Every Me, Every You

Did you know that when he looks at her, his eyes turn blue? Well, kind of a blue-green but still more blue than at any other time. When he sees me, they turn brown and sort of shoot sparks. When he looks at her, there's this open, soft, eager to please glow instead. I think I'd fucking croak if he turned that gaze on me just once.

No worries there. Ain't gonna happen. I don't deserve for it to. I know that. This isn't about what I deserve. I'm talking about *want* here. Maybe need. Let's just name it desire, pure and simple.

I wish I could earn that open, trusting, soft blue-green Muldergaze. I know I've earned the dark, lancing brown one many times over. Hey, fate's a lot like your family. You can't always choose yours. Mine's evidently to repeatedly fuck Mulder over while trying to stop the world from being reamed by extraterrestrials. Mulder's is to try to stop me from stopping them and to try to stop them himself without all the annoying treachery and bloodshed. Another thing that just ain't gonna happen.

Oh yeah, he might stop me. In fact, I'm almost certain that he will. Especially if I let this aforementioned weakness put me in a situation where I hesitate to do what I have to. If? Let's face it. When it's a choice between him or me, I already know my hesitation will mean my death. And there's not a goddamned thing I can do about it. So I guess I'll just keep pushing that thought away and do the work until it happens.

The work. Yeah, a nice euphemism for killing and cheating and stealing and sabotaging. It all sounded different in the brochure. I remember when they approached me in the F.B.I.

I was so young. So excited. So patri-fucking-otic. They pulled me in with their suits about ten times better than mine and their cigars more expensive than a week's worth of lunches and laid just enough of the plan on the table to make me theirs.

Alex Krycek, savior of the world. I was so full of myself! I honestly thought I was so sharp, so bright, so *good* that I could make a difference. I thought that with my help, we'd be sure to stop the invasion.

They told me they had one big monkey wrench perpetually grinding the gears and I was just the slick operative to take care of the problem. They showed me files of an obsessed, single-minded, selfish, arrogant, unpopular, nerdish brilliant and beautiful hero-wannabe and told me to go in and start sabotaging his efforts. They told me he would be slow to trust, hard to trick and easy to fall in thrall with. No warning could ever have been strong enough, but I gotta admit, they tried.

Pour on the hero-worship, but not too thick, Alex, they told me. But don't go believing your own hype. Mulder thinks he's going to save the world, but he really just messes up the efforts of those who know the true score. Don't let him suck you in.

"Why not just kill him?" A question I was destined to ask more than once before figuring out the answer for myself, to my own detriment. Their answer was always vague and unsettling, something about Mulder being "too important," and about them not wanting to martyr him and all that bullshit. Truth is, they feared him then and they're scared absolutely witless by him now. They get it. They get it like I get it, and they don't know what to do about it.

Well, fuck me, I don't either.

We've experimented a lot, though. Starting with relieving him of his first Consortium-appointed partner, Scully. We all thought that would bring him down, stop him in his tracks, send him right over the ever-loving edge.

Jesus Christ. Have you ever seen Mulder on a mission? He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He doesn't shave or bathe or even change his fucking clothes. He's pure, focused energy. And God help you if you happen to stand too close. What's that burning smell?

So we take Scully and we make the creature that is Mulder grow ten times in his intensity and relentlessness. We sigh, defeated, and give her back. She's chipped, so maybe we can use her later. Yeah, we're really treading water at this point.

He slips back into the Mulder routine, solving only one heinously baffling mystery per week instead of the five he was shattering in her absence.

Scully's a problem. A much bigger problem than they or I know how to deal with.

They gave her to him in the first place. That's the funny part. They thought she would flounce in, expose his investigative flaws, and shut him down.

Flaws? Mulder? I can almost hear the game show buzzer in my head. EEeeehhhhh. Nice try. Would you like to go for Double Jeopardy? Scully only ended up backing him up with hard science, instant trust, impeccable investigative skills of her own, and on top of that, she shocked us all by bringing out a human side in him nobody ever expected to see. Remember that blue-green gaze? It's new. It wasn't in the files, trust me. Not even in his school pictures.

Divine intervention? I'm beginning to fucking believe. And I don't want to. So Mulder's got his angel back and he's on the trail again, balanced and focused. And now he's got himself a demon, too.

Yeah, that's where I come in. I knew the role when I auditioned for the part. Gain his trust, mess up his life, disappear. The other scenario they considered seems so much better, now. Gain his trust, make him care about me, then disappear, leaving him alone and abandoned once more by the only person he could believe in.

