Daddy Dear

Alexandria - Mulder's apartment - Saturday 5:10 am

I fumble with the key to open the door. Entering the silent apartment, I curse at myself, hoping I didn't wake Fox. I'm tired by this third night in a row watching an empty dock. A fucking dock that remained empty for three nights! The tip was as dead as is my informant if I meet him now! Well, you can't win every time; I'm becoming philosophical, I guess.

Noiselessly, I undress in the living room before tiptoeing into the bedroom. Fox's quiet breathing tells me I didn't disturb him. At the same time I note that I should reinforce the security here. Anybody can break into this apartment when he's asleep - at least if I'm not here. *I* sleep like a cat - deep but alert, if you see what I mean?

Gently folding the sheet, I slip next to him and rest my head on my pillow. I watch his peaceful face, his silky eyelashes, his half-open mouth... He's so fucking sexy when he lets go... Okay, I need to sleep as much as him. Beddy-byes, Alexeï.

"Beautiful..."

"Hmmmmm?..."

I wake up slowly. A shy sun paint' gold strokes on the furniture and the walls. A warm, soft hand gently rubs my shoulder, travels down my arm, reaches my fingers to play with them. Fox is spooning me, one arm around my waist. So good. Sweet lips softly kiss the tender skin behind my ear, and the voice of my love breathes again, "beautiful... Did you sleep for long?"

"Don't know... What time is it?" I lift my right wrist to my eyes and Fox turns my watch for me to see. Past ten? "A few hours." I yawn.

"Then you should sleep a little more. Sorry I woke you up. You were so tempting, and I found I had something for you." I feel the *something* against my cleft, warm and big and pervasive.

"I'd like to taste it, you know?" I purr. Then I can't help yawning widely, causing Fox to laugh and voice some doubts about my good will.

"Lazy way?"

Oh yes, definitely... With an encouraging smile I stretch and turn on my stomach. I can't keep my eyes open, and I hear Fox chuckle against my neck. A tiny kiss on my shoulder, and I feel him rummaging under the pillow. His right hand joins his left one in front of me and I smell the lube's faint scent. I grin and push my buttocks into him.

"Shhh, coming. Let me do it. I'll take care of you..." Hey, I hope so. Promise...

His coated fingers enter me. I'm so sleepy that my whole body is fully relaxed, and in no time I'm ready for everything he can offer. Parting my cheeks he penetrates me with gentleness; a few strokes, and he's deep inside my loins. He takes hold of my cock which is hardening under his sollicitation, and he begins to make love to me, langorously but mercilessly.

His head reaches my prostate, making me whimper and grab at the pillow. "Goal?" he asks against my shoulder. He does the same thing over and over, and soon my dick answers as I shoot my load on his fingers. He squeezes me once before his hand reaches lower, under my testicles, rubbing to empty me till the last drop. "Alex, my love... So sweet..." His pounding increases in speed, and he crushes me under his weight as he shouts, loosing it deep inside my guts.

My purring turns into yawning, and I feel sleep overcoming me...

Alexandria - Mulder's apartment - 2:05 pm

Mulder bounces on the couch at the strike on the screen. He turns enthusiastically towards Alex, "Did you see that? This guy's..." He shuts up, seeing that his lover has fallen asleep again. Alex is resting comfortably on the leather, his head on a woollen cushion, one long leg stretched behind the Fed's back, a foot resting on the carpet. His right arm is crossed over his chest.

Mulder takes the remote and lowers the sound of the TV, calling himself names. Alex has been out for three nights, coming back at dawn, a little more tired every day, and this very morning, he'd fallen asleep beneath him as soon as he had come. Anyway the Russian had never been interested in baseball. Mulder often tried to explain the beauty of the game to his lover but his efforts remained fruitless. Despite all his goodwill, Alex couldn't just grasp the rules. Prefered hockey.

The agent drinks in the sight. Three weeks now, and he can't get enough of it. Alex still adheres to his tight black jeans - and Mulder isn't complaining about it. But today he has forsaken his usual tee-shirt for a cosy white and blue shirt that gives him a casual look. The dark hair is tousled, calling for a hand to smooth it. His impossibly long eyelashes are lowered on his high cheekbones, so finely moulded. His cute nose points with what could be impudence if it wasn't so perfect... And his lips are stretched in a faint smile, pink, slightly swollen, asking for devouring kisses. With a little sigh the younger man turns his head a little on the cushion, revealing an elvish, delicately crafted ear.

Mulder silently bends over the sleeping shape, fighting the urge to lean over it, to tear the simple shirt. He feels a surge of happiness and sadness together in his chest - happiness to own such a treasure, sadness to have lost it so many times. His heart squeezes at the innocent, young, confident face. Oh, yes, confident. Alex is a ruthless killer - he has been at least - and here he is, sound asleep, open to him, hiding nothing. And the Fed knows that when these wonderful lashes rise again, the deep green eyes will show only sincerity. Does he really deserve so much?

He raises his hand to caress the sweet lips but stops; Alex really needs to sleep. Tentatively he slides to the other side of the couch and lies down carefully, resting his head on his lover's crotch, taking care to avoid any sudden move. To his relief Alex doesn't wake up. So trusting! He who can strike as swiftly as a snake, who always stays on his guard - he accepts Mulder in his vulnerability with a mere sigh. Unconsciously the Russian's hand reaches for the chestnut hair and rests here.

Holding tears that threaten to spill over his cheeks, Mulder gently turns his attention back towards the screen, but inhaling his lover's scent is more addictive that the best game.

He slowly slips into a peaceful sleep.

"Whaaaaaa...?"

"Shhh!" I hiss. Somebody's behind this non-secured door, for God's sake! And my instinct tells me it isn't a friend. I disentangle myself from Fox who stares at me from between my legs, without understanding. I stand up, gesturing him to silence and draws the gun that never leaves my waistband. He's immediately alert, and I mouth an answer to his mute interrogation. 'Somebody. Outside.'

He nods and rises from the couch. We're moving to each side of the door when said *somebody* knocks courteously. Mulder glances at me and opens to our visitor whilst I cover him. He gasps and steps back in astonishment, letting Spender in. I pin the bastard against the wall, grasping his neck with my prosthetic and shoving the barrel of my gun against his temple as Mulder closes the door. "Kakogo, blyad', khuya tebe nado? Da ya te schas na khui yaitsa pootryvayu i v tvoyu, blyad', vonyuchuyu glotku ikh zasunu!"

The smoker doesn't seem in the least disturbed and answers me soothingly, "Potishe, *tovarisch*. Esli odin iz vas zakhochet pribegnut' k nasiliyu, drugomy pridyotsa derzhat' za eto otvet. Ty ved' uzhe znakom s laboratoriyami Sindikata, verno?"

I see that Mulder wonders at the exchange.

"Bud' dobr, Alexei, perevedi usloviya agentu Malderu."

I reluctantly face Fox. "He says that if one of us tries something against him, the other will have to pay the price. I know what he's talking about, F... Mulder ; he's not kidding." I let go of Smokey.

"Please," Spender says, indicating the couch. He puts a briefcase on the coffee table then draws out his eternal Morley pack to light one and takes the scene in. "I hope I didn't disturb you whilst you were, huh, training?" Unconsciously we stare at each other, panting and dishevelled.

Fox is the first to regain control and smirks. "Not at all, *Sir*," he asserts. "Did you come to watch the game with us?" He gestures towards the TV.

"Aaah no, thank you, Agent Mulder." Smokey draws up a chair and makes himself comfortable. "Please," he repeats. "Sit down. I'll try to make my speech as short as possible, though it does require some... oral precautions."

Dumbfounded, we sit down side by side with a hesitation. The silence is closing around all three of us like a palpable cloud. I put my Sig back into my waistband and pass a hand through my hair to lend myself countenance.

Under our double stare, Smokey crushes his cigarette into the visitor's ashtray and quietly lights another cancer-stick. How much nicotine can a scorpion absorb?

"I've come here to give you some information." Mulder sniffs. "About your family."

Fox and I look at each other, then at Spender. "Whose?" I utter.

The Smoker smiles a venomous grin. "This is exactly the point."

I don't understand, nor does Fox. We wait for more.

"You see, Agent Mulder, Alex didn't kill your father..."

"Stop with that crap!" Mulder shouts, half standing up. I put my hand on his arm to stop him.

"... because Bill Mulder *wasn't* your father. But you already know this, of course."

A long silence follows Spender's affirmation. Mulder grunts but doesn't answer.

"You're a worshipper of truth, Agent Mulder, so I always wondered why you didn't want to look at this obvious one. Your mother and I knew each other, and..."

"Fox, no!" I catch him before he can assault the old piece of shit. He fights against my grip but ends up on the couch by my side again.

"Come on, *Fox*, you know it. You know I'm your father."

Fox can't suppress a cry of pure pain, and for a split second I think he's going to swoon.

"Of course, there's nothing here as trivial as a, huh, ménage à trois. All this was part of a bigger plan. Your fathers and my partners had a clear vision of the future; your very existences are a mere detail in the whole scheme."

"Our fathers? Our existences?" I stammer, unable to make anything out of Spender's words.

"Yes, Alex. That's why I spoke of your family, in the singular. You're my second son."

This mutes me. Everything turns to black and white and flat, like a plain drawing. I try to breathe and think at the same time. I feel Fox trembling beside me, and this calls me back. "You're crazy! I came with my parents from Russia! I never heard of you when I was a child!" I try reasoning. "My mother has always been faithful to my father, of this I'm sure!" I look at Fox as if to excuse myself for not wanting my own mother to be a.. anything like his.

"I never said your mother was unfaithful to your father, Alex. She's the most honest woman I've ever known."

"Then what are you talking about???"

"I'm talking of an experiment, Alex. We needed several boys we could control from the start. From the *very* beginning, do you see? My personal relationship with Agent Mulder's mother gave us the opportunity to put it to the test. So Fox was my first-born..."

