Hope by Jami Wilsen Alex lay on the couch in a daze induced by the latest in a long line of afternoons of doing absolutely nothing. He had even found himself ignoring the need to get up to use the toilet, waiting until his bladder was hysterically insistent. He'd tried half-heartedly reading but had given that up too, eventually. Sighing absently through his nose, he regarded the television without even seeing it. Bored. Bored, bored, bored. What am I doing here? Why... am I here? Somehow, knowing that not one single other being in existence gave a damn affected his desire to really find the answer to that question, even on a theoretical level. Retirement from the intrigues and survival drive of his previous existence, as well as the chaos amidst post-Consortium mopping-up, was not turning out exactly as he had expected. The boredom and futility was taking its toll, and he simply could not find anything to replace the scale or scope of what he had been involved in for so long now that it was gone. Some had expected him to renew the Syndicate's activities and pursue the same goals that CGB Spender had suggested. The thought of being his heir, even by default, sent a shudder through him. A rippling sneer of revulsion still crawled over him at the thought of the Morley man. Pushing him down the stairs had been such a catharsis. God forbid that Alex Krycek might want something more akin to a normal life than the questionable glory of running the world behind the scenes. Spending time doing mundane things, like mowing a lawn or taking up a hobby as innocent and trivial as collecting rare CDs or foreign films. Making up for lost years, making time for himself for a change rather than running around as an errand boy, for old men with delusions of grandeur and faceless aliens with dubious agendas. Another unsung hero. Let alone taking a lot flack and dealing with everyone's hostility and mistrust towards him while looking out for the good of humanity. The desire for a brief hiatus, followed by the pursuit of another career, was what had led him to this quiet period. Problem was, nothing new had yet emerged. He was simply too over-qualified for anything but cross-departmental intelligence or governmental sabotage and infiltration. He didn't consider it hiding, nor did he have to justify the need to seek any kind of equilibrium after his previous experiences. He didn't suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (he suspected he should) but the cold sweats and horrific nights he spent reliving the loss of his arm and his sojourn in the silo so many years before were more than enough to contend with. Now that he'd allowed himself the space to relax, all the suppressed stress and tension was surging to the fore and he had to deal with it. He felt a small measure of self-congratulation on his success in coping with it so far. He'd known others who'd eaten bullets after the Consortium's fall in the wake of the last coup by the rebel aliens. Still, the days were too long to really replace the nights and he didn't know which he found more uncomfortable. He chalked it up to seriously over-due vacation time and the need to assimilate. It wasn't exactly a dump, this apartment complex. It was good enough; comfortable and well equipped despite being modest compared to what he could afford. But he was not after luxury; he had sought a low profile. A few rooms situated in the middle of Houston in plain sight in the city, yet undercover and quite invisible, he had rented it just a month ago. After he'd disappeared, he'd been careful to erase any traces he might have left behind. The torturously circuitous route anyone would have to follow if they did pick up one of his trails would put them off after a while. He really didn't want anyone showing up at his door. He was so sure of his anonymous status in the eyes of the world that he'd even managed to stay calm when the phone rang or when people knocked. He'd worked hard to make it so. A successful disappearance. And so far, there were no indications to suggest otherwise. No familiar faces, no wiretaps, no surprise packages, no aliens. Nothing but neighbors, mailmen and Jehovah's Witnesses. The knock on the door didn't even make him jump. He sat up and rubbed his face blearily, wondering if they might go away if he took long enough to get up. No such luck, as the knock was repeated. Sighing, he dragged himself to the peephole. He stared and paused, and blinked. It couldn't be. I've got to be hallucinating, he thought. But it was. He looked again. Fox Mulder was standing on the other side, one hand tapping the thigh of his jeans. Waiting. He tensed, torn between the urge to run as usual, flee out the back... or to find out why Mulder, of all people, was here. Mulder turned again and knocked. This time, ignoring the common-sense reflexes that screamed against it, Alex opened the door slowly and peered at him cautiously. The cool air of his air-conditioned apartment promptly took this opportunity to escape, the wet and hot city air stealing inside to replace it in great gouts. Alex regarded him. "Mulder, what are you doing here? What do you want?" "Hi." Mulder smiled at him, momentarily taking him aback. What the hell? "Mulder, I'm... shocked. You look actually pleased to see me." Alex's tone clearly conveyed the utter doubt with which he held this possibility. He leaned his right forearm against the doorframe. "Krycek. You're a sight for sore eyes." Mulder's smile was as bright and wide as the sun glaring rather obnoxiously above. "I think that's my line," Alex said, wearily. "I thought you were—wait a minute." He stopped, tilting his head in puzzlement. "You're back? I thought you were supposed to be up there with them." He lifted one finger where his hand was resting and pointed skywards. "What, they weren't what you expected after a lifetime of jerking off over them? Must've been disappointing." Mulder completely ignored his sarcasm. "Yeah, I'm back. Hey, can I come in? I really need to talk to you. About several things. I have a proposition. And a request. And I'll tell you all about it—you can be the first one to hear all the juicy details." Alex stared at him through the crack of the door. Feeling like he was in the middle of some surreal replay or deja-vu, Alex shook his head slowly. "Nope. No way. I'm not getting on that merry-go-round with you, Mulder. I don't care where you've been." He stopped. "The first one? You mean, you haven't seen anyone else?" Curiouser and curiouser. Somehow, instead of raising his hackles with prickles of danger he found this made him want to believe him. Mulder was sweating in the humid heat. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and through his hair. "I'm boiling out here, Krycek. Can you at least let me in to explain myself? I promise," he quickly added, lifting his hands placatingly, "I won't try anything. I really do want to talk." "This is exactly the kind of thing I came here to get away from." Alex bowed his head and leaned his head against the doorframe, sighing deeply. "You really expect me to believe that you want to have a civil conversation? With me?" "Yep, that's exactly what I want. I won't hit you, not even once. And look, I'm unarmed." "Mulder, I trust you about as far as I can throw you—no, wait; even less, because I think I could probably manage to throw you a good couple of yards." I'm gonna regret this, I just know it. He sighed. "Alright, you can come in for as long as it takes to state what you want." He undid the chain and opened the door, standing aside to let Mulder in. He shut the door after him and turned, wondering, what the hell is wrong with me? And what the hell is wrong with him—and why is he smiling at me? Is this Mulder? Or a clone? Or an alien? Should I turn my back on him? Mulder was grinning at him and looking around. "Nice. You've got yourself a nice little hideaway here. And don't worry, I'm not an alien clone." "I'm not hiding," Alex corrected him. "No, don't get me wrong. I'm jealous. I'm not looking forward to returning home. At least, not just yet. That's partly why I came here. The thought of having to go through the whole debriefing with everyone: the police, the FBI, all the official channels, Scully, Skinner and everybody... it kind of leaves me in a panic, you know?" Mulder went to stand in the middle of the living room. "I really only just got back a couple weeks ago and I'm enjoying just being on solid ground. I like the freedom of being on my own for a while. No job, no pressure, no cases to solve, and above all no expectations to fulfill. It's gonna be the third degree." "D'you want a drink?" His tone was negligent, as if to let Mulder know that he really didn't care one way or the other. Alex padded to the open kitchen unit off to the side. He retrieved two beers from the fridge and brought them back, offering one to Mulder who took it. "So let me get this straight. You've come here because you don't want to go home, and you really want to spend some quality time with me." He couldn't help giving a short hiss of laughter. "Now I know you're not Fox Mulder. Should I bother to get my plam?" Mulder paused with an unreadable expression, then picked up a magazine from the coffee table briefly, slid his finger along the edge and held it up. "Here... red blood. Mine." Alex considered this briefly and then shrugged. Mulder put his finger to his mouth and licked at the paper cut. Alex found himself entertaining the absurd and potentially suicidal notion of offering to do it for him. Five minutes with him and I'm already losing it, Alex thought in disgust. Mulder collapsed in the large wingchair off to the left side of the couch and opened his beer. Swigging from it thirstily, he gasped somewhat. "Krycek, why the hell did you have to pick such a swampy place to retreat to? It's muggy, and hot. It's 110 degrees today in the shade." "I like it," Alex replied, defensively. "I needed somewhere crowded but warm. I can't stand the cold anymore. Hurts my arm. Well, what's left of it." He sat back down on the couch, wishing suddenly that he hadn't called attention to it, and that he was wearing more than the plain white t-shirt and sweats he had on. Wearing short sleeves made his prosthetic stand out that much more, nevermind the fact that it was a very excellent piece. He opened his own beer and sipped. He wondered at Mulder's tact that he hadn't said anything. "Let me be frank, Mulder. What the fuck do you want?" Mulder took another swig and licked his lips before replying, obviously choosing his words more carefully. "I know you're out of the loop. They told me so." He nodded meaningfully at Alex's raised brow. "Yeah. They gave me a lot of information; a lot of the questions I had before I left were answered in ways I wouldn't have expected. Needless to say, I've been doing a lot of thinking. The picture is a lot bigger than any of us ever imagined. So many variables, and it's so complex. I need some time to correlate it all, put it all into a perspective. A picture I can present to people who haven't had the benefit of the context I was given it in. A context that you and I share, incidentally." "So? So what? What do you need me for?" Alex was unconvinced. And suspicious. Mulder always had a way of roping people into his own causes while stating that it was for the good of all. And then leaving them with said causes whilst running around in the field placing himself in the line of fire, needing to be bailed out time and again. Getting himself abducted was probably the pinnacle of this trend, Alex mused silently to himself, wondering if Mulder remembered everything that happened to him, or if he'd been tampered with in ways he hadn't yet realized. Alex knew Mulder had suffered more mind-wipes over time then he ever suspected. "I remember everything, the whole thing. I need someone to talk to about it. They didn't wipe me. But they didn't say why, though. I guess it was in their interest to let me remember it all, this time." He swigged again. "Think about it, Krycek. Who else is gonna believe what I say? I don't know anyone else who'd be able to handle the information, let alone sympathize with the reality of what I've been through. They'd all say 'Spooky Mulder's done it again' and tell me I need therapy or regression." "Don't you?" Alex asked, baldly. But he couldn't deny the small part inside him that understood exactly what Mulder was on about. Jesus, this is just what he needed right now. He wanted to kick himself for getting caught. How had Mulder found him? He began wondering if they'd traced him by an implant, although he was fairly sure that he was clean. Then he started worrying that Mulder had one. But it was academic at this point; they could find anyone if they really wanted to. Nothing like a motivated gray alien with superior technology and mobility to come up with results. It was too late; he was not only curious to hear Mulder's story, he was enjoying the novelty of relating with the man. He was loath to return to the old pattern of fisticuffs and lies and ... the older pain nudged him inside, the one that he had buried ruthlessly long ago. The one that hurt like a really bad toothache and prodded him with guilt and remorse. 