Of course that was when we thought he'd already lost Scully to reassignment. Little did we know they were still working together on the sly, backing each other up and completing each other as usual. So we went with the second plan, where I gain his trust, fuck him over, take Scully for real this time, and *then* disappear, leaving him a broken, hollow, empty, lonely shell of a human being, barely able to tie his tie let alone muck up the workings of the Consortium.

Well, he doesn't change his tie or his underwear, but his focus on finding the truth comes to a laser point when you take away his Scully, so that plan was totally bogus from the start.

Kinda look like we don't have a clue over here? Now you're getting it.

Next bright idea they had was for me to kill his father. They were even gonna frame him for it. Fucking brilliant and mindbogglingly heartless, if you ask me. I was in from the start. William Mulder was a class-A asshole, trust me. No big loss. You would have done it, too. Well, maybe not. Would I, in hindsight? That's more than I want to answer, now or ever, thank you.

So, anyway, I learn about diffusion filters and start pumping some experimental goofy water into his building, and when he takes the bait and lashes out violently at Skinner, I know the stage is set. A little (okay, a lot of) pressure applied to William Mulder and he caves like the coward he is and gives Mulder a call. Ever the dutiful son, Mulder takes the bait and drags his sick, sorry ass over to the house where he's there just long enough to learn exactly *zilch* before I take out his dad with a shot to the head.

That oughta make him crumble, we all think. And we watch from afar (and with state of the art surveillance) as he comes pretty damned close, until his precious Scully swoops in, all calm and rational and motherly, and soothes his hurts, and puts him to bed, and before he even wakes, starts working on clearing him of the crime. Damn she's good. He reacts with a heartening dose of paranoia and drug-induced rage, and we all let hope flower in our hearts for a moment, but Scully just blinks back tears and keeps working to exonerate him, even as he rails at her over the phone and we take potshots at her through his window. That is some damned woman, I'm telling you.

She's gotta go. That's what they tell me. So I head over to his apartment to take her out and finish the frame-job...and what the fuck does she do?

She shoots him. To save him, of course, but still. Shit. I did not know the woman had it in her. I can see why Mulder worships her. I'm practically falling at her feet myself. Instead, I haul my ass away from that apartment as fast as I can and tell them that Scully is still a way bigger problem than anyone could possibly fathom. And Mulder's still got the tape. And she's done a fine job of practically clearing his name before he's even figured out it's dirty.

Okaaaaaay. New game plan now. And this one's the motherclusterfuck that pushes me right over the edge.

I get teamed up with this stupid, impulsive psychopath, Cardinale, and we give it one last shot. Literally. We lay in wait at Saint Scully's apartment and the dumb asshole shoots at the first sight of red hair. Not fucking *her* you loser! Now we have not only Mulder in a blood feud with us but Scully, too. And Scully really loved her sister. She's gonna be a bitch on wheels to deal with. Way worse than Mulder and his mutiple-loss complex. He didn't even like the asshole.

Things are sooo not looking good. But hey, we did beat up Skinner and get the tape, so all is not lost, right?

Yeah, right, Alex, so why are the knees of your favorite jeans scraped through with gravel and asphalt? I don't even know where that little *something* that keeps me alive sometimes comes from, but I'm thanking any deity that will listen as I run my ass off away from a burning heap of metal that only moments ago was my ticket out of town. They tried to fucking off me. I totally didn't see that one coming. I won't be so stupid again. Trust no one? I'm with you on that one, Mulder.

Well, friends, all bets are *definitely* off now, and I'm thinking that the best way to beat these two particular enemies is to join them. Who knows? We might even have the makings of an amazing team, if I can just get them off their fucking pedestals long enough to bring them in on the game.

Now I just have to figure out how to get close enough to offer my services without getting my head blown off. An Aryan terrorist bust handed to him with open arms should make for a warm reception, don't you think? One more set of receipts and it's show time. I wonder if I'll get to see a flicker of that blue- green look? Wish me luck.

Um, things didn't really go very well. Not really very fucking well at all, as a matter of fact. I swear to God I almost cried when he shoved that rifle butt in my gut, and it wasn't from the physical pain.

I handed him that bust! I had to go underground with the lowest of the low, the racist, sexist, homophobic underbelly of white trash society, and buddy up to them in more ways than you want to know about. It's all worth it, I told myself over and over, picturing the surprised look of careful gratitude as it spread across Mulder's face when he realized it was me sending him the info.

