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1st Night I joined the surveillance team on the sixth night of the stake-out. The Suspect in Apartment Five-oh- three was located across the alley. Along with others up for Field Recertification from the Philadelphia Field Office, I was assigned to take rotating half-shifts. That meant I overlapped the 'dinner and break' hours for the real Field Agents. So there I was, hanging out with the 'guys', as my wife was fond of saying, from 6:30pm to 10:30pm during their 3pm to 3am shift. Freshly supplied with almost a week of office gossip, I quickly saw that all the rumors I'd heard about these 'guys' was absolutely correct. Senior Agent Fox Mulder, who I'd known by reputation back in his VCU days, was being punished with the most boringly inane and away from Washington jobs AD Skinner could dig up. Junior Agent Alex Krycek was assigned along for the ride to gain valuable 'experience and exposure' at the knees of what everyone understood had been one of the best profilers in the Agency. I walked in that Wednesday night at 6:25pm on the dot, all spiffed out in black, newly cleaned gun in underarm holster, notebook, two pens, cell phone and large water bottle in hand. They looked up from deep but separate silent contemplation. Mulder was reading from a huge messy stack of news clippings. Krycek from some thick arcane book titled 'Facts You Should Know About 20th Century India'. Krycek turned down the volume on the tape recorder as both rose to their feet and shook hands. Mulder said for Krycek to brief me, sat down, tilted his chair back and laced his hands behind his head. Krycek proceeded to brief me. It was a standard case about an apparent forger making illegal Visas and Green Cards for various unsavory, if wealthy, foreign nationals. The surveillance continued, despite the surety that the Suspect living across the street in apartment Five-oh-three was indeed the forger. Somehow he had enough clout to remain unnamed by said unsavory nationals upon their arrests. He also perpetually never actually had any of the aforementioned documents in his possession. Thus, after being apprehended and questioned several times by various law enforcement bodies without those bodies accumulating any particular evidence, a federal warrant was issued to watch and ultimately arrest the clever son of a bitch. Summation complete, Krycek glanced at Mulder for approval, received a very slight nod. He asked if I had any questions, and since I had none, I sat down. Krycek turned up the volume on the tape recorder, invited me to choose any of the remaining three chairs in the room, and resumed reading his book. Mulder righted his chair, stretched his arms, got up, went into the bathroom and came out in jogging clothes. He said he'd be back in 45 and left. Krycek continued to read. The Suspect watched the remainder of Jeopardy and an episode of Trading Places. Mulder returned, took a shower and came back to the table. Krycek got up, went into the bathroom and changed into jogging clothes. Said he'd be back in an hour with food and left. Mulder became one with the newsprint again. I was beginning to believe that the six years I had just spent in Finger Print Verification and the nine years before that in Hand Writing Analysis were actually the more exciting assignments. Krycek returned, placed the food on the table and took a shower. It was 9:30pm. The Suspect was still watching TV, eating a microwave burrito and drinking a beer. Mulder put away his papers and apportioned the food. He moved his chair around to Krycek's side of the table, which directly faced the opposite building. When Krycek sat down they both began to eat. I was beginning to believe that these guys never talked. All of a sudden Mulder said "Hey! Mr. Five- oh-five is home exactly on time." Krycek, who was also looking into the apartment directly across the street, said, "Yeah and this time he's got two bags of groceries. For a guy who doesn't cook much he buys a lot of groceries," and resumed eating. I looked at the man across the street too. He was ordinary as far as I could tell. White, about 40, balding a little, in a decent suit, tired from a day at work, neither fat nor thin. Five-oh-five put the bags on the kitchen counter, kicked off his shoes, took off his jacket and hung it up, put away the groceries, took out a pitcher of what seemed to be ice tea, poured a glass, took it, sat down on his couch, used the remote to turn on the TV and sat back. When Five-oh-five put his feet up on the coffee table and scratched his belly, both Mulder and Krycek also seemed to relax. "All's right with the universe," Mulder said. Krycek nodded. They both ate some more. I sat there dumbstruck. What the Hell was that all about? Not a word between them or to me for hours and now this for conversation? I looked into Five-oh-five's window. Was he a criminal mastermind? Had he stored cocaine or heroin in his refrigerator instead of groceries? Was he connected to the case? Were the forged Visas in his lettuce? What!? "What's with the man in Five-oh-five?" I asked aloud. Mulder and Krycek looked at me, Mulder blandly and Krycek with a raised eyebrow. They looked at each other, shrugged, and said, "Nothing." It was 10:30pm. I stared at them both for a full minute and nothing more was forthcoming. I said goodnight and went home. I was exhausted. *** 2nd Night Thursday night was a repeat of the night before, except that the Suspect ate tuna. Krycek jogged first and Mulder brought back the food. Oh, and Five-oh-five came home empty handed, had a beer and went to bed early. *** 3rd Night Friday night started out the same, too. But I was determined to save my sanity and try for a little conversation. I paced instead of sitting. I finally caught Krycek's attention. He'd been silently immersed in 'Laws and Customs of the Canadian Provinces'. I immediately started in on a tale about my 15 year old son. My son had been sneaking out after curfew to play endless video games at the house of a friend we had forbidden him to visit. I knew this was boring and of no interest at all to one, let alone two single young men, but I was desperate. Surprisingly, when I paused for breath Mulder asked, "Which video game has your son been playing?" I said I didn't know. Krycek said, "I bet it is %%%%%. That is a very cool game." Mulder said, "No way. It must be &&&&&& or ######. Those are very hot," and slid a sideways glance at me. This went on for some time, each one naming a game and its merits and the other one denying the validity of that game and naming another. When they reached an impasse they both looked at me accusingly. Taken aback, I blurted out, "I will find out and let you know." Quiet descended. But Krycek seemed antsy, flipping through the pages of his book without his usual absorption. Finally he asked me, "What did you do when your son got home?" Since some ten minutes had passed since the end of the previous attempt at conversation, I was surprised and jumped a bit. I told Krycek, Mulder also looking at me keenly, "My wife and I took his entire video games collection