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It was the last days of summer and everything was overripe and waiting for the cool breezes of fall. Alex Krycek felt the same way, sweating beneath his leather jacket, thick socks inside his boots and schlepping his heavy, awkward prosthesis. He shrugged and very quickly, driving without a hand on the wheel, scratched at the back of his neck where a lose thread had been driving him crazy for the last ten minutes. Having one arm sucked, he thought again. Pulling off the beltway to scratch an itch was tantamount to becoming a one armed wuss and he wasn't about to admit any such thing, not even to himself. He allowed a huge sigh to escape when he did have to stop at a red light on the exit he was using. He grabbed the straw from his Big Gulp, stuck it down his collar and alleviated the itch fiercely with the sharp end of the plastic tube. It felt wonderful and when the light turned green again he was good to go, just not completely sanguine about coping with the loss of his arm now that he was back on the job. He shifted in his seat and felt the various and sundry hardware and ammunition he carried shift with him. He smiled and turned left at the next light. He might be down, but he wasn't out by any means. He was in the apartment building across the street from Mulder's apartment, exactly in line with the other man's window, which oddly for the paranoid bastard, was open. It was hot as hell, Alex conceded, but really, Mulder should know better after all these years. Spender's suspicious obsession never slept or stopped, no matter how hot or cold it was. Alex grimaced, the Brit was just as bad and Alex was sweltering on that old son-of-a-bitch's dime today. His window was open too, but he wasn't looking out of it. He had mirrored surveillance equipment for this job and Mulder would never catch a glimpse of him across the street. So far, Mulder was not doing anything interesting. He was home at this time of day because Skinner hadn't been able to sweep the Army's complaints about Mulder breaking into Weikamp under the rug this time and he'd been forced to suspend Mulder for a couple of weeks without pay. Mulder'd slept late, sprawled on his couch in boxers and a T Shirt and hadn't stirred until the sunlight was directly on his face. He'd peed and made coffee and was currently scrounging crumbs from the corner of a pastry box and licking his fingers. Sometimes Alex thought, Mulder had lost his sister when he was twelve and was remaining twelve until he got her back. He didn't know why the hell Mulder was his fixation, why he was fascinated or why he wanted the grouchy, condescending bastard at all. Nevertheless, he was watching Mulder's tongue lick his fingers clean and felt heat hotter than the sun penetrate the back of his neck and send shivery tendrils down his spine. That he was here more to be a guard dog than a spy was an irony that wasn't lost on him. But the more time the Smoker was marooned in the Yukon the happier he was, so he set himself up and was prepared to watch as long as he was needed. He even had the Brit's personal masseuse coming once a day for a long PT session to keep his left side in good shape and prevent further damage to his shoulder and back muscles. He watched Mulder give up on the crumbs and grab a banana instead and felt maybe Mulder had it in for gay surveillance details. He shook his head; Mulder was prescient in many ways but he wasn't a mind reader from a distance. The banana finished, Mulder stood, took off the T-shirt, shimmied out of his boxers and headed for the shower. By now, Alex needed a shower too, so he took the handheld alarm which would let him know when there was movement in the scene across the street and got naked too. The cold water felt great and he let it run down his back and over his ass until it swirled down the drain and out to sea. Another one bites the dust Alex dressed after his shower. He didn't want to, but with Mulder as his assignment all hell could break loose any second and running around Alexandria, Virginia naked just wasn't on. Mulder got dressed too although it was a lot less confining that Alex's attire. Mulder was in old, worn gym shorts; period. He was seated at the desk by his window and was perusing his computer monitor and sucking on large ice cubes. Alex reconsidered; maybe Mulder was using some kind of Spidy-sense ESP today to drive him crazy. Alex heard Mulder's phone ring on his surveillance device and turned it on a moment after Mulder picked up. The bug was silent and the tapped phone made no noise or click that indicated the conversation was being heard by a third party. "...der." Alex heard. "Mr. Mulder, my name is Ron Wasserman and I've come across something that might be of interest to you." "Really?" Mulder asked dryly, no longer the eager beaver who took every nut job seriously. "Yes, sir," Wasserman answered. "I'm not delusional or anything and I didn't look for this thing." Alex heard Mulder sigh, "What have you found, Mr. Wasserman?" "I was taking a walk last night on the Maine Avenue Pier; I'd just bought a plate of fried oysters and was sitting on an overturned box by the pilings. The kiosk closed and the owner left. I guess I wasn't particularly visible from the ramp to the pier. Anyway, three stretch limos pulled up. I live here in DC, so convoys of multiple limos are not a rare thing, but this was different. Several men stepped out of the cars, but the drivers did not get out to open their doors. The men all looked kinda old, you know, maybe in their sixties. Then, a man jumped out from behind the Oyster seller's kiosk and stabbed one of the men in the back of his neck. I swear I have never seen old men run that fast in my life. The last limo backed up, the driver opened his window and shot the man with the knife, only it wasn't a knife it was an ice pick thing. I stayed where I was until all the limos backed out, picked up their passengers from across the street and took off. The man who had done the stabbing took off running towards the Washington Monument. I know the limo driver had shot the man right in the chest, but the man ran as if he felt nothing, so I thought he had a bulletproof jacket on or something." "Anyway, I waited until I was sure everyone was gone. Then I went to see if the man who had been stabbed was alive. Now here's the weirdest thing, I did not see the man get up and leave or crawl away or anything, but when I got to where he was, the only thing there was a puddle of green acidic stuff and the ice pick thingy." Wasserman paused and Alex could hear him swallow. "My eyes and nose started to run, so I stepped back and called the police on my cell. The police came right away, but even before they got out of their car, another limo pulled up, another old man got out and waved the police away. They went. The old man's limo driver got out with a gas mask on and picked up the ice pick thingy and then they drove away. The police didn't come back." Alex could practically hear Mulder's mind turning at a hundred miles an hour. He was buying this shit; Alex just knew it and he would be off in a minute to see what he could find at the scene. Alex sighed and wondered what bait and switch was going to be pulled on Mulder this time. After all, it had been a week since Weikamp and it was time to fuck with Mulder again. Another