'I want to believe...' What a joke. Something of his chagrin must have shown on his face because Mulder's expression became sympathetic and thoughtful as he nodded. "We don't exactly share a lot of good memories, I know. I guess this is where I eat humble pie and place myself at your mercy. I need a place to stay, where I can collate the pieces and make sense of it all. Some downtime. A safe place where I know the past won't catch up with me too quickly. I can't think of a better place than here—you have a knack of being able to disappear successfully. I always thought of it as your trademark. And I promise not to compromise your situation here." And of course you're so magnanimous to offer me this chance to make it all up to you, all the wrongs you think I've done you over time... "Flattery will get you nowhere," Alex replied, wryly, before taking another sip of his beer. "Do you have any idea of the inconvenience and risk that you're asking me to take on? This is precisely what I was trying to avoid." Mulder regarded him solemnly. "I swear I wouldn't ask if I had anywhere else to go. You're my only option. See, I could try on my own but I need someone else to be my grounded connection—right now, it's all swirling around in my head and I can't sort it out. Besides, they told me things they had on you, things I didn't know you were involved in. It... kind of made me revise my opinion of you." "Somehow, I'm having trouble believing this." "I know, I know; it sounds stupid. Look, all I want is someone to talk to about it. That's all I'm asking." Alex rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Damn it, Mulder! You always do this. You always make it sound like I'm supposed to be the one who needs to see common sense. But I don't want it. I don't want anything to do with that kind of responsibility, or you. Weirdly enough, I think Scully is probably your best bet. After you disappeared, she and Skinner were your staunchest advocates. They really 'believe', now. Ain't that a joke? Miss 'I won't believe it even when it's staring me in the face' Ice Queen, going around defending your theories and gibbering about landing sites. Keeping tabs on all the latest sightings and encounters across America. She just about inherited your old name, 'Spooky'." Mulder got a wistful look on his face. "She did? She really did that? I mean I know she'd stop at nothing to find me, but... wow." "You see? Better go back to DC. And thanks a lot; now I'm gonna have to find another bolthole," Alex said, disgusted. "No, I can't. Even she wouldn't get it. I need someone who isn't going to constantly be fighting all their automatic reservations and skepticism and questioning the validity of what I'm saying. I'll make it up to you." "God." Alex rubbed his eyes. "I really don't need this—" "I know what it will cost you. I'm asking for a favor here. Please. I'm here for the same reason you are. A couple of weeks, that's all I'm asking; a chance to clear my head and get myself together. No one would ever think to look for me here, you gotta admit." Alex let his head slump forward exaggeratedly. "You're going to steal the couch, aren't you?" he demanded, suspiciously, aware that his question was the tacit permission Mulder was pestering him for. "No, I'll stay in this chair. I'll only take the couch at night, I promise." Mulder grinned at him, knowing he'd cracked. "Fine, fine." Alex sucked in a breath, the realization of what this man's presence here in his apartment would entail was beginning to dawn on him. Shit... he's gonna be here, 24/7 right in my face. Hardly conducive to relaxation. It's like bunking with a hummingbird. Visions overtook him, of Mulder excitedly chattering and pacing around the living room as Alex sat pinned to the couch during the day by the force of Mulder's new theories and plans. Not to mention that his privacy was compromised. He closed his eyes. "Don't worry," Mulder said, cheerfully. "I promise not to take over. I'll stay out of your way." "Too late," Alex murmured from the depths of the couch, already sinking back into the apathy that he had previously been lost in. Then he remembered. He didn't trust Mulder at all. Maybe my instinct for self-preservation is on vacation now too, he thought. He looked over at Mulder, where he sat watching the TV almost quizzically. "What?" Mulder gave him a strange look, his brows raised. "Jerry Springer? You're kidding, right? You don't honestly watch this, do you?" Alex swore under his breath. "Mulder, I have no porno videos for you, I'm sorry. I'm willing to compromise though—you can rent them out and watch them here, just so long as you do it with the sound down real low so I can still sleep." This last was a probe to see if Mulder would rise to the bait. He'd left it open for easy repartee. He waited, wondering what kind of new Mulderism he'd be treated to. Mulder merely chuckled though. "I think I can last until I get back home. But thanks. I can't rent anything right now anyway. And if I buy anything, they'll be onto me. I flash my ID even once, it's all over." Alex was silent for a moment. "You're right. You'll have to use mine. I really don't want your Lone Gunmen and the FBI descending on us." I wonder if he expects me to do this for him out of some sort of attempt to compensate him for all the things he imagines I'm guilty of. "Thanks." Mulder regarded him with a searching look, that almost made him feel like he was looking right through him. "I'm not expecting this from you because of the past, Krycek. And I will make this up to you, I promise. Think about it. Just name the price." Alex's eyes widened. This could be—interesting. But somehow, he couldn't see Mulder accepting the suggestion of sex with Alex-fucking-Krycek-rat-bastard-liar... and all those other choice epithets he'd had slung at him in the past. Maybe it was because every time they met, Mulder hurled himself at him, fists flying. Oh well. At this point, Alex really didn't give a damn. He just wanted to lay there, undisturbed, not having to think for as long as he could until Mulder's notoriously restless brain started to become more active—as it undoubtedly would. This rather surreal atmosphere of artificially erected social nicety was starting to pall already. Mulder thoughtfully chewed his lower lip. Alex couldn't help glancing at him. It was one of those unconscious little things he had a tendency to do, and Alex had always found it rather endearing. He managed to suppress the sudden inner twinge he felt. He'd tried so hard to ignore it so far but the undeniable reaction he had to such close proximity to his—what, ex-arch-nemesis? Post-adversarial colleague?—was strong enough to make him cringe inside. He really didn't need this. Not now. He groaned silently to himself. And it was a hell of a lot harder to ignore this new attitude Mulder was adopting, too. It had been so much easier to hide the way he felt behind cold walls during barely-maintained truces, holding each other at gunpoint. "Sure, Mulder. I'll think about it and let you know." Alex carefully kept his voice neutral, as though humoring him. A thought occurred to him. "How'd you get here? Where are you staying?" Mulder grimaced. "I took the Greyhound from Phoenix. They dropped me in Arizona, can you believe it? Travis Walton had it easy. Least they could have done was left me back in Oregon. I travelled here, and I've been staying in a motel the last couple of days. It took me a while to find you." Alex cut him off. "Just exactly how did you manage that? If they didn't tell you where I was? Didn't they know?" Mulder's eyes flickered slightly; obviously he wasn't about to reveal everything he knew. "They didn't say, they just said you were here. And it wasn't easy to find you either, don't worry. Nobody else is on their way." Alex was unconvinced. "Fine, don't tell me." He got up and took Mulder's empty bottle from him and went back to the fridge. "You hungry?" "Um, no, thanks. I had lunch. Are you connected? On-line?" He lifted his chin in the direction of Alex's laptop residing on the desk in the opposite corner of the room. "Naturally. Why? Need to check your email?" He couldn't help snickering at this. After having gone missing for nearly a year Mulder probably had thousands of emails congesting his accounts, after the initial worried queries as to his whereabouts. Not to mention the spam, porno ads and triple-X offers. The same thought must have occurred to Mulder because he also started giggling. A true Mulder-giggle, too; the real thing. Alex found himself delving into the fridge in an attempt to pretend that old longing hadn't bit him again, inside. To have Mulder laughing with him... it was too surreal. Focus, focus! Chicken. And salad. Leftover pizza. By the time he returned to the couch and set dishes and more beer out on the coffee table between them, he had himself back under control. Mulder helped himself to the pizza despite his earlier statement. "So, Mulder. Talk to me. Did you meet aliens? Was your life-long ambition satisfied at last?" "In a word, yeah. The bounty hunter isn't such a bad guy, once you get to know him. Just doing his job, you know? Turned out he wasn't just doing it for the ones he worked for; he had some personal investment in all this. And I finally met the grays en masse, too. There were far more of them than I thought. We always refer to them so haphazardly. There are so many types." Mulder chuckled suddenly around his pizza. "I can't believe I used to think of them as 'the little gray jerk-offs'." Alex's startled laugh made him choke, he'd just begun to inhale; coughing, he had to take a drink before turning a glare on Mulder. "Could you warn me next time?" Grinning, Mulder continued, "They were really forthcoming with the information once they had me on their own turf. I can't say I agree with all their intentions but they don't all share the same agenda as the ones who made the original deal with the Consortium. And the rebels aren't what we thought, either. Dare I say we were all led to believe the threat from the Black Cancer was more important than whoever had allowed the situation to develop down here." Alex found himself drawn in completely at this point. It would be nice to get some answers at long last. This was actually the jackpot. No sense in looking a gift horse in the mouth. His voice betraying his level of interest as he asked, "If that's true, then why were they allowed to exploit us so ruthlessly, at such cost? Who's in charge?" "Let's just say that we were never given the full extent of how far and how deep those original negotiations went. Or what was involved; how extensive their project is now—there are so many fingers in so many pies. Or how many parties are still hiding their activities behind smokescreens. The interface between 'alien intervention force' and government is so convoluted. Trying to identify all of the players and how their agendas interrelate is going to take some doing. It's not a question of which story is true, which scenario is running. All of them are. Concurrently." Alex regarded him and then whistled. "I knew it was tangled but that's even worse than I thought. How the hell are we supposed to deal with something this size? Even mobilizing a unified world government and creating a central body of decision-makers won't be enough. Let alone the problems with keeping them from fragmenting like they always do. We can't keep standing by and playing the timid, disorganized slaves to whichever alien overseers decide they fancy playing the part. And you still haven't answered my question about why the others you met let the bad guys run loose down here. It's been over fifty years, Mulder." "It's easy to focus on the bad stuff. But there's even more going on than that," Mulder said, shifting uncomfortably. "It doesn't excuse it, but it'll make more sense once we start mapping it out. Why they considered me a good choice to induct, to release so much information to, was my behavioral profiling skill. If you were a member of an alien council, and you were ordered by your superiors to ensure that a certain fragmented planet in your local area hoisted itself up into a united voice, what would you do?" Alex picked up his beer and sank back into the couch. Slowly, he answered, "Okay, I'll bite. It's the old 'children in the playground' thing, isn't it? Kids fighting in the sandbox and when the big bad wolf comes around they suddenly put aside their differences." "Yeah, only here you're not just dealing with kids but playground bullies. They're petty, self-serving and terrified of what the adults will do when they come back home. Control through fear. Motivated by their fear of losing power. The bullies even hold the rest of the kids hostage, offering them up to the wolves in exchange for their own safety... sound familiar? The aliens understand human sociological behaviors on a level we can't even begin to compare. They know us too well for comfort and they've all played us to the last knee-jerk reaction we've got." To his credit, Mulder said all of this without even a hint of resentment. You really have changed. You've lost that accusatory complaint you used to have when you talked about unseen shadow groups, thought Alex. He didn't say anything, just thoughtfully chewed, downing his forkful. Can it be that he's finally matured? Jesus, what does he need me for? He can handle this. They've shaped him into the perfect piece for the game—a white knight, to make lateral moves three steps ahead of the rest. Mulder smiled. "I'm not Galahad or St George, now. I can't do it all on my own. But all we've been through, even the current situation as fucked up as it is, it's all small potatoes. I'm sure you already know the extent of American involvement in time-travel experiments, the occult, all those trial prototype ships they've been building. Abducting their own citizens and blaming it on the grays—as if to say, after all, who's gonna know the difference?" Mulder shook his head. "It's all academic at this point, anyway. There are fish, and there are even bigger fish." He stopped, and took a breath. "We can cover all this later. So tell me, what have I missed? I heard you'd wiped out all leftovers of the Consortium's projects." Alex snorted. "Yeah, someone had to. Guess who got left with having to do the dirty work, again. What do you want to know?" "Well, for starters, what about the complex in Tunisia? Were all the bee carriers of that smallpox cancer-virus destroyed?" Alex grinned. "Tunisia? There's