hostage and removed the cords from his computer. We also added the edging and the raking to his weekend lawn chores." Krycek stared at me unblinkingly. Mulder stared at Krycek. Krycek said, "You didn't kick his ass?" I replied, suddenly knowing I was on top of a volcano, "No. His mother and I don't use physical punishments. Taking away his beloved cyber toys and giving him extra work is enough. He's just a careless kid and needs to learn that lying to us has consequences." Krycek stared at me a moment longer, rotated his neck to relieve some internal pressure and looked back at his book. Mulder, who was still staring at Krycek, said, "Come on Alex, didn't you ever break curfew and have to eat crow for a week or two?" Krycek kept his eyes lowered to his book. I was suddenly struck by the fact that he looked barely older than my own kid. He said in a low voice, "No Mulder. I never broke curfew." Mulder was now the one to move about restlessly, pawing through his slips of paper. I wondered if Krycek's curfews had been too severely enforced, or perhaps if he'd ever had any at all. Either one was not a good thing in my opinion. But I dared not ask. Something about that sudden eyes- downcast stillness of his held my tongue. Silence descended again, but this time it was full of unspoken echoes. At home later that night and still unsettled, I attempted to describe to my wife the strange undercurrents between the two younger Agents. She considered my descriptions of the near silent evenings, the marked attentiveness in Mr. Five-oh-five's life and the obvious rhythm of give and take about breaks, dinners, sharing the report write up duties. The real and surprising interest they showed in my son's curfew/punishment story. She laughed softly, laid her head on my shoulder and said, "You must be getting sensitive in your old age." After awhile she went on to say, "Perhaps the guys are just lonely. The job is boring and beneath them. They are not popular with the other Agents. They are away from home and whatever comforts available there. In terms of real time, they are also new at being partners and widely different in their experiences as Agents. Maybe," she continued to think aloud "they are just uncomfortable with becoming partners and learning to trust each other. No doubt," she went on dryly, "they are as inarticulate about these issues as most men. Finding Five-oh-five's ordinary life and your 'father of the teenager' story fascinating is an offshoot of this. After all, it's apparent that neither young man seems to have chosen either of these more ordinary paths. As far as the moment seemingly fraught with emotional overtones about father/son interaction, well, old childhood memories aren't always pleasant ones and it is obvious the guys are not into sharing that part of their pasts." My wife's calm good sense, as always, reassured me. When I kissed her in appreciation she snuggled closer, giggling in a girlish way that always enchants me, whispered, "Aren't we glad we have each other after all these years. I wouldn't trade for all the youth in the world." I fell asleep resolved to keep the conversation going with Mulder and Krycek and break their walls of silence. *** 4th Night The room was crowded when I arrived at 5pm. I had been called in to work earlier than usual. The Mobile Surveillance Unit Team, ASAC Clark, a new telescope and reports littering the table greeted my eyes. I searched out the guys immediately. Mulder was standing, arms akimbo, ready to launch into what I was sure was another attempt at explaining something. Krycek was leaning up against the far wall with a disgusted look on his face. Everyone paused as ASAC Clark greeted me. He immediately began to bring me up-to-date. "It seems that somehow the Suspect had been managing to leave apartment Five-oh-three every night. Despite the constant surveillance of two and sometimes three," he sneered, "supposedly qualified Agents. He was spotted at 11:45pm last night in a bar on Lancer Street. When, according to the report- log, he was safely tucked away in bed. Upon further questioning of the bartender, it turns out that the Suspect has been present between 11:30pm and 1am in this very bar almost every night for the past two weeks. I was nonplussed and stayed quiet. Krycek thrust his chin out and said, "In light of this 'possible' sighting of the Suspect, is there any documentation about the Suspect's family? Does he have a brother, cousin, a twin perhaps? He has certainly not left the apartment unnoticed and could not be in two places at once." Mulder smiled at Krycek's comment. I suddenly remembered what Mulder's usual cases were rumored to be about. The ASAC looked hard at Mulder and said, "No way, no out-of-body experiences, no doppelgangers, no aliens or ghosts." The Mobile Unit Agents snickered. Mulder continued to smile, but it wasn't amusement anymore. Krycek moved sideways a bit and, half covering Mulder's body from the ASAC's glare, said, "Can't we just stay on topic and find out about the Suspect's background?" Mulder shifted slightly, and standing shoulder to shoulder with Krycek, said in a sarcastic voice, "Yeah, how about some 'facts' to back up the bartender's statement." I was struck, suddenly, about how wrong I might have been in my assessment that Mulder and Krycek were uncomfortable with each other. Certainly they had never delved into personal conversation in my presence or appeared to be trusted friends, but this automatic protective back- up on Krycek's part and Mulder's immediate response to Krycek's support spoke volumes. The ASAC replied grudgingly, "I will see if anything is available. But I warn all of you," he glared pointedly, "keep vigilant," and left the room. The Mobile Unit Team, snickering anew and humming 'doo-doo-doo-doo' from Outer Limits, also left. Mulder and Krycek continued to stand shoulder to shoulder after the room emptied. Seemingly unaware of my presence, Krycek said, "Assholes." Mulder leaned slightly into Krychek and made contact, shoulder to shoulder. He replied, "Told you if you stayed around me very long you'd get a lousy rep too." Krycek grinned suddenly. Without moving away he said, "Hey! Do you think Clark practiced lists of paranormal vocabulary words ahead of time just for you? Witches and warlocks and ghosts, oh my!" he started singing to the tune from Wizard of Oz. "Visions and aliens and ghouls, oh my," he started to laugh. Mulder started to grin, and with an unconscious gesture wrapped his hand around Krycek's and squeezed it tightly. He let go and moved away. Krycek raised the hand Mulder had held to his throat just briefly and stretched his neck in that gesture I was beginning to recognize as 'Krycek emotional moment'. He quickly began to straighten up the mess on the table. Mulder finally took note of me standing uselessly by the door. He said, "Hey! You're here early. Did you get called in to witness the sideshow?" I grinned weakly and said, "Yeah. I guess so." I walked into the room and placed a large sack on the now neatly stacked table. Krycek, fiddling with the new telescope, said, "Well, be glad you