My love can't suppress a sob, and I must fight the urge to take him in my arms. It's enough for this slime to have seen us together! Though, strangely, he didn't show any surprise at finding me here?!

"Then we had an exchange with the Russian Consortium. Your uncle Evgeni was very understanding and allowed us to manage it. Your mother was inseminated with my sperm, you see."

My turn to gasp. "My father would never have accepted such a thing! You're a fucking liar!"

"Freedom has a price, Alex. On the other side his refusal would have led your family to... unhappiness. So you were my second son." He keeps me from retorting. "The interesting part was that, as you've already heard, Fox's DNA had been augmented with some 'extra' material. Alien. While yours was kept purely terrestrial, allowing behavioural comparison."

We're both speechless, and Spender adds, "When you were possessed by the oilian form in Hong Kong, this brought slight modifications to your genome. We contemplated then bringing this part of the experiment to an end - to get rid of you," he makes clear.

"What stopped you then?" I hiss.

"You proved valuable."

"Too kind."

"We were well inspired, especially as my third son, Jeffrey - your youngest brother - proved to be a great disappointement. Tss. *My* official son."

"Perhaps it had to do with your way of raising children? Torturing his mother, and so on?" Mulder snortes. The smoker represses a gesture as though to slap him, and I rush between them to protect my Fox.

"Don't touch him, you son-of-a-bitch!!!"

"Tut-tut, don't insult your grand mother, Alex, she was a holy woman."

I fall back to the couch. I feel groggy. I stammer, "Of course, you have proof of all this crap?"

"Of course I have." He bends over the table to open his briefcase and takes out three folders he spreads in front of us. "Here are your files, Fox and Alex. This one," he shows the thicker envelope, "contains various data about myself and *our* family. You can have all this studied and analysed, for as long as you wish, as much as it takes to convince you."

I can't hold back a joyless laugh. "And we have to believe these files? Come on, Spender! We need more material proof!"

"Would a blood sample do? I'm sure you'd be glad to take it yourself, Alex."

With that the Smoker unbuttons his cuff and holds his hand to me. I consult Fox who nods. I take a tissue from the Kleenex box on the table and draw out my Bowie knife. Reaching for the raised hand with my prosthetic I put the tissue under it and slowly cut deep into the flesh. This sends a shiver of pleasure through me I find difficult to hide. I swamp the cloth in Spender's blood, looking at his clenching jaws.

Then I go towards Fox's desk and pick up a Ziplock bag to store the reddened tissue. With a word of excuse, Spender goes to the bathroom.

I sit down next to Fox and stare at him. I can see how shocked he is and, despite the turmoil I can feel inside, I must be strong for both of us. I breathe, "That's probably nothing but bullshit, you know."

He stares back, like a good little soldier, and shakes his head. "You know it's probably true." His eyes are filled with unshed tears, and my heart breaks.

Smokey returns from the bathroom, a stained bandage around his injured hand. He smiles at us with a touch of pride, and bending over us, he observes, "You both even got your Aunt Lobelia's mole!" Mechanically we both raise a hand towards our right cheek in a twin gesture that widens his grin a little more.

He straightens and turns around to close his briefcase.

"This should be over by tomorrow, I think? Between the FBI and Fox's funny friends, you have a pack of experts to help you with tests. Don't bother showing me the way out, thank you."

He reaches the entrance. His hand on the doorknob, he turns around to glance at us.

"Don't disappoint me, my dear boys. I'll stay in touch."

With this he takes his leave.

I stand up and begin pacing the room. I need to think. I need to think. I need to... Shit, I can't even string two ideas together! My poor Fox is still sitting on his couch, a ball of pain and despair. His vacant eyes are reddened. I take a step towards him but stop. He's in a state of shock and I'm not quite sure he would welcome my help now. Maybe he needs a little space.

I'm racking my brains. We have no time for self-indulgence. Fox has always been the one on the emotional side, despite his brilliant mind. I'm the one who's supposed to be practical. Come on, Alexeï, plan something, Fox's mind needs to be busy. And yours too.

I take the three manilas. With a slight hesitation I choose mine first. It seems less... indiscreet? Inside it I find eight transparent sheets that look like x-rays, unless the background isn't dark, and I can see only a series of small sticks in regular rows. I've already seen stuff like that, these are DNA profiles. There are bar codes on the eight sheets, which appear identical to me; but I'm not a specialist.

Then come some official looking papers and forms. A certificate of birth in cyrillic - it's mine. And others, older ones, Mom's and Dad's. Other certificates too, schools, graduations... A marriage certificate, Uncle Evgeni and Aunt Katarina's... My parents' also. I'll have to check all this. Most can be done from memory, for the rest I'll ask my parents in New York. I guess Fox's file contains the same type of informations, that he should verify all the same. Unless he has no family left. None but... me. I'd like to think of me as his lover and his friend, but if I'm really his brother, then he has more family than just myself. More than he could wish for. Fuck.

I shrug and go on with my inspection. Type-written papers, diagrams, reports, notes... The style is impossible to mimic: Syndicate trademark. I don't want to look at them, not before checking this DNA story. There are a few photos too. I put everything in the envelope and replace it on the table.

I take Spender's file. As I said, it's even thicker than ours. In it I find four transparencies, DNA profiles, with code bars. Some biographical notes, type-written too. And loads of photos? That's new. A young man smiling, next to Uncle Evgeni, in a snowy garden. The way the man holds his cigarette is enough for me to identify him. Looking closer, I recognize the scenery: it's Grandma's garden. So, "I never saw him when I was a child", hey? Well, I don't remember him, take my word for it.

So, if all this is true - and I feel a shiver running along my spine at the mere idea - I'm but a lab experiment? A lab rat. Nothing else. Why use my mother then? Why not just a test tube? I snort. Maybe we have other siblings. Floating somewhere inside big fish tanks filled with green ooze. Yerk. For the thousandth time in my life, I curse Smokey. Couldn't he let us live our lives, alone, for God's sake? Then laughter makes me choke in disgust: if it's true, then... then without him, we wouldn't exist at all! I put the documents back into Spender's envelope, I've seen enough for now.

Turning to face Fox's desk I begin to do what I'm good at: planning. First thing to do, check this DNA story out. All this could prove to be nothing but crap! The Smoker is full of shit, and I can see him tormenting us in order to obtain... what? That son-of-a-bitch always has an agenda. Maybe this is just what I hope at heart it is, bullshit. But we must make sure, so, we have to verify this... The Lone Gunmen are in touch with other freaks, and among them I'm sure some biologist can be found who's able to perform the necessary analysis.

Then Nicole will do this for me. Good to have some old friends you can count on. I'll take samples and files to her - better to call her at once. I go to the closet and pick up my cell phone from my leather jacket. I dial National Research Institute's number and ask for her extension. She's in and immediately gets right down to business. In a few words I explain I have a paternity test to be done and she agrees without further questions. She just demands I come later in the afternoon. We settle on 6 pm, and I hang up.

It would be good to have a third test conducted at the Hoover lab. Will this be possible? Scully could ask anything from the guys down there, they're used to the lovely duo's spooky requests... Or even better, perhaps she'll do it herself? But can I trust Scully with this matter? She'd do the weirdest thing to help her partner, but what if she hears I'm involved? I turn once more towards Fox who hasn't moved.

"Fox?"

He slowly raises his eyes to look at me as if he's in a fog. I'm not sure he really sees me.

"Fox, we have to check these DNA profiles. Okay?"

I let the question sink in. His brilliant mind seems totally blurred. Shit!

After a long and painful silence, he shakes himself. "Sure."

"I've already set up one lab to work on it - no questions, it will be all right. Completely out the whole business, we can trust the answer."

He says nothing but nods slowly.

" I'm sure the three loonies can do this for us, as well. I can contact them using your *special line*. I already did it before, remember? It worked fine. But we have to take the stuff to them. Can you do it? I don't think they would be happy to meet me, whatever the reason."

Fox makes a visible effort to gather his thoughts. "Okay, I'll go and see them. I'll call them too; don't bother with this."

"Thank you, sw..., Fox." I stop the soft name on my lips, somehow it doesn't sound right now - yet I want nothing more than to run to him, take him in my arms and rock him into complete oblivion.

"Then it would be fine to have a test ran at the Hoover... Of all the places I can think of, they've got the most complete equipment." I'm not taking the Syndicate labs in account. "But I'm not sure we can tell Scully anything, it would be... premature."

Fox jumps to his feet and is at my throat in one swift move. He shakes me violently, his eyes glaring red, "She must not know! Never!"

I don't try to free myself from his grip. I merely hold his shoulder and rub it lightly. "We don't need to tell her anything, Fox. We'll find a way... Just using anonymous samples... If I remember rightly, these files have only plain bar codes."

My lover calms down a little, and I'm relieved to see a fresh light in his beautiful eyes. His mind is working again, I can tell. Letting go of me, he bends over the coffee table and rummages through the brown envelopes. "Yes, samples. You took Spender's, we just have to apportion it out... For you and me, we'll use saliva. The luminograms..." He opens the envelopes one after the other, extracting files and spreading them. "We can't be absolutely sure as long as we haven't our mothers' profiles to compare with these. I have a lock of my mother's hair, and I can add a sample to the files. Do you have anything from your own mother? Here, I mean?"

I shake my head. "No, I should go to NY, or ask her or Maroussia to send me a few hairs. But they can do a paternity test without that, I believe?"

"Yes, they can. It's just to be certain the luminogram is really your mother's. So it would remove any ambiguity."

"Well, once we see the first results... I'll think of asking them. I don't want to upset them, if it can be avoided."

I kneel beside the table and help him with the documents. Smokey anticipated our common paranoia. He had everything prepared with four copies! I show "my" DNA profiles, wrapped in crystal paper, with the bar code at the top of them. "Anonymous, see?"

My beloved Fed is back in the field, efficient and wasting no time. He goes straight to his desk, opens the drawer where he stores stationery, takes out three brown envelopes and a pack of Ziplock containers.