one bites the dust Just as he thought, Mulder arranged to meet Wasserman at the small deli in La'Enfant Plaza to get exact details and directions. From there Mulder would walk the few blocks up Maine Avenue to the Maine Avenue Pier. Alex started to strap on the rest of his gear, because Mulder would start the walk, but he doubted Mulder would make it to the Pier. No one had told him anything, but that hardly mattered. Alex knew how the Buzzards operated and the fat German had been eyeing the Brit with increasing uneasiness for weeks. The German would be happier with Mulder dead, hell, he'd be joyful to see Alex cremated in the same incinerator. Alex grinned fiercely, if only Mulder knew how much they had in common, enemies of my enemies and all that rot. Instead, he crammed a Boston Red Sox cap on his head; made sure he could get his gun one handed and was in his car a full ten minutes before an equally casually dressed and possibly armed Mulder started the engine of his car. Alex followed in the midday traffic and knew Mulder would be mulling over whether to call Skinner or Scully or if the Fourteenth Street Bridge was jammed rather than looking for a tail on his car. When Mulder did this crap, Alex was sure the Buzzards would win in the end. Alex looked for a tail on either his ass or Mulder's and so far, didn't see anything untoward. Mulder parked illegally by a fire hydrant, got out and looked around, pulled a `Doctor on Call' placard from under the seat and put it in his window. Alex almost laughed, did Mulder think he was in Mayberry and Andy the sheriff, would give the car a pass because of a doctor's sign in the window? Nevertheless, Mulder walked calmly away from the car and Alex, scrambling to find a space, gave in and paid the city its twenty dollar all day parking fee in the garage. He knew just where the deli was inside; he'd bought many a cup of coffee there when he was at the FBI. It was his Metro Stop when he'd lived here. Alex watched the meeting from behind a mannequin in the `Alterations Performed Daily' tailor shop next door. He was right, he recognized Wasserman as a low level techie from the same office where he had gotten his surveillance gear just yesterday. However, he didn't think for a moment that the man was ratting out the Consortium, but knew that he was deliberately misleading Mulder on orders from one of the Old Gents, damn their black souls. Mulder even bought the guy a cup of coffee. Alex shook his head, as much as he'd wished Scully at the bottom of the ocean when he'd been paired with Mulder, he had to acknowledge that her incessant skepticism did keep Mulder alive on many occasions. She would have insisted Mulder run the guy through the FBI recognition data base to see who he really was. How do you think I'm going to get along, Alex followed Mulder down the plaza and onto the street. Just like he thought, Mulder was walking the distance to the Pier. He could smell the seafood long before he got there. All the boats unloaded there and restaurant chefs and grocers came and got fresh seafood for the day. In the evening, on the way home, commuters stopped for a pound or two of something different to take home for dinner. The crummy little Kiosk that fried the shellfish made a fortune all year long, the scent of those delicacies made one's mouth water. Alex rubbed his belly, he hadn't had breakfast while waiting for Mulder to finish his beauty sleep and now he was hungry. Alex saw a handy box behind a railing and sat, maybe it was the same place Wassermann claimed to have sat the night before, but Alex doubted that the man had been here at all. Mulder ordered a plate of the fried oysters and talked to the cashier for a few minutes. Alex watched Mulder eat finger food again and this time he wanted the food as well as the man. Mulder walked around the Kiosk, studied the various puddles on the pavement, all of which probably came from the hourly hosing down the concession stands did to try and keep the smell and the flies to a minimum. Alex watched Mulder toss his paper plate away, wipe his fingers off on his jeans and bend down to look at a puddle. Somehow, Mulder seemed to get the heebie-jeebies, stood up suddenly and looked around. Alex thought he'd been spotted, but Mulder's eyes didn't pause on him. Whatever had spooked Spooky seemed to pass as Mulder shrugged, scuffed though a couple more puddles and headed back towards where his car was parked. Alex picked up the tail after Mulder was safely passed him and on the other side of the street. He kept his eyes peeled for an ambush of some kind, but Mulder made it back to his car unmolested. As Mulder unlocked the door to his car, Alex got antsy; he believed in his instincts too and felt the certainty that Mulder was about to go boom in his car. He called out "Hey Mulder!" Then crouched behind a van. He could see Mulder paused and looked around. After a few minutes he watched Mulder approach his car more carefully, bending down to look beneath it for a bomb, jimmying the lock to see if it had been tampered. Alex wiped his forehead when Mulder got in and started his car without incident. Not that he felt Mulder was out of danger, but for the moment he could run, get his car from the garage and pick up shadowing Mulder again. On 395S back towards Alexandria, Alex watched Mulder drive and talk on his cell phone. He'd always thought Mulder's driving was risky enough without the distraction of talking on a phone, but doubtless, Mulder thought he was a great driver. Mulder did not get off at the exit for his apartment. Instead, he went further south all the way to the huge Potomac Mills Outlet Mall. Alex, hot, hungry and not in the mood for a crowded parking lot and a long walk through the mile long mall, sighed and scrambled to find a parking space near Mulder's car. He couldn't think what Mulder was after here; it's not like Mulder actually liked shopping or went shopping as a regular activity. Mulder was a cheapskate and rarely spent any real money on anything other than his designer suits. Alex pulled the cap on his head lower and kept his prosthetic arm close to his body thinking it looked less artificial that way and followed Mulder into the mall. For a midweek day, it was packed with women pushing babies and dragging toddlers and yelling at five year olds who ran here and there, touching all the expensive goods on the display tables. The blare from the hipper shops' music systems, the beeps and bangs from the arcades and the sound of all children and women was overwhelming and Alex thought, as he did almost every time he was somewhere in Middle-Class Land, that he wasn't cut out to live like these people lived and all the danger and pain in the life he did live, however short or long, was more his thing. Mulder seemed equally bemused by all the activity as he shouldered his way as quickly as he could through the crowds and down one of the offshoot corridors to where the quieter more tech oriented stores were located. Alex had to follow very carefully here, with fewer people around; Mulder might catch his reflection in a window or turn around and see him. He watched Mulder go into the Personal Security store. He wondered what Mulder could want at retail from here rather than getting it from the Gunmen for free and no doubt enhanced. Most of the wares were crap anyway; half-assed web cams