missed most of it. I'm sure you got the important parts. What's in the bag?" "Real food," I replied. "You know, the kind a wife makes in a house with a kitchen stocked to the gills, and the absolute conviction that three men spending hours on a boring stake-out will surely starve to death if not provided with sustenance." Krycek stared at me astonished. Mulder, laughing at his expression, said, "I bet there's even a salad and veggies in there, and oh, napkins too." Krycek frowned at Mulder, turned to me, smiled and asked, "So what's for dessert?" I couldn't help it. I just started to laugh. Unable to stop I replied, "The two of you sound about as old as my son." Looking at Mulder I continued, "He says salad and vegetables in 'just' that tone of voice too. Why don't we eat now while it is still hot? You can go on your jogging breaks later. Believe me. You'll need to work the calories in this meal off." They looked at each other and with ill concealed greed approached the table. I opened the bag and, removing paper plates, cutlery, napkins and the first large container, said, "Voila! Salad!" I started to chuckle and pulled out the second container. "Ah, corn on the cob and wow!" I exaggerated my tone, "Beef stew and rolls!" like it was all a miracle offering, and lowering my voice to a hush said reverently, "Pecan pie." Mulder and Krycek gave up all pretense of disinterest. They began to sit down until I said in a mock stern voice, "You think you're going to eat 'my' wife's cooking without washing your hands?" Krycek burst into laughter and punched Mulder in the arm, walked past him as if he'd been going towards the sink all along and said, "Yeah Mulder, what a slob." Mulder pushed Krycek back, laughing, and said, "Be sure to run that extra mile later Alex, you're the one who complains about gaining weight." He took a quickstep in front of Krycek and started to wash his hands first. For once there was actual conversation. Speculation about who the look-alike might turn out to be. The relative benefits of the newer telescope. Why we hadn't been issued a video-recorder instead. Whose turn it was to type up tonight's report, a consensus that all ASAC's were bastards - just general case chit-chat. I was beginning to think that maybe normalcy was going to be achieved when Mulder said, "Yo! Five-oh-five just walked in," and turning to me said, "He's been out since we came on shift." Now I wasn't sure exactly what role Five-oh-five was playing in this unfolding drama, but I duly looked across the alley and agreed that yes indeed he had arrived. Krycek said, "It's Saturday night. He's got more groceries and flowers too. Want to add another ten- spot just for the hell of it, Mulder?" Understanding bloomed. They had a bet going about Five-oh-five's behavior. "What's the bet?" I asked. Mulder choked. Krycek put down his fork, leaned back and looked speculatively at Mulder. Mulder finished chewing, swallowed and took a sip of water. "Well," he said. Krycek chimed in, "Is a deep subject." Mulder went on as if the interruption was just too dumb - which it was - to acknowledge. "Mr. Five-oh-five over there seems to live a rather solitary life, as far as we can tell. So we," he emphasized the 'we', "thought that maybe he was just waiting for the weekend to have company." He emphasized the word 'company' too. That sounded reasonable to me. He looked like a regular guy, regular habits with a date on Saturday night. What was the deal? "So," I asked again, "that's the bet, if the guy has a date or not?" Krycek raised his eyebrows slightly and continued to look inquiringly at Mulder. "Not exactly," said Mulder. "The bet is who Five-oh-five will possibly spend the evening with." Now I was confused. Just who, I shuddered a little, or maybe what, did they expect to come over? Krycek picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of potato; pointing the laden fork at Mulder he said to me, "I think that Five-oh-five will have a hot date with some chick which, by the way, the addition of flowers to the scenario supports. Mulder thinks Five-oh-five's 'date' will be a man. He supports his theory with the supposed evidence that all the food brought in this week is easy to prepare or junk food. That if a woman was expected it would be nicer stuff. I think Five-oh- five just can't cook." "Okay," I said. "Who came over last Saturday night?" "We weren't on duty last week," Mulder said. "And we thought it best not to ask," Krycek added. I'll just bet you did think it best not to ask, I thought. I looked from one to the other, and knowing that neither was going anywhere tonight, asked sweetly, "So which one of you is going for a run first?" Mulder looked at me sharply and then laughed. "You're all right," he said. "Can we have dessert now?" Krycek asked. After dinner Krycek said to Mulder, "Show me the money, sucker," and took a $50 out of his own wallet, waved it in Mulder's eyes and put it in the front pocket of his pants. Mulder, not to be outdone, took a $50 out of his wallet, snapped it with a sharp crack, put it right back into his wallet and smirked. Krycek said, "Full of yourself, aren't you? Just wait." Mr. Five-oh-five had he but known it, was the main event for three very interested Special Agents. The Suspect in Five-oh-three wasn't going anywhere. By 7:00pm he'd already graduated to rum, sans coke, drunk in front of a blaring TV tuned to a COPS marathon. Five-oh-five went about the obvious business of getting his apartment ready for the big night. Disappearing into the bedroom, this was out of our view, much to Mulder's chagrin. He reappeared with a load of dirty sheets. He threw these into the washer/dryer combo in the kitchen. Arranging the flowers in a real vase, much to Krycek's amazement at the quantity of such things revealed in the open cabinet. Preparing a tray of nicely arranged snacks and laying it on the table with the flowers. At this Krycek raised two fingers, in a Victory V, in support of his contention that a female date was certain now. Five-oh-five plumped up the cushions on the couch and pushed the coffee table out of the way, which made Mulder grin and say, "He's expecting some action tonight." He disappeared once again to return freshly showered, shaved and no doubt smelling good in uncomfortably tight looking jeans, bare feet and an untucked red shirt. At this Mulder made a big exclamation 'score one for me' in the air. Krycek frowned. I sat silently through this display. I wondered how I was going to tell my wife that I didn't have the moral fortitude to mention that spying on the privacy of an innocent American citizen was not what a Federal Surveillance Order was meant to include. But this was just too entertaining. I wouldn't break up the show for all the tea production, which was undoubtedly quoted in Krycek's book, in India. With their usual tandem dispatch Mulder and Krycek cleared the table. Krycek noted that the Suspect was up to nothing in the log-book. Mulder made a full pot of fresh coffee. Krycek cut the remaining pie into three huge pieces. He brought it to the table for later consumption. Both of them refused any help from me. Krycek said, "You be sure to thank your wife for the meal. Tell her that is was really good." He put all the plastic containers back in the bag. Mulder said, "Yeah. Tell her 'I' appreciated the salad and that you are a lucky bastard." Neither went out for a run or resumed their usual independent study projects. Both in turn took very quick showers anyway. 