Imagine my surprise when I get a gun-butt to the stomach for my troubles instead. Okay, so this will take more work than I thought, I tell myself, swallowing my disappointment behind smart-assed comments and bravado.

I gotta admit, though, my heart actually leapt...*leapt* when he commented on my hairstyle. He actually thwapped me upside the head and said, "Stupid-ass haircut." Be still my heart! Yeah, I know, but I mean, you don't get bent out of shape over someone's fashion sense if you truly hate their guts, right? Maybe he likes me, just a little. A little tiny bit. And maybe if I play this just right, doing everything he wants me to, giving everything I have to give, this wall between us will start to crumble.

I was a little surprised by his coldness and need to hit me, and I was more than a little scared when he took me over to the Skinman's apartment. I'm actually relieved when the evening ends with me chained on the balcony instead of being raped at gunpoint by the two of them. Well, relieved and disappointed, I suppose, but let's stick to the work. I get my chance to use my skills when the damned would-be assassin shows up and I gotta pull him over the fucking railing with hands that are shot through with near frost-bite and pins and needles, as well as some permanent nerve damage to my left wrist that's gonna seriously hamper my hand-to-hand. But I have to say, I'm pretty damned satisfied with myself when I'm able to yank him over and climb back up, not really the worse for wear, all considered. Yeah, Alex, you got the stuff. Surely Mulder will see that.

Well maybe he did and maybe he didn't, but he did end up taking me to Russia with him which is what I thought I wanted.

Several weeks later, recuperating in the surgical ward of a Russian hospital, I finally realize how fucking stupid I am.

Was I worried about nerve damage? I'd do anything.,,and I do mean *anything* to have some fucking damaged nerves to complain about on my left wrist. Or to have a left wrist. Mulder's paranoia and lack of faith in me ended up losing me an arm this time. Is this how it will end? Maybe instead of dying with a bullet to the brain he'll take me like this, piece by piece, stealing bits of my body along with my soul each time I make an overture.

God. I'd hate him for it (and I did for a long, long time, believe me) but I know I helped create this beast and that he barely made it out alive, too. So I just swallow back the feeling of hopeless anger and get back to the work. And now the work doesn't just involve stopping the invasion. It involves figuring out a way to get back Mulder's trust and team up with him before it's too late. Yes I do realize how pathetic I sound, but you have to understand. I have what he needs and he has what I want.

And see, this time, I've got the real deal. I'm gonna go over there and put a fucking alien right in the palm of his hand. Well, directions where to find one, anyway. No way he can keep shutting me out after that, no matter how much he hates me, right? I mean, that's his dream, his goal, his *quest* for Christ's sake! And Alex here can give it to him.

I wonder what it will be like to work with him again. I remember digging under razor wire, listening to him explain his theories to me in that reluctantly conspiratorial voice. I remember my dust-clogged throat closing up with memories of my first few days of hero-worship that then was so false and now is so...deadly true.

Will it be like that? Does he know how much I can't stand to be hated by him? I guess we'll see.

"Udachi tebe, tovarisch."

Don't lose it. Don't fucking let the tears that have been threatening, fall. At least until you get to what passes for home these days.

"Krycek..."

I stop, frozen in the hallway, hearing my heart pound in my ears. I squint against the warm bloom of hope that threatens to unravel me. Sighing, I turn and walk toward the one thing I know will get me killed someday. The one thing I can't help but be drawn to. I stop in the doorway, hand twitching at my side. He's got my gun. My palm misses the reassuring glide of the metal against skin. I lift my chin, and meet his gaze. He's still on the floor, forearms resting on his knees, hands dangling. Including the one holding my gun.

"What...what did that mean?" His voice is so quiet, so low, I barely hear the words.

What did it mean? That I would give you the key to the entire resistance? That I would hand you my gun, giving you carte blanche to take my ass out? That I would...press my lips to your cheek in the first show of intimacy I'd let myself experience in years? Jesus Fucking Christ, Mulder. Why not just ask for the meaning of life? I just look at him, and I know my confusion is hard on my features. I feel stupid, breathless, unsafe.

"The Russian. What did that mean?" Mulder's gaze is steady. Curious. Calm. Bastard. But okay...that question I can answer. I clear my throat, but the words still come out rusty.

"Good luck to you, partner."

He nods slowly, like he already knew, and I see him finger the gun. But not to use it as a threat; just to...caress it. I sigh very, very quietly.