Without a word, he holds a pair of latex gloves to me.

"I didn't think of using gloves when I... took the blood sample. Can it affect the test?"

"Don't think so. They would see the difference at the lab. Maybe there won't be *that much* difference, anyway." His monotone is like snowflakes slowly falling over my heart.

We prepare three packs, each containing five luminograms, comparing the bar codes, because we don't know which is whose. Fox opens the plastic bag containing the bloody tissue, takes it out. He shreds it with pincers and puts a few pieces in three baggies, keeping a bigger one in the original pouch.

Then he stands up, takes a metal box from another drawer, verifies the test tubes it contains and puts it on his desk. He gestures me to the bathroom, and I follow.

In the bathroom, he opens the medicine cabinet and draws out a plastic box filled with cotton buds. He rinses his mouth with clear water. Using one of the cotton buds he takes a sample of his own saliva and deposits it on a piece of toilet paper. He chooses another Q- tip and pushes carefully inside his cheek until the flesh is distended. Then he takes a third sample...

I watch him, fascinated. I love the way he moves his hands, the precision of his gestures. I can feel them dancing on my skin, arousing me with tender attention...

Following his example I rinse my mouth. He turns towards me, a fresh cotton bud between thumb and forefinger, and his look is purely professional. "Open it," he says without emotion. I gasp, surprised by the coldness of his tone. Last time he uttered those same words, I was kneeling in front of him, burning to take his flesh in my mouth to pleasure him...

I obey, and he rubs the fluffy bud inside my cheek, stretching it, never looking in my eyes despite my mute prayer. He repeats the ritual and leaves the three tips on another piece of paper.

"We must let them dry for one hour."

He leaves the bathroom without further comments. I trot along on his heels. If he wants me to be but his guard dog, I'll do it. I hope he'll allow me to sleep on the carpet?

Alexandria - Mulder's apartment - 4:43 pm

It's done. The three envelopes encapsulating our fate are closed.

Fox is on the phone, explaining to Scully that he has been given some possible evidences by one of his mysterious sources. DNA to check. It's more difficult to convince the redhead it's an emergency... But she knows him so well - years of partnership have taught her to read his voice, and she's already understood that the stuff really matters. Glancing at his watch, Fox arranges to meet her at the lab at 7 pm. She must reacts angrily, for I see him frowning impatiently, before he insists, "I can't be there earlier, I'm sorry! And anyway I'd prefer this to be carried out with as few people as possible hanging around. Okay?"

He hangs up and turns around to face me. "I'm going to the Lone Gunmen. When will you see your friend?"

"She asked me to be there at 6 pm. The Institute is in on the other side of town, I'd better hurry, or I'll be caught in the jam."

In fact I'm not that late, but I don't feel like lingering here. The atmosphere is becoming unbreathable. I need some space, and time, to work all this out. Fox nods briefly and prepares to leave. I put my leather on, pick up the manila envelope, and with a slight hesitation reach for Fox's lips. He looks away to avoid contact, and the faint airstream his gesture creates goes right to my heart.

Jesus. I haven't felt that cold since the silo.

Bethesda - National Research Institute. Biology Laboratory - 6:10 pm

I look on as Nicole opens the manila envelope.

"Of course, it has to be done yesterday?"

She smiles at me, a warm grin. She's almost as tall as me, with very pale blond hair, and even paler blue eyes. She gave up denying possible Swedish ancestors to newcomers years ago, but in fact they're as Russian as mine - although they were fortunate enough to be *white* and emigrate before the Revolution. One of her uncles is still a taxi driver, but the rest of the family has thrown tradition to Hell. Her younger brother is a specialist into whales, he moved to the Laurentides. Her whole family is something of a welcoming committee to fresh immigrants in little Odessa. When we arrived in New York they decided to take us under their wings. Of course the patriach soon realized that Uncle Evgeni was powerful enough to help us to settle even if he stayed in USSR. But we children remained close. Nicole is the closest thing to an older sister I ever had.

"I owe you this one. And yes it's for yesterday."

"I'll take you at your word! This time, you won't get away with a mere bowl of popcorn at the drive-in."

We both laugh at the old joke. She was my first fiancee... But my pocket money didn't allow me to treat her as she deserved. Okay, I was eleven.

"Real Russian. Tzigane music. Genuine vodka..."

"You get it, I promise. So, when can you have it ready?"

"Hmm, given the quality of the samples and the care with which they were prepared..." She whistles in admiration as she looks through one test tube. "Professional work, heh?"

"Feebee."

"Waoooh! Nothing but the best for you, Sasha!" She smiles again with flashing white teeth, bringing a little happiness into my misery. "And these luminograms are exceptional. Never saw this presentation." She frowns and looks at me, questions in her eyes. What she reads there tells her everything. "Better not to ask, okay ; I get it. The analysis will take about six hours, but as you're talking of crossed parenthood, I don't want to leave anything out. And occasionally I need to sleep. Let's say tomorrow at eleven?"

"It would be fantastic. Nicole, you're..."

"Priceless, I know. Even *you* can't afford me, so, don't even think about it. Meet me in the cafeteria."

I cuddle her with tenderness and plant a loud kiss on her fresh cheek, and she pinches mine with a wide grin before I leave.

Now, where do I go? I give the problem a good deal of thinking whilst the lift takes me down to the parking facility.

I'm sitting in my car, and I still have no answer. Back home? Or what I've been weak enough to think of as home for the past weeks? Fox's recent farewell is replaying again and again in my mind. How is he going to welcome me? I remember he has to meet Scully at 7, so he won't be here when I get in. I could pack some belongings and rent a room somewhere, at least for a few days.

Nah, Alex, this is *not* a good idea. If Fox finds an empty apartment when coming home, he's going to feel it as a new betrayal. The disagreement between us is bad enough without any more to add. Anyway we should face this ordeal together, for God's sake! We're lovers. We have been for a few weeks only, but our history is far longer than this. And I can't stand the idea of a lonely Fox, pacing the living room, brooding through the night, as he's going to do, I'm sure, my sweet love...

So, I'll be *home*. Waiting for him. And whatever his decision, I'll do as he wants. Even if I'm determined to try by all means to soften him. He needs to be comforted. Deep inside himself, he knew Smokey might be his father. I tried to talk him into sharing the psychic episode he suffered, but each time I came to it he just switched off. I've read records about the whole thing but didn't tell him. I'll speak to him. But, later. I'm... Well, sometimes I'm not that brave, see? Of course, knowing is one thing, being confronted with hard evidence is another.

I stand up on the brakes to avoid a truck that just burst out on my right. Shit, I didn't see the red light. Fuck you, Alex! Concentrate on driving to make it home in one piece. If you want to get yourself killed, there are less stupid and more useful ways.

Washington, Alexandria - Mulder's apartment - 7:20 pm

Home, sweet home... empty home, and for once I'm glad to find it so. I go to the kitchen in order to fetch a beer, but the pounding in my head tells me some tea would be better. I come back to the living room, a burning cup in my hand, and let myself flop down on the couch. My eyes traverse the coffee table, and the mess we left on it. Open envelopes, files, records, birth certificates. Having the DNA checked isn't the end of it. It came first for it's the only thing that couldn't be forged. But if this *fairy tale* happens to be true, we'll have to go through all these documents.

If it is true... Surely we should be able to gather a lot out of all this - an experiment going on for a whole generation and involving extra-terrestrial genetic material? These data would prove invaluable to the Rebellion. Spender has openly admitted that Fox's genome has been mixed with that of an alien, and that mine has been modified by the oilian possession.

Shit.

Through all the afternoon I've been avoiding it. Turning around, luring my mind away with plans and things to be done and Fox's attitude and what else...

My genome. My parenthood. My father.

Spender.

Could it be? Could this pack of putrid slime be... my father? My *biological* father?

I drink my tea and burn my tongue, but I don't care. Anything's better than letting this hideous idea sink in. Okay, a lot of people have parents they've never heard of and have been raised by honest, good and loving people, like my parents. And they've become fine people like their adoptive parents. But they aren't expendable *experiments*, are they? Can it be that I was born a killer from the very beginning? Or must I think of myself as a pawn? This I have been, for too many years. I thought I'd blown this away when they tried to do the same to me... I came back to the Syndicate only to serve the Rebellion; and becoming Mulder's lover has been the best try I could make at changing my life. To make something good of it. To feel human, at last.

Too human, too weak. Tears gather in my eyes all of a sudden, and I can't stop them. I'm not used to self-pity. In my line of work pity is a dangerous weapon, whoever the beneficiary. But this is... too much. I've only just found the good life, Christ! I am on the good side, now. I have been for years, but playing triple agent can be confusing even to the player himself. I was with the good guys and could at last tell the man who's the most important thing in my life, far above the fate of Earth, universe and everything in it. And he happened to love me, believe it or not. Each day was a renewed miracle, waking up to find his deep, concerned eyes shining for me...

Letting go of my now empty cup, I lie face down on this couch that smells of leather, of love and of him, and I sob like a child, openly, till my headache becomes unbearable. The beep of my watch surprises me. 8 pm! I don't know when Fox will be home, but he can't find me this way, not ever. I'm the strong one here, I must be strong for both of us, I must keep a clear head to be able to protect him, I have to...

A shower would feel good. Anyway I'm a mess. With a last look to the papers stacked on the table I rub my nose and stumble to the bathroom. I run the water, waiting for it to get warm, then step into the tub. I wash myself thoroughly, scrubbing my body as if to erase the whole day with the loofah. I shampoo and stand under the warm spray, eyes closed, thoughts wandering. Fox's sweet face comes to my mind, then his wicked smile, his shoulders shrugging in his inviting way. His hands run along his naked body to take hold of himself, stroking his cock to tease me... I open my eyes in confusion, what the Hell am I thinking of? The vision is pleasant, I'd like it to go farther and maybe become reality when Fox gets home, but it's not something I can afford now. What drove me to this?