8:00pm, and I realized I was enjoying myself immensely. The conversation went on. Krycek asked, "Did your son mow the lawn and get his video games back?" Mulder jumped in. "Nah, the kid probably meant to start but found a way to be out of the house all day." "Mulder is absolutely right," I said. Krycek looked a little worried about this, but I said, "It's not a problem. Tomorrow is Sunday. If it goes like I expect, he'll start early enough to be hard at work when it is time to leave for church." Krycek laughed. "Smart kid." I laughed too. "My kid can deal with his mother over that issue, with my blessing. Maybe I can find something to do in the yard as well." Mulder grinned and said, "Smart dad." We all laughed and Mulder looked at his watch. 8:45pm, and Five-oh-five went to open the door. We all sat up straight, eyes glued to the ensuing action. I thought that if the Suspect in Five-oh-three jumped up and ran from the room right now, hands full of forged documents, none of us would follow in pursuit. A lovely woman in a soft blue dress entered and stepped right into Five-oh-five's arms. Krycek crowed, fist in the air, and said, "Yes!" Mulder just leaned forward and continued to watch the couple kiss and smile and kiss some more. Krycek said, "Pay up, Mulder." Just then a man carting a suitcase in each hand came through the opened doorway. Mulder began to smile. The couple stopped kissing. The woman stepped out of Five-oh-five's arms and the man dropped the cases where he stood. With a huge grin he grabbed Five-oh-five and kissed him passionately on the mouth. Five-oh-five returned the kiss in exactly the same manner. Mulder said, "I win." "You cheated somehow," Krycek said. "Did not. Pay up Alex." I realized that between the waiting and the coffee, I needed to take a leak right now. I got up from the table, seemingly unnoticed while they continued their argument. When I was done and about to step back into the room, I paused while I decided about getting another cup of coffee or something else to drink. Mulder's movements caught my attention when he got up, leaned over Krycek and reached for the money in Krycek's pocket. Krycek looked up at Mulder, said "Hey," and went very still. Mulder's hand continued its descent towards the pocket. He was breathing hard. I was suddenly mesmerized, glad that I was out of sight and vaguely uneasy all at once. Mulder's hand reached the pocket but instead of pulling out the bill, his hand lingered. Spreading his visibly trembling fingers, he smoothed the pocket and Krycek's hip in a hesitant caress. Looking into each other's eyes Krycek whispered, "This some of the kind of pay up you want, Mulder?" Mulder leaned in closer and said, "No pay up, Alex. Just want." Krycek stared at Mulder, his mouth open slightly, did his little neck tension release thing and said, on an exhaled sigh, "Yes." He paused and took a breath. "I - I want too." "I know," said Mulder and kissed him. I very quietly backed up into the bathroom and silently shut the door. This whole scene was entirely out of my usual realm of experience. But I didn't kid myself. I'd half suspected that something had been simmering between the two of them. That the 'something' was sexual attraction didn't exactly surprise me. Those tense silences interspersed with unconscious protectiveness and cooperation. They'd exhibited a mostly silent yearning for connection and absorption in the other's slightest gesture. All this pointed to unspoken feelings. Tonight, after the nasty scene with Clark, they'd begun to bond, and the humor and puppy playfulness at dinner had cut through a lot of defensiveness. I thanked God and my wife for pecan pie. I was strangely humbled too. Once they accepted me into the risqué nature of the bet and Krycek seemed 'almost' convinced that I wasn't about to beat my son senseless, they'd both relaxed and just let the evening unfold. I knew with absolute conviction that they both thought I was safely out of sight in the bathroom, however casually they seemed to not notice my removal from the room, but I also knew that there was a measure of trust extended to me, nonetheless. I made sure to re-open the bathroom door noisily and entered the room. They were both seated as I had originally left them, still apparently debating who exactly had won the bet. I poured myself another cup of coffee and joined them at the table. Five-oh-five and friends were sitting on the couch eating, talking and kissing. The Suspect in Five- oh-three was out cold, the COPS marathon still blasting away. Mulder and Krycek were only slightly tense and flush-faced but otherwise as usual. "I think," I said, "you have both won the bet and that Five-oh-five's wait for his Saturday night 'date' was more than either of you expected. I like that. Seeing you both surprised makes an old guy like me feel not quite so out-of-it." They both laughed. I finished my coffee while we watched the action grow more heated on the couch across the street. At 10:00pm I gathered my things together and prepared to go home. Mulder said, "What, you running away early tonight? Things are just getting good," he gestured toward apartment Five-oh-five. "Enjoy," I replied in a superior tone. "I have a warm bed of my own at home to get back to. Besides, I don't think I want to know the details. Explaining that to my wife would ensure a year of church on Sundays, yard work or no yard work." They both laughed again, although Krycek threw a "Henpecked husband but the cooking is worth it" into the mix. I made my way to the door and, exiting, paused long enough to say "I'm glad you both won the bet. It's always better that way. Goodnight." *** 5th Night They weren't there when I arrived Sunday evening. Two local Agents were occupying the chairs at the table. I greeted them and asked the whereabouts of Agents Mulder and Krycek. I was told they were due at 10pm. The case had heated up. The Agents had decided to take action without authorization. They had left the Mobile Unit asleep in their van, and attempted to question the Suspect from Five-oh-three when he had exited the apartment at 12:25am. Since the Suspect had been thoroughly drunk, in his underwear, convinced he was chasing a car thief on foot with a beer bottle as his weapon, the scene had gotten ugly pretty quickly. Agent Mulder was currently returning from a session with AD Skinner in Washington DC. Agent Krycek was still nursing, upon his release from the hospital, the minor concussion he'd incurred. He was probably boning up on all the regulations he and Mulder had broken early this morning. A report was due to ASAC Clark by 8:00am Monday. Local Agent Number 2 shook his head woefully and continued to explain that the Suspect, once sober, had pitched a