"I don't want you to go." His voice is a mere rumble in the dark, but I hear it. My heart hears it, and squeezes painfully. My body hears it, and tenses up, ready for fight or flight.

We stare at each other, our eyes dilating to take in every feature in the low, low light.

"You have somewhere to be." I grate the words out, hating myself for saying them. I don't want him to be anywhere but here, with me, on the floor, staring up at me with that shine...

"We have a minute." His voice can be so soft. So cutting. It lays me open now. We. God, Mulder...are we a 'we', now? I take one, small, tentative step forward. His eyes shine a little more brightly and I watch his chest rise and fall carefully. Without realizing it, I'm matching my labored breaths to his, even though I cannot hear them, only see them. He nods at me.

"Close the door."

I'm not sure I like the power switch...I mean, at least I had the illusion of power before, even though I always knew who was on top. Would always be on top. Now I don't really like being told what to do. I tell myself I'm only obeying because he has my gun. Even though the only thing he's done with it since calling me back in is caress it like a lover. Those fingers can move so gracefully...without taking my eyes off him, I kick the door shut behind me quietly. I take a deep breath, trying not to let him see it. See me. I swallow, and it's loud, and the only sound in the room.

He squints, as if in pain. "I...I want so much to trust you. And...you know that. You use that against me every time." Fuck. Are those...no, they can't be tears. Because if they are, I'm gone. I'm fucking done for. This is the moment I've waited for...the one where my...feelings...get me killed. And...I didn't know that. What he just said. I mean, I did in the beginning. I could see how badly he wanted...no, needed to trust someone. And how easy it was to *be* that someone for him. But after that, I figured it was just the ruthless pursuit of the 'quest' that made him begrudgingly listen to me. I mean, I told you what happened with the whole black rock thing. But as I think about it, I remember him telling me about the lights of Tunguska...the way his voice softened...the way he caved and told me after only one entreaty. Yeah, he does want to trust me. And that...that scares me. Because...he shouldn't. Or should he? Fuck, I don't know. I just don't know.

I know I'm telling him the truth now. But only because the Brit is making me do it. The Brit is...making me do the one thing that might just save me...or get me killed. Does *he* know? Does he know how I feel about Mulder? That's something to ponder another time. Now, I have to figure out what to do with this softened Mulder before me. With the ache he's lodged in my throat.

"I'm telling you the truth, Mulder." It's all I can say. All I can think of. I can't tell him he can trust me. I can't tell him I'm sorry. There's way, way too much for 'I'm sorry' to make one flying fuck of a difference. So all I can tell him is truth.

Mulder nods. And it starts a panic in my stomach. He does...he does believe me. Oh, Mulder. Be careful. I'm damaged goods. But Mulder...as much as you want to trust me, I want to be the one you can trust. I'll be that for you...I really will. If you just...God, Mulder...I want to be let in, but I...care...too much about you to want you to let me in. I shake my head.

"Why?"

Shit. The one question I really, really didn't want to hear. Because there are two truths here, and either one of them could destroy me. Which one do I tell him? I'll start with the one he's most likely to understand.

"I told you. There are...men...who are working on a resistance. They sent me." I look at the floor. Truth hurts. But this one doesn't hurt nearly as much as the one that's pounding against my ribs, threatening to kill me if I don't let it out. He was so open with me...telling me he wants to trust me...letting me see how much that hurts him. Maybe it's okay. Maybe it's time for that other truth. But slow. We'll take this slow.

I take another step toward him and he just watches me. He has that look. That look that says he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and despite all mere mortals' beliefs to the contrary, that there is more to this story. A lot more. Another step, and another step, and I'm back in front of him. Standing over him. Feeling like I'm the one hanging out on the branch. I reach out my hand to him. And, stealing my breath away, he sets the gun down and takes it. So warm. His hand is so warm against mine. The skin is soft...after all, he doesn't work with his hands but with his mind. My hand is soft, too, but not as soft as his. I wonder what he's thinking...what the texture feels like against his warm skin. I pull him to his feet, and suddenly, we are standing, chest to chest. I could have stepped back as I pulled him up, but I didn't. So we're close. I can feel the heat of him. See the sweat on his upper lip. He must be using up all the air in this room, because I can't seem to find any for myself.

His lips part, and I can't take my eyes off them.

"Did they tell you to kiss me, too?" It could have been said mockingly...sarcastically, the way I've heard him too many times to count. But it didn't. It so didn't. In fact, it sounds tender...vulnerable...so quiet, like he didn't really want to say it.

