Denial

Just a warm body in the night.

That's all she is. Warmth and flesh and life in a neat controllable package. Warm mouth, soft and firm in all the right places at all the right times. Hands that grip where a man wants to be gripped and stroke where he wants to be stroked.

Just a warm body in the night.

She's a good fuck, Marita. Damn good lay. The best. I've said it to her, too. It either turns her on or pisses her off, depending on whether we're in or out of bed at the time.

That's probably why I haven't killed her.

I should, of course. Should've done it long ago. But every time I think about it, I think about her body cradled against mine, and I can't quite imagine what it would be like to make that body go cold and limp and lifeless. Can't quite imagine what the point of hearing or seeing might be, if I couldn't hear or see her. So I haven't done it.

Damn fool, Alex. Damn fool. No lay is worth that much risk.

I will do it.

I will.

One of these times.

But first, bed. I haven't bedded her enough. Haven't gotten her out of my system enough. Seems I need her more, rather than less, every time. Is that the definition of love? Growing instead of diminishing? God, I hope not.

I don't love her.

I don't.

It isn't that I can't. I'm not like Mulder, who'll commit to the truth but not to a woman. I'm not afraid of love. But that's not for her.

It isn't.

She's moving in her sleep. Murmurs my name a lot when she's asleep. I wonder if they're dreams - or nightmares. I hope they're dreams.

I can smell her hair. So soft. I wish she wouldn't dye it. With the yellow blonde, she's ordinary. Just another pretty woman. But the silver - God, with that silver underneath, she's like a high priestess. I love the silver. I love the silver more than just about anything.

Just a warm body in the night.

Warm body with silver hair and green quartz eyes and ivory skin. Warm body, hot breath on my flesh, breathing my name like an invocation.

Invocation. Jesus Christ, I'm a romance novelist. See the ruthless assassin write women's guff for kicks. Invocation. God save us.

I don't love her.

I don't.

She's just a warm body in the night.

Author's Note: Who says denial is only a fan pursuit? ;-) Mulderists, be still your wounded hearts; that line was a projection on Alex's part, nothing more.