fit because he'd felt his Civil Rights had been violated when Agent Krycek, while attempting to arrest him for Drunk and Disorderly, had dragged him over to the pond in front of the library and dunked his head under the water three times. Agent Number 1 went on to say that it wasn't the 'dunking' that fueled the Suspect's objection and ire (per se), but the fact that he had swallowed a rather large goldfish. Everyone knew that the fish in the city pond were toxic. The two Local Agents cracked up. Number 1 barely got out that in the end no actual progress on the case had been made, because needless to say, the Suspect was not in the right frame of mind to answer questions. But, but the Agent spluttered, the Suspect intended to sue the city for millions. My, my, I thought, the boys had indeed had an exciting night. Not the kind of excitement they might have had in mind, but eventful nonetheless. I wondered if being chewed out by AD Skinner and/or a concussion written report would banish all the progress they'd made the previous evening towards - towards what, exactly? My thoughts became more reflective. I'd had partners' back-in-the-day of Field Duty. A few, but not all, had become friends for life. I remembered the intensity of those partnerships, the petty jealousies and the intrusion of the job into most attempts at a normal family life. How the disturbing, gross and horrific aspects of the work could only be shared and understood within the 'brotherhood'. I had not had romantic or sexual relations with these partners, but I understood it. I had spent more hours of intense stress and excruciating boredom with these men than time with my family. We each had known each other's habits, secrets and failings. The intimacy of life on the road in an endless number of small crummy motel rooms had bred relationships that, at the time, had taken on huge emotional weight. I remembered the intense loneliness of weeks at a time, spent apart from my wife with only my own hand providing what had been, by comparison, empty relief. It was why I had chosen desk duty at the first opportunity. But at least back then, I and most of my partners had been married men and had a 'life' to go back to. While some, maybe most, had cheated on their wives, I had not. I had fainter recollections of the gossip about partners that had been rumored to be lovers, or the Agents who, in those days, had been harshly accused of being homosexuals. Back then those Agents had either kept very quiet and discreet or had simply disappeared from the Bureau altogether. The past decade had wrought only surface changes and a lot of PC bullshit. Don't Ask and Never Tell was still the reality within the confines of the job, regardless of any pretence that being Gay was no longer grounds for dismissal. So what exactly were Mulder and Krycek doing? They were, had to be, fully aware of the consequences of becoming involved in an affair. Mulder's career was already on very thin ice with his bizarre theories and the X Files. Krycek was a very new and far from established Agent. He had a shiny clean reputation and everything to lose. The Suspect in Five-oh-three got up, kicked his coffee table over, grabbed a coke and sat back down. All three of us rushed to enter this in the log, more for something to do than because it had any significance. I got a cup of coffee and returned to contemplate what was rapidly becoming an issue of great importance to me. How long had it been since I'd had internal philosophical debates about how other people lived their lives? Had I become inured to the complexities of those around me? Outside those of my immediate circle of friends and family, had I just become too busy or too lazy to deal with these things? If that were true, why then was the catalyst for this change in perspective Mulder and Krycek? Shit. I knew the answer, if I was honest enough to face it. I'd tried to not be touched by them. Thinking of them as inexperienced or somehow less. Their obvious discomfort and attempts at being cool or distant wasn't childish but protective. Calling them boys in my own mind. They weren't, of course. They were both men. They were men who had seen as much of the underbelly of human nature and its dark side than I had. Mulder, during his years with BSU and VCU, had certainly seen more. They were men who, by the time I joined this case, had long since finished with childhood. They had withstood the pressure, pain and disappointment that came into anyone's life. What was it then that called out to me? Loneliness, their loneliness is what it was. It compelled me to try to reach out to them, to amuse them or comfort them. Why they were so alone in this world was a mystery. To all appearances they were smart, good-looking, employed, interesting and competent. But below the surface, just barely below the surface, they projected something else. It was a kind of hunger. Not for approval or popularity or even for power or sex. It was an overwhelming hunger to connect, to be fully alive, to be real somehow in ways they thought they weren't. That was the draw. The sirens' call to live life to its utmost. Who was I to resist that? Who could? Agent Number 1's cell phone rang at 9:45. Mulder was detained in DC. Krycek had been called for an emergency deposition in NYC by some powerful lawyers with a case about to go to court. Neither Agent would be reporting for duty tonight. Agent 2 cursed and said his girlfriend was going to be really pissed when he didn't show till after 3:00am. 10:30 finally arrived and I went home. *** 6th Night "Well," I said to my wife as I was leaving to work a full twelve hours, "this is my last duty shift, and then I will be officially recertified Field Worthy." "Too bad," my wife replied half in earnest. "I was enjoying the luxury of being master of the remote control for once." She hugged me hard and said, "Just remember you're my hero already. Those middle- aged bones of yours don't need to prove anything. Come home in one piece and maybe I'll let you change a few channels tonight." "I love changing your channels," I replied. I arrived at the surveillance site at the same time as Agent Johnson. Paul Johnson, another grey-hair up for recertification and an old colleague of mine, began to complain before we were in the door. "What in the hell is going on in this case? Double Suspects, pond dunking, pissed off ASAC Clark and Fox Mulder! Shit! Tonight is my bowling league tournament and I had the night off!" I began to remember Johnson's constant harangues and his cigars. I hoped the cigars were a thing of the past. One out of two wouldn't be bad. "Stay cool, Paul," I said. "This is the most boring case in existence. You can take as many naps as you like. The Suspect never goes anywhere unless he's drunk, and he hasn't had a sip of the hard stuff since the incident at the pond." Four local Agents were in the apartment, and all expressed relief when Paul and I walked in. Why the fuck double teams were needed was unknown. The Suspect had done his usual nothing much all day. The Mobile team had already reported in that there was no activity on