Sanctuary by Jami Wilsen and Jennie Mulder The house is warm even though I'm the only one in it. It doesn't even feel like I'm hiding anymore, although that's really what I'm doing—I can't lie to myself the same ways these days. Especially since they dug me up. It still seems incomprehensible to me that I was actually buried and in the ground, my cold, gray, decaying corpse lying in the casket so lovingly selected by the few friends and family I have. It doesn't seem the appropriate ending for a man who's journeyed across the threshold of human technology and found himself in the here and now with hardly any recollection of what happened. I've never equated abduction with death, for some reason. Maybe because I secretly believed that to be abducted myself would be the answer, the key to the Grail, the experience that gave me all knowledge that I had ever lacked, or sought, or fought to find. And here at the end, in the twilight period of my life, in a retirement that I convinced Scully I wanted more than anything now, I wonder just exactly why it is she swallowed that. Scully knows me better than I know myself, she understands my motives and impulses more than I do, and yet she let me go. Dana I sigh and take a sip of the warmed cider, which is already cooling in my mug. It doesn't taste quite the way my mother used to make it, although the cinnamon stick is a nice touch. She always used powdered. Maybe that's the reason. Absently, I stir the cider with the cinnamon stick, wondering if Dana Scully is truly happy now. I know she misses me—hell, I miss her. I've never had a friend like her, and if I'm honest with myself here, my partner filled the empty space left by Samantha's disappearance. And my son. Little William. I sip at the cool cider with a frown. I've heard things, even though I rarely contact anyone anymore, not even the Lone Gunmen. Sad as it is to say it, I don't trust them not to go reporting it to Scully—they rallied around her when I was abducted and, while I appreciate that, I can't help suspecting that they wouldn't be able to resist telling her where I am now. In the wild, animals will flock around and protect a pregnant female. Something to do with the chemical response to pheromones and the social reaction of any species to unborn babies. A woman visiting a dolphin tank with her husband laid her hand against the glass, and the dolphins went crazy, vying to put their noses against the spot where she was leaning. I don't feel any particular connection to William, and sometimes, like right now, I feel guilty about that. The rational part of my mind reminds me that I am certainly not Dana's best choice for a husband-father, nor can I really say I ever had aspirations in that direction except to please her. And although he's my child, however 'special' he might be, she's his mother, and the only thing I did to aid her in acquiring the most wished-for thing in her life was to jerk-off into a test-tube. The only man who could have explained anything to me, about who our son is, or the truth that eluded me for my whole life, is dead. Skinner took that from me. I could have gotten the truth out of Krycek; I know I could have. Krycek always had a soft spot for me, even when he was feeding me horseshit and leading me down the primrose path into little traps he laid. Not that I can really blame Skinner. I think dear old Walter cracked; he couldn't handle the fact that Alex had handed the palm pilot to ME and not to him. I think Skinner thought he was doing the world a favor. I never spoke of it after, and neither did he. I think it was a tacit agreement that any discussion of the event wouldn't do anyone any good. Of course, I had the Lone Gunmen run a search of all the possible aliases Krycek might use if he had managed to get out of that situation, in passenger manifests —and public transport points where I.D. checks are required. Nothing, zip, zilch. The body disappeared from the morgue soon afterwards, and I think that was what set off my suspicions that there was more going on there than was visibly apparent. For one thing, Skinner couldn't be accused of murder if the body wasn't there. For another, even though I'd seen Alex Krycek shot in front of my own eyes, I've seen other people resurrected before these very same eyes, so I don't discount the fact that he might have found his way into the right crowd, there, at the end. Certainly Doggett had never explained to my satisfaction exactly what Jeremiah Smith's group had been trying to accomplish. Agent Reyes had privately given me more information and enthusiastic opinions on the matter than I knew what to do with, after I'd made that miraculous recovery at the Naval Hospital. So why am I sitting here in my mother's living room with a faux fireplace and a mug of cold cider when I could be traveling around the world, visiting exotic locations and chatting up honeys on the sun-warmed beaches instead of freezing my butt off in Connecticut on Christmas Eve? It would certainly help not to remind me so painfully that it IS Christmas. The snow outside lends a remarkable