Oh no!!! I took the first bottle of shower gel from the shelf without looking. The pheromones honey stuff. Shit, shit, shit! I contemplate the possibility of showering again with another product, but it would be no use. These pheromones are fucking hard to cancel. It will be hours now before they fade.

I leave the bathroom after slipping on jeans and a long-sleeved sweater. I've rinsed the tub as well as I could but I'm sure the smell will last whatever I do. Maybe some cooking might mask the scent? Who am I kidding? As soon as Fox enters the bathroom he'll smell it. And he's going to smell it on *me*.

I frown. Could this be a solution? I won't do anything to seduce him - I'd never trick him that way, but maybe the pheromones will soothe him... perhaps take his mind back to better days? If he could just let me hold him, offer him a little comfort. I don't mean sex. Just tenderness, rest, helping him to sleep.

I try not to admit it, but I know I could use some comfort myself.

I enter the kitchen to inspect the fridge - I must cook something fast enough so he can eat when he's back home. And something that can be reheated, because I'm not sure he's in a hurry to be back. Anything that keeps my mind busy will be okay too.

The noise of the key turning in the lock wakes me up. The careless sound isn't a threat; I know it's Fox. Yawning, I stretch on the couch and glance at my watch. Green glowing digits tell me it's past midnight.

Fox enters the living room me and stares at me without uttering a word. He puts his briefcase on his desk before taking off his coat and comes back to hang it into the closet.

I make an attempt. "Did you eat?"

He doesn't look at me but slowly shakes his head.

I stand up and trot towards the kitchen adding, "I'm going to heat something for you."

"I'm not hungry."

"C'mon, Fox, you haven't eaten anything since noon."

"I'm not hungry."

I know this tone. He can be so stubborn.

"Let me give you something light. A little soup. Some salad. It won't take me long." I can be stubborn too.

He sits down on the couch, frowning at the stack of papers on the table. I disappear into the kitchen. A few minutes later I'm back with a tray. A bowl of leeks soup I've given half a minute in the microwave, a little plate with some salad and French dressing, some apple compote, a few slices of bread.

I put the tray on the table, brushing away some of the papers. "Do you want a beer?"

"Just water."

"'kay."

Another trip to the kitchen, and I'm back with two glasses of Perrier. I put his on the tray and hesitate about sitting next to him. I decide on the chair and drag it a little closer to the couch.

"So... Did you see Scully and the LG?" A stupid question if ever there was one, but I'm too much the novice at this relationship to know how to start a casual conversation when he's mute like this.

"Yup."

The silence thickens between us. Another attempt. "Could they run the tests immediately?"

"Yes, they started as soon as I gave them the material." He really looks at me for the first time. "Did you see your friend at the hospital?"

"Yes, Nicole was waiting for me." I'm glad to have something to go with. "She was amazed at the quality of your work." He frowns. "Huh, she said it would make her analysis easier, and that it would be ready tomorrow before noon."

He nods but don't say anything.

"You... huh, you should eat a little... Don't let your soup get cold..."

He grunts, but he bends towards the table and picks up the tray. He begins to drink his soup but stops after a few spoonfuls. He picks at his salad but leaves most of it. He decides on one of the bread slices and munches on it. He doesn't touch the compote and put the tray back on the table. Leaning back against the couch, he frowns again. His nostrils quiver, as if trying to smell something.

Shit. The honey gel. I've slept on the couch and the odour must still remain. He frowns once more, turning his head from side to side, and suddenly an air of recognition appears on his face. I try to look as innocent as I can.

"You... you..." he stammers.

"Yes?"

"You used that... gel?!"

"Huh... yes." Quickly, I explain, "I had a shower, but I didn't take care about what I was using. I grabbed the first bottle that came to hand... When I realized which one it was it was already too late..."

"You dared to use that stuff! What did you think? That I was going to fall on all fours, begging to be screwed?"

"Fox, no, oh my God, I never... It was an accident, I didn't think of..."

"An accident? Yes, sure! All this is an accident!" He gestures towards the table. "And you're the worst accident of all!"

With this he stands up and rushes to the bedroom. Before I can answer the door slams, shutting me out. I stay there, with my mouth open, like I've been turned into stone.

After what must have been several minutes, I get to my feet. I feel sick. I close my eyes and the world swirls. I reopen them and everything is grey and flat around me. A lump is slowly forming in my throat, and my chest feels like it's going to explode. I lean back against Fox's desk, searching for my breath. This is a nightmare. I'm going to wake up. I'm used to nightmares. Before Fox I woke up at least once a week, persuaded I was locked in the fucking silo, pounding at the steel door with my bleeding hands, echoes dying along deserted corridors...

But Fox's eyes filled with true hate, without any trace of lust hiden deep in them, this I never saw, not in my worst nightmares. I stagger towards the low table, mechanically lift the tray, gather the two glasses and make my way to the kitchen to put everything in order before going to bed. To bed? Which bed? Wanna try to knock at his door, Alex? Trembling, I go back to the couch. I think for a short while of finding a pillow and a blanket, but everything is in the bedroom.

I've known other nights of uncomfortable sleep. I fetch my jacket and lie down on the couch, letting go of my moccasins. Reaching for the lamp switch, I turn the light off. Then I drap my jacket around me and close my eyes. If I sleep I hope I dream of the silo again. It's less painful.

I must have fallen asleep around 4 in the morning, I guess. Well, perhaps sleep is too strong a word for it. I merely dozed between episodes of semi-consciousness. Kept brooding on yesterday's events I mulled over in my head, trying to find a meaning in them. But nothing makes sense - unless Smokey told the truth. The truth! There's nothing like truth anywhere in this world of ours. I should know better. I told Fox once - and now I'd like to believe my own words.

I tried to think about the consequences. It's easy considering the Rebellion. I just hope I've proved to be valuable enough to them, so they won't use me like Spender and the Greys would do. Have done. Could do. Shit.

But what about Fox? This revelation has hurt him, maybe it will even kill him. His behaviour has given me a taste of what he might become if Spender's claim happens to be true. I don't want him to suffer. I don't want him to die. I don't want him to hate me. Oh God!!! I just want yesterday not to have existed.

I shake myself as dawn illuminates the living room, gloryfying the familiar furniture and the small apartment. I want these domestic surroundings to be mine for a very long time. I want my Fox to wake up, pouting because of a lovers' meaningless quarrel and let me comfort him with tender kisses and cuddles. Right here, I can feel his warmth beneath my arms. He belongs here. Nothing in the world can change this, please! For years I've been a killer and nothing else; he made me a new man and I mean it. He made me a brave man, someone he can count upon, someone reliable, who won't fly at first crisis...

As light grows, revealing smaller details around me, I swear this oath to myself: whatever truth this day will bring, however he's going to behave, however he looks at me, I'll remain on his side. If he wants me in his bed and in his life, day after day, I'll be the happiest man that ever was. If it happens I'm his brother, and that he can't see me in any other way, I'll be faithful, and I'll support him in everything. If he suffers my presence but nothing more, even maybe goes back to despising me, I'll endure it but I won't abandon him. If he chases me from his sight... Christ, could anything be worse? Anyway, I'll leave to please him, but I'll stay in his shadow. He will never remain alone, unprotected, out of my sight. I'll watch him, day and night. I'll be his invisible armour. I'll kill everyone who tries to hurt him. I'll do anything but leave him alone.

Should I take a shower now? If he's asleep I don't want the noise to wake him up. But I won't sleep anymore this morning. I can start on the "paperwork". My own file only; I don't want to rummage inside Fox's when he's not here. Spender's will come later.

I hang up my jacket in the closet. I slip my moccasins on and come back to the couch - but first I could do with some breakfast. Shuffling into the kitchen, I boil some water. I prepare my morning tea, cut a few slices of bread, take some butter and honey. I stare at the honey jar in my hand and feel a lump forming in my throat. I put it back and choose jelly instead then gather everything on the tray and bring it to the coffee table. Picking up all the papers concerning little old me, I sit back on the couch. Munching on my first slice of bread I begin to list the documents. Amazing the stuff that the bastard has collected!

I spend the next hour reading, checking dates, searching my memory for details about my family - everything fits in. Of course it doesn't mean a thing. I've known for ages about Uncle Evgeni's acquaintances, both in the Consortium and the KGB. There's nothing new to me here, but some snapshots make me feel uneasy, even if they don't really come as a surprise. Myself as a young boy playing with my buddies in the street. With Nicole. With Maroussia, my young sister. Of course, being a part of the Conspiracy, even without knowing of it, it was natural for our family to be under constant observation. Another picture echoes like a discreet threat: Nicole working in her lab at the NRI, smiling over her microscope to the photograph. Just a way to remind me that nobody's quite safe around me.

More photographs. My heart sinks. It's me and Fox, back when we were partners, probably taken when we were on the Cole case. Fuck! They even shot me at the very moment of my first betrayal, stealing the file from under his car seat! This photo hurts more than everything. This smoking puppet-master knows how to manipulate emotions, doesn't he? He was probably very disappointed to learn I could still feel anything after the *education* they gifted me with.

I rub my eyes - this almost sleepless night, coming after several others in a row, is having its effect on me. At the same time, I hear noises coming from the bedroom. Its door opens, then the bathroom's. A few seconds later water begins to run. I wonder if I should prepare something for Fox's breakfast, or wait for his approval? No. Nobody will stop me from living a normal life, for as long as I can. I leave the files on the couch and take the tray back to the kitchen. Fox won't leave without a proper meal this morning.

When Fox emerges from the bathroom, in grey sweatpants and loose tee- shirt, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, breakfast is waiting for him on the coffee table and I've begun to inspect Spender's files.

I feel my lover's hesitation, and I just say, "Hi." Uncompromising. There's nothing I'd hate more than provoke a new crisis between us.

The couch caves in as he takes his place next to me. "Hi," he mutters back. Then, "Did you sleep? Enough, I mean?"