the street. The Suspect seemed to be home for the night, in their opinion, although it was just going on 3pm. Two of the four local Agents left right away, and the other two stood waiting impatiently for Mulder and Krycek to arrive. Mulder came in first. Dressed in worn jeans, blue Henley and brown leather jacket, he was carrying a huge manila envelope, no doubt stuffed with his ubiquitous news clips. It was obvious to me that all attempts to keep up a professional demeanor on this job were gone. His true feelings regarding the inanity of the work were now going to show. He barely acknowledged the leaving Agents and his introduction to Paul, giving me only the briefest smile hello, checked the log, and sat down in his usual spot at the table. He became immediately involved in his newspapers. In other words, I knew he was in a 'mood' that did not bode well for the coming 12 hour shift. Paul rolled his eyes at me and grimaced. He appropriated the one armchair and an overturned box for a footstool. He opened his briefcase to reveal cigars, an ashtray and golfing magazines. Asking who made the best coffee but not getting up to make any himself, he settled in for the duration. Krycek arrived at 3:14. If he had slept since Saturday night it didn't show. He looked like he'd been dragged though a hedge, wrinkled long sleeve white shirt, baggy olive green Dockers, his gun stuck with complete disregard to regulations in the waistband at the small of his back, and no tie or jacket. He was carrying an overnight case and a suit bag. There was faint bruising on his temple and face. He greeted me and met Paul unsmilingly. He looked intently at Mulder and said in a low bitter voice that was new to me, "Fucking NYC attorneys - think they run the world. I spent the night doing their damn deposition without my notes, which are in DC, of course. They raked me over the coals for not remembering the details. Old bastards in their $3000 suits, I'd liked to shoot them all." Mulder stared back at Krycek just as intently. He had a small sneer on his face. He said, "I thought 'details' were your forte, Krycek." Krycek muttered, "You just don't know me," and when Mulder's sneer grew wider "as well as you think," and took his baggage with him into the bathroom. Paul rolled his eyes at me some more. Oh shit, I thought, what a jolly time we're going to have tonight. I started a big pot of coffee, and appropriating Krycek's book on Canada sat down to await further developments. What was really going on, I wondered. I'd have thought some mutual concern for their separate ordeals would have been in order. But no, they seemed to be back to terse one-liners and cold intense looks. I looked at the book in my hands, stroking the page slowly and thought, why was Mulder suspicious? Why had Krycek offered such a wordy description of his night in NYC? Okay, I understood enough about Mulder to know he was always suspicious, but why feel 'that' way about Krycek's activities? I snagged my finger on the edge of a page and the tiny paper cut welled up a drop of blood. I brought my finger to my mouth and realized Mulder was right, Krycek's forte was details. I let these thoughts continue. It didn't make sense, really, insisting a Junior Agent give a deposition unprepared and with a concussion less than 12 hours old. That wouldn't hold up in court in a million years. If Krycek had not been doing that, what had he been doing in NYC? Krycek's anger at the 'old bastards' in NYC had been real. But what I didn't get was what it had seemed Krycek was so intent for Mulder to understand. He'd looked as though his future hung on Mulder's understanding. Bah! I was imagining trouble when it was just exhaustion, stress, bruises and maybe guilt for getting them in trouble with the pond fiasco. I hoped Krycek was restored to a better frame of mind after his shower, and I had a great longing for more of my wife's cooking to offer. Krycek came back. He was also wearing jeans, but they were loose, like the Dockers had been, as if the emotions and events of the past few days had stripped him of a layer of normal comfortable weight. Well worn black cotton shirt with the two top buttons missing, and even more worn running shoes made him look like the bachelor twenty- something he was when stripped of the Junior Agent uniform. My wife would have called them 'comfort' clothes, and reminded me about that old pair of UCLA sweats I refused to trash. He neatly stacked his stuff by the wall and, using a shoulder holster, put his gun back on. He poured coffee from the fresh pot into 2 cups and went over to Mulder. 4:00pm and I felt invisible. Just like the first night. Paul was asleep over his golfing magazine. Krycek put both cups on the table. Mulder did not look up. Krycek stood looking through the window at apartment Five-oh-five. No one was home and the apartment was neat and still. Krycek moved closer to Mulder and bringing his hand around Mulder's head to cup his face, simply drew it up against his stomach and held it there. He continued to stare across the way and ever so slowly Mulder relaxed until his head was at rest. I stopped breathing. I had seen them in many moods by now, and each one had supplied my imagination and captured me in a grip of fascination. If I was mostly invisible to them, they had taken on the qualities of actors in an unfolding drama to me. But this, this risk at tenderness that Krycek had just taken. I felt my throat tighten. No passion, want, attraction, joking around, working as a team, none of that compared. This was the real thing, all grown up and sure. Whatever else Krycek was, he was no emotional coward, and Mulder, for all his isolation and paranoia, recognized that truth. Paul gave a snort and woke up. Krycek sat down and drank his coffee. I took a breath, finally. Mulder said, "Kry - Alex, Skinner sends his regards." Krycek said in a monotone, "Which way is he 'regarding' me?" Mulder said in a deadpan voice to match, "As someone who tried to catch a fish the hard way." "Well shit," said Krycek. "He also said that he was sure you would not be tempted to 'fish' that way again and oh!" Mulder tried to keep his voice steady, "that he had many many instructional manuals that he was sure you were anxious to read about the proper way to fish." "Well shit," Krycek said again, and laid his head in folded arms on the table. "But Alex," Mulder said, "you 'like' to read manuals." "Fuck you," Krycek replied, and buried his head further in his arms. Paul spoke up for the first time. "All ADs are sons-of-bitches." Since that was undoubtedly true, no one had anything else to say and Krycek was soon asleep. Mulder watched Krycek sleep. I wondered at the pain that shadowed his eyes. I recognized the desire that showed in his eyes, too. At 6:00pm the Suspect got to his feet and went to bed. Mulder woke up Krycek and we all talked about what to have for dinner. Just as we were coming to a consensus Krycek got up suddenly and ran to the telescope, peering through it intently. "What is it?" we all asked more or less in unison. "That's not him," Krycek said. "What?" asked Mulder as