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 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 dressed 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 had 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 risqu 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 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 were 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 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 showed in 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," 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 guy.
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 Squeeze
by Flutesong
1st Night
(performed by Ray Charles)
And then you say hello
I can hardly speak
My heart is beating so
And anyone can tell
You think you know me well
But you don't know me
That thinks of you at night
Who longs to kiss your lips
And yearns to squeeze you tight
No I'm just a friend
That's all I've ever been
You just don't know me
Though my heart aches with love for you
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by
The chance that you might love me too
You give your hand to me
And then you say goodbye
I watch you walk away
Beside the lucky guy
The one who loves you so
You just don't know me
Though my heart aches with love for you
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by
The chance that you might love me too
You give your hand to me
And then you say goodbye
I watch you walk away
Beside the lucky guy
The one who loves you so
You just don't know me
You'll never, ever know