I turn to face him. "Not really. You?"

He shakes his head. He looks at the tray and bends with a sigh to take the mug of coffee. I made capuccino; call me stupid but sometimes I believe, like babouchka, that chocolate and sugar can make you a little more comfortable. "Thank you, Alex," he says softly.

I mumble a, "you're welcome," and then play for a moment with a pack of photos. Spender family: a bloody tarot deck. The smoker didn't spare us anything: some photos must go back to the Civil War. There are cartes- de-visite, sepia prints on ornate cardboard. Wedding announcements and death notices. Press cuttings from faded newspapers. Snapshots of family gatherings, with men in dark suits and straw hats, ladies in white lace dresses, shawls and long gloves, sitting around tables covered in white linen, or standing under centennial oaks and pines in a beautiful park. In the background a mansion, white marble, columns, dozens of French windows. It ought to look pretentious, but it has the scent of long forgotten happiness. A stained photo draws my attention. It shows an American soldier, wearing a WWI costume. He stands straight, with an air of clumsiness, his feet in a muddy trench. I look closer and I know what caught my eye. He looks like Fox... Not quite him, rather a brother, or a cousin.

I feel Fox's interest beside me and quickly slide the picture inside the pack.

"Is this Sp... *His* file?"

"Yes. Lot of stuff to check. Whatever the result of all this, we'll have material to work on."

"I think that..."

"Yes?"

"Why would he have given us all of this if it wasn't... I mean..."

"If what he told us isn't true?"

Fox nods and he looks awful. I sigh.

"Did you look at my file?"

"No, Fox, I wanted to wait for you. Maybe you'd prefer to read it alone?"

"Why?" He looks drawn, and it's not only for lack of sleep.

"I... I don't know... I thought..."

"And yours?"

"As far as my memories are reliable, I think everything here is authentic. But," I add quickly, "it means nothing. My uncle worked for the Consortium, remember. So they kept an eye on the family from the very beginning. To find a complete file in the Smoker's hands is not in the least surprising ."

"And my... my father worked for the Syndicate. So we are both in the same situation regarding this."

"Yes, Fox, exactly."

He picks up a muffin that has turned cold during this exchange and munches on it thoughtfully.

"Why would he..." he starts around a mouthful. He swallows. "Why would Spender have done all this to us?"

"You mean, if... if he isn't..." Fuck, I can't even pronounce the word loud.

"Myeah."

"To mess with our minds. Destabilize us. Make us doubt. P... Part us, maybe." I look at him with my heart in my eyes. He doesn't pout, the corners of his sweet mouth fall miserably. His eyes are reddened. His arms rest on his knees, his hands hanging between them, aimless. His back is bent, a whole life, and years of struggle weighing on him. I can't resist the impulse that draws me to him; I put my good arm around his shoulders.

He stiffens, and I utter a soothing "Shhh."

I squeeze his shoulders lightly, feeling the tension in his upper body. Suddenly his head falls to his knees, and he begins to shake with silent tears. I continue rubbing his shoulders, whispering little nothings. I wish I dared to hold him against my chest, to caress his hair, to lick his cheeks clean of all his tears. Instead of which, I let myself slide to the ground and put my own cheek on his knee without ceasing to rub his back. A while later I feel his head pressing against mine, and his sobs lessen. At last his hand reaches for my own shoulder and rests here.

The ringing phone gives us both a start. I withdraw to let him stand up. He answers, rubbing his wet eyes with the back of his hand.

"Frohike? Did you get... Did your friends bring the results?" - "Then?" - "You didn't open the parcel? Thank you, buddy. When can I come?" - "Right now? Okay, I'm on my way."

He hangs up. "I'll call Scully from the car. We should meet here after you see Nicole and..."

A new ring halts him. He picks up the phone again.

"Scully? You have the results? But it's only..." He looks at his watch. "It's only eight. Don't tell me you stayed at the lab all night? You slept there? Oh God, I'm sorry..." - "Yes, it was an emergency. So, the results?"

His voice is drawn so fine that you'd cut your fingers on it. I watch him eagerly. His face turns white as a shroud as he listens to his partner's exposition.

"You're... you're absolutely certain?"

I'm already standing behind him, shaking like a leaf.

"Yes, I... I understand. Yes, I'll come in the morning to pick up the results. NO!" He shouts. "No, don't leave them on my desk... Take them with you, will you? I'll call at your apartment. Ten? Okay."

He hangs up and slowly turns around to face me.

"She says... it's... positive."

"Positive? Meaning that..."

"That two profiles show evidence of filiation to a single male profile which corresponds to the blood sample. Each of the childrens' profiles is related to one of the two female profiles. The saliva samples belongs to both children, and the hair sample to one of the female profiles." He clenches his jaws and breathes heavily before going on. "There's evidence of brotherhood between the two sons, with an accuracy of 99%, due to the fact one of the mothers' profiles wasn't provided with any sample for absolute proof. And there's traces of unknown DNA; alien would be a fair bet."

"Fox..." I remain speechless. Against all the probabilities, I really wanted to believe all this to be bullshit, but the truth has finally caught up with me.

Fox is silent. He's staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. Suddenly he pushes me aside and rushes into the bedroom. For the second time in a few hours, the door slams in my face.

Fifteen minutes later Fox emerges in regular Fed outfit with a closed face. He grabs his coat, his briefcase and car keys, and leaves. He hasn't uttered a word or even looked at me.

I go back to the couch, gather *Daddy*'s bunch of memories and data, pack the whole stuff in the brown envelope, and fight the urge to take the sticky tape, closing the envelope and shutting out the monstrous truth it encloses. I can't stay here, I need to be outside, somewhere else - anywhere else. I take my jacket and leave apartment 42.

Bethesda, National Research Institute. Cafeteria - 10:50 am

I turn my mug of tea between my hands. I'm waiting for Nicole. I already know what she's going to tell me. It would be foolish to think Scully has been wrong in her examinations and conclusions. Since leaving Alexandria I've driven through the traffic without looking at which streets I was taking. Everything seems grey, flat, shadow- and light- less. Nowhere to hide and nothing to bring a sparkle of hope to my heart. I guess I've found my way to the hospital without realizing.

I've been here for half an hour now. I've fought the urge to join Nicole in her lab, and at the same time I've wished for the time to stretch to infinity, for her never to appear on the threshold of this anonymous cafeteria.

Here she is. Coming right towards me with a friendly smile. She's waving a file at me, never knowing it's my one-way ticket to Hell.

She stops at the coffee machine to fill a cup before joining my table. She sits down, clapping the seemingly harmless file on the table close to my hand. Her grin freezes on her lips as she reads my face.

"Sasha? Are you all right?"

"Huh... " No way to say "yes I am"; she knows me too well.

Her hand covers mine with gentleness.

"What's wrong?"

"Can you... can you give me the results now?"

"Yes, but you look like you've been declared guilty with extenuating circumstances."

I stare at her, and really she might as well put a black hood on her pale blond hair like an English judge.

"The results. Please."

She nods, then opens the cream-coloured file and takes out her typed report. She doesn't really read it, just summarizes.

"One father, two mothers, two sons, one to each woman. The blood sample is the father's, the saliva ones come from each son, and the hair from one of the mothers. Nevertheless there's something wrong."

"Wrong?" A very slight hope emerges in my heart. "A mistake? Something that could make the results unsure?"

"Oh no, my conclusions are certain. 98, 99% I'd say, because I lack a sample from one of the mothers. Otherwise there's no problem there."

*She* says.

"Then?" I frown, the tiny flame already blown out.

"When I say wrong, well, I don't know how to put it... Both children's profiles show anomalities. For one of them it's so infinitesimal, I'd say it could be a mistake in the analysis or in the sample, even if it fits perfectly the luminogram you brought. But for the other boy the anomality is fairly obvious. And I don't know what to tell you... A part of the genome is, huh, *alien*."

She sees my reaction and corrects her words.

"Okay, don't take my words to the letter - I don't mean little green men, that kind of stuff." She makes an attempt to grin, but I'm definitely not a good audience. "What I mean is, there's something very unusual in this profile, and I can't identify it. There, I told you. Should my scientific rigour and my proverbial modesty suffer, I have to admit it. I cannot say what it's all about. Never saw anything like that. And it's too obvious to be a processing error."

"You said that there's an anomality in the other child's profile too?" I ask in a trembling voice.

"Yes, the same but not the same. And it's far slighter. And here too, I can't give you any plausible explanation."

"Implausible, then?"

She stares at me; I can hear her thinking, "No kidding?" but she refrains.

"Frankly, I haven't a clue."

She rubs my hand. "Sasha, you get so cold... What's this all about? Can I do something for you?"

I shake my head. She's already done all that she could. And she couldn't have done anything worse, my sweet friend. I have no right to scare her with the truth.

"No need to ask you if this," she pats the file, "is bad news. I really can't imagine how it can affect you directly, but I see that it is the case. I suppose you won't tell me whose profiles these are?"

Once again I shake my head, gently. "Maybe some day I will do. But, not now. I'm sorry." It's highly improbable I ever will. Not only will she think I've become insane, it would also endanger her. The memory of her picture in my personal file is enough of a threat.

I take her hand and squeeze it. "Thank you, Nicole. How difficult all this is for me, I'm glad you helped. Please, you must promise me... Don't tell anybody about this, okay?" I know she won't, but I must be sure she understands the seriousness of the situation. "If you kept anything, samples, copies, files... Make sure you destroy all of it."

I look deep into her eyes, so pale, so easy-to-read, filled with concern. Her other hand covers ours and she presses both. "Don't worry, Sasha. There's nothing left but this file. Take it and..." She shakes her head helplessly. "I'd like to be able to do something, really. If you need anything, you know..."

I nod. I raise her hands and press them to my lips for a few seconds, trying to keep at bay the tears I feel gathering under my eyelids.

"Shh. I'll always be here for you, Alexeï. *We* always will be."