he shouldered Krycek out of the way to take a look. "He's asleep with the covers up, Alex," Mulder said. "No, no," Alex said excitedly, "that's not his head and neck sticking out. He had on a red shirt with a collar, and now it's yellow. We didn't see him change clothes." Paul and I had to look too, and Krycek was correct. Though only the tiniest bit of shirt showed, it was indeed yellow. Paul asked the $64,000 question. "Well, where the hell did he go?" Mulder paced, and Krycek and I started to grin. "He's got a god dammed trap door," Mulder said. "Yes!" Krycek crowed. "Yes!" I yelled. "Alright," said Paul. "Agent Krycek, call the Mobile Unit and alert them. Agent Mulder, phone ASAC Clark and have him pull a warrant." Mulder and Krycek jumped to it. I nudged Paul in the ribs. "Careful, old man," I said softly. "Mulder is the Agent in Charge here until Clark shows up, and you keep that in mind." Paul stared at me like I was crazy, and maybe I was. But if this damn case was going to get solved, Mulder and Krycek were going to get the credit. Everything started to happen all at once. The Mobile Unit started squawking through the speakers, Mulder was arguing that we didn't need a warrant to go search the apartment below the Suspect's. It was empty and the building super could unlock it. I could wait for the warrant while he and Krycek checked this out. Krycek was trying to get someone at HQ to find and bring over the building schematics. Paul kept his eyes glued to the telescope. I checked my gun and for the first time in 15 years, I felt old, scared, excited and as young as Krycek all in the same second. Mulder had, of course, been denied permission to search the building without a warrant and a SWAT team for back-up. Krycek was roundly cursed for requesting materials after City offices had closed. But nothing could dampen the excitement. Mulder checked his gun and put on his brown leather jacket. Krycek checked his gun and dug around in his suit bag till he found a black flannel shirt. He put it on and left it unbuttoned to allow easy access to his shoulder holster. Paul lit a cigar and volunteered to man the apartment. Mulder grabbed Krycek's arm and pulled him towards the door, saying that they would go downstairs to wait for the warrants. I followed a moment later, unable to sit tight and wait for my warrants up here. I was too excited to wait for the elevator, and started down the shadowy carpeted stairwell. I'd only taken two steps when I spied Mulder and Krycek come to an abrupt halt on the landing below. I stopped too. "We can't go in the building without back-up," Krycek was saying. "We're in deep enough shit already on this case." "I know, I know," said Mulder. "I just couldn't wait around up there," stepping right up into Krycek's space and mashing him up against the wall. "Or wait anymore for this, can you?" He put his hand on Krycek's button-less upper chest and his other hand in Krycek's hair, pulling it slightly, causing Krycek to bare his neck, latched his mouth onto that expanse of skin and began a frenzied combination of licking and sucking and biting. Even from my vantage point I could see Krycek's knees begin to buckle. Krycek grabbed onto Mulder's coat and arched his hips, thrusting his groin against Mulder. "Mulder, shit, Jesus, Mulder," Krycek started chanting. Mulder tore his mouth away for a moment and looked at Krycek in his extremis, said, "Yes, yes, beautiful, yes, I knew you would be" in an exultant voice and attacked the other side of Krycek's neck. I flattened myself against the wall, really hoping to remain invisible. I couldn't go back up or continue down without interrupting, and I wasn't about to do that. So I stayed stuck, trying to decide if I was a pervert for watching or if I had just lost all sense of proportion. Was I glad they were finally giving in to a passion that would change their lives or possibly destroy their careers or all of the above? Then I decided I didn't care. They were on a path towards a destiny of their own. Krycek put his arms all the way around Mulder, hooked his foot and reversed their positions. He leaned his forehead up against Mulder's, and said into Mulder's mouth, gasping out his words, "You make me come in my pants," he panted, "and I have to spend the rest of the night chasing a Suspect in them," he kissed Mulder on the mouth, "and I will never forgive you." Mulder laughed deep in his throat and rubbed his now visible erection on Krycek's hip. "Well, we would both be a mess then, 'cause I'm about as close as you are," he rubbed more, rhythmically. "Besides, we could take a shower later, and I bet I could make you forgive me." "Mulder, Mulder," Krycek said taking Mulder's hand into his and inserting both down between them, groaning when they wedged between them and pressed their cocks, pushing them together. "Another bet?" I remembered the first time I felt the touch of another's hand on my cock. I was 15 and sure that the girl was going to be grossed out. But she wasn't, and held on while I humped against her mindlessly. I think I came in about 20 seconds, maybe sooner. I watched them pull down zippers and frantically loosen their underwear, adjust their hands together around both erections and simultaneously begin to thrust. They had undoubtedly had many hand- jobs to their credit by this age, but none, I thought, like this one. I knew that there wasn't a hell of a lot of difference between my ancient memory and their current one. It was just as brand new. They were just as mindless. I don't think they lasted more than 20 seconds either. When it was over they both stood still in the same position and breathing hard. Krycek slowly took a small step away from Mulder, not far, just a few inches. He took his dripping sticky hand away from the tangle of their bodies. He looked at it as if it were some new kind of appendage. Mulder looked at Krycek's hand and took it in his own messy hand; clasped it and squeezed tightly. The semen squished softly and ran down their wrists. Mulder raised their entwined fists and, placing his lips on Krycek's dripping wrist, licked the semen. Krycek leaned forward and copied the gesture, meeting Mulder's eyes all the while. It was, I thought, the most intimate gesture I had ever witnessed in my life. Krycek took a shaky breath and kissed Mulder deeply, their hands caught between them as intimately as their cocks had been a moment ago. He kissed Mulder for a long time. When he broke the kiss Mulder was dazed and breathing hard. "I bet I could figure out a way to make you scream first when we take that shower later," Krycek said. "What a way to lose a bet," Mulder said as he leaned in and ran his open mouth across Krycek's, down his throat and his chest between the missing buttons. "I accept your bet and raise it - you'll be the first one to beg, Alex, if I have to go down on my knees to see that you do." Krycek moaned. Mulder laughed, used his chin to push Krycek's shirt open a little more. He bit him on the revealed collarbone. Looked at where he had just bitten. "Would you get on your knees, Alex? How would you make me scream?" Mulder