to watch the babysitter or the dog while you were at work, do it yourself window and door wires, and various other things to try and keep track of your teenager, as if said teenager hadn't figured it all out when they were nine. He couldn't get a good look, but Mulder was already at the cashier and Alex made it quickly into the shop next door, watching from the doorway, but behind a display. Mulder's mouth was compressed and he looked focused. Alex didn't know if it was because of what Mulder had had to pay for the item or because he was planning his next hair-brained adventure. The ride back to Alexandria was accomplished without interference. After he parked, Mulder walked to the corner Seven-Eleven and bought a new box of assorted Danishes and donuts, a large coffee and two bananas. Alex panicked momentarily thinking about Mulder eating all of this on his watch, and thought again that maybe Mulder really did know he was being spied upon. If Scully drove up from Quantico to say hi, she was going to raise the roof on Mulder's ass for sure. She was bone thin and wore killer black bras this year. Not that he blamed her. Mulder could drive anyone to extremes, even conventional over-educated white girls who had Hope Chests hidden in their walk-in closets and a Bible on their nightstand. Alex ordered a delivery from a neighborhood pizza joint and told the masseuse, when he was done, to stop at a grocery store for him on the way the next day. The masseuse warned him that it would all be Vegan, but Alex didn't care, if he had to keep watch twenty-four/seven, he needed food in the apartment. He watched Mulder; saved from tedium only because it was Mulder and he hadn't been around in a year. Not that Mulder had changed much, a little more bitter, perhaps a few more lines on his face, but he was fit and sleek and as sexy as ever. Alex groaned and booted up Warcraft. He'd get some of his energy spent blasting alien worlds to smithereens. Alex watched Mulder watch global warming on PBS and saw he snickered at the dire predictions, they'd all be gone long before the ice caps melted if no one listened to him in time. Alex smiled grimly, Mulder was right, but damned if he thought the world was worth saving, his own ass yes, the rest of the assholes, Alex shrugged, they didn't mean squat to him. Alex felt antsy, he always felt this way when he cursed the world while knowing what he knew. It was too close to coming true and there was a smidgeon, just a smidgeon, in him that remembered softer feelings, more generous tendencies and how amazing humans could be at their best. He paced, it was better to stay cold, to remain distant; it wasn't as if being close and caring had ever gotten him anywhere. Yet, as he watched Mulder, the little part that was left inside him put up a fuss and quivered until he had to pace or have a drink or go out and fucking shoot something before he could put the irritating niggles back in cold storage. He took the warning device and went to bed as soon as Mulder began to snore in front of the TV. Are you happy, are you satisfied Alex woke in a tangled sweat with the smell of old and new blood in his nose and the sound of screaming in his ears. He sat up and ran to the other room, had Mulder been looking out his window, he would have seen Alex's sweaty, panicked face across the street. Alex let out the breath he'd been holding; Mulder was asleep, safely asleep, on his couch, lights and TV still on. He was safe and Mulder was safe, but he knew how ephemeral safety was and how easily it was blown out of the water and went flopping, like half dead fish, on the ground. Alex ran his hand through his short, damp hair and over his face. God, his dream had felt so real. He sat down with a whoosh and watched Mulder sleep on the monitor; thinking that in some other dimension in another universe somewhere, he and Mulder would be sharing a bed in a cool dark bedroom and there would be no threats to their safety. He only wished it could be true in this reality. He put his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. There were a few cool windy moments before sunrise and Alex's device went off, waking him from a restless sleep with a crook in his neck. Mulder was stretching, picking up the clothes he'd left on the floor and stuffing them into a red plastic hamper. He looked more alert today, compared to yesterday, as well as full of intent. Alex also stretched and flicked the switch on the coffee maker. He took a quick shower, dressed and armed himself to the hilt. The phone rang and he jumped at the sound. Once again he turned on his device and heard, "...der." "Wakey, wakey, Mulder," Scully said and Mulder groaned into the phone. "You're still persona-non-gratis around here, but Skinner wants you to go look into something for him today." Scully said. Mulder swallowed some coffee, "What does he want?" "Ill bring bagels, you make some of the good coffee. I'll be there in half an hour." Alex had a fair idea of what Skinner was attempting to do for Mulder. He would assume Mulder was going stir-crazy by now and some small bizarre thing to do would occupy Mulder safely for a day or two. Alex applauded Skinner's idea, but knew Mulder was already on the scent of his personal version of Alien Clone Wars and would give Skinner's idea short shrift. Scully showed a half hour later with said bagels and a carton of orange juice. They sat on the couch with the foodstuffs spread on the coffee table. First, they talked about the disposition of some evidence in a case that was going to court in the next few days. Second, Mulder ignored Scully's lecture about using his time off for something other than watching TV and eating fast food. Third, she brought up Skinner's little task. Alex listened carefully, he trusted Skinner to try and protect Mulder, but Skinner was as open to the terrible strength of the consortium as well, as much as Alex was. Mulder tried to talk his way out of going to New Jersey on Skinner's behalf without revealing to Scully that he had his own things to follow up on. It wasn't something that would win him favor in her eyes, just more impatience. Alex wondered how long Scully could live in Denial Country after all she'd seen, touched and experienced first hand. Nevertheless, Mulder ended up seeming surly and uncooperative and Scully lapsed into exasperated silence. After a few minutes of silence, Scully stood up. "I thought you were through ditching me, Mulder." Alex could see Mulder wince. With his hands out in front of him, as if he were warding off a rabid dog, Mulder replied, "Don't you think I know this busy work has been drummed up to distract me, keep me out of trouble and pacify me during this forced leave? I think it's time for you and Skinner to stop treating me as if I am a stick of dynamite with my fuse lit. Nothing either of you say or do is going to convince me that there aren't aliens, bounty hunters and clones working for Spender and his projects. God knows I've given up trying to convince you guys." "Hell!" Mulder exclaimed and kicked the paper bag the bagels had come in. "Things are heating up again. Going to Russia put a spanner in their schemes, Krycek has appeared from beyond the Urals with one arm and no explanation and the Smoker has disappeared." He turned and walked to the door and held it open for Scully. "I have things to do and I intend