nothing left of them. All the beehives were burned out." "That must have been something to behold. Wish I could've seen it. Who've we got to thank for that? The faceless rebels?" The grin widened wolfishly. "I torched them myself, Mulder. Every one." And with a glint in his eye he added, 'Single-handedly.' Mulder started to chuckle uncontrollably. Finally, through gasps of laughter, he regained his composure long enough to repeat, "Single-handedly!" This set him off again. Alex couldn't help laughing with him. His eyes took on a mischievous delighted glint at the memory... "Yeah, it was great. Really spectacular. And there were all these confused idiots in lab coats anxiously running around, asking me what I was doing. As if it wasn't obvious. The cornfields took a longer time to burn than expected, too. There were some impressive black clouds coming off them. I guess because they had such an extensive irrigation system for the locale." His smile had reached his eyes and Mulder must have noticed because he was smiling back at him again. A sudden remembrance flooded through Alex at this and his smile quickly fled as he found himself having to quell the unwelcome warmth that uncomfortably settled inside. With a distant flash of pain, the memory of what it had felt like—so long ago—to finally gain Mulder's confidence suddenly surged once more. Hollow images from back when he'd first been placed under him as a junior partner flitted across his mind's eye. It hadn't just been the feeling of relief at his success in getting inside Mulder's defenses; it had been the sense of acceptance and belonging, of working with him. He really had admired the senior agent; it had been more than easy to act it out. And although he had dutifully carried out his assignment he was also equally relieved that he'd not been ordered to kill him later. Years later, when their paths crossed in brief and usually explosive episodes, Alex found himself wishing that things could have been different. He actually liked and respected Mulder, always had, and eventually came to realize that they were alike in so many ways. They were perfect complements on opposite sides of the spectrum. And unlike Mulder's partner, the inimitably aloof Dana Scully, Alex believed as Mulder did. He had no qualms whatsoever in entertaining the bizarre over scientifically-tried orthodox explanations for weird events. I hate this. And what I hate most of all is the falseness of even this simple exchange. I can't trust this. He'll never trust me. So why is he really here? Alex felt as though he were awaiting an ambush. He couldn't tell Mulder the truth because he'd never believe it. Why was it that lies were more credible? Particularly when it came to his own feelings. When he looked back up at him, Mulder was regarding him with an almost gentle expression. "It is what it is. I'm not here under false pretences. And who knows? If you give this a chance, maybe you'll find a way to trust again." His ire rose at this; he felt vaguely patronized, as if yet again Mulder had the upper hand. When Alex had been in the heart of the Consortium, he'd known more than Mulder and had been the one who dispensed knowledge at his discretion when he deemed it necessary. He realized that was how Mulder had seen it; personally, he'd only given the agent what he needed—for his own safety. There had been some things that would have sent him over the edge if Mulder had known of them prematurely. Things he was too close to. Not surprising, considering Bill Mulder's original position in the grand scheme of the past. And I'm not even going to think of touching on that subject, Alex warned himself, Bill Mulder's death will always be the final insurmountable barrier. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to shrug off the suspicion that this was a very, very bad idea. Maybe he'd made the wrong decision, he should have closed the door on Mulder and shut him out. "Krycek? I've got an idea. One I had before I came here. We can work through this. I knew this wasn't exactly going to be easy, for us. The things we've done can't be erased. But we can get past them, if you're willing to." Mulder's voice was soft; the condescending undertones were enough to make Alex want to hit him. Right, as if I'm the one who hasn't wanted to get past all that crap, before. I was ready and willing to, fucking years ago. Alex's eyes glittered as he regarded him. His reply was just as quiet but had the wariness of someone who knew he was talking to his mortal enemy. "And just how do you figure on that score, Mulder?" Mulder's eyes twinkled. He'd obviously been thinking about this. "Sort of tit for tat, I guess. All things considered, I figure it like this: I lost my father, you lost an arm. You betrayed me by earning my trust and then choosing to stay with Cancerman—" "Yeah, so you beat the shit out of me every time we crossed paths thereafter," Alex bit out angrily, interrupting him. "You had it coming. I—" "Come on, Mulder! The last time we met, Skinner had to physically restrain you from jumping me. The only way I can ever get you to listen to me is to hold a gun on you." Alex said, scornfully. Mulder regarded him. "Can I finish?" Mulder's tone was still humorous, which Alex now found exceedingly irritating. But he didn't say anything, something occurring to him—Why is he baiting me? He's deliberately being an asshole. When Alex pressed his lips tight with anger and looked away, Mulder continued, "Look, I'm not trying to bait you, Krycek. We both know, that I've had good reason to be angry, I think. I also figure that you'll give me some sort of line about why it was necessary to inject Skinner with those nanocytes. Believe me, I've been over that. It's ancient history. Now, Scully... Scully was abducted and generally screwed over big time, but I understand it was also thanks to you that I got the vaccine in time to reverse her condition. That whole Antarctica fiasco." He waved his hand negligently in the air. "That definitely counts for something. Of course, that still leaves Skinner, who you beat up in the stairwell with the help of your fellow thugs of the hour—that was still during your Morley era, wasn't it? Before the Brit?" Alex pointedly sighed, loudly. "If we're going to go through this tiresome list of my sins again, let's not forget that, after the two of you took turns roughing me up, Skinner left me chained to his fucking balcony all night in very cold weather. In a very compromising and tenuous position, I might add. I nearly bought it the next day, remember?" "Would you stop interrupting me? I was about to mention that." But Mulder's reply was belied by his smile. He was obviously enjoying this exchange. Alex shook his head slightly as he thought, sick bastard—he's actually getting a kick out of reliving this, like some kind of nostalgic 'remember-when'. Please don't let him actually think I'm going to fall for this buddy act. It's not tactful, it's way off the mark. Unbearable, insufferable bastard. But Mulder was on a roll. "I know. I've been a bastard, too. It wasn't all you. You have to admit, you were rather morally flexible at times, to say the least. God knows what else you've been up to. I don't know about it so I'll discount it on this occasion. That leaves just one little item." Alex looked over at him, disdainfully, impatiently. "Just what might that be? And I gotta say right now that this holier-than-thou attitude of yours is really pissing me off." Part of Alex suddenly filled with guilt, though. He'd felt a great deal of personal responsibility for his part in Mulder's abduction—after all, if he hadn't gone to him with the information provided him by Cancerman, Mulder would never have gone back to Oregon to search for the alien ship... and never would have been taken. Mulder's eyes held a knowing look. "The small matter of that kiss. You know; the one after giving me that whole 'keep the torch of faith burning, save the world' spiel. The way I see it, I owe you for that. And for the record, I'm glad that you came to me about the ship in Oregon, too. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to go. It was the opportunity I had been waiting a lifetime for. I'm grateful for that." But Alex was no longer in a tolerant mood, far from it. He was angry, and it was affecting his responses. Mulder's lighthearted dismissal of his 'crimes' only made him feel more defensive. It suddenly seemed Mulder was mocking both him and the seriousness of their past, of his past. Somehow, an argument would have at least proven that Mulder still took him seriously. He dismissed the taunt about the kiss—there was no way it was anything more than a silly attempt to needle him. Besides, the word 'cripple' crossed his mind. Somehow, he couldn't see Mulder getting into it with a one-armed man... unless it appealed to that side of him that thrilled in the bizarre. He wanted to laugh at that; it had been thanks to Mulder that he'd lost it anyway. The entire Tunguska trip had been a nightmare from start to finish. It was surprising that Mulder hadn't acted as if he'd noticed, though. Tact? Mulder didn't know even a fraction of his history and pain, how could he now pretend that everything had been about him and his personal, sister-driven crusade for the truth? The X-Files, the X-Files...the universe revolved around Mulder. It always ended up with some Mulder-centric explanation that somehow had everyone and everything justifying all his pet theories and paranoia. He hadn't been living like a renegade, an outcast, without family or friends, forced to play the odds amongst some of the most dangerous characters in the Consortium in order to survive, 'single-handedly' attempting to save humanity, let alone carry out actions that he had found very difficult to swallow in the first place. The memory of Mulder's support after he'd killed Augustus Cole rose in his mind. 'Saving' Mulder's life... He'd gotten past it, killing a man. Alex enjoyed a job done well, with competency and a great deal of attention placed on results; he had been willing to do what was required later, given the stakes involved. It wasn't like he'd been going out of his way to sacrifice pawns. He found the others in his previous line of work despicable because, unlike him, they actually had a taste for it. Fucking Cardinale. The death of Scully's sister sat with equal indigestibility in his mind, up there with Mulder's father. He'd only killed when absolutely necessary, and his own demons haunted him. They prowled in his suppressed subconscious—the whole business with Dmitri, that Kazhakstan witness, and the boy's subsequent disappearance had been one of the most painful and regrettable. He swallowed, suddenly incredibly relieved that Mulder didn't know about that. The sacrifices Alex had made, and at what cost, even a semblance of any kind of a 'life'. He couldn't even begin to think of the unfairness, the injustice at having lost his arm, not to mention the constant background ache of the stump... His eyes narrowed, flickering over Mulder's unreadable expression. His reply started off coldly quiet but gained volume as he spoke. "I was hardly playing Judas to your savior of the world, Mulder. You were sitting there in limbo as if you hadn't heard a word I'd said. I had to do something to shock that absurd complacency out of you. God, sitting there sulking in self-pity..." He shook his head. And couldn't help silently adding: besides, I couldn't help it—I'd wanted to for so long. One kiss... Small payment for all I've been through for you. But he wasn't going to say that aloud. He suddenly became aware that he'd lost what ground he'd held a few minutes ago. He wanted to bite his tongue at having given in to the white heat and purity of anger as it flared through him. To show any kind of reaction, especially as strong as this one, was a tactical error. But Mulder merely looked thoughtful. "I wasn't feeling sorry for myself. I was referring to forgiveness, Alex. That's what I'm trying to offer here. I'm not belittling you. I'm through with all of that. I just—I just want us to be even. To go forward and leave all that behind. I have no intention of turning this into a way of finding revenge against you. I'm not trying to make points. I wasn't trying to compare you to Judas, and I don't hold it against you." Alex couldn't help catching a breath at this. Was he serious? He couldn't possibly be, after everything they'd been through in the last nine years? It was almost as though he was aware of his private fears, his suspicions. He wasn't sure he could handle this. An enraged Mulder swinging at him in blind rage and sputtering indignant insults and threats for killing his father was one thing. To find him offering the olive branch and waving the white flag of peace was another entirely. Surely Mulder didn't expect him to believe it. If he bought it, it was an admission of guilt. If Alex pretended he'd bought it, Mulder would use it against him immediately. Trust works both ways. He knew Mulder had never trusted him after his initial betrayal and never would; by the same token he could hardly expect Alex to trust him. A sinking feeling overtook him in the middle of his stomach as he realized what Mulder had said. Forgiveness. Which led far too close to what he really wanted: acceptance. And what then, he sneered to himself, friendship? Closeness? Sharing real laughter rather than this excuse for civility? More jokes around a friendly dinner and television—Chinese, maybe, followed by another beer or two, the easy peace of friends simply talking... getting closer and feeling safe enough to—He ruthlessly squashed this train of thought and sat in silence, waiting for Mulder's next gesture. Damned if I'm going to give him the satisfaction. Maybe he'll give up and leave. He snorted silently to himself. As if I should be so lucky