I stumbled over the word as if it were a road with a whole group of boulders blocking it, and blinked my own burning away.

Just as I was going to speak again, I watched a fat tear break loose from the confinement of those long, dark lashes and roll down Alex's cheek. I didn't even think about it, I just lifted my hand, brushing his cheek with my thumb, stunned by how he didn't flinch away this time. I saw the tiny tear's track become a swollen, wet river as I leaned in and pressed my lips against his with a sigh.

He immediately gasped a shaky sob into my mouth, and I swallowed it, pulling him closer, wrapping my left arm around his neck and shoulders to pull his face in hard against mine. I slid my right arm around his waist to pull his lower body into the same tight proximity.

As our crotches bumped up together, we both gasped into the kiss and it deepened, both of us grunting and whimpering our need into one another's mouths and greedily swallowing down the emotions of the other. I felt his arm come up around me, still hesitant even after I'd taken the first step and kissed him, and it hurt me to know that even now, he was afraid to trust me. I pulled my mouth away, gasping, feeling his heart thudding against mine.

"I didn't want to let myself love you, Alex," I said, and I realized it sounded like a sob. I was so undone by the rawness that I cried harder, quickly hiding my face in his neck, shaking against him as I felt myself break.

"Shhhhhh...." he said shakily, the first sound I'd heard from him aside from the grunts and whimpers, since he'd greeted me with my name on his lips. "Oh God, Mulder... Mulder... Mulder...Jesus..." He brought his hand up and stroked it through my hair over and over, and it felt so good I just shivered and melted into him, holding him so tightly I wondered if he could breathe okay. He began placing soft kisses on my hair, humming and stroking his hand through it, and I felt the tears begin to subside.

"Mulder...Mulder...I can't believe you're here...that you're saying these things..."

"I know, " I croaked. "You don't have any reason to believe me." I raised my head from his shoulder, ashamed at the big wet spot I'd left on the fabric of his black dress shirt.

"I do, though," he said softly, bringing his hand from my hair to my face, resting his palm against my cheek. "Because you're the most honest man I've ever met. The *only* honest man I've ever met. I trust you, Mulder. If you say it, I know it to be true."

I felt weak at his blind faith in me, but closed my eyes in relief and gratitude. I felt his thumb brush gently over my lashes. I opened my eyes and lost my ability to breathe. He was staring at me with such intensity that it literally paralyzed me like a strong magnet holding me in place. I actually startled a bit when he spoke again.

"I never believed that you'd want my love, Mulder," he said, his eyes filling with tears again. I used my own thumb to brush them away as they fell, and his eyes closed when I touched him. "But you always had it," he finished, his voice a low rasp. "It was always yours."

My lips parted on a soft gasp. "Alex," I breathed. "I do love you. I know it, now. That's why it hurt so much. I wasn't angry, the way I should have been. I was hurt. So deeply hurt." He looked away, but I pulled his face back to mine. "I'm not saying this to hurt you, Alex. I just want you to know the truth. The truth is my love for you, and how badly I wanted you to love me back." We looked into each other's eyes, and like a mutual decision, our lips came together again, this time more gently but firmly, as if our mouths were sealing a pact between us. We kissed, our lips and tongues getting to know one another intimately for a long, long time. When it felt like the signing of the peace treaty was complete, the kiss broke softly and I smiled. I felt weightless as he smiled back, the first time I'd ever, *ever* seen that sweet, open, giving expression on his beautiful face.

"Do you have a bed in this place?" I asked, my voice hoarse with tears and low with need. The brilliant smile in front of me got bigger, and the eyes got much darker as he nodded. "Let's move these negotiations to a more secure location," I said, brushing my lips against his as I spoke. I
stepped back to give him room to move, and he caught my hand with his as he passed. I turned and walked hand in hand with him to the bedroom, and I knew the passion was back in my life.

..........................................

"Mulder? Mulder? If you're there, pick u.," Scully's voice echoed through the empty apartment. "I decided I should tell you something. I hope you're not mad. I just...wanted to do something fun for Valentine's Day. I thought maybe I could bring you out of that funk you were in...it was stupid...I thought maybe you'd think you had a secret admirer or something and that would cheer you up. I know, dumb. But that's why I sent you those chocolates. I'm sorry I didn't tell you when you got them at work. I really wanted to put a little excitement in your life, but then I felt bad about keeping something from you, so here I am, ruining the game, feeling like a fool. Well, anyway, happy Valentine's Day, Mulder, and I hope you're not angry at me. I'll see you in the office tomorrow."

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Happy Valentine's Day, everybody. Hope yours is as good as Stolichnaya Russian vodka-filled chocolates. Mmmmm.