to do them. I want you to stay safe, Scully, you know that and I want Skinner to stay out of trouble and keep his job, so I am going to do what I must on my own. I promise to call you, both of you, if I really get close to anything dangerous or provable. I swear." And he motioned her out of the door. "Thanks for breakfast," He said and closed the door. He waited a beat to see if she knocked or tried to push her way back in, but even over his monitor, Alex could hear the old elevator stop on Mulder's floor and ding its bell. He saw Mulder take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He picked up the bag and put it in the garbage can. Then, Mulder took a box out from beneath the couch and proceeded to take apart, clean and load a sleek small gun. Alex grinned, he'd bet his other arm on that fact that Mulder had an unregistered weapon in his possession. As I lay with my head in your lap camerado, After his outburst to Scully and making sure his `extra' gun was in his ankle holster, Mulder sat on his couch and seemed to be thinking deeply. Alex watched. This was the attitude he liked best when he observed Mulder. He always fancied he could see the energy creating heat waves out of the top of Mulder's scull, because there was no logical explanation just how Mulder came up with his leaps, guesses and assumptions. After Mulder tied his shoelaces in double knots, drank the rest of the orange juice out of the container and grabbed his jacket, Alex knew Mulder was on the move. For the first time since the debacle while in Russia, Alex felt that combination of excitement and terror which was as addicting as heroin and as dangerous to one's wellbeing. Alex followed Mulder into Maryland this time, heading around the beltway towards the Laurel/NASA exit. He cursed, he didn't have adequate ID at the moment to get onto NASA property and trying to climb a fence these days was an awkward business at best. He watched Mulder park under a shade tree and flip the guard his FBI credentials. Alex parked one row behind Mulder and settled in to wait. Some of the offices here were nests of Consortium personnel, but he doubted they would kill Mulder and try to hide the body today. Poison him, Alex considered, maybe they would do that, but it would be a long acting potion giving Mulder time to exit and be far enough away to head off any inquiry. Alex waited and waited and thought about how shadowing Mulder meant he missed a lot of meals, a great deal of sleep and his favorite TV shows. He was so caught up in thinking about these irritants that the cause of them was walking straight at him on the way to his car before he was able to duck down and pray Mulder hadn't spotted him. But, Mulder merely got in his car, started the engine and backed out. Alex counted to fifty and started his car, was back on the job and hoping Mulder was going to go through a drive-in fast food joint on the way home. They didn't stop and Alex couldn't quite reconcile dropping the tail to get a bite. Back in the apartment, surveillance equipment on, Alex scrounged a no-sugar-added peanut butter and all natural strawberry jelly sandwiches out of the vegan crap the masseuse had supplied him. The bread was some kind of rough wheat that tasted like twigs and dirt and the jelly was unsweetened. But, he was hungry, so he ate it anyway, washed it down with a sugar and caffeine filled Mountain Dew and felt he'd gotten an okay deal. Mulder was eating the last of the pastries he'd bought a day or so ago and drinking instant coffee. Alex grinned. If he had to eat crap and be thankful, seeing Mulder do the same was only right, after all. Just the finger licking that went with the meal was a real kicker and Alex was determined that the day he got Mulder on a bed with him he was going to lick Mulder until he screamed. Long after Mulder fell asleep in front on the TV, Alex came awake with a swift jerk. The sounds from Mulder's apartment made him glad he hadn't brushed off his paranoia and gotten undressed and more importantly, unarmed. He meant it literately and did not smile at his own witticism. He saw a couple of familiar shapes coming through Mulder's door. Not that he actually recognized the two home invaders, just that they were as like him as peas in a pod. He turned the bug device on loud and reversed the direction. He yelled, "Stop Thief! Put Down Your Guns!" into the mike and scared the be-Jesus out of the thugs and Mulder. They ran, Mulder fumbled for his gun and Alex watched, laughing so hard his diaphragm ached. Light after light came on in Mulder's building and sirens were coming down the road within seconds. The thugs were long gone, but Mulder was in for a bit of a tough time with the police and his neighbors, although the neighbors pretty much knew the drill of the `Very Loud Almost Death in Apartment 42' scenario. After all, it happened on a fairly regular basis. By the time Mulder was shaking his tousled head and trying to pull on a T-shirt, head off the neighbors and the police at the same time and answer his phone and cell phone, which were both ringing, the Brit was on the phone with Alex. The dry accented voice asked Alex what was going on, Alex answered, "Someone's treading on your turf, unless you are fucking yourself over and not telling me about it. Mulder's okay." The Brit harrumphed, Alex knew he hated foul language and didn't give a damn; it wasn't as if the old man wasn't a stone-cold killer himself and by rights should have been named in the Nuremburg Trials fifty years ago. Brit my ass, Alex always thought; an Austrian SS Officer with an Oxford education was more to the point. At long last, Mulder's apartment emptied, the phones stopped ringing and the lights from the police cars were switched off. The night settled down again, as much as an apartment complex ever did. Alex drank some ice water and sat down in the easy chair. Mulder paced for a while, when he stopped he came to the window and stared directly across the street into the window where Alex was sitting. He didn't move, the lights were on in the apartment and if he moved Mulder would see the shadows on the blinds. Mulder stood with his hands on his hips for a long time. "Where are you?" He mouthed, because Alex didn't hear the words, just saw his lips move. He was shaken when Mulder got his FBI Sig-Sauer off the table and aimed it out the window. He heard Mulder say softly, "Here ratty, ratty, ratty" a few times before he gave up. He lay down on the couch with the gun on his chest and closed his eyes. Alex turned off his lights with a small shudder. Mulder was a piece of work for sure. Whatever alien shit old Bill had added to ammonic fluid in Teena Mulder's womb had grown into this freak of nature. Alex closed his eyes and hoped there'd be a couple of hours of sleep before Mulder was on the go again. He was sure the Brit would make sure any more hits with Mulder's name on them ceased. From my own voice resonant, singing the phallus, Alex heard Mulder's movements through his restless sleep and let himself drift as if he were lying next to him instead of being across the street. He woke, with his hand on his erection through his pants, to see Mulder with his hand under his underwear slowly stroking his morning wood. Alex shook his head; he'd never been this way before, not with anyone he'd ever had under surveillance or worked with or