now. He's having too much fun at my expense. And to think I thought he'd changed. He's still the same old caustic, quirky Fox Mulder. But this new, improved Mulder was still unquantifiable and he should have expected the unexpected now. "I'm not laughing at you; that's not why I came here. I want the same things you do, actually." Mulder sat, chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, then stood and stretched. And said, "I want to propose a partnership. I think we can set aside our personal differences and our past for the sake of the future. We've both been through enough to know that what's at stake is far greater than we are, or our disagreements. We'd make a great team. If we pooled our resources and combined talents, we could create a system that would enable people to get a handle on the situation. We could influence things behind the scenes, work with the positive forces in ways that could bring the truth to people in forms they can accept. We could actually make a difference." Alex could only stare up at him with surprise. Shaking his head slightly, he asked, "Partnership? What do you—I mean, get real, here! Remember who you're talking to? It's me, the rat-bastard scum-sucking son-of-a-bitch who shot your father." The bitterness in his tone masked a deeper plea, though. The need to forgive himself for having leveraged himself so irrevocably against Mulder in the first place, with that one pull of the trigger. The plea to be forgiven, so he could forgive himself. He needed it from Mulder first. Never mind that Bill Mulder had just reached out for a significant number of sleeping pills when Alex stood there behind him. There was no way that he could explain the incident to Mulder. Mulder's answering gaze was rather speculative. "Look, Alex, let me just say this for the record right now, okay? My father could have told me the truth at any time about what happened to Samantha, but he chose instead to deliberately let me build up a life-long, guilt-ridden crusade. Searching for a 'truth' that he could have given me. Whatever justifications he dreamed up for that died with him and frankly, a lot of the anger and anguish that I unleashed at you in the form of—of—" "Violence? Unreasoning hatred? Abusive rage? Projected negative fixation? " Alex promptly provided, helpfully. "Uh, yeah. It was directed at you because I needed a face, someone to pin it onto. Always struggling to find Spender and the others, never seeing the faces of the shadows I kept chasing. You see, I never profiled myself. I couldn't bear to. I had too much to concentrate on, too much to deal with at the time. Maybe I did you an injustice, but come on—you were hardly lily-white. You murdered him. So I didn't have to. I had a lot of pain stored up, a lot of resentment towards him. You—you did it for me." Mulder stopped. But he was calm, and he looked to stay that way too, to Alex's surprise. The comprehension of what Mulder was saying lit Alex's mind. He found himself remembering another act, one that he was sure Mulder would have appreciated, one that Alex had done with no small degree of closure and satisfaction. After Mulder had been abducted. The memory of old Spender's wheelchair tumbling clumsily down the stairs... he'd done a lot of things Mulder would never have allowed himself to do, but had undoubtedly wished he could. And Alex had paid the price for those actions, as well. But he still wanted to know if Mulder still sat in moral judgment over him for it. Mulder was continuing, "I'm not saying I wanted him dead, but it made things easier for me. More clear. And it gave me more of the answers I was seeking, led me to them, however obscure they were. It was easier for me to play the righteous white knight and keep you conveniently painted black. There are things I could have done along the way—I've just never got around to profiling you, either." Alex flinched in spite of himself. God, NO. Don't go there. Especially not right now. He would have done more than flinch though, if he could have heard Mulder's silent omission: and besides, now I don't have to. Alex took a breath and lifted his head, standing straight. Looking him in the eye just as calmly, his expression once more schooled, stony. Waiting. Mulder looked down at the floor and leaned back against the wall by the front door. Quietly, he added, "I'm willing to work with you, together, if you are. I'm suggesting a chance for us both to grow, to reclaim our humanity. To drop the defensive routines we both have been running for so long, out of some kind of godforsaken reaction to the 'good guys/bad guys' dichotomy they forced us into." Alex's eyes narrowed. I can hardly take this at face-value, my friend. Forgive me if I bitch a little, but I offered you the chance many times before now. Why should I give you the satisfaction of letting you be the one who gets to be noble and—and—Alex inwardly shook himself and replied derisively, "Yeah, Mulder, right. Like I'm supposed to believe that you now implicitly trust a guy whose moral dipstick you considered, and I quote, 'two drops short of bone-dry'." His sarcasm was not lost on Mulder. "I said that?!" Mulder stared momentarily. "I guess I did. Man, that was long time ago." He stopped and frowned slightly, directly at him. "Did I hurt your feelings with that?" Alex made a derisive noise. "Actually, yes, you did. It hurt even more than when you'd winded me, ten minutes before." He knew he was pouting; he hated playing up a sulk but damn it... "Hey, feel free to sulk and bitch if it makes you happy." Alex's eyes narrowed. That was a little too close for comfort. It was word-for-word what he'd been thinking... He wondered if Mulder's famous mental breakdown episode with telepathic side-effects brought on by the buried ship in Africa had affected him permanently. If that suppressed ability had truly been quashed as they'd thought, or if it was acting up— perhaps as a direct result from fraternizing with alien grays... Interesting possibilities, there. Maybe the ability could be brought out, used in the pursuit of... oh, hell. He was falling for it. "This is ridiculous. I don't buy it; I don't want anything to do with it. I already told you, I'm out. I'm retired. Get it? RETIRED. That means out. No more. Nada. Nyet." Mulder merely smiled at him tolerantly. "Look, Krycek; it's up to you. I'm just offering a way for us both to work together towards the same goal, but this time in parallel without all the politics, disagreements over methods and undercover bullshit. No more cloak and dagger, just straightforward intelligence gathering and implementation of decisions made in the interest of the future survival of whatever human paradigm ends up inheriting this mess. Come on, I know that appeals to you as much as it does to me." Oh, neatly done, Mulder. Throw it back in my court and if I refuse then I am playing the churlish child. Mulder knew very well that Alex would find it almost impossible to do anything without thinking about how it fit into the bigger picture that he'd gotten so caught up in, the inextricable ties they both had. Mulder sighed. "For god's sake. I'm not trying to make a point here. Or instigate a pissing contest. Can't you just take me at face value?" Alex didn't reply to that. He threw him a look. He wondered how Mulder's comments followed so neatly parallel to his own thoughts. Damn the man's profiling skills, anyway. And it rankled in Alex's very core that Mulder was finally offering precisely what Alex had never even dreamt might be possible: the two of them joining forces, in any venture. He couldn't really believe in it, because it seemed so very bright. Hope wasn't a realistic term in his vocabulary. Survival? Sure. Redemption? Maybe. Retirement? A must. But not hope. The analytical, strategic side of Alex's mind quickly disposed of these thoughts, and he forced himself to consider the practicality of the suggestion. "We're far too volatile," he said, the words coming from him almost before he meant to speak them. "You're too reckless. I'm too cynical to believe you. You'll end up attacking me and I'll end up provoking you out of frustration at your methods and the inevitable foolhardy adventures you'll end up initiating. Despite your success rate, I never envied Scully. Mulder, you have a death-wish when it comes to throwing yourself in harm's way." I wonder if you have any idea just how many times I've saved your ass? Alex regarded him for a moment. It was unlikely that Mulder even had a clue. Mulder shook himself, as if from a private reverie. Mulder stretched and yawned. "I'll tell you what. Don't give me your final answer until I leave. Think about it over the next couple of weeks until I go, and I promise not to use you as a punch-bag, insult you, hurt your feelings or belittle your existence in any way. And that," he grinned, "still doesn't include whatever payment you decide to exact for letting me stay here, either." Alex shook his head at him as if he were mad. "You've lost it, haven't you? Tell me, how am I supposed to believe you?" Mulder blinked at him. "I don't know. But I'm sure I can convince you by the time I leave. All I need is the chance. And I wasn't kidding about forgiveness. The real question now is: are you going to forgive me?" Alex grumbled, wanting to give in to the easy way out which entailed throwing Mulder out on his ass. Not really an option, he mused, because it's such a nice ass, too. Hold that thought. That's dangerous ground. He took a deep breath. Finally, he said, 'Alright. Truce. For now. But you have to lose that attitude; the one where you keep reminding me how grateful I should be that you've decided I can be saved." "Done. It's gone, it's history. Can I check my email? I really do need to. And dinner, later. Chinese?" Mulder grinned at him and then stood and went over to the desk. I knew it, I just knew it. Chinese. Why am I not surprised? And then it hit him: why did he suggest—? Maybe he just knew Mulder too well. At least they was going to stop pursuing it all for now. What a relief. Alex sniffed. He carefully ignored the deeper joy he felt that they'd made it this far. No sense in getting one's hopes up. "Real food tastes better and is better for you. If you're going to stay here, you'll have to get used to eating food that hasn't been laced with MSG and saltpeter." He stood up, went to assess the relative wisdom of allowing him access to his laptop and got Mulder on-line, then cleared the dishes, went to the kitchen and started preparing supper. He stole the occasional glance in-between getting potatoes ready for long-term roasting. Mulder didn't look much worse for the wear after his time spent off-planet. He looked more at peace and at ease with himself. He looked good. More than good. In fact, he looked better than that; delicious, gorgeous... No, no, no. NO. Now that he had time to reflect, Alex found himself wondering how he was going to be able to handle spending the next fortnight with him. The new Mulder, being nice and pleasant to him? Talking with him, like old buddies? Alex's eyes narrowed again and he forced himself to accept the fact that there was no point imagining that this meant they had some special bond now, or that Mulder would really be able to forgive or forget. Mulder always had occupied a little world all his own. Never mind that their paranoia often coincided too closely for comfort. The possibility of an authentic friendship developing here was a little too late to expect. Still, there was that convenient clause that Mulder had placed up for grabs. He could demand the price for letting him stay here include a measure of friendship with a clean slate. Wait, Mulder had already suggested that. Hm, his options were limited. The things he really wanted to ask for were so inappropriate. He wanted to suggest them simply to witness the reaction. He smiled to himself. The likelihood that Mulder was simply using him and playing on that residual guilt he possessed still loomed, of course. But strangely, Alex found that comforting. It would mean Mulder attributed him with the ability to feel at all, of possessing a conscience, rather than being the cold-blooded monster that he used to accuse him of. If you only knew, he thought. How ironic. You could ask anything of me, and I'd do it. To be honest, he was rather nervous that Mulder would now turn those devastatingly accurate profiling skills on him and discover Alex's real weakness. He'd made such a necessary friend of solitude that he'd almost managed to bury the loneliness and yearning for companionship, a comrade-in-arms, someone to trust. Mulder's new act was drawing that weakness out of him against his better judgment and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He found himself wishing fervently that he'd never betrayed as much to him as he had that night he'd given Mulder the tip-off about the rebel leader at Wiekamp AFB. One kiss and his cover was blown, the truth was 'out there'. The curiosity of what Mulder really thought it had meant seized him. And he shook himself, turning his attention to the food with deliberation. Mulder was chuckling to himself as he perused the screen. Scrolling down, he called out, "You were right. It's going to take me hours to sort through all this. And more than half of them are invitations from adult sites offering pictures of cheesecake." Alex lifted his eyebrows. "Cheeseca-... How very p.c. of you, Mulder. I'd have thought you'd have developed a more enlightened lexicon during your experiences this past year. Going to join us in the new millennium sometime?" Mulder fell quiet. Then dreamily replied, "Hey, a female's a female, no matter what planet she's from." Alex grinned. "You can tell me: did you get some, up there?" Mulder laughed. "Actually, no. But I had offers. You know, I don't think I've gotten laid more than twice since