"N-no." No other words come to mind. None. Just that. No. No, Mulder. They didn't.

"Then why?" His voice is a little more sure, now. More confident. Guess it must have been that damn stutter I let him hear. But he's still not putting an edge on it. It's just...curious.

"I...I wanted you to believe me. I...I thought if I...did something different, that you would...Hell, Mulder, I don't know!" It's taking all the breath I can draw to choke out that last, frustrated whisper. I'm sick...physically sick to my stomach.

"I think I do." Shit. Now I'm scared. That's the Mulder- voice. The damned, cocky, got-it-all-figured-out, I-do-my- crosswords-in-ink, don't-you-wish-you-could-keep-up-with-me tone that never failed to strike me dumb. Still works.

I want to say, 'You do, huh?' and use that sarcasm he's not. I want to scoff, and smirk, and huff away his certainty. But I can't. I just fucking can't. I just stare at him like a small animal caught in the headlights of a speeding truck. He moves in closer, and my whole body goes rigid. My vision starts to sparkle around the edges...lack of oxygen. Can't breathe...Mulder, leave some air for me. I watch his hand rise, and it's slow...so slow...and it might be coming up to hit me, or shove me, but what's really frightening is I know it's not.

No...don't do this, Mulder. Don't...it changes everything...everything! I didn't come here for this...I only came for your friendship...a little trust...but this...this'll kill me.

He doesn't hear the diatribe in my head, and I feel his hand slide up the back of my head, palming my hair. My hand is fisted at my side, nails cutting in. It would hurt if I could feel anything but the palm burning into my scalpl. And his eyes...they're so intent. He's so sure of this. He's scared, too...that little crinkling at the edges shows me that...but he's no coward. Not like me.

Then he's pulling me in...and meeting me in the middle, leaning in to give and to take and to end everything between us and begin it. And like some dream careening out of control, where you can't run, you can only struggle in the quicksand...I feel our lips come together.

OH. GOD. Oh God! It's like everything I've ever been is being burned out of my mind and soul...and I'm only this...one half of a kiss, and I hear desperate whimpering and hey, that's me, and I can't help it...I can't stop myself because I know. I know that now that I've tasted him I'll only ever want more, more, more. I open my mouth on his and stroke along the seam of his lips with my tongue, and I feel his other hand grab me around the waist and pull us up close against one another and he's hard! He's rock-hard, as hard as I am and in the maelstrom of my head I wonder if he'll know...how long I've been this way for him. I don't have time to ponder that point because oh my fucking god his lips are parting under mine, and his tongue is pressing into my mouth, and I would swear it's as hungry as I am. The whimpers are grunts now, as I attempt to swallow him whole. I can't get enough of him...I want to pull his whole body inside of mine and lick and stroke and hold and squeeze it and never let go. Never...

He's saying something as his hand...oh my god he's grabbing my ass and grinding my crotch into his with it and I growl, wanting to tell him to stop, or I'll come, but I can't form words and so I only moan plaintively and finally, for the first time since any of this began, feel I have permission to bring my hand up and touch him.

It's leaden. I can hardly control or motivate its ascent. Nothing...nothing has ever been this horrifying to me...to want, so badly, to touch this man and to know that he might bolt and end this fantasy if I do. But I feel incomplete just taking from him and not giving back and so finally, I tentatively wrap my arm around his back and the circuit is complete. We're existing in one energy bubble and breathing each other's breaths, and our hearts are beating in time, and the grunts and moans aren't just mine but his, and his helplessness scares me more than anything ever has.

"Mulder...Mulder..." I struggle to speak against the bruising assault of his lips.

"Don't talk...don't..." and he steals my words by drawing them in with his lips and tongue and swallowing them along with my moans. I forget what I was trying to say, to do, and spin again with him for another moment, our hands insatiable on one another's bodies and our hips rubbing and grinding, and I'm close...

No! I don't want to have just part of it...this isn't enough...I almost sob with the *need* I feel for more, and it's that ache that gives me the strength to pull out of the kiss, panting, staring into dazed, puzzled eyes.

"Not...not enough..." I pant, willing him to understand with minimal words, because I don't know if I can do better. And he jerks me in with that hand in my hair, roughly, brooking no argument and I almost cry because he didn't hear me. Then I feel his other hand slide around in front and begin struggling to unfasten my jeans and Jesus GOD yes he heard me. I want to return the favor and strip him but I don't want to let go, to let him out of my hold.