anyone at all. Not the way he felt when Mulder just breathed. He got up and peed, made coffee and washed his face, debating whether or not to shave and decided to skip a day. Mulder played with himself for a long time and Alex sipped his coffee and tried thinking about other things. He turned his head from the monitor and looked out the window. The nine-to-fivers were getting in their cars or walking to the bus stop as if every moment of everyday wasn't filled with pain and peril. He knew it wasn't fair; they all had problems too, but he couldn't help but feel apart from them and their expectations of an ordinary day at work, a little shopping on the way home and Hamburger Helper for dinner in nine or ten hours. Mulder headed for the shower and Alex made toast and boiled a couple of eggs. He sliced them onto his buttered toast and was heavy handed with the salt and pepper and shrugged off thoughts of high cholesterol and blood pressure. He wasn't going to be around long enough to bother about such things. Mulder ate his pastries and read the paper, glancing from time to time out his window and straight at Alex's window. Alex thought about going across the street and knocking on Mulder's door and simply telling him everything. He was pretty sure Mulder wouldn't shoot him, not that it would matter, as soon as the Brit heard he'd have Alex killed ten times over. Nevertheless, Alex considered it. Why should it matter now, he thought, Cassandra Spender was almost a complete success, the Rebel Aliens would put a stop to her right away and war would be at hand. Spender had placed Diana Fowley and his insubstantial son Jeffrey on the front line. Alex knew as soon as the bastard was back from the artic, he would try a coup against the X Files for the last time, no matter if he had to kill Mulder and Scully in order to accomplish his aim. He organized his thoughts. He couldn't put them in writing, he couldn't meet Mulder where they'd be seen, and he couldn't withdraw his money to go on the run afterwards without drawing unwanted attention. He wasn't sure he could go on the run anymore, the fucking arm made things awkward and him immediately identifiable. On the other hand, he was sure if he had Mulder's attention, outlasted Mulder's meltdown and the ubiquitous fistfight, he knew Mulder would listen and believe. Ultimately Mulder needed to believe and most of his hate for him was because he thought Alex did know what was on the inside he'd never managed to penetrate. Alex looked up and Mulder was staring right at him, right through the curtain and the mirrored deflector. Alex went absolutely still and after a few moments, Mulder whispered, "Krycek." It came through the speakers in Alex's apartment like a crack of thunder; reflexively, Alex ducked. I was in the darkness; Alex stayed down, although he knew it was ridiculous. He sat on the floor, his back to the wall and waited until his heartbeat calmed. After he was no longer agitated, he still sat there. He thought he could feel the laser heat of Mulder's stare through the wall. It was time to end the farce the two of them had played for so long and at so high a cost. Alex reached for his cell phone, then threw it back on the table. Instead, he got up, walked past the window, which Mulder could not realistically see through and went into the bedroom. He dug through his pack and found the no-name cell he'd bought weeks ago, and stuffing it in a sock and wrapping the sock in a shirt, he took it into the bathroom. He was sure the apartment was bugged; the old Brit would have been too smart not to have a double-blind on him at all times. But, Alex had tested the bathroom for bugs, had searched every millimeter of tile and behind all the cabinetry. He'd even unscrewed the drain during his last shower. Relatively sure he had privacy, he activated the phone, turned on the shower and called Mulder's number. "Mulder," Mulder answered. Krycek knew Mulder's phone was bugged, he was doing it himself, but he knew every word was relayed to the Brit's team as well. In a high falsetto he sang, "Things are looking up, oh yes, things are looking up." He waited for Mulder to respond, hoping Mulder would understand with that omniscience he sometimes exhibited, what Alex was trying to do. Mulder coughed a few times, "Who is this?" He asked in a demanding voice, but Alex thought Mulder was on to the cover-up anyway. "I don't have time for your nonsense, whoever you are! I have things to do, people to see, you can go to hell." Mulder hung up and Alex gave a huge sigh of relief. Mulder used to say he had people to see when he wanted to wander down by the Tidal Basin and sit on a bench at the Jefferson Memorial. Hell, Alex knew, was Mulder's reference to crossing the Wilson Bridge during rush hour. Alex was sure Mulder would meet him there. He'd be armed, of course, but Alex was counting on Mulder's inability to murder him during the rush hour commute and a million witnesses from the Memorial Bridge overpass. Alex took off his shirt, tilted some water droplets from the shower over his shoulder, tucked the cell phone in a towel again and came out of the bathroom. His feint wouldn't take the Brit long to figure out, but it gave him a bit of leeway. He dried off, put on another shirt, bid the cell phone, his belongings and the apartment farewell and leaving the equipment running, left the apartment. He didn't take the car; it was the Brit's anyway. He walked to the metro, stopping at a branch of his bank and withdrawing almost all of his cash, and boarded the metro hoping there wasn't an assassin waiting when he got off at the Department of Agriculture station. He would wander around all day until the evening rush hour and then he would walk to the Jefferson Memorial and hope to hell Mulder was waiting there. It was a long day, but finally, Alex Krycek walked slowly to Main Avenue. He sat on a bench and watched the cars turn of bypass the Memorial Bridge into the lane for the Jefferson Memorial. He saw Mulder turn, got up and began walking again. Mulder was waiting sitting on the curb of a marble plinth, his back to the marble, his sides protected by the overhang and the view of the steps in front of him. Had Alex been there to kill him, he would have had to shoot him dead on because there was no way to sneak up to him unseen. Alex applauded inside his head. Mulder's face hardened, but he didn't get up. Alex crouched in front of him, "Mulder." "Go on then," Mulder said his hand beneath his jacket on his gun. Alex sighed, "Cassandra Spender is the wife of the Smoker and the mother of Jeffrey Spender. She has been a multiple abductee and also the primary guinea pig for the human scientists. She is complete now, the first successful human/alien hybrid. Along with most of the old men, she went up in flames at Ft. Marlene, but some of the worst are still alive; Spender, the Brit, Strughold out in Africa with the bees. Diana Fowley has been working for Spender since before you met her, Jeffrey doesn't know his ass from his elbow, but he hates his old man. The rebel aliens won back the alien fetus and killed Cassandra, now they want to erase every iota of alien proof or knowledge from the face of the earth. That makes you, Scully and Skinner high on their list." Alex paused. Mulder was breathing fast and his brow was furrowed. "I'm not making this shit up," Alex