that vampire in Seattle." Alex shook his head, not looking up from the roast beef he was seasoning. "That's more than I needed to know." "Yeah? Well, when was the last time you had a normal date?" Mulder threw over his shoulder as a challenge. Alex paused before replying. "Marita. Just before she screwed me over." "Was she good?" Mulder asked, opening his mouth before thinking. "I don't kiss and tell." "Ah, Ma-rita-aa," Mulder said, in a drawn-out tone. "You know, you two made a great couple, towards the end there. I wondered if there was anything to it." "You would; you're a traditional kind of guy. You forget the climate we've been working in. You know: conspiracies, assassination attempts, living on the edge. Doesn't leave much room for building lasting relationships." "Tell me about it," Mulder intoned absently, departing his email and checking out some of the sites Alex had book-marked. "Hey, this is good. You've got a map of all the underground tunnels and bases. There isn't much down here, is there? We're sort of out of the way of all that. Northern Texas looks to be the only alien zone, in this state." "Why do you think I chose this city? Sure, it's NASA's turf, but it also doesn't have that much in the way of overt activity. Doesn't count stuff in our air-space, but we're hardly in a position to complain. Those kinds of sightings are usually anomalous, not part of their system." "I can't help wondering if the Consortium didn't have an organization just for dealing with that kind of thing." Alex lifted a brow at his naiveté. "Mulder, that's why the NSA was created, for the sole purpose of monitoring alien activity that fell outside of their sphere of influence. But that's old hat. The entire infrastructure of Alphabet Boys has developed serious schizophrenic behavior. We've got the CIA, the FBI, Naval Intelligence, MJ-21, the MIB, NASA—hell, we've even got Disney. And they're all going in different directions. Gotta hand it to the aliens—it's like trying to herd cats. They've got their work cut out for them." Mulder nearly did a double take. "What?" he asked, in almost comic disbelief. "You've got to be kidding. Disney?" Alex grinned to himself. He flicked a glance in his direction. Why is that so surprising? After Steven Spielberg's good work with CE3K and ET...I would've thought Mulder'd get it. "Yeah, there's a polarization now between NASA and Disney over the relative intelligence of what information to leak. They have a disagreement about what should be presented in movies and to the masses. Disney's got this new interactive thing at Disney World in Florida of 'human induction into alien contact'. And NASA doesn't like it because they don't agree with the content or the time-frame. Of course, neither of them are properly aware of the CIA's monopoly of the entertainment sector, or the CIA moles that are in each organization; the ones pushing them in the direction that they're going." Mulder had leaned back and was laughing helplessly. "That beats it all. Disney." "Truly, no joke. They're whipping up public interest over Mars and the search for extra-solar planets. But then, NASA's even more fucked—they're practically fractured. Everyone in it has different ideas about what to do with the info they have. It's going to tear itself apart eventually." Mulder turned back to the screen, sniggering. "Disney. I wonder what old Walt would've said." Alex turned away to face the stove. Damn it, Mulder's voice was working that old magic. His humor, the sound of his laughter, and that soothing monotone delivered in velvet. When they were combined, Mulder had a way of reaching into the core of him and hypnotizing him; sometimes he forgot to pay attention to the words Mulder spoke. He flashed back to the memories of when he'd sometimes called Mulder's number, simply to hear his voice on the answering machine. He hadn't done it often but it was one of those little things that if Mulder ever found out why, he'd be mortified. He swallowed. How much easier it had been to ignore this when Mulder hated him. Now the rules had changed and he had no idea what to expect. Stop, just—stop it. You don't have a hope in hell, and you know it. You're lucky that he's offered as much as he has. But the guilt and helpless yearning that he couldn't keep down anymore surged up and he felt the shameful sting pricking behind his eyelids. So good to see you again. Didn't think I would, actually. Want you. Want you so badly. God damn it! He didn't see the speculative and sympathetic gaze that Mulder briefly fixed on him over his shoulder as he left the room, trying to look like he wasn't fleeing. A strategic retreat to the bedroom gave him a few moments to regain his composure, among other things. Without the distraction of the need to remain focused on urgent matters, he was rapidly coming unglued. These new uncharted waters of sticky emotional considerations and psychological interpretations were something he'd long assumed would never be an issue between him and anyone else, let alone Mulder. He allowed himself the indulgence of feeling a moment of panic. To give Mulder the only reason to trust his word would effectively be offering his heart on a plate. Unacceptable. The realization plucked at him: it would be even harder now to go back out there and face him, to keep his cool even in the midst of confusion. It was like having the rug pulled out from under him, or sitting back down and finding someone had taken the chair away. He angrily clenched his fist. He'd survived this long; there was no reason why this should prove to be insurmountable. He tried to think back but was unable to identify exactly when his grudging admiration for him had evolved into a regard that gave him the only measure of emotional comfort he'd ever had. Hm. Was that how low he'd finally sunk —to the point of being unable to find feelings for anyone but an adversary who'd wanted him dead? He bit back an acid laugh at this. He'd made his choices; made that bed, time to lie in it. No. Mustn't mistake loneliness for affection. Or—god forbid—love... that tiny word whispered itself in the back of his mind like a barely-heard siren call. Ridiculous—keep that word where it belongs. Mulder would laugh his ass off. No, he was falling into the classic scenario of projecting his needs onto an unsuspecting object. Didn't mean there was anything authentic in it. Too long alone will do that to anyone, apparently even a hardened survivor. Let's be honest here—I have been hiding. Hey, there's no shame in it. Everybody needs a little space to lick their wounds, sometimes. It was just his usual luck that Mulder would turn up when he had the opportunity to find peace at last, after all these years. He shook his head and inhaled, setting his shoulders back, straightening, ready to return to Mulder's whimsical and unpredictable company. And his warm, intelligent eyes and kissable mouth and... oh, hell. Fuck it. He turned and left the bedroom. Mulder was sitting in the armchair once more. He looked up at Alex's return before looking back to the barely audible TV. "See?" he said, "I didn't steal the couch." "Congratulations. You can keep your word, after all." Alex sank down into the couch in question, enjoying the lazy drift of late afternoon as it turned into a molasses crawl down comfortable avenues. Maybe time could heal. Or perhaps even the bad blood could fade away, replaced by a wary mutual respect. "I've got some cash, you know. I could pay you something for letting me stay. Cover the food and whatever," Mulder murmured, his eyes on the TV still. "Don't be absurd." Alex's reply was just as mild. They quickly fell into a routine of careful and deceptively mellow exchanges. It was as if Mulder instinctively understood the previous vibe Alex had created in the apartment before his arrival. Space to chill out, time to let thoughts drift around like clouds and go where they wished, now that the initial storm had blown out between them. Eventually, dinner began to assert itself by smelling up the place, emanating from the oven, and was enthusiastically seconded by Mulder's stomach as Alex once more turned to the kitchen. It was definitely his territory and it gave him the element he needed to relax in, the only change from the tacitly agreed mood. Alex knew it was only a matter of time before Mulder's enthusiastic need for conversation would ruin it, anyway. "I figured you were a meat and potatoes man, Mulder." He handed him a plate. Mulder's lips twisted sardonically in a lopsided grin. "All this and gravy too? Krycek, you'll spoil me." "Keep up the good behavior and you might get dessert." He handed him a fork. "I just never thought you'd be so domesticated." Alex shot him a look. "Stay out of the kitchen." Alex knew that he was allowing himself to be lulled into a sense of normalcy. He resigned himself to it and let it sweep him up. If Mulder wanted to play 'roommates', so be it. It made a welcome change. Night crept up on them before they knew what had happened. The television had long since developed into an irritation and they'd abandoned it in favor of the CD rack. Strangely, Mulder had no reservations about any of the choices Alex put on and seemed happy with whatever he felt like playing. Finally, Mulder dropped a casual statement into the midst of their calm. "I was thinking; we could run our entire operation over the Internet. I mean, their whole disinformation programme is run off it. It might be just-desserts for them to find it unraveling as fast they spin it out." Aha. I knew it—here we go. Nonchalantly, Alex replied, "Welcome to the millenium. Took you long enough. That still won't combat the media cartel though." Mulder shook his head. "Truth is relative in the eye of the beholder. As long as the images and ideas are seeded out there, they do some good." "Hey, I know that. I just wondered if you did. It's no longer a question of disinformation. If we want to get past the level of old intelligence games, their petty info wars and rivalries, we're going to have to get up to speed with the ones pulling their strings. Shouldn't be hard, seeing as you're their new representative." "You think? They dropped me back down here alone; we're on our own, mostly. We need to remain outside the limelight and yet be able to obtain a bird's eye view on spec. How do you propose we manage that?" "Mulder, you were the key to the whole genetic-bioengineering project, yourself. That bastard Spender knew it, even if he didn't know what to do with it. That whole business with the artifact, the ancient ship, and your latent mental abilities—you rivaled even that kid Gibson Praise, you know. You have no idea how hard it was to keep the lid on you. You nearly made yourself a target of every player in the game. You're lucky I wiped out the records of that episode of yours." "Aw, you shouldn't have." "That is the—the essence of what I always end up doing, Mulder. Damage control. Running around in your wake picking up the pieces and stopping up the gaps." "You sound almost bitter, Krycek. Do you resent doing that? I'm grateful. After the fact, I know, but still..." "No, no." He held up his hand. "Water under the bridge, as far as I'm concerned. I just don't want to go down that road again, is all. Believe it or not, dealing with physical evidence is a lot easier than the aftermath of live broadcasts in unsecured, public areas. Grabbing a megaphone and shouting in the street isn't as effective as a concerted plan of dissemination. But then, you never were very patient. I wasn't surprised when they finally had you committed." Biting his upper lip thoughtfully, Mulder rested his head back, regarding the trees across the street through the partially-closed blinds of the window. The city lights were a pink glow behind the neighboring houses, casting a suburban atmosphere of constancy that was almost believable. Never mind the presence of large fleets of ships beyond the orbit of the Moon that could take out the city in an eye-blink. Slowly, he said, "So you're saying that psychic ability is the new ground. What have they got in the sense of an organized exploration of it?" And thought privately to himself, how apt—how incredibly timely. He was glad that Alex had brought this subject up all on his ownsome. "Ever heard of remote viewing? The NSA prides itself on its self-styled psychic agents. But even they're pathetic in comparison to the Dulce security systems and Dreamlands technology. You've had more than a few brushes with it, yourself; come on. And it's hardly new, considering that shamanic traditions in primitive cultures have been doing it for thousands of years." Mulder laughed in a low voice. "You gonna tell me you've been practicing, Krycek? Astral projection, mind control—this is serious stuff. What are we getting into? Hell, can you imagine me trying to discuss this with Scully?" he added, veering off the subject. Alex chuckled slightly under his breath. "Actually I can, she'd dissect it and reduce everything you've said down into bite-sized, neatly-compartmentalized rationalizations. You know, it would be courteous to simply tell me that you've already been through all that with your new alien friends rather than letting me run on at the mouth. If I could read your mind, don't you think I'd take advantage of it instead of continuously inviting you to make a fool of me?" Mulder looked taken aback at this suggestion, a puzzled smile crossing his face. "I'm not trying to make a fool of you. I'd forgotten about remote viewing, I really had. I know I still haven't convinced you that I'm trustworthy yet. Or that I trust you. I'm going on the assumption that bygones are bygones. I'm not expecting miracles, overnight. I'm just enjoying this; I've never been able to discuss this kind of thing at this level of complexity before." Alex wasn't sure if he felt pacified or reassured by