authenticity to the holiday season, and it would be easier to accept the fact that I'm alone on a beach rather than all alone in an empty house in the middle of winter. But, to be honest, I like the peace and quiet. And however haunted this place feels with my memories of years past and the things that happened here, it feels like a retreat, like a sanctuary. I won't be here for much longer. I feel I owe it to my family to kindle the hearth and make an attempt at offering what Christmas spirit I can connect with inside of myself, just because. And Samantha would approve. I know she would. Somehow, as strange as it may sound, I'm still closer to Samantha than anyone else in the world. Aliens did that—aliens brought us together. Sealed my fate, that's for sure. Giggling to myself leisurely, I pick myself up off the sofa and head into the kitchen, to reheat the cider. That's when I hear it. The front door closing. Shit. My gun—where the hell is my—Oh. I don't have my FBI-issue sidearm anymore. No, I have to get to the bedroom and get the piece I packed in there in case of emergencies. DAMN. I hear footsteps on the floor, quiet ones. Hell, if this is the end, if these are my last few moments before being shot and killed in my mother's house on Christmas Eve, despite how ironic this is, I— Wait a minute. Why am I assuming that it's an assassin? A shadowy figure come to kill ME? I'm not even in the game anymore. I frown and then straighten, returning to the cider. Right. I pour the cold cider into the pan and turn on the heat. It might be Dana or someone, come to wish me a Merry Christmas. In all likelihood, that's more possible than any of my paranoid suppositions. Whoever it is, they've come to stand in the living room and gawk at my tree, apparently. I hear the rustle of clothing. Okay, enough is enough. I can't stand the suspense anymore. Going to the living room, I halt at the doorway, still standing with the stairs at my back. I could still run up them if necessary. A tall, dark shape is standing with their back to me, facing my Christmas tree. I clear my throat and fold my arms across my chest. The mystery figure turns swiftly. Well, I'll be. Alex Krycek. Of all people. He stares back at me, looking surprised. Why the hell should HE be startled? He's in my house, isn't he? Let himself in, didn't he? If anything, I'm wondering why I'm not more excited about this turn of events. It's almost a letdown—he ISN'T a ghost or an android or a clone; that I can tell from the way he's trying to look back at me with some measure of nonchalance. Alex never did know how to hide his feelings; they always creep up into his eyes. "Mulder," he says huskily, very noncommittal, his voice roughened from the winter-cold outside. I just stare at him in silence. He's waiting for me to say something. "Don't tell me you've come to bring me Christmas cheer, Krycek. You know I won't buy it." But my tone is even, and I'm not angry to see him here. Just... curious. WHY is he here? Hell, if I ask him, he might just tell me. I might have to work out the truth from all the things he won't tell me, but still. "So, why are you here? And don't tell me that you're Santa Claus, because I won't buy that, either," I add, mildly. I suspect my attempt at jocularity will fall flat as usual. They often do, with this man. I don't think Alex HAS a sense of humor. Oh well. He still has the last laugh, showing up like this, out of nowhere, after having fucking DIED. But, I had died too, and returned, so maybe we're even. Alex It wasn't an easy decision, coming here. No telling what might happen, Mulder being... well, Mulder. But in the end, I'd decided that we might as well get it over with, one way or another. Besides, I wanted—no, I needed to see him. To find out why he'd retreated to this place at Christmas. Why he and Scully weren't still together. After all, they had the kid now—and they'd been so close for so many years... I'd thought they would jump at the chance to explore the joys of parenthood together. Any idiot could have picked up on the possibilities between them, and now that Mulder was no longer with the FBI... well, no more obstacles, right? So what the hell is he doing here? Alone. And, WHY is he so calm about finding me in his living room? Hell, by now I should be suffering from a bloody nose at the very least. He's not even pointing a gun at me. In fact, he looks quite relaxed about the whole thing. So not Mulder. "Alex?" ALEX? He's calling me... I clear my throat and nod to him. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." "You came to tell me that? A card would have sufficed." Ah, that old familiar, dryly ironic tone of voice. "Why are you here? Something wrong?" Holy shit! If this weren't Mulder I'd say there was a definite note of concern in those questions. "Ah, no. Nothing wrong. I heard you were looking for me—or, your geek friends were looking. Came to find out what YOU want." "I see," he says reservedly. "I'm heating up some cider. You want some? It's not the best but it's drinkable." "Mulder, I... What..?" Unable to gather my thoughts, I shrug and say, "Sure. Cider would be fine." "Okay," he nods. "Cider for two, then." He turns to leave, pausing to tell me that he'll be back in a minute. Then, he's gone and I'm alone with that Christmas tree again. I don't have many memories of my childhood, they took me from my parents when I was only ten years old, but I definitely remember the joy and excitement of this time of year. My mother loved Christmas, decorated every inch of the house, or so it seemed. And we always had an enormous tree, gaily decorated, sitting in the corner of the living room. As the youngest, it had been my job to place the angel on the top. My father's strong arms lifting me effortlessly, endlessly patient with my clumsy attempts to set the angel just right... My pride upon completing the task and the awe I felt when the job was done and the tree was lit for the first time. Mulder walks back into the room, giving me a curious look. "You can sit down, you know. You can even take off your coat." At my uncomprehending stare, he chuckles. "C'mon, Alex. Lose the coat and come sit by the fire with me. We'll drink our cider and... talk." Haltingly, I remove my coat and move over to join him near the fire. I gauge the possibilities and choose a spot that will still afford me a view of the tree. He notices my fascination. "I take it you like Christmas trees, Alex?" "Haven't had one in... " I break off and shrug, taking refuge in a sip of the hot cider he's brought me. A grimace of sympathy. "Yeah—me either. Holidays lost their appeal after my sister... well, you know." Mulder He doesn't reply to that. Probably can't think of anything to say. Hell, it's pretty much a non-starter, anyway. We've both been estranged from our families too long for mention of them to be anything but painful and wistfully nostalgic. He looks tired. Not tired in the sleepy sense, but weary as if he's been running on empty for too long. I sip at my cider. He looks like he's waiting for me to do or say... something. Oh, right. The only reason he showed up here was because he wanted to know what I wanted from him. Uh-huh. Right. "So, what's the deal with the baby? You know, my son: the child prodigy. What, is he like Gibson Praise?" Krycek snorts and looks away. "Good guess—good as anyone's, really. I don't know, I don't have the facts; all I know is what They think of him. They consider him to be the successful end-product of the entire project." I choke on my cider. Spluttering, I wipe my mouth. "What? Why?" Krycek regards me, calmly, a little crease forming between his brows. "Mulder, you are aware of your own genetic markers, aren't you? Come on, you remember that whole episode with the fragments of the ship activating your talents, don't you?" "Of course I do," I reply mildly, wondering why he seems to consider me more special than the baby. For it's in his eyes—I'd beat him in poker anytime because he always gives himself away. Krycek's frown deepens now. "Is that the only reason you wanted to see me? To talk about Scully's baby?" I shrug. "Actually, no. I wanted to hear the truth from the only person left alive on the planet who might be able to explain it to me: why was I so important to the Syndicate, and particularly to the Smoking Man? Was it just because of those 'genetic markers' in my DNA?" Krycek doesn't answer, staring into his mug of cider. His eyes narrow as he pauses, sips, and then replies, "I hate to have to break it to you, but it was a simple case of nepotism." My brows shoot up and I repeat in disbelief, "Nepotism?" Oh crap. I know what this is leading to. I sigh. Fucking Cancerman; fucking my mother... I'm just deciding that I don't really want to go into this when it hits me—I have Alex Krycek sitting here in my mother's living room, and he knows everything, EVERYTHING. I swallow, hardly able to formulate what to ask him next. Then I realize that he's so tired he'd probably tell me anything. I'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity. But for some bizarre reason, I find myself asking, "So, what are you doing now? What are you up to? I assume you're not in the game anymore and I also assume from the fact that you're not back in St. Petersburg but here with me on Christmas Eve that you don't have any prior family commitments." And the strangest part of it all is that I really do want to know. What IS he doing, these days? Alex Surprisingly, I see genuine interest in his eyes. Whether it's an attempt to avoid the touchy subject of his real father or a desire to avoid touchy subjects in general—for reasons I can't and won't explore right now—I opt to tell him what I'm up to—what my life has become. Gathering my thoughts, I sigh heavily and meet his eyes. "I'm hiding, Mulder. Wouldn't want the wrong people to find out that wasn't me in the garage that night." He tilts his head in a silent request for more information. "That was a clone. I'd.... Fuck! I'm so fucking tired of the game—I just want to live in peace for a while." "I can understand that." He can? Will wonders never cease? In an attempt to deflect his attention from me, I ask, "What about