said. Mulder said softly, "Spender, his name is Spender." "Yeah," Alex said bitterly. "He was in hiding for a while, now he's back. You saw him at the Watergate hotel where Diana was staying. You can bet he has alternative plans to becoming dead meat for the rebels. I don't know what those are; it's been a long time since I was in on much of anything. The timeline was like this; an alien craft and crew were captured after the atomic testing in Nevada in '43 and '44. The upper echelons of the government and the Pentagon knew what was out there. There were really no secrets postwar. The Soviets found out and wanted in on it. Surprisingly for the Americans, they wanted a coalition to guard against the future, not to expose them or undermine the US. An uneasy alliance formed. It seems the ships are actually susceptible to large amounts of radiation. They kept coming, China, Korea, France, everywhere they tested the A-bomb and eventually, they had evidence too. The coalition got larger; still it was secret in the hands of the various militaries. They sat on it until the mid fifties when some of the former Nazi's and some of the bright boys in the postwar world of new technologies, wanted in on it too. This coalition wasn't afraid of World War Three and they wanted power beyond anything the world had known. All the usual suspects were making things happen, including William Mulder. They thought they could become gods, you understand?" Mulder pursed his lips, but eventually, he nodded. Alex let out a breath. "They miscalculated, even with the fetus in human hands; the aliens had not become entirely subservient. It's been almost forty years of feints and deals on all sides, each new idea more risky than the last. Don't think the aliens want this planet for anything more than breeding material. They didn't want anything at all in the beginning; we were just another populated planet and no threat to them. They'd been exploring the galaxy for millennium. The rebels don't even want that from us, but they do see us as threats. Granted, it could be a few hundred years before our space programs could get to them, but they believe human technology would destroy them when that day came. They will erase their presence, Mulder and your much promoted quest to make people believe in aliens is in direct contradiction their plans." Mulder looked past Alex and out into the distance. "Is there any way to communicate with them?" Alex barked out a laugh, "Do you think they want to repeat the folly of their predecessors?" Mulder shook his head, his shoulders slumped. "What do you think the casualty count will be before they leave us alone?" Alex sat on the marble floor, his thighs tired of balancing him in the crouch. "Just about everyone `you' know." He couldn't resist the dig. Mulder quirked his lips, but it wasn't into a smile. Alex got serious, "Cherry-picked, it could be several thousand, I would guess. But it could be many more. It would depend on how deep they think the knowledge is in the governments and militaries across the planet. It's not as if they understand human endeavors, not really, so how would they choose? I think they'd simply blast us out of the solar system and be done." "What's in it for you, Krycek?" Mulder asked. "I want to live, as fucked up as my life has become, I still want to live." Alex said soberly. "Yeah," Mulder said under his breath, "Me too." Because I could not stop for Death Alex and Mulder sat until the sun set and the monument became full of shadows and ghosts. "How do I stop them?" Mulder asked tiredly. "Everything Spender has done is predicated on the aliens actually staging an invasion and him and his choice few surviving the maelstrom. The Rebels are different and so far, totally uninterested in contact with humans. I thought they would be our salvation, but then I thought they wanted war against the other aliens, not us. They are eliminating large numbers of humans in the know by calling them to so-named lighthouses. Soon, they will either blow us all away or infiltrate on a more personal level. Since that would take longer and be more complicated, I don't know if they will take that step." Alex stretched on the cooling marble. He'd been laying flat, one hand behind his head, while Mulder had contemplated over the past few hours. "Can you make contact with them for me? Set up a meeting?" Mulder asked. "And let you walk into certain death?" Alex commented. "Since when do you care if I live or die Krycek?" "Since you might well be the Great White Hope, asshole," Alex growled. Mulder smiled. "That's right Krycek, stay consistent; otherwise you'll confuse me and try to be my friend or something." "Or something," Alex muttered. He sat up, which meant leaning awkwardly on his prosthetic to turn over. "What do you want to say to them?" "I think they know who I am, thanks to the Smoker. I can try to convince them that I will help them rid the earth of their presence in exchange for never mentioning they were here. Maybe they don't care about humans or this planet, but I can't believe they have explored space this far without learning that indigenous beings should be left to inhabit their planets. As you've said, they don't need us for anything." "They have no reason to believe a word a human says. Cassandra Spender was the ultimate betrayal and the original bastards sold out the planet a long time ago. Whatever Prime Directive shit Kirk and Spock believed in won't apply here. I've never heard so much as a whisper of feeling for humans from them." Mulder smiled grimly, "They want no trace left behind. I think I can convince them that any huge act of retaliation might kill humans, but it won't stop the next aliens from wanting to know what happened on this planet and become curious enough to try to find them someday." Alex sat and thought for a few minutes. "Well," He said with a smile of his own, "If anyone can convince them they need to be paranoid you can." "Yeah," Said Mulder and offered Krycek a hand up. Krycek stared at Mulder's hand. He could shrug off the help and get awkwardly to his feet or take the hand and begin... Begin what, he wasn't sure, but it would leave a lot of the pain in the past. He took Mulder's hand. The strength of Mulder's grip pulled him up and into Mulder's arms. He didn't know who was the most surprised. "Krycek," Mulder said uneasily. "S'okay," Krycek muttered and stepped back reluctantly. They left the memorial together and while they walked to Mulder's car, Alex explained his current assignment as well as whom Mulder's caller was from the other night. "Shit," Mulder said and kicked a rock in the path. "I'll get the Gunmen to come by and set up the best interference possible. I need somewhere secure and sure as shit, my office isn't the place." Krycek grinned, "You're office is Union Station for bugs, but your apartment is Ground Zero." "I hope they all enjoyed the diarrhea I had a few weeks ago, listening to me crap my brains out for three days must have been a real good time. Alex laughed, "You are legend Mulder and more than a few operatives have made spending money betting on what you'll do next. Of course a really big pool is on when you'll actually have a girl over and get laid. I think it's up to about twenty thousand by now." Mulder stopped and laughed. "Life really is a farce." "You've no idea," Alex said, "The pool for a