that. This new 'friendly overture' was still outlandish, precisely because of the inescapable fact that Mulder had come here directly from a spacecraft. "Oh, and Alex—about that kiss, the one I owe you? I still intend to collect on that. I guess I can wait if you want to decide when, but there's no time like the present. Maybe we could get it over with; whadd'ya say?" That grin no longer appeared anything but wicked. Alex frowned, the tenuous sensation of safety and camaraderie swiftly darted away from him. Replacing it was a strange kind of vertigo. "Don't play cat and mouse with me, I don't appreciate it," he growled. Mulder regarded him seriously. "Okay," he replied quietly, "I won't. Turnabout is fair-play though, you have to agree." He moved quickly, getting up in one smooth motion and leaning down to plant his mouth briefly against Alex's right cheek, hard, in a mirror gesture of Alex's from that night long ago. Warm shock. An electric fire swept through his body and laced his blood with tingling electricity. It lasted less than a second and then Mulder was pulling back, moving away even as Alex brought his hand up in a half-hearted attempt to stave off the possible blow he'd assumed Mulder was about to... Please, not so fast, gone so quickly and over so soon! His heartbeat thudded in his ears and the heat that washed over him left him feeling exposed. Naked. His face was hot and he didn't dare look at him. Somehow his brain was stalled, on hold, and now he couldn't find any words at all. He finally understood the meaning of the word 'speechless'. The impression of warm lips against his skin was indelibly etched onto his consciousness, and the absence of them was simply unacceptable. He barely even heard Mulder's parting shot as he left the room with a grin. "Payback's a bitch, ain't it?" Shit. Shit! It was... nothing. Nothing at all. A peck on the cheek and nothing more. That's when the reality of it decided to sink its claws into him. Would there ever be another? If he were to name it as his price, however far he wanted it to go, would he survive the actual emotional cost to himself in the aftermath? 'I'll let you stay, Mulder, if you kiss me again—and do it properly this time'. Or, 'Sure: I'll be your partner and work with you to prepare the public for alien contact, as long as you let me fuck you.' Yeah, right. It's just a game, to him. To expect understanding from a man who's more aroused by alien cover-ups, conspiracies and Scully's xeno-biological autopsies on ancient, exhumed alien corpses is patently stupid. Damn it all. He hadn't expected it to hurt this much, the sensation of his heart actually constricting in his chest. He finally realized what people meant by the phrase 'emotional scars'. This was certainly leaving them. I can't pretend it didn't mean something to me, he thought, despairingly. And then he remembered Scully... was it Mulder's child, she'd given birth to? Why hadn't Mulder asked about that yet? Did he already know? It was possible, considering the various alien factions' intelligence methods. He found himself wishing he'd kept closer tabs on her. In his own desire to go underground for a while, he hadn't followed as closely on her heels as usual. Only enough to listen out for word of whether Mulder had returned or not. And he had other contacts besides, for monitoring the status of abductees according to post-Syndicate sources. Scully—he swallowed a flash of dark annoyance at the thought of her. And a choking feeling of anger at the thought of the two of them in a clinch... Somehow, Scully's pregnancy had more painful repercussions for him than if they'd screwed around and she'd still been barren. That child might possibly represent an entire family scene, one that most definitely did not include any remote possibility of... He was going to lose Mulder to her again. He knew it. It was inevitable. He'd always known they shared a bond much deeper than the partnership and friendship they claimed it only ever was. Even if they chose to deny it. Hell, he didn't see how Mulder could blame him for disliking Scully, considering that if it weren't for her, he might have... no. No way. That wasn't realistic, he thought. It's just jealousy, and I can't expect Mulder to comprehend that, especially from me. The man's only emotional reactions center around the thrill of information and extra-terrestrial phenomena. Except for that damned unerring insight he has into human psychological behavior... He had to know what he'd done to him tonight, the bastard. It had to have been deliberate. Or—was that what Mulder meant by payback? A single kiss had left him in shock. Had Mulder suffered similarly afterwards, that night? It was doubtful. He hadn't really thought about it, so wrapped up in his own need to do it and damn the consequences. But Mulder had always hated him, it helped to remember that now. He remembered the righteous anger and pain that had launched Mulder at him when he and Marita had stepped into his basement office. Skinner'd had to restrain him several times, actually, before they could get Mulder to listen to him. The flush of the toilet and sounds of running water seemed distant and unreal. But they also sounded dangerous; reminding him he had a few moments before Mulder came back. He gulped, trying to get a handle on what he was supposed to do, how he should act. His pulse hadn't gone back down yet. Damn it, he was acting like an adolescent with a crush. His face was still aflame and he knew Mulder would see it. He'd been through far, far worse than this and yet it was the most searingly difficult situation he'd had to deal with in a long time. The only reason he'd not lost it this bad in previous encounters was because Mulder despised him—which had of course given him the distance he needed to retain his composure. At this moment he would have given anything to simply enjoy this exchange with him, this interlude, without the past getting in the way. The bathroom door opened. Even his hand was shaking. And his knees. Okay, calm down. Be rational about this. Deal with it. It's not like you've never been kissed. It's not like you've never been near him. Just act like things are cleared between us now. God, I want him. NO! Stupid, stupid to think this could amount to anything. I'd do anything for it to mean something but what are the odds. Conflicting despair and hope were still tossing back and forth as Mulder reemerged. But his old habit hadn't deserted him, of mastering his feelings behind a shield of indifference. By the time Mulder had sat back down he was himself again, not a hint of his struggle showing. He'd always been a good liar when the situation demanded it. "I'd say we're even now. Aren't we?" Mulder lacked any sign of mockery; he seemed merely restrained, almost as if he'd worried he'd gone too far. Not trusting himself to speak, Alex contented himself with a single nod. He allowed his eyes to meet Mulder's for the barest flicker. He wasn't prepared for the expression in them. He wasn't laughing at him. Not at all. Alex held his breath. The air was thick and almost crackled with tension. Too much. Just—Please. Say something, please. Anything! Mulder slowly licked his lips, thinking. "The Farsight people, the remote viewers. Can you get into the NSA mainframe without tripping their security? On-line, of course," he added. "No problem. Why, what do you have in mind?" Thank you, thank you-thank you-thank you... "I think that's the first order of business. It's imperative that we know what they've got, what they're up to. I don't relish peeking into military bases until we know what kind of security they actually have against external psychic agents." Alex smiled dryly. "We're still out of our depth." Concentrate, damn it. Don't look at him. "Practice makes perfect," Mulder quipped. "What do you suggest?" Idiot. You looked. Dear god, his mouth... Mulder shifted in his seat. He looked distracted. "Uh, well, we could try yoga. Or TM. Most people report the same kind of results." "Yoga?" His neck, too. I could just—bite it. Mm-mmm... Mulder's eyes were unfocused and he licked his lips again, unconsciously. "Well, there are a lot more varieties of yoga than the well-known stretching and relaxing kinds." Alex was beginning to wonder if Mulder were feeling a little anxious himself. "Yeah, I know. Hatha Yoga, Ashtanga. But which do you have in mind?" If he licks his lips again I'm gonna scream. Ooh, there's a thought. I wonder what he sounds like when he screams. Yeah, right. Get real, Alex. Not in this lifetime. Even so, think of what it might take to get that kind of response... In fact, if he's going to be sleeping out here on the couch, does that mean I might get to hear something if he decides to seek relief in the dark? Mulder was staring into space and seemed to shake himself. "Um, Tantric Yoga would be the way to go. And I don't think that means jerking off, either. That just wouldn't cut it. It would have to be a group thing." And then he stopped, as if wishing he could swallow everything he'd just said. Alex couldn't formulate an intelligent reply to that. Did he just say—? Is it me, or am I not the only one with sex on my mind right now? Hmm, how long has it been, Fox? "I'm sure Margo Anand and Betty Dodson would agree with you. I'm not sure about Dr Laura, though." Clearing his throat, Mulder continued, "Of course, we need to find something that can be done together. Research into audio/visual stimulation has shown that brain wave patterns can be altered using hemisync technology." Good save, Mulder. Alex's smile was lurking around the corners of his mouth. But this was getting tiresome. It almost felt like—flirting. He studiously ignored the impulse to mention that research into human sexuality had proven orgasmic response was equally effective in altering brain waves down to theta and delta states... at least in women. Multi-orgasmic women. Pleasure-plateaus and—Whoa, there. Stop. Just, focus on what he's saying. Don't imagine that this has any sexual motivation behind it at all and you might make it through this evening with all your teeth and a minimum of bruises. He moved uncomfortably in the couch, ending up changing position as he answered, "There are always psychotropic drugs. Shamen have used them as the cheap alternative in electricity-free times. They still do." "Yeah, but those kinds of experiences are uncontrollable and take their toll after a while. The contemporary alternative is music, and ritual dance. People can achieve hypnogogic trances through various kinds of music." Mulder was doing that unconscious chewing of the lower lip again. Alex watched in fascination; the sight of it sent a stab of lust directly from his brain to his cock. He allowed himself the brief image of nibbling that lip for him, and then what it would be like just to hold him, to feel Fox's arms around him, feel that intimacy. Fuck, I'm not going to last the night, let alone two weeks of this. But dreams are just graphic wishes and he knew this was perfect masturbation material for later. He cleared his own throat and said, "I think we already had the answer, earlier. Drugs, visions, hemisync; they're artificially induced. The best way is anything naturally stimulated, as a side-effect of deliberately strengthening the electromagnetic field we generate." Alex carefully avoided his eyes. Mulder's smile was rather distracting. It was hard to tell if it were even related to what he was saying, "Are we talking auras, here? I know a guy who can get us a great deal on Kirlian photography." "Mulder, that's all beside the point. You already have the ability. I told you, you're the key to the potential that's sitting dormant in the rest of us." Mulder's raised eyebrows spoke volumes. "Come on," protested Alex. "Why do you think your hunches are always right? Your intuitive ability in the field is legendary. It's only because you employ it for the FBI that it hasn't been labeled otherwise. Everyone attributes it to your profiling skills and a natural feel for the paranormal. But you've got it. That's why they call you 'spooky'. You're psychic. Well, most people have a bit of it, but you're the real thing. You just have to find a way to tap it directly, control it." "Weird," was Mulder's response. He looked strangely uncomfortable. "That's pretty much what I was told, 'up there'." "Then all you have to do is learn how to navigate in that world. Thing is, everyone's going to have to face this at some point; you've just got a head start over the rest of us." Mulder regarded him thoughtfully. "You're getting there yourself, Alex." What? Not 'Krycek'? Is this progress? Come to think of it, he'd addressed him that way earlier... "You think?" "Sure. Where do you think you get your uncanny ability to always tell when something's wrong; your awareness of other's intentions and probable reactions. It's not instinct, or reflexes, not fully. Anything where we're going by feel is bound to be at least partly tied to it." Oh, baby. Bound... Tied— An unbidden visual arrested him at that, of Mulder restraining him, holding him down beneath him, their lower regions grinding into each other... He swallowed, his mouth gone dry. Looking down at the low table, he said, "Sounds good enough in theory. But it's another thing to make it a reality. Maybe you're right about needing practice. I don't think either of us are in a position to be able to astrally project ourselves over to Groom Lake. So. Practice. We should set up a routine, create one and learn how to do that on command." When Mulder didn't answer, he looked back over at him, only to find him watching him with that speculative gaze that usually signified making connections. Alex didn't like feeling self-conscious. His eyes slid away when Mulder showed no intention of breaking eye contact. What the hell is his game now? His voice was rougher, lower