you? Why aren't you with Scully and your son?" "I guess I'm just not cut out for the joys of family life. Oh, I love them. But I just couldn't... I woke up one morning and realized that I love Scully as a best friend, no more. And, really, the kid is hers more than mine." Interesting. I'd always assumed that, in the end, she'd get him. My surprise must have shown on my face because he chuckles. "I've always been bi-curious. Just never had the opportunity to explore the possibility. But, after my recent resurrection, well, I realized that I have to accept that part of myself and it just isn't fair to Scully for me to pretend that a heterosexual relationship is what I want right now." Oh shit! Don't TELL me these things, Mulder. "So," he continues, "I decided to leave. Take some time to figure out just what I want." Falling silent, we both stare at the fire. It's surprisingly comforting, just sitting here. No animosity, no sniping. I could get used to this all too easily. Damn! This is not good. I drain the last of my cider and start to rise to my feet. "Guess I should get going now—leave you to enjoy your holiday in peace." Mulder frowns. "Unless you have someplace better to be, why don't you stay? We have plenty more to discuss, and I would like to get to know you—Alex, the man —a little better." Mulder I can see him still rocking with that last little landmine I tossed him. He's practically running for the door. I carefully school my expression—I'm dying to laugh but I don't WANT him to leave. I never thought it would be this easy, actually. Throwing him off-balance. I should have thought of it before... The personal stuff usually reaches past his reserve and—is that INTEREST I see in his eyes? I don't want to lead him on; that wasn't my intention. It was more a half-hearted attempt on my part to show him what the bare truth looks like, what honesty can do. Cut through the crap and get to the heart of the matter. Suddenly I can see it might actually be HIS heart at the center of this, and I'm feeling really uncomfortable now. And I can tell he doesn't believe me, either. He doesn't think I'm seriously interested in getting to know him, at all. He thinks it's a line. He's hesitating to reply, and it could still go either way—he might still cut and run. And the feeling of loneliness comes over me like a wave, tugging at me, pulling me under. Even having Krycek here is better than no one at all. But then he suddenly appears to take it in his stride and relaxes all over, his body visibly slouching slightly where he sits. "I didn't feel like spending the winter back home," he explains, and by 'home' I take it he means 'Russia'... "I'm surprised to find you here. I would have thought it'd be too heavy, you know, with—reminders, memories..." I nod. "Actually, it's rather reassuring. They're all in a better place than I am, and so why not take comfort in the places where the memory and sentiment is strongest?" He gives me a curious glance. He obviously expects me to continue, to elaborate. Damn. He's not going to volunteer much, is he? Suddenly, I'm embarking on a path that has pitfalls, very dangerous ground indeed: how to extract information from Krycek. I don't want this to be like all the times before. He might not believe it, but I'm not the man I used to be. I'm sick of fighting, sick of running after people, after the truth. The truth can fucking well hide from me or come and heel obediently if it so chooses—it's not my problem anymore. And the only way I'm going to draw him out is to go ahead and spill my guts some more. Carefully, of course, so I don't scare him off completely. Don't want any more tense moments like we just got through. So I continue, "I suppose from one point of view, it might look like I'm hiding here, holed up and licking my wounds. But really, this is just a temporary stop. I'm going to do some travelling, I think." Well, well, well. He gives me a quiet stare, as if trying to measure what I mean by that statement. But I can tell he's a little worried by it. "Where will you go?" I shrug, casually. "I haven't done anything that was just for me, in a long time. I figure I'm overdue some vacation-time. I'm retired now; I might as well enjoy it. There are a few places I'd like to see. Easter Island, for one." Krycek smiles at this. Predictable Mulder, he's thinking, right on cue. "You would," he says, with a low chuckle. "It'll be fun, actually. And Macchu Picchu. I mean, there are all these famous esoteric landmarks, carrying the weight of historical significance, that I've never been able to visit firsthand because nothing recent has happened, no-one's been murdered there, or there haven't been any supernatural incidents lately to attract the attention of the law." There, let him chew on that. I wonder what Krycek would consider a 'vacation'. I realize all I have to do is ask him. Quickly, I add, "What would be the ideal spot for you, Alex? To get away from it all, where would you go?" Alex Where would I go? Hell, I don't know... "Someplace quiet," I say musingly. "And warm. Not overly populated. Just a place where