date when you'll nail Scully is way up into the six figures." "She'd just love to hear that," Mulder muttered and unlocked his car. "Well," Alex said with a shrug, "The pool about when she'll get laid is almost as large as yours, god knows what side bets there are." "You want a ride, since you're camped across the street." Alex rubbed the hood ornament for a moment, "Better not. I don't know if the car is bugged, but I wouldn't bet against it. Besides, I can't go back. I mean I can't ever go back." Mulder kicked a tire. "How're we going to communicate? Where are you going to stay and stay alive?" "I'll let you know when I know." Alex answered. Mulder sighed, "Now is not the time to get yourself killed, Krycek." "There's never a good time for that," Alex answered and walked away knowing Mulder was watching him and he had Mulder's attention. Just before he crossed the street, he turned and saluted. Mulder saluted him back. Alex found his steps were light, immanent death or not. I just want you to be around, Maybe there was something to confession being good for the soul. Alex laughed; as if a thousand acts of contrition could wash his soul clean. Nevertheless, the need he feels for Mulder seems curiously pure, like something from when he was young and whole. He walks slowly across the Washington Mall and for once, doesn't sneer at the gleaming white buildings and memorials. For once, he thinks maybe there is still some hope left to find in them somewhere. It's almost summertime, and Washington blooms in the summer. He knows he's a target now and that he stands out in this town of suits and ties, urban chic and tourist kitsch. He strolls toward Capitol Hill; it's almost full dark so he feels not exactly safe, but relatively protected by the dim lighting. The Mall becomes a place for the night people once the sun goes down and all but the brashest of tourists go back to dinner and their hotels. Despite an active police presence, things happen too fast in the night for them to be very effective. The homeless roam at will, carefully choosing which grate, stairwell or bench suits them best even in the warmer months. Youths with nothing but bad intentions gather here and there, cigarettes and joints flickering small dots of orange and red into the gloom; unorthodox couples meet in the Hirshhorn Museum's outdoor statuary garden to exchange bodily fluids and cash. Alex turns toward Union Station, it's brightly lit, but where he can hop a bus is at the back in the shadows and despite the economy and the price of gasoline, taking a bus remains a last resort and delegated to darker loading zones. He spends several hours getting on and off buses and going back and forth across the city until he finally gets off downtown and checks into a cheap hotel. It smells bad and there's neither a TV nor air-conditioning that works, but the towels and sheets seem clean and there's plenty of hot water in the shower. He pushes the dresser up against the door, checks his escape route through the window or the adjoining room. No one is in the room next door and the lock is shit. He unlocks it with a handy tool and closes it, keeping it an option in case of emergency. Clean, dry and dressed except for his prosthesis, boots and leather jacket, he lies on the bed and thinks about the day's events. He's tempted to use his last no-name cell phone to call Mulder, but it's almost two in the morning and even Mulder must sleep sometime. He lets his eyes fall shut, it's not safe, but then, nothing is anymore. If he wakes in the morning, he'll call it a good night, it he doesn't, Alex shrugs and turns on his side, well he won't care because he'll be too dead to care. The morning sun makes the room unbearably hot and Alex wakes sweaty and rumpled. Another shower, cold this time and he's on his way. Mulder wants to meet Rebel Aliens, so Alex will find some fucking Rebel Aliens for him to meet. It's not as difficult as it should be to find aliens in Washington DC. Alex thinks that should be the beginning of a joke - a politician, an alien and a FBI agent walk into a bar... He gets expensive coffee, finds one of the last pay phones in the city and calls a number he's memorized. Too bad Marita is dead by now, he thinks, otherwise Mulder could get two for one with her. He still can't believe she fucked him over and got exposed to the black shit for her trouble; serves her right. Alex clears his head as the line rings and rings. Twenty two rings, three clicks and a buzz later, a voice answers, "Vito's Pizza and Pasta, free local delivery, how can I help you?" He hasn't called this number often, but every time it throws him for a loop; it sounds too human, too normal and for that reason, all the more dangerous. "Alex Krycek here; I have been contacted by Agent Mulder. He would like a face to face with you to explain a few things." The line is silent for a full minute, "Mr. Krycek," a voice says with no inflection or change in intonation. Alex thinks he could be talking to the automated voice created by the telephone company for all the lack of personality. "You have been seen with Mr. Mulder. This is a recent development and we were assured by certain parties that it would never happen. Explain yourself." "I want to continue to live in a world populated by human beings. Agent Mulder is the best person to try to get that to continue. I went to him and explained what little I know about the Project and the recent arrival of your forces." "Why would you undertake this without sanctions, Mr. Krycek?" "It's over as far as I'm concerned. Either you agree to withdraw without annihilating the planet or you won't. Either way, I have no more connections with the old Project and the men who ran it, they can no longer promise anything I'm more interested in than my life." "Human have a remarkable amount of self-preservation for such vulnerable creatures," The voice mused. "I will arrange a meeting with Agent Mulder. Will you be able to communicate with Agent Mulder without compromising our safety?" "Yeah," Alex said, "I can do that." "You will be contacted within forty-eight hours." The line went dead. Alex let out a long breath. He had to remain alive long enough to deliver the message. He looked at the street outside the phone booth with an even more jaundiced eye. There was nowhere safe for him, anywhere. Some day, if he lives long enough, he'll tell Mulder how confessing everything to him and helping him, turned Alex back into a petty criminal. He revs the piece of shit Honda Civic on the entrance ramp to the beltway at Georgia Avenue. He doubts the car will be reported stolen until the following morning. He took it from a ramshackle parking lot with no security camera a few blocks from the Silver Spring Metro Station. He's got his gloves on, a cloth cap and the leather jacket doesn't shed fiber evidence. He drives to the I-270 Corridor and heads towards Gaithersburg. He gets off at an intersection which has auto dealerships on all four corners. He parks on a side street where the used car overage is parked. It's an old trick. Steal a middle of the road three or four year old model, keep to the speed limit, don't run red lights or stop signs, and wear a seatbelt; park near a used car lot with dozens of the same model car nearby and it's pretty safe to sleep a few hours. He gets in three and a half good hours of sleep before he