than he intended, "It's only a suggestion, no need to freak out about it." But there was no way he could have prepared for Mulder's reply. "I'm game if you are. Why leave anything out? Why not a combination of all of it? A selection, you know? A little of this, a little of that." Alex shot him a dubious frown and laughed once. "What, 'sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll'?" Mulder smiled tolerantly. "Partly. I'm just thinking about the whole personal energy management issue. It's about pleasure; harnessing the energy when endorphins flood the body. It's right up there with Tantra, again." "No, no way are we going there." Alex laughed nervously. "I'm not a Buddhist and neither are you. We're not qualified. Uh, meat and alcohol— immediate disqualification, there. Besides, if I remember correctly, there's more to it than sex; it's all about the spiritual balance or something. Achieving enlightenment through the equilibrium of Siva/Shakti, I think?" "Relax, Alex. I'm not going to get religious on you. Though I gotta say, you really seem to know what you're talking about." That smile hadn't left yet. This is just unfair. It really is. If I didn't know better, I'd think he's a pricktease. Doesn't he have any idea what that smile does to me? Probably thinks that kiss he gave me was an 'ice-breaker' so now he can flirt without worrying about propriety. Because... because he knows. Jesus. He knows I like him—hell, want him. He knows I can't look at him without wanting to fuck his tight, sweet ass. Oh baby. God help me. He felt an insane urge to get up and just throw himself at him. But Alex steadfastly refused to look at him, ignoring it. One more look in those too-kind eyes and I'm going to crack. DAMN it! A small trickle of sweat ran down his side under his t-shirt, tickling his skin in his heightened state. With growing dismay, he knew it was only a matter of moments before he entered full-blown arousal. His sweats weren't going to hide anything. He was surprised he'd lasted as long as he had. But then, the situation had gotten way out of hand, so fast. Abruptly, he got to his feet. "I need a drink. Want one?" He went to the fridge. "Sure." There was a pause, then, "Hey, uh—Alex. Can I ask you something?" Alex steeled himself visibly, and returned with two beers. He handed one to Mulder. "Sure." "What if I said that... I already have the ability. You know, like what you said, earlier." Alex sat down heavily and opened his beer. "Mulder. Just do us both a favor and spit it out, will you?" His eyes were closed, he was holding the cold bottle against his forehead. "Right." Mulder's answering laugh was nervous, tellingly lacking the assured confidence that he'd had all evening. In fact, he sounded downright anxious. "How do you think I found you? Locating one man among millions. I... I was brought up to speed; I had to be, to keep up with them. English isn't exactly a universal language and most of them don't talk out loud anyway. They removed some blocks, in my mind." Alex stared at him, the immediate grasp of the meaning of this disclosure eluding him. "So, what, telepathy?" Mulder's nod was reluctant. "I swear I didn't mean to lead you on. I can't in clear conscience keep it from you. I was actually afraid of what you might do. I still am." Confused, Alex tilted his head to one side. "Why? So you're fully functional?" And then it dawned on him. "Oh." Oh, fuck— He blinked, a sudden sinking feeling opening up in the pit of his stomach, much like horror. "You mean..." he weakly trailed off. Telepathy. Mulder had been reading every thought and image that had crossed his mind since he arrived. There wasn't a single feeling he had that was secret from him. The whole evening he'd played him on the line, a particularly gullible fish. He should've known he'd have changed somehow from spending so much time with them. Mulder's lips twisted before he answered uncomfortably, "This is not what I had in mind. I was surprised at how focused it got once we started talking today—it hasn't been like that with others so far. I don't know why; I just find it easier to—to hear you. Maybe it has to something to do with especially strong connections, or something." The apprehension and dismay that had overtaken Alex shifted just as fast into humiliation, fear and finally fury. It was so strong in fact that it held him in place where he sat. The contemplation of either attacking him or leaving the room seemed paltry. He knew that both alternatives would provide no relief at all. He sat, his jaw set, looking at the door across the room, not seeing it. "If it's any consolation," Mulder ventured tentatively, "I've had to stop myself from pouncing on you. I wasn't sure if it was something you really wanted." Amazingly, his voice was working. "Bullshit. I've been broadcasting it for hours now. You could have put me out of my misery. And your little game— kissing me—Jesus." The sadness, the bitter loneliness and fear of rejection that he'd held at bay began overwhelming him. Mulder actually seemed contrite. "Hey, I didn't know what to make of it. I don't usually go around looking into people's heads. I'm not used to this. Communication with them was different; I had to rely on this for it to work, to be able to talk at all. I'm going to have to find a way to shield myself from it again, as well as deal with the temptation of sneaking glimpses into... You know, this makes me the perfect spy? Look, I was kind of worried I'd scare you off with it. And with good reason, I think. Look, I'm sorry—" And he had the temerity to sound petulant?!... Christ. "Oh, you're sorry. That's great. It's all okay, then." He was breathing hard, wondering if it was worth bothering to fight the tears. Talk about getting busted. And there I was, thinking it was so good to see you again... Swallowing, Alex muttered thickly, hating himself for the desperation in his voice, "So, you gonna leave me hanging here? I mean, I don't even have the luxury of dignity, at this point." Mulder got up quietly and went to sit down beside him. He winced, but Mulder simply placed his arms around him and pulled him into an embrace meant to comfort. Alex allowed him to, wound tight as a spring, waiting for when he'd pull away from him. But Mulder didn't move, just sat there, holding him. "Damn it, why didn't you say something? Why'd you let me go on and on like that? All day long, all night?" Alex finally whispered against him, his face pressed into his neck. He was shivering in the heat radiating off of Mulder's body. Hoarsely, Mulder replied, "I didn't want to push you away, to alienate you. Once I realized what you were feeling, I was afraid to bring it out into the open. I didn't know you felt that strongly towards me. It—kind of took me by surprise. I had no idea you—I mean, we've always fought. Then it sort of affected what I felt for you and it kind of escalated out of control. I didn't want to just jump you; I figured you'd think I'd set out to hurt you. I thought I'd just give us time to grow closer. Alex, please believe me, I never meant to embarrass you." Haltingly, Alex asked, 'Does this mean that you believe me, then? I mean, you can tell when I'm lying, right?" "Yeah." Mulder turned his face and kissed him on the side of his head, on his cheek beside his ear. The tension dropped out of Alex and he finally allowed himself to sink into the embrace. Mulder held him close and said, "I've thought about you a lot, you know, since that night. It took some getting used to. It was a curve ball you threw me." What—? Oh, yeah, Wiekamp again. A bitter laugh shook him slightly. "Mulder, I've wanted you for, well, for I don't know how long. Certainly a lot longer than before that though." Mulder held him tighter. "I know." He was actually there, holding him, not cursing and hitting him. Alex couldn't help it crossing his mind: Oh god—my—sertsa, lisitsa, ja tebja —ljublju—Things cartwheeling through him, including... hope. And Mulder laughed silently, mostly with relief, shaking both of them. "I know, me too, Alex. I love you, too." Damn, but this is going to take some getting used to, Alex thought, I'm not even safe in Russian. The laughter covered both of them at this; partly due to a hysterical kind of relief that they both had now. Mulder cleared his throat uneasily. "Uh, Alex? Can you say—sublimation?" "Huh? Why?" Running a hand through Alex's hair, he clarified. "I always found you attractive. Well, I have to say those cheap suits didn't help, in the beginning. And it really was a stupid-ass haircut, you know. It—it was your trust, your loyalty..." Ouch. Alex tightened, against Mulder's chest. His eyes flicked open behind him, looking beyond and seeing the dark hallway to the bathroom and bedroom. "...and it was even harder after the acid-in-the-water adventure and the death of my father. Every time you showed up in my life, it was like you were a bad penny, pointing the way to another fucked-up confrontation with Cancerman. But you know, leather and black really do a lot for you, I gotta say. I wanted to get my hands on you so badly; it really pushed me to the limit. That's—well, that's probably why I hit you so often." And taking Alex's face in both his hands, he seized possession of his mouth with a serious lack of inhibition and control. A moan escaped Alex before he realized it, and he found himself returning the kiss with passion, parting his lips under Mulder's— Ah, god—Fox—! This was too good; this was death by pleasure. And they hadn't even gotten to the bedroom, yet. They pulled apart, both of them panting as hard as if they'd been running. Mulder was taken aback. Wow. That is so good. What a waste of years. Alex stopped, abruptly. His eyes found Mulder's and held them with surprised accusation. Hey... "...what?!" "Mm. So you heard that, huh?" He patted Alex on the back, reassuringly. "You see—I told you, you had it in you." Alex shook his head once, haltingly. He sat back, trying to collect himself. It was too hard to think while touching him. "Come on. This can't last. Like I said, we're too volatile." "Nuh-uh, Alex." Mulder was shaking his head. "You're not getting away from me this time. Let me tell you something. One of the funny things about love—once you've accepted it, there's no going back. And it's actually impossible to hide it. From me now, anyway. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you." He moved closer, invading Alex's space and placing a hand on his chest, moving the other to place it on the back of his neck. He pressed a warm, undemanding kiss on the side of his mouth, and murmured in a low voice that sent chills through Alex's body, "Trust me. I want you," another kiss, on the other side of his mouth but closer to his lips, "I need you, and," a longer kiss this time, dead-center, "I love you." Alex's eyes slid shut and he pulled back again. He managed, "L-look, Mulder, uh, Fox, I... I'm not... this isn't..." An inexplicable wave of shyness, and fear that this was a sick dream, began to well up. It can't be this easy. Even if we—It's not going to last. "Stop thinking. And show me what you want to do, instead. You don't have to say it. What do you want? It's your call, Alex." Alex tried to swallow around the lump in his throat and ignore the near-painful constricting tightness of his briefs against his erection. "You. Don't want anything else. But you know that. Get real; I don't have any secrets from you at all, now. How am I supposed to be comfortable with that? For god's sake. No memory, no feeling; no thought is safe, is my own. It's a little disconcerting." Abruptly, he was flooded with a sense of tenderness, affection, physical want and the unmistakable worry of Mulder's, that Alex would push him away out of fear simply because he couldn't believe that he could have his heart's desire. Even though they weren't his feelings, he still felt them rush around inside him and he could identify with them implicitly. Oh. Empathy... understanding. This isn't just 'telepathy', then... it's— more. Stunned, he looked up at Mulder, who was regarding him, concerned and patient, but also with the unmistakable tension of pent-up lust. He could feel it all flowing in and around them... The impulse to strip Alex and investigate that alluring bulge he was studiously trying to ignore was almost more than Mulder could contain, and he broke down with a self-conscious giggle as he felt Alex take that in too and mull it over. This is ridiculous; I haven't been like this since I was a teenager, thought Mulder. A slow grin finally broke over Alex's face and this time he was the one to reach out. A few hasty and heated kisses later, he rose with Mulder's hand in his, pulling him up with him, and thought, bedroom. Now! "Yes..." Mulder managed, through a very palpable fog of hot need. It was dark but there was a sort of whirlwind with clothes flying, unseen. Alex was removing the prosthetic without even a twinge of unease, which surprised him until he realized it was because he knew Mulder didn't have a problem with it at all. He could feel him, so close inside. He almost found himself lost in the novelty of feeling accepted and just okay with someone else, for once. And then, Alex found himself being pushed gently but firmly back onto the bed. "God, Alex, I want you now!" Mulder groaned, pinning him beneath him and writhing against him. Alex gasped aloud. Too much... skin. Way too much. Naked, too naked to do that. Fire-oh god-yes-skin—please-more-so hot— The sensation of feeling the length of Mulder's body upon his own was brought sharply into relief by the accidental brush of their cocks. The twin lance of lust and abandon this caused in both of them nearly brought Mulder along too quickly. Licking his lips hastily and considering, Alex whispered, "I think we need for you to fuck me, this first time." "I agree, you can have me