I know she means her family, our community. I can't tell her that the more they try to help me, the more things could turn wrong for them. The constriction in my throat prevents me from uttering any words. I just stand up, taking the file, and manage to smile one last time before striding towards the exit.

Washington, Alexandria - Mulder's apartment - 12:20 pm

Mulder sits down on the couch and bends forwards, resting his face in his hands. He rubs his burning eyes and sighs deeply. He stares at the new files that have joined the first on the low table. Such a familiar sight. More files. But inside them his whole life spreads, crunched to pieces, torn to meaningless rags, stomped by giant, pitiless feet.

His merciless mind keeps reminding him of what he already knows. For years he has known. Since Cancerman came to visit his mother at the hospital after she suffered the heart attack. Since then, layers upon layers of hints, innuendos, hoaxes, rumours. At last, when the alien artefact made him a defenceless psychic, his poor mind open to a never- ending flow of thoughts, like a radio he couldn't turn off... Spender didn't hide anything from him... apart from his brother. His young brother.

Alex.

Mulder feels glad he found the apartment empty when he returned from Scully's.

Scully! He couldn't answer any of her questions. How could he? He asked her not to take her investigations further, to limit herself to the DNA profiling. He had clearly forbidden any cross-checking in the Bureau archives. If she recognized his profile, she hadn't said anything about it. His faithful Scully! She'd identified the alien modification in the genomes, of course. She's seen too much in the course of their investigations to mistake the meaning of that. He's almost sure she has thought of the assessments they've done before about himself. She had looked at him with a glint of fear in her eyes and lowered her eyelids too late for him to miss it.

He's afraid she's begun to think of him as a kind of freak. A medical one, not just dear old Spooky.

His mind comes back to Alex. His brother. Unknown for long, hated for almost as long, found at last, and now... He just can't face the problem. His thoughts keep skittering around it, refusing to name it - as if denying its existence would be sufficient. One thing's for sure, he has lost his newly found brother as he has lost everybody who ever counted in his life. The pain in his chest makes itself heavier.

What would have been his reaction if he had been aware of these family bonds a few months, a few weeks ago? He can't even imagine it. So many things have changed during this space of time. Unredeemable hours of... He won't say the word, not even in the depths of his heart.

The sound of the door opening startles him. Alex is back. His brother is back.

First thing my eyes fall upon as I enter his apartment - our apartment, is my poor Fox. His tall frame is reduced to a hunched ball on the very edge of the couch. He stares at me with unreadable eyes.

I hesitate on the threshold before moving to the coffee table. On it I can see two new files - the ones he has picked up from Scully and the Gunmen. With resignation I add Nicole's to our common load. I search for the chair but change my mind. I don't want to be parted from him. It will probably come soon enough, unless he accepts my help.

Don't misunderstand me - I'm as shaken as he. To learn of my real parenthood has been far more of a surprise than for him. We had enough clues to a possible secret surrounding his birth. But *I* never had any doubt concerning mine. Nothing in Spender's attitude ever suggested any relation between us, other than *professional*.

But I can hear the wheels turning inside Fox's brilliant mind, behind these lovely eyes of him. He can't avoid facing what has happened between us during the past weeks in the light of what we've just learned. His lover *is* his brother.

Of course, I'm not at ease myself with the idea., in fact I must admit it's distressing! Who am I kidding?! I'm upset as hell!

And if I'm so concerned with this, what about him? I knew my lisichka too well to tell tall-stories to myself. I know this could destroy him utterly. I pray God He will delay the moment when Fox has to face it. To face... me. I'd do anything to prevent him from suffering. I love him. I mean... So, he's really my brother? And then? He taught me that love can redeem anybody, change everything. I don't feel guilty for what I have done, and I've done some really, really bad things, I confess. Things I'm deadly afraid of telling him - and he's the one person I'd trust with my life and my very soul. Why should I feel guilty about loving him? Christ, that's the best part of me! Maybe the only one that matters.

No, Fox. Whatever you think or believe - nothing will make me ashamed of loving you. Maybe it's not the kind of love you wish I would give you, or you think you deserve, but I love you, with all my heart, body and soul. I'm not a smart psychologist like you; I'm just a man who would cross Hell for you. Especially if that's what it will take to save you from yourself.

I decide to listen to my heart for once. I walk to the couch and sit beside him.

He stiffens.

"Nicole gave me her conclusions. They are... I mean..." Shit, everything is so difficult. "She came to the same conclusions as Scully. She was baffled by the alien part of... of our genomes, but I didn't give her any clue, and made sure she had destroyed any remaining material at the Institute. She asked no questions; she's a really dedicated friend. I'm absolutely sure of her..."

I babble, desperately trying to fill the silence, but Fox doesn't answer.

"It would be best to give these informations to the Rebellion. They can..."

"NO!" he shouts.

"But, Spender's file... It could be..."

"No!" he hammers out. "Nobody can know about all this."

"Huh, did Scully identify your genome? She already worked on it, didn't she?"

He shivers. "If she did, she said nothing about it."

I nod.

"Come on, Fox. This data - as personal as it can be - it could be of the highest importance to the Rebels. However we look at the problem... there must be more to it than what we see..."

"More?" he explodes. "More than learning that this piece of shit is my father? And yours, for God sake!" He laughs bitterly. "Brothers. We're brothers. I should have killed the bastard when I could. Why aren't I a remorseless killer like you? He would have been dead for years - and so would you."

My heart stops.

"I'm dead, and famous Agent Mulder never had any problem. I should have thought of that earlier. Sorry I survived."

I didn't want to say it, but my tongue moved quicker than my thoughts. When was I ever a mindless talker?

He stands up to face me, his face contorted in anger. "I suppose all this sounds very fascinating to you? Of course, you know better than the rest of us! *You* are the universal soldier, dedicated to the survival of humanity! You wouldn't be upset by trivial details like us simple humans! To you, everything is a new weapon in your hand! You really are your father's son!"

I jump to my own feet in a state of shock. I never thought he could be so dishonest! Who does he think he is to lecture me? I'm not the one burying my head in the sand, refusing to see the reality of the threat hanging above the heads of all of us!

I'm on the verge of saying things I'll regret for the rest of my life, when the phone rings shrilly.

I withdraw to let him answer; my jaws grind and my fist pounds at my thigh. I must calm down, I must, for both of us. It won't do any good to start a fight; we must be together, not one against the other. That son- of-a-bitch I refuse to call another name would succeed beyond his dreams.

Fox's face goes from angry red to a ghostly palor. I grab the phone from his hand without thinking of keeping my presence secret from whoever is calling. It's Spender.

Fox lets me seize the phone but hits the loud speaker button.

"Good evening, my dear boys. I think it's a sure bet that you've already had the DNA profiles I provided you with checked out?"

"Yes, we have," I answered curtly. Fox gestures at me, but it would be useless to lie to him.

"Then you know I've been telling the truth. I'm glad I have made things clear. I'm certain we'll be able to reach a common agreement that will prove most profitable to the three of us."

"Listen, you bastard, I don't intend to have any agr.."

"Shh, Alex, I've already asked you not to insult your grand mother's memory. I'm used to seeing you as a pragmatic person with a hard head. I count on you to help your older brother to come to a reasonable and constructive attitude as soon as possible. Your special capacities, and Fox's fascinating mind will make you a team of the greatest interest."

Fox emits a choked sound but says nothing. Spender has obviously heard it, for he notes, "At least, Fox can't blame you anymore for having killed his father, can he?"

"But there's still time for parricide!" I grate.

"Well, I'm not sure Fox would forgive you for killing his father a second time," he smirks. "Anyway, keep in mind that his very unusual genome makes him a subject that our allies would be eager to, huh, examine closer."

My legs turn to jelly. A vivid memory invades my mind: Fox naked, quartered on this unholy cross of steel in the crude light of a Syndicate lab. I was able to help Scully to rescue him then, but next time I know they'll be more cautious.

The Smoker knows his threat has been received loud and clear.

"I'll contact you later with further instructions. And you know," he conclues, "I'm happy you came to this truce. It was a real waste to see you fighting each other. It's good to see my boys together, you're such a valuable team. Even if it takes *strong* links between you. You mentioned parricide, Alex? At least, you've already overcome the incest taboo, haven't you?"

The click of the dying line sounds like the blade of a guillotine.

Fox's whole body is shaken with spasms, and I raise my arm to hug him. He jumps away from me with a shriek, "Don't touch me!"

"Fox, please! Let me help you! You look like you're going to pass out!"

He stares at me with mad eyes. Eyes that are filled with... pure hate. Oh my God, not this! Not him! Please!

Baffled, I step back, staggering. I consider him, shaking, then stride towards the bathroom. I need... a little time. Alone.

I pee absent-mindedly, flush the tank, wash my hand. My eyes fall upon the honey-soap remaining in its plastic bottle. Less than a week ago, everything was so... perfect? Biting my lower lip, I open the bottle. Fox's mind is gone temporarily, but what if I can call him back to his senses? Physical memory? Something that can lure him away from his pain. I don't mean sex, God no!! Just let him allow *me* to comfort him. To hold him. To keep at bay the common terror I feel creeping inside me as well...

I return to the living room and find him sitting on the couch. I stand in front of him, not too close. He looks up at me in a glum kind of way, then he begins to sniff, dry sobs shaking his shoulders. I kneel close to him - yes, Fox, come here, let's share our sorrow, let me hug you, let me... He stares at me in horror, jumps to his feet and runs into the bathroom. The sounds I hear don't leave any room to doubt: he's puking. Fuck! Hurrah for your idea, you silly rat.

I remain alone, pacing up and down the room restlessly. I'm going out of my mind. How can I help him? Please?! Why did I come here in the first place? I should have left him at peace... He was lonely, but at least he could look at himself in the mirror. I know he's the one that came to me when I was a prisoner in this warehouse, but I might have been happy with that and not have asked for more. No, I had to push my luck, to ask for more than I deserved. Now he's going to be consumed by self-guilt once again! Perhaps having him hate me is the best solution. Perhaps it's the *only* solution. He will turn against me; I can take his guilt on my shoulders, I'd wear the world for him. Surely it's all I'm good for. I've hurt him so many times, shit! He's right; I'm the only culprit here.