Then I feel something...the only thing that could wake me from this dream. The hand in my hair is disentangling itself and moving down my neck to my shoulder and...

"Touch me..." he murmurs, sliding his hand quickly down to my plastic replacement and pulling it against his crotch for a second before realization hits him. Now the tears fall.

"I can't." I'm talking through gravel now, against his lips as they freeze and then withdraw. It's over. I really *am* damaged goods and I was heinously stupid to ever think I could be close to enough for him.

He steps back, and his eyes are dark...so dark...and he hasn't let go of my prosthesis, but the hand undoing my pants has stopped and is resting on my hip. I drop my eyes, not wanting him to see how incomplete I really am.

"Tunguska..." he says as if realizing it for the first time. Then I understand...he *is* realizing it for the first time. He really doesn't know. I almost laugh.

"Yeah, Tunguska. That's why I beat myself with one hand these days, Mulder." Acid...it sounds like cold acid and I'd stop that if I could but it *hurts* so bad to not be kissing him and having him kiss and touch me and I just want this over, now. I step back, intending to run. But he snags one of those long, graceful fingers in a belt loop and I'm trapped.

"I...I didn't get it, before. I was...distracted." His voice is soft and wondering, as if facing an interesting case development for the first time. I guess he would be distracted by someone running him headfirst into his own chair and then pointing a gun in his face. You'll never know how hard it was for me to make myself hurt you, Mulder. But I knew you wouldn't hear me out unless I did. I had to get your attention, and get on top. For just one moment.

"I'm sorry..." I'm choking on the words. I swore to myself I'd never say them, because they're so fucking inadequate, but his comment seems to need that closure. His hand leaves my prosthetic one and two soft, warm, strong fingers press underneath my chin, lifting my face, not slowly, but not roughly, either. I can't resist his pull, now or ever, and I raise my face, and finally let my eyes open. He's shaking his head, just slightly. What? What are you saying, Mulder? Then his face moves in and his lips are pressing mine again, but soft this time, and chaste, for a moment, before a warm, gentle stroke of wet tongue forces my lips open on a gasp.

Oh.

I'm not kissing back this time, though. I don't have the strength. He's drained it from me with tenderness. I can only exist against his mouth, and as he steps back in, wrapping both arms around me, against his body. The kiss goes on, soft, slow, languorous and sensuous until we both need air and we break.

"Alex," he begins, and my body jolts at hearing my first name rolled across that tongue. But it's nothing compared to what it does as he continues. "If I let you fuck me, will you promise not to lie to me again?"

Jesus God! Oh god yes...you own me already, Mulder. You paid for me with a kiss. You don't need to do more. As his eyes bore into mine, beginning to get a flicker of panic, I realize I haven't spoken aloud. He needs my answer. He's waiting. I give it to him.

"Yes."

And then, finally, he smiles. I haven't seen him smile, except in cruel glee, in years; not at me. And I can't help but grin back, knowing I look stupid and goofy and horny as hell but having lost the ability to hide from him. At least now, inches from his face and even closer to the rest of his body. I can't keep anything away from him anymore. It's all his. He only has to claim it.

Then the smile fades and his mouth tightens, his eyes going serious. Oh god. It was all a trick. Oh yeah, Mulder. You got me. You got me good. How can I salvage this...make it look as though it meant as little to me as it appears to have meant for him? He interrupts my anxiety attack.

"As incredible as this is, I think you said something about Weikamp Air Force Base?" He's stepping back and he doesn't sound mocking...but he's turning all business, too, and I know my face is creased with worry.

"Alex?" Well, he's still calling me Alex. Whether that's out of...caring, or as a way to control me...it fucking works. I'm moldable clay in his palm.

"Yeah?" That sounded careful, not petulant, didn't it?

"I could use some backup on this. What do you say we get going, and we can..." He lets a flicker of the earlier softness show. "...take care of this afterwards." He lets his eyes quickly sweep me from head to crotch and back again, with a shy quirk of his lips, and I smile back at him, my hand clutching reflexively, missing the feel of him.

He turns around and walks to the desk, bends and retrieves my gun, and without a second's hesitation, hands it to me, dangling the trigger guard from his finger, the same way I gave it to him. And I know by that, and by the blue-green glint in his eyes, that the same message is behind it as before. And I take it and tuck it into my waistband, and prepare to back up my partner. Maybe together we can actually save the world. Hell, after tonight, no possibility is too extreme.