later," was mouthed into his neck, and then a wet trail of an exploring mouth moved down his collarbone, to blindly capture his left nipple. This simple act in itself made him arch slightly upwards against Mulder's tongue as it twirled a little too expertly. He felt hot and his skin stretched, prickling with heightened sensitivity. If Mulder ever made it down to between his legs, he wasn't sure he'd be able to contain himself. Mulder turned his attention now to the other nipple briefly before wandering down to his stomach, kisses draped slowly along the pale flesh and over his right side of his waist, to his hip. Meanwhile, Mulder's hands were running lightly alongside, on either side of him, touching him, holding him in place and conjuring the most exquisite anticipation. With his cock leaking desperately and his heart in his mouth, he said brokenly, "Fox, please. Your mouth—just do it, will you?" In the dark, a hissing chuckle reaching his ears from the dark head over him, he waited. A strong hand lightly curled around his hardened length, then tightened, gripping him steady. Anything he might have thought or tried to say vanished into a melting tidal wave of urgency and flames as a hot tongue flicked against the head of his cock. A ripple of excitement ran over his belly and he couldn't help the bucking reflex as he reared up slightly. Mulder's other hand held him down in place, and then there was only the most deliciously heavenly wet warmth of his mouth and soft lips tightly sucking him in, drawing him in, down farther and farther, in smooth bobbing motions. It proved too much for him. Way beyond anything he could control. His strangled cries were strange and loud to his own ears as the rushing tide broke over him, crashing into his heart, his brain, his body, nothing but the enclosed world of safety in his mouth, the haven of Mulder's pleasure and satisfaction he could feel, and the explosive reaching up into the universal dark release. This moment. Straining for it, he became the rolling waves of sensation as over and over and over he was emptied; a delirious survivor of surrender, giving himself up to the heart he could feel beside him and inside him and around him, the one who drank him in. Welcomed him with—love. Love. That singular, lofty and yet always so elusive and distant ideal. Next thing he knew, he was being held in Mulder's arms, under the sheets. How-? His eyes fluttered open. A kiss landed on his forehead and Mulder laughed under his breath. With resignation, Mulder said, "Well, I guess I miscalculated that one." He started, and looked up. "What," he demanded. "I hadn't counted on what would happen if one of us came when we were both, uh, joined like that. It's been a while since I've come without being touched before." "So that was both of us I felt, there. No wonder. I thought it was a bit much—I mean, I never felt anything like that, with anyone. Let's all 'come together'..." He sniggered. "Hm, well. Your consummation of nine years of unrequited longing might also have contributed to it," Mulder admitted in a grudging tone, but the humor intended by this was shared with him. Alex smiled, sincere and open. "It's okay, Mulder. You can confess now. You were really disappointed I wasn't ordered to seduce you, weren't you?" "Crushed. But I'm happy now. I got you in the end." Mulder stroked the side of his face, caressing him with light fingers. Alex's eyebrows rose up high. "Indeed? I'd say it was the other way around." He possessively grabbed Mulder's hand and pressed it to his lips. Muttering against the long fingers, he said, "You haven't fucked me yet. You think I'd let just anybody do that? I want you to take me. Deep and hard. Come on, Fox, you know you want to." The sharp intake of breath and accompanying thrill of desire that ran through Mulder, at his words as well as his voice, Alex felt it too, simultaneously. Mulder lazily replied, "You keep talking like that and you're going to find your ankles up by your ears—or by mine." "Promises, promises," Alex goaded. "So my voice turns you on? Want me to tell you a story to get the ambience right?" "No, we can get this moving along real fast if you'll return the favor." The fresh memory of Alex's cock in Mulder's mouth, followed by the impish, indulgent craving to feel those pretty lips wrapped around my... (flash of Mulder's stirring cock as it leapt slightly) hit Alex broadside. With a groan, he sat up immediately and attacked Mulder's mouth with passionate ferocity. "You asked for it," he promised, gruffly. He didn't linger long as he moved orally downwards, reaching Mulder's already half-hard cock fairly quickly in his enthusiasm, and began laving wet attention on it with long strokes; he followed it by enveloping the head eagerly. Mulder's gasping moans would have told him all he needed to know, but their combined sensations were crashing into him. It really was too disorienting to feel it as if he were blowing himself—he stopped, his voice strained. "Can you turn it off, for now? Control yourself? I don't think we're going to get very far if you don't." "Right. Sorry. I'll try." He panted, looking down at him in the dark. "Now get back to it." Alex grinned. "Whatever you say." And proceeded to slide the length of him up and down, in and out of his mouth until Mulder began thrusting up a little too hard. Pulling off of him, Alex gasped, "Come on, I need to— something to use—lube—in the drawer there." There was a frantic scrambling and rummaging in the dark and then Mulder was pushing him back onto the bed again, this time face-down. Alex was shaking. He closed his eyes. "Hey. You okay?" Mulder's voice was calming, reassuring, caring. He laughed a little, nervously. "Sure. It's just been a while, that's all." And then the ability to compose rational speech fled as Mulder's hands gently stroked his back, down to his hips, and his upper thighs, ending on his ass. Leaning down behind him, Mulder pressed the side of his face briefly upon his cheeks like a pillow. And then began to nip and slowly lick at the tender skin. Alex found himself sweating. As warm, gentle fingers slid down to part his cheeks and barely touch the pucker there, his limbs lost all volition and he could only lay there, boneless. Hot, moist breath against his skin followed, and then the tip of a wet tongue tracing his most private entrance. It really had been a long time... too long. As the tip began to nudge into him, slowly, sliding into him, he squeezed his eyes shut tight. Again and again, sliding harder and more wetly into him. The knowledge that this was Mulder doing this, to him, was just— Too—fucking—much— He moaned and part of him was surprised to register that instead of a good manly groan it sounded more like a high whimper. It was over too soon as Mulder moved back and then a slick finger was nudging him, up to the first and then second knuckle. It was withdrawn but then slowly repeated. Mulder began a rhythm that gave Alex a hint of what to expect. Especially when he found that secret gland and Alex nearly reared up from the bed; he would have dislodged him if Mulder hadn't held him down with one hand on the small of his back. "Easy... You like that, huh?" Mulder's whisper was appreciative. "So tight, so hot. Oh man. Alex? Ready for two?" Alex gulped. "Yeah; okay." Two fingers, more slick and much tighter now, burning slightly, but the discomfort was lost in the fact that it was Mulder who was doing this to him. He never in his wildest wet dreams would have thought he'd do this. All of a sudden, he was glad it was dark. His cheeks felt so hot that they almost itched against the coolness of the sheet under his face. He was so hard he worried that he'd come as soon as Mulder entered him. The thought of that gripped him. He found himself gritting out, "Fox, fuck me, now. Please, fuck me. Do it—come on. J-just do it. Please!" Mulder was laughing slightly under his breath and Alex realized it was because he was undulating, moving back against him, swiveling his hips in a very good approximation of a slut—he froze. And then Mulder was moving up to lean against his back, and the blunt, much thicker sensation of a well-lubed cock pushing into him. He was suddenly glad for Mulder's hands and arms gripping him, holding him in place, as he slid into him with a pulsing motion, ever so slightly rocking forward to push a few centimeters at a time. And then—they were flying. The completeness of fullness inside him as Mulder lost his focus and they were both feeling each other... How long spent waiting for this? Whoever could have predicted it? That it might come true... Mulder's voice was coming in harsh gasps, "God, Alex, so good, it's so good. Want you, oh fuck, yeah—" Alex's cries were forced out of him by the sheer force of Mulder thrusting into him over and over, finally gaining strength. When Mulder's hand reached down beneath them to grab Alex's weeping cock, Alex could no longer stop himself from shoving back against him, each time. Mulder could feel just how much more he could take because he knew it from the inside-out, and with a delighted, abandoned smile behind him, began to let go, ramming against his body, fucking him so hard— Hard, so good, so fast, oh god do it, oh please, yeah, oh Fox—god, I love you, "Oh fuck, oh fuck... FUCK ME!" With Alex bucking and twisting under him, he had to grip his waist. Alex's muffled shriek was mirrored by Mulder's open-mouthed shout against the back of his neck. Alex was coming and shuddering as Fox emptied into him, and he couldn't stop the tears that welled up and were lost on the edge of the pillow. The twin sensations were riding both of them, circulating dizzyingly, confusingly, inside their heads, creating the sense of union and a weird kinship. Alex then felt the cool wetness of Mulder's own tears against the back of his neck as Mulder pressed his face against him, wordlessly. It was more than sex, it was like being emptied of so much psychological baggage. To just let go. To be cleaned, inside and out. No more need for pain or reparation, or revenge. Or even discussion. Just... relief. When they came to, it was because Alex was struggling to catch his breath properly with Mulder atop him. With a moan borne of appreciative satiated consummation, Mulder pulled away and lay on his back beside him. Alex stirred, blindly feeling for the small towel that also lay in the drawer. "The only drawback," Mulder muttered, "Wet spots." "Well, that's what towels are for." The post-coital haze of bliss was making him feel like there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, together. Alex even imagined that for a while, he could dream that it was as real as he'd always wanted it to be. He was embarrassed by the tears and the ache of wanting it to last forever... And found himself suddenly being pulled into Mulder's arms in a protective gesture. And holding him tight, Mulder declared, "I love you. I won't leave you, not now. We've both waited too long for this. Trust me. Will you trust me?" Alex merely nodded. And ran his hand over Mulder's face, against his ear, along his jaw, a thumb tracing that permanent sultry pout. "Love you," he said, hoarsely. And with a contented sigh, Mulder pulled them down to the bed once more, to lay like two sleek animals who'd just fed enough to keep them for several days. Running his hand through Alex's dark hair, he sent a mental whisper: I'd say we're doing pretty well in our first foray into the 'group' thing... imagine how much sex we're gonna get if we have to do this every time we want to go snooping. Ha, thought Alex. This isn't about work. You've got your work cut out for you now. Practice makes perfect, and I'm going to need plenty around the clock. We're making up for lost time, here... he trailed off, surprised. "You really don't mind me calling you 'Fox'?" "Sure, as long as you let me call you 'sweetheart' and 'diddums'." And he laughed as Alex growled in his throat menacingly. Mulder's mouth descending on him again, trapping his lips and devouring him slowly, ravishing his mouth with heat, it was wonderful. I wonder how long we'll be able to stay here before anyone finds us, Mulder thought. Don't know, don't care. And Alex responded by pushing up and using his strength to roll them over, pressing Mulder back into the bed without breaking the kiss, and chuckling at Mulder's surprise. "Yeah, we'll make a great team. And I do believe it's my turn, next. Just get your breath back. Tit for tat, remember? I owe you for that, and I intend to collect." finis Jamiwilsen@hotmail.com

Date: 10/20/2000 Disclaimer: this piece of slash fanfic is written purely for entertainment purposes; all characters and X-File series' situations referred to belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, etc. I'll never make a dime off this and frankly I wouldn't want to. Archives: Catacombs, RatB Spoilers: all eps up to Requiem (Haven't seen Season 8 yet. We can never predict what CC will do next, now, can we?!) Rating: NC-17—Language, m/m sex Pairing: M/K, Krycek's POV Feedback: Jamiwilsen@hotmail.com —this is my first M/K story ever. And what fun it was. [g] ("It was a Russian thing", my a**!) Summary: Mulder returns from his adventure after 'Requiem' a changed man—in more ways than one, as Krycek discovers. Warning: This is pure schmoop. Perhaps too much. If angst, dialogue, closure and explicit sexual situations disturb you, now would be an excellent time to leave. Oh, and yeah: I know this is an unusually positive outcome after where we were left off, at the end of Season 7, there. But hey, [shruggings] a girl can dream, can't she?! Betas: warm thanks to Rye, Cattnip and Tigeress! Ladies, you are the best!! Couldn't have made this readable without you... ((((hugs)))) back to top

[Stories by Author] [Stories by Title] [Mailing List] [Krycek/Skinner] [Links] [Submissions] [Home]