The opening door makes me turn on my heels to face him. His eyes are redder than ever. He has changed his shirt for the grey tee-shirt he was wearing this morning. His poor face is as grey as the fabric.

I walk to him, wanting to let him know that I understand, that he has no reason to be angry with himself, that I'm the only one to blame...

As soon as his eyes fall upon me, he runs amok! He jumps on me, shoving me back till I collide with the wall and drawing his gun from his belt, he screws it into my temple. He's strangling me, and the icy barrel grazes my skin, I feel the blood running down my cheek. Tears of pain and sorrow blind me whilst I hear him spitting in my face, "You get out of here! Do you hear me? Get out of here, or I'll kill you, got it? I'll kill you without the slightest hesitation, you bastard!"

In the fog that threatens to engulf me I stammer, "Yes, yes, Fox, I'm going to leave, at once..."

"Don't call me that!" he shouts, and his mouth is so close to mine I can feel the heat of his full lips.

"No, no, forgive me, F..., Mulder, I'm going to leave, now, I swear!" I recover just enough to beg, "Just let me take my belongings... My bag. And I'll leave. Please, M... Mulder..."

Fox snorts and lets go of me, keeping me at gun point whilst I stumble to the closet. I kneel to take my bag and quickly slip into it my jeans and a handful of tee-shirts, a shirt... I put my leather on, clumsily, hesitating in front of the briefcase containing my electronic equipment. I could need it, so I take that too. My gun is in my waistband, and my knife in my boot, lying along my leg, as always. My shaking hand makes it difficult to zip the bag, but I succeed, all the time wondering if he's going to pull the trigger. I almost wish he will. But no, he needs me... Even if he doesn't know it, he needs me. I must take care of him.

I stand up and sling the bag over my shoulder. I make my way towards the door without looking at him. I just cannot. If I see his lovely face, even contorted in anger and filled with hate, even mad at me, I'm going to crumble to pieces. I can't afford it. My hand is on the door knob when he calls me back, his voice cold.

"The keys."

"What?" I'm lost.

"The keys. My apartment keys. You're not taking them. Give them back."

Oh, the keys. The keys to Heaven. The keys to what has been *our* apartment for such a short while. An oasis in my life. I sigh and search my pocket, retrieve them and hold them out to him, behind my back. I won't turn to face him, but I can't reconcile myself to throwing them on the ground. They were a minor treasure to me, did you know that, Fox? I'd like to be able to grin at the stupidity of the situation. Does he really think I can't enter without them?

But deep in my heart I know the small pieces of metal are a symbol to him as much as they are to me.

I open the door, step outside, and enter a world where he isn't, where I don't want to be.

Washington, Alexandria - Tuesday, at night.

I'm sitting in the driver's seat of a newly rented sedan. I'm parked on the other side of the street, some thirty yards from Fox's place. I've got a room in a cheap hotel, but I might as well be holed up in the public baths! I just go there to shower and change. I've kept Fox's apartment under constant surveillance. I'm so afraid they will come to take him anytime now. Spender will decide Fox is of no use to him, if he deserts the game.

On Sunday night he didn't turn the light on at all. For a few hours the TV flickered before the apartment went completely dark.

Monday, he didn't go to the Bureau. I hoped Scully would check on him but it was not the first time he stayed home for an afternoon without telling her. I guess she just called him. Then it was another all- telly night.

I wondered if I could take the opportunity of him leaving at last to install a mike - just in case. On the one hand, I hated to act like the spy he professed to despise, but I felt so upset. Anything might happen. I had left for one hour only in order to shower, change and buy some takeaway. Back in the wee hours of the morning I was dozing when a sharp explosion suddenly woke me. My heart stopped as I peered into his window, almost breaking the binoculars in my haste. The uneven sound of a car passing me by on three tyres made me sigh in relief, although the sight of him eating his gun remained before my eyes for long minutes.

This morning I caught a glimpse of some movement behind the window, and around eleven Scully's car came to a stop in front of the gate. I just had enough time to lie down on the front seat. I waited for her to leave, but the usual pizza deliveryman made an appearance, and I concluded that the little redhead had convinced him to eat something. Eventually, a little past noon, they left together, and he followed her with his own car. The sight of my defeated brother - I didn't want to think of him as my lover then, it hurt too much - broke my heart, although I trusted Scully. I don't like her, but I trust her completely with regard to his health.

I decided for the mike - it was too dangerous to leave him this way. Entering his apartment was more difficult than I might have thought, emotionally speaking, but I forced myself to act professionally. I placed only one mike next to the bedroom door. I guessed he was sleeping on the couch anyway - if he could sleep, which I doubted.

I bet on him not returning soon; I was aware of how likely he was to drown himself in work when he was down. So I had a little rest at my hotel. I had to be alert at night, so long as Scully took care of him during the daytime.

I'm back on watch before seven. His car is still nowhere to be seen. I prepare myself for a sleepless night. I'm munching on a sandwich when his vehicle appears in my rearview mirror. Once again I sink into the seat, but he's clearly not himself. His haunted gaze never checks his surroundings. I sit up when the security gate closes. I have parked the Sedan farther away than the previous days because I'm relying on the mike. Turning on the tiny earphone, I put it into my ear.

A few minutes later I hear the sound of the door opening before tired steps shuffle closer. A creaking of leather as he sits down on the couch. He must be rummaging through his papers. A new creak of the couch, and a click followed by the humming of his computer fan. More papers crumpled. The sound of loading music. His desk chair cries out as he sits down. I guess he's checking his mail, and I'm right, because I hear the familiar alarm rings.

More electronic sounds, alarms and assorted beeps can be heard whilst he's working. This continues till nine o'clock. He needs some rest... But working keeps his mind busy.

Oops, I spoke too soon! A sobbing sound catches my attention. He's weeping... I feel twin tears gathering in my own eyes. Some knocks I can't translate before I realize he's pounding on something. His desk perhaps. Then a hurried sound as he rushes to the bathroom. I recognize the muted sound the door makes. More sobs, then painful heavings. Oh my God, he's vomiting! I slam my fist on the wheel. I'd slam my head on it into oblivion if I wasn't on watch, if he didn't need me... I'm choking the way he is - as if it could help him - when my cellular rings, startling me.

I turn it on but I'm unable to answer.

"Alex? I suppose you're watching your brother?"

Spender! What the heck?!

"It's just a guess, but I don't think it's too much to assume."

"What..." I cough to clear my throat. "What do you want?" I shout.

"Keep quiet, *son*. I need you to bring Fox to..."

"I'll bring him nowhere! You piece of shit! You ruined him! Isn't it enough for you?"

"Shhh, let me finish. I need you to bring Fox to his senses. You understand that he's not useful to any of *us*," he emphasizes the pronoun, "if he goes on brooding this way. This act has gone on far too long. Please see what you can do. Unless you prefer we take care of the problem."

"You're not..." Shit, the line's dead.

Christ. I must do something. If I call him he'll just hang up on me. If I enter the apartment he's liable to shoot me. *I* would be at peace; but he'll remain at their mercy. No way will I let them hurt him anymore. If I knock... it's all the same. Maybe he will shoot me in the corridor instead? I'm a known criminal, am I not? Even if there's no official charges against me.

I realize that for a while now I've heard nothing in the earphone. Has he gone to bed? I haven't heard the bathroom door opening or closing, but that doesn't mean anything. Nor the couch creak, but it's a tenuous sound at best, and I was on the phone. An uneasy feeling lurks into my chest. I can't define it but the proverbial sixth sense has saved my ass more than once. I don't like this silence, not at all.

I waver but send my hesitation packing. If he's unhappy to see me, too bad. Surprise will be on my side. I've been on speed for two days now - I couldn't afford that much sleep. This probably makes my decision easier. I remove the earphone, check my gun and leave the car.

I walk swiftly to his building and open the gate. I don't wait for the old, lazy lift, I rush up the stairs at breakneck speed. I feel in a hurry as my instinct screams louder and louder in my guts. I keep myself from running in the corridor, no need to alert the neighbours, or him, if everything is all right. I silently work the lock to apartment 42 and half open the door. I slide inside half- darkness.

Fox isn't in the living room. I tiptoe towards the bedroom but the light is on in the bathroom. The door is ajar and I can't hear a single sound. I press myself against the wall and lean a little to peer into the tiled room.

OH NO!

I stare at the dark crumpled shape beside the heater. One of those ugly ties goes straight from the tap to Fox's flushed neck. A shout escapes my throat, choked with despair.

I'm at his side instantly, kneeling and producing my Bowie knife to cut the damned silk. He slips to the ground, lifeless. Is he? I should have known; he's so vulnerable, I should never have left him alone after that scene, it's all my fault, I've killed the only one I really care for, the only one who really cares for me... Whilst the thoughts go rushing through my brain, I proceed mechanically: testing his absent pulse, listening to his heart, his poor, broken heart, lifting his eyelids to look at dead pupils...

Though I feel nothing in his chest, I begin artificial respiration. Pinching his nose with my good hand, I open his lips with mine and blow what I want to be a stream of life inside his mouth. It's difficult to coordinate my movements with one hand only. I try, and try, and try, but nothing happens. I think I should massage his heart, but with one hand it's... Fuck! What am I going to do? To call for an ambulance or for Scully - anyway, it will be too late, it's already to late!

All at once I dissolve into tears and embrace him, my love, my brother, my Fox, my beautiful one, my white knight... It should be me, lying there, not him, not him! It's all my fault! Everything's my fault! I made a mess of my karma, and here is the kickback. I'm going to follow him; the Earth and all its inhabitants can go to Hell, we'll all meet there. But first I'll kill "daddy", this I swear to you, my much beloved. And this time you won't hate me for it.