asked and bit him again. Krycek moaned again and shook his head from side to side, speechless. Mulder took a deep breath. Still smiling, he used his other hand to pull several packets out from the pocket of his sagging pants. He said in a phony magician voice, "Voila!" Krycek looked closely at the packets and started to giggle. I think this sound amazed me more that anything previously. "Oh God Mulder," he giggled some more, shaking his head in a disbelieving way. "Only 'you' would have a pocketful of Wet-Wipes." "Well," said Mulder in a mock insulted tone, "it only makes sense. I tend to touch 'things' and get my hands dirty a lot. Scully would vouch for that." "Mulder," Krycek said voice filled with certainty. "I don't want to know, right at this moment, what else your hands have been covered with, or what Scully thinks. If you don't mind," and he took a packet, opened it and started to wipe up both of them. They got their clothing situated. Mulder held Krycek's face between both hands, asked, "Are we okay? Is this right?" Krycek answered seriously, "We're okay. Oh God, Mulder, I hope so," and in that tandem rhythm they seemed to flow into, they turned as one and continued down the stairs. I followed more slowly. We all waited in front of the building for the warrants and back-up to arrive. Krycek reported, after talking on his cell phone to Paul, that the Mobile Unit had not spotted the Suspect on the street. He must still be in the building. Mulder began to happily speculate on trap doors, hidden stairways, secret printing machinery and underground tunnels to other buildings. FBI regulations were fulfilled to a 'T' when everyone arrived. The Suspect's building was searched as thoroughly as the warrants allowed, which meant not into other tenant's apartments but only the Suspect's and common areas. The Suspect did indeed have a trap door hidden under his dummy occupied bed, which led to the ceiling crawl space below. It was apparent that this route was well used, as the Suspect had taken the time to cover the duct with a thin layer of foam rubber to muffle any possible crawling noise. But the route ended in the electrical closet. Wherever the Suspect went after that remained a mystery. There were no secret places with printing presses or printing terminals found. ASAC Clark arrived and said that he would get the tenant list and see if anyone's names jumped out on the NCIC database. Krycek recommended that the building super and the cleaning crew be questioned to see if they had seen or heard anything. Mulder said that the Suspect probably had other apartments in the building, and we should check out that possibility. ASAC Clark groused that surely the surveillance Agents should have noticed when the Suspect rolled out of bed and a dummy was left behind. I said that it wasn't that easy. The Suspect's bed was covered with a variety of pillows, blankets and dirty clothes. He would have just been seen to be turning over as he dropped to the side of the bed that was not visible from the telescope's view. The bed would have looked just as lumpy after he was out of it. The dummy torso was there in the bed all along, and as he slid out the Suspect would have just yanked the blanket a little to reveal the head. Clark unhappily had to agree. It was 10:00pm by the time everything was sorted out. Mulder and Krycek said they would find food and bring enough for me, Paul and them back to the site. Clark, being a prick, had insisted that we all finish the shift regardless of the fact that there was little likelihood of the Suspect's return. I went back upstairs and told Paul about dinner. I wondered if Mulder and Krycek were going to be delayed by another round of hot sex in an alley somewhere and decided that I was rapidly becoming a dirty old man. 11:00pm. Mulder and Krycek returned with food, we all ate tiredly and with little conversation. Five-oh-five returned with his two companions, and it was obvious the three were really a long-time deal. The man and woman comfortably moved about the apartment with Five-oh-five and made late night snacks. Mulder looked up Five-oh-five on the tenant list and saw that it was indeed rented to three people. It was a three bedroom apartment. The Saturday night excitement must have been because the man and woman had been gone for awhile and been missed. The woman as another tenant satisfied Krycek's questions about all the knick- knacks in the cupboards. Paul showed no particular interest, but acknowledged that they had probably been more amusing than the Suspect. None of us mentioned the bet. Mulder summed the whole thing up by saying that he was glad they had found a lifestyle they were comfortable with. Krycek and I agreed. Paul said, "To each his own." The Suspect did not return, the Mobile Unit never saw him and he didn't show at the bar on Lancer Street. Mulder was disappointed that there was no twin or look-alike. Krycek thought he was in another apartment looking at us, counting his money and laughing. Paul thought the whole building should have been rousted and checked. We all agreed and lapsed into silence. Paul took a long look at Mulder and Krycek. It was an unsurprised and tolerant look. He told them to go ahead and get some sleep because they both looked whacked out. Mulder grinned tiredly. Krycek went to the far side of the room, sat on the floor with his back against the wall and was asleep in two minutes. Mulder went over, sat a few feet away and quickly followed suit. Paul met my eyes and repeated, "To each, his own." I said, "Go ahead Paul, and enjoy one of your foul cigars." For the moment all was right with the universe. I woke the guys in time for them to say good-bye to Paul, who felt safe to leave a half-hour early. I said that in the morning when the FBI and the City got around to checking out the whole building, the Suspect would be long gone. They agreed. I told them that this was my last night on duty and in any case that my recertification process was over. Krycek asked if I would be glad to get back to my desk and regular hours. I said yes, but that I was glad to have spent time with them. Mulder gave me a smile that was without guile. "I bet you are a really good Dad," he said. Krycek nodded. What more was there to say? The next shift arrived. Mulder, Krycek (carrying his luggage) and I all left together. On the street, in that middle of the night time when even the city seems to pause for a moment, Mulder and Krycek offered me a final handshake. I watched them walk away. When I got in my car the radio was playing some old chestnut, and good old Ray Charles crooned, "You give your hand to me - And then you say goodbye - I watch you walk away - Beside the lucky guy." I shut off the radio. I went home to my sleeping wife and son and knew whatever awaited Mulder and Krycek, I was one hell of a lucky bastard. THE END You Don't Know Me You give your hand to me Oh you don't know the one I never knew the art of making love You'll never, never know I never knew the art of making love Who'll never, never know mmmm, cause you just don't know me |
Tight Squeezeby Flutesong |