exits the vehicle, walks through the back of the lot to a secondary street and catches an afternoon bus. No one, not even the driver looks at him; it's too hot and nobody is interested in anything other than getting a cold beer and forget the lousy day at work. He looks like a ruffian anyway, with the leather and the cap and a dark chin, but this is Washington DC and if anyone noticed they would write him off as a nere-do-well junkie or an undercover cop. People in DC know that looking away is better for their health anyway. He wants a cold one too and to call Mulder. The back of his neck is itching again and he has no straw. He shrugs his shoulders against the seat and curses under his breath when the itch only intensifies. As the bus makes its slow, slow journey into DC, Alex tries to remember when he thought being on the run, even being on the run with plenty of cash in his pocket, was an exciting thing to do. He sighs; it's been a long time since he had thoughts like that one. He'd always been rebellious and just like his parent's said many times, now he was reaping what he's sowed in a big way. He wants to see them again, but they've been dead and gone for years. He never got to say goodbye; of course, he'd believed he was invincible back then. What young man doesn't think he's invincible at eighteen or twenty? He gets off the bus near the androgynous center of DuPont Circle, its porn shops, head shops and books shops populated by lots of types the people of DC pretend not to see. The corner bar is dark, billowing cigarette smoke despite the new health laws and has Guinness on tap. He uses his last cell phone to call Mulder. "...ulder." "I'll know where the meet is today or tomorrow." Alex says. Mulder sighs, "Good, the sooner the better." "Says you," Alex answers. "They could just kill you on sight." "Maybe, but I think they would like to add Spender's carcass to their list before they leave and I know where he is." Alex takes a breath, Mulder interrupts, "And his sorry excuse for a son gets letters, if you can believe that. He puts them in the mailroom marked Return to Sender." Alex laughs, "Screwing with the mail is a federal offence, Mulder." "There'll never be a trial. I'm safe." Mulder says wryly. "No," Alex says soberly, "You're not safe. Don't forget it for a minute." "Yes, mother," Mulder says. "I'll keep my phone ready." "Get some sleep." Krycek says. Mulder laughs and hangs up without saying goodbye. Krycek takes a long swallow of the bitter beer and thinks this may be as good as it gets. When a resolute young fellow steps up to the great bully, the world, and takes him boldly by the beard, he is often surprised to find it comes off in his hand, and that it was only tied on to scare away the timid adventurers. Ralph Waldo Emerson Alex Krycek drove Fox Mulder to meet the Rebel Aliens; not for him a Judas kiss and leaving the hero to meet doom in a garden. He wasn't invited to the meeting, but he'd insisted on an outdoor location and stood at the front of the car, armed to the teeth and watched. He could see Mulder was fairly vibrating with what Alex hoped was some healthy fear, but was more probably foolish excitement. For a few minutes they sized each other up, Mulder began to speak, his hands and expression full of emphasis and sincerity in the face of alien stolidity. The conversation lasted for twenty minutes and Alex could see Mulder flush and pale several times and wanted to approach him and stand at his shoulder offering support; as totally out of character that would be. The Rebel Aliens turned and walked away and he made his move toward Mulder. Together they watched them fade in the distance. Mulder's knees buckled and Alex caught him awkwardly, both of them sinking to the ground. Surprisingly, Mulder leaned into Alex and Alex let him, hoping his heart wouldn't stop at the exquisite pain of the moment when a dream comes true. He let Mulder lean closer and inhaled the scent of Mulder's anguish and flop sweat. How fragile a man was, Alex thought not for the first time; skin, bones, a pulse, what sum did they come to? Certainly not the hot need and cold reason which Alex knew well enough. "How'd it go?" He whispered not wanting to scare Mulder away. Mulder let out a long breath. "At the moment they are tending toward annihilation because they cannot come to a determination where the human and alien interface has been in total. They are sure there are side projects the old men have hidden from each other and any accountability." Mulder smiled tiredly and let his head rest against Alex's chest, "Mostly they think we're more trouble than we're worth. I asked about what they've found elsewhere and how they've handled other specie's problems. But, they refused to answer, only saying that the problems here are different than what they've encountered before." "Ah," Alex said quietly, "Somehow I'm not surprised." "Ha ha," Mulder said sourly. "I don't see a happy ending here Krycek." "How about we get to live and be miserable?" "There's no one to go to unless I try to talk it over with Carl Sagan or Rod Serling." Mulder muttered. "I think their both dead." Alex answered. "I know that." Mulder said and laughed. "Maybe I'll get to meet them personally when it's all over." Alex hugged Mulder closer and Mulder didn't resist. They sat in silence until the ground began to feel damp through their pants. Once again, Mulder offered Alex a hand and Alex took it and came up and into Mulder's arms hard and Mulder didn't let go. I felt the delicious tingles along my spine The kiss was a surprise, which set Alex's head reeling. Mulder, he was being kissed by Mulder. And it wasn't tentative or cautious. It was sure and commanding and so bitterly needy that Alex's hair stood on end. Here it was then, what they were to each other and it wasn't some pretty, tepid pass at passion. It was lust with a capital L and passion with a purple P and tasted of bitterness and hope at the same time. Alex sunk into the kiss, his tongue reaching into Mulder's hot mouth and wondered who was hopeful and who was the most bitter, but Mulder nipped his lips and it didn't matter anymore. They matched, unlikely, impossibly, they matched. They dropped to the ground, out of site because they'd set up the meeting carefully and forgot that the ground was damp, forgot everything but the heat of the other's breath and the strength of each other's heartbeats and how being alive was, in this moment, worth anything, every sacrifice, every tear and all the pain of the past and what was going to hurt in the future. They rolled each other, Alex's awkward arm forgotten until Mulder tore at his jacket. Without any patience or pretense, Mulder yanked Alex's jacket, shirt and prosthesis off in a rush and licked the red lines from the force of the straps across Alex's chest. Alex moaned and Mulder, encouraged, bit him lightly and twisted Alex beneath him, ripping his own shirt open and gasping when skin met skin. They twisted and turned rubbing against each other like teenagers and too close to completion to give a thought to the quickness of it. Alex rolled Mulder and from on top, pushed into Mulder groin with his own hardness and they both moaned. As Alex orgasmed, he saw stars and the moon and thought they were finally here, together and wrapped in the silver of the night. The End |
Wrapped In Silverby Flutesong |