I'm rocking over his sweet, cold face, and tears are running down on mine, when one of them rolls more slowly on my cheek, burning like molten lead. I moan and pick it up with my prosthetic hand to look at it, in a detached way. Then I focus on it, amazed. It's black oil. A drop of black oil. How can it be? I'm sure I puked all the fucking slime over its craft, back in the silo... Wait, did I dream this? I look closer, but no, my eyes weren't mistaken. There's a pale malva gleam shimmering in the dark drop. Like a ghostly light.

Suddenly a wild idea crosses my mind and giving into an impulse I can't understand myself, I lay out the iridescent droplet on my Fox's mouth. Fascinated, I see it moving on its own, stretching on the paled lips, slipping between them, disappearing inside... Immediately I curse myself! What is this bullshit? Whatever this residue of oil might be, that was a very stupid thing to do! At the same time, far back in my mind something wonders how this alien trace could remain somewhere in my body without me being conscious of it.

(Mulder)

I'm dead. Everything is so quiet, but for this continuous sobbing above me. I feel a warmth surrounding me. I always thought death would be cold. Well, I was wrong. I also feel calm. In peace. RIP, that's right. So you can keep your sense of humour in the world beyond? Right, some of the ghosts I've met definitely had one. Oh God, I feel so fine. Better than I've been for ages. As fine, let's say, *almost* as fine as when Alex holds me in his arms and loved me.

Jesus! Alex! What have I done? He's going to suffer agonies when he's told I'm dead! I guess one or two others will be sad too, Scully for one... But she's not alone. He is. Oh my love... Little brother... I'm the one who betrayed you this time. And what for? Because I love you? But it is the right thing to do. It *was* the right thing... I had to die to understand it, what a pity. You were right, and I was as stubborn as ever. You were wiser than me ; love is the only path.

Who's crying? I open my eyes, and here he is, my beloved one, rocking over me, his cheeks bathed in tears of despair, shining drops rolling over his ivory, wonderful features... His thick lashes are lowered, hiding the peridots of his eyes. I want to see them; I raise a white hand and reach for his forehead, stroking his dark hair, as smooth as in my memory. I didn't know ghosts could feel material things. Maybe I'm too earthbound yet, hey.

Alex opens his wonderful eyes. Oh yes, let me see them; don't cry, honey, I feel fine. I don't even miss you, you're here, close to me, holding me. Why do you look so astonished? My hand falls back, it's difficult to keep it up, it weighs a ton. I smile at you, little brother, I'd like to tell you not to be sad, that I'll stay near you as long as they'll allow me, whoever *they* are. I love you. I just wish I had known how much before doing this.

(Krycek)

He moved. He moved! He touched my forehead, and as I looked at him, startled, I saw his eyes open, shining, and his mouth smile. I must be hallucinating. Maybe all this is only a nightmare, I'm going to wake up. It's not the first time I've dreamed about Fox's death, and I never ever can do anything to save him. I suppose Hell has plenty in reserve for me, but they won't be able to torture me anywhere near as nicely as I can on my own.

I shrug and check his pulse. Oh. My. God. It beats. It beats. It beats. His heart is beating! Beating! I feel my own pulse drumming in my temples as though my head is going to explode. "Fox!" I shout at him - and everything is contained in that single name: my pain and my relief, my agony and my love, my reproach and my blessing. He looks at me with soft, tender, loving eyes. But he's staring at me from very far away... I'm afraid he's not completely home free. I kiss him. I feel his lips moving under mine, and I hear his hoarse, rusty voice. "Don't... cry... Alex... I'm... fine..."

"Thirsty..." he adds. Each word costs him an enormous effort. I want to dampen a washcloth to wet his lips, but he holds me tightly, and I can't pull away from him. His hand reaches my cheek, and his fingers gather some of my tears to take them to his mouth. I lower my head down to his lips, and I feel his sweet, warm tongue licking at the salted drops. In an inspiration I take his mouth with mine and give him my saliva to drink. He feeds on me as if he has been stranded for days in a desert.

I pull my head back a little, just enough to have a good look at him. His eyes are still a bit unfocused, but he's looking at me. I know he's safe now. Don't ask me why, but I'm sure he is. Maybe the same impulse that made me give him that shimmering drop of alien life... A weird thought flashes through my mind: is he *himself*? But I brush it away with a shudder. I just want my Fox back, alive and well. I'll be whatever he thinks is the best. A brother, a friend, a partner, a bodyguard, a lover... Or a shadow in his shadow, if he doesn't allow me anything more; this I silently swear to him.

(Mulder)

Alex. My sweet one. My dark prince. He understood I needed a drink and he gave me his own liquids. Tears and saliva. I know he would give his red blood as easily as he gave me his white to feed me. What am I? A kind of vampire? No, it's impossible. I feel too fine. Of course, I don't know how vampires are supposed to feel... But the strange thing is, it seems we can communicate. Maybe because we're so close?

My mind is floating and this is a pretty nice feeling, but my body feels heavy, and my throat hurts; it's hard to swallow. Am I still glued to my carnal envelope? You always picture ghosts rising like a whisp above their corpse as soon as their heart stops. Heart. Stops. Yeah, so what is it I'm feeling in my chest? Heart beats? No... I'm alive. I'm alive! Alex, I'm alive!

I want to shout at him, to tell him not to cry, that I'm alive, but all I can achieve is a painful cough. He immediately makes me sit up, holding me tightly against his chest. His good hand is massaging my shoulder, my neck, my cheek. He's whispering little things in my ear, in my hair. "Shhh, s'okay, don't try to speak, everything's going to be all right. Keep quiet. Shhh."

I manage to speak his name, and his mouth is already on mine, giving me a new gulp of saliva that I drink thankfully. I look at his eyes, and they're sparkling with joy and love and concern. "I... love... you." I've succeeded in saying it, and I'm pleased with myself. If I had only one message to deliver, it was this one. Now I can rest. I close my eyes and nestle against my Alex.

(Krycek)

"I love you." That's what he said. After all the misery I've brought into his life, both for and against my will, he loves me. Sweetheart. A saint wouldn't deserve him, and yet I'm the one he says he loves. I feel my heart close to breaking, but this time it's with happiness. Okay, let's keep this for later; better to take care of him. I must get him to bed, but I can't have him walking; he's too weak. Fireman's grip with one arm, in this narrow space? Forget it. Malibu's salvage grip so. I turn him around to stand at his back, surround his chest with my good arm and draw him, sliding on my knees towards the bedroom. His body is so relaxed that it follows without difficulty, gliding along the furniture. His head rests on my shoulder, and he wears an angelic smile, although I'm panting under his weight. When he's sitting against the bed, I let myself drop to the ground to recover my wind.

"Alex?" He stares at me in a delightful amazement. He raises a hand to pat my heaving chest, and I can't help my laughter. "Yup. It's me. Good ol' Alex. I'd like to put you on the bed, but it's going to take a little time."

"Why?" I sit on my heels and gaze at him. Trust him to have such stupid questions. " 'cause you're heavy, sweetheart, and you don't help. Okay, you can't."

"But I..." he coughs again. "I want... to help."

"Of course." I rise to one knee and take him by the waist. "Do you think you can get on your knees?" He nods, and grasping at my shoulders, he manages to kneel, then to raise himself enough to sit on the bed. Now it's easy to lay him down properly. I arrange the pillows under his head, then I undo his sneakers.

"Where are... you... (cough)... going?"

"Bringing you some water."

I'm back immediately with a glass of fresh liquid, and I hold his head up to help him with the drink. The first sip makes him cough again, but I don't let go, and he swallows some. "Alex?"

"Shh. Don't try to speak. Let your throat heal."

"But..."

"I said: 'shh'. Don't want to hear a word, even if I love your sweet monotone." He nods and lifts a hand towards my face, indicating that he wants me to get closer. I bend over him, and he pulls my head to his, asking for my lips. Our kiss is long, chaste, tender.

When he lets go of my mouth I suggest, "I should call Dana. You need a medical check-up after..." I can't finish my sentence, it's beyond me. He smiles and shakes his head. Despite my forbidding expression, he whispers, "No need... All fine." I must say that he looks fine now. He grins, and I think I catch a glimpse of pale malva light swirling in his grey-green eyes. I shrug and try to put on a brave face. I surely dreamt it.

"Please, Alex?"

"Yes, Fox?" Oh God, the taste of his name on my lips is the sweetest thing I can dream of now.

He pats the sheet beside him. "Can you come here? I'm tired... I want to sleep. But not alone. And I'm never going to sleep without you. Never again."

Now tears fill my eyes as I bend again to kiss the swollen lips, lingering where I belong. "Yes," I breathe into his mouth, "yes, lisichka. Let me help you, I don't want you to get cold."

"Oh, I won't be. Not if you're here with me," he grins.

I brush his chestnut hair before standing up. I manage to fold the sheet and help him under it. Quickly, I undress to my boxers and get rid of my arm, then join him. I draw the sheet and the blanket over our bodies, then take hold of my love. He makes himself comfortable, his back against my chest, letting me wrap my arm around him. His head nestles in the hollow of my shoulder. He coughs a little, and I rub softly the chest that's covered by his t-shirt.

Am I dreaming?

"No, you're not. Or we both are," he says in a sleepy voice.

Did I voice my question out loud? I'd swear I didn't.

"Alex?"

"Hmm?"

"If I ever, ever become crazy like I... just did, hit me, tie me, handcuff me, do what you want, but don't listen to me. Don't let me chase you away. And never leave me. I... I can't live without you. You must never forget that, okay?"

It's difficult to answer with this lump in my throat so I just nod. I love you so much, lisichka.

"I love you too, Alex."

This time I definitely didn't speak out loud. I'm sure of it.

But whatever it means, I don't give a damn. I'll think about it later. Tomorrow is another day.

My Fox is back, and it's the only thing that matters.