I can... come to terms with what's happened in my life. What I've done—been forced to do." His gaze sharpens and he leans forward. "Forced?" In for a penny... "Mulder, they took me when I was ten. All those years of programming—I... didn't start to wonder who I was until—well, until I met you. And, once they detected a change in me, I was infected with the nanocytes. Believe me, nothing else could have made me do some of the things I did." He sits back, eyes wide, and says, "So, how did you get past that—I mean, how did you overcome the control?" "I was infected before Skinner—an earlier version of the nanos—mine died a natural death after a couple of years." "Did they know that?" "No," I shrug. "By that time they were so confident in their control over me that they never used them on me anymore." "I see. So, you just pretended to play the game?" "In a way... I was associated with the resistance by then, and it was decided that my continuing to dance to the Consortium's tune would be of benefit in the long run." After digesting this information in silence for several moments, Mulder takes a sip of his cider. "You were only ten?" I nod. "You can't imagine how it was. To be taken from my home—and, I did have a very happy, normal, middle-class family—and thrown into their 'training camp'." Shuddering at the memory, I clasp my hand around the mug of cider, needing that warmth. "It was a nightmare, Mulder," I whisper. "Sometimes I think I'll never wake up from it." He leans forward again and closes one hand over my wrist. "It's over now, Alex. They're dead and we're alive. And I, for one, intend to enjoy whatever time I have left." Stunned at his comforting tone and warm hand—my GOD, he's touching me in a non-violent way—I freeze. Apparently he sees my discomfort, for he rises. "More cider?" I hand him my cup with a sigh of relief. This honesty thing is so foreign to me that I'm seriously off-kilter. Add to that the way he's acting, and I'm beginning to suspect that this is a— "Am I dreaming this, Mulder?" Mulder Thoughtfully, I stare down at him. "No. Because if you are, then so am I, and I KNOW I'm not dreaming." I turn and look around the room, indicating the tree and the fireplace, however faux it is. "Still, it isn't a nightmare." I pinch myself, and then shake my head. "Nope, we're here, alright." He rolls his eyes at my demonstration of proof that we aren't caught in some lucid dream. "Of course," I reflect, remembering the fungus, "We COULD be caught in some fantasy conjured by a mutant, runaway form of mushroom spore. But that would indicate that we both WANT to be in a scenario like this, so we might as well enjoy it." I grin at him and then walk away to the kitchen. Over my shoulder I call, "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." Damn it, I shouldn't have offered comfort like that. I can tell he's taken aback at my action... Shouldn't have touched him. I fear that perhaps I've negated whatever headway I'd gained with him with that one movement. As I make more cider, stirring it absently in the pot, adding more of the cinnamon sticks and apple, more cardamom seeds, I realize I have less right to touch him than anyone. After all, I've hit him so many times in the past... Hell, I'm surprised he didn't hit ME for daring to lay a hand on him. But I couldn't help it, wanting to offer him comfort—it was just a natural reaction to what he was telling me. He's opened up more to me in the last five minutes than in all the years I've known him. DAMN. I really hope I haven't screwed up, here. I scowl down into the cider and stir it more vigorously. I look up at a noise in the doorway. Krycek is leaning against the doorframe. "Smells good," he comments. "It's one of my mom's recipes," I explain. "Of course, I've tweaked it a little. She probably wouldn't recognize it, it's undergone so many changes." He nods, then stands there, looking distant and distracted. Uncomfortable. I raise the spoon to my lips to sample it... It IS good. Might even be the best brew of this stuff I've ever managed to create. I lick my lips and wave the spoon at him. "Come over here, try it. I think it's the best I've ever made." He looks startled but recovers well, and saunters over to take the spoon from me. After cautiously sipping the hot cider, he nods. "Yeah, it'll do." I raise my brows at him. "It'll DO? It's the best I've ever— How can you—" I sputter indignantly. He laughs. "Mulder, God," he chuckles at me, shaking his head, "it's good. It's fine. What do you want, the chef's award for best Christmas cider? You haven't even put any alcohol in it. What you have here is the basis for a good cider, not the real thing." Stiffly, I say, "I don't want it to evaporate before we drink it. I put that in last." He shrugs, smirking. God, it's been a while since I saw that smirk. I think I've missed it. It's rather comforting at the moment to see it, because now I know he's at least feeling a little more relaxed. "Whatever. Hey, do you mind if I use the bathroom?" "Go ahead," I say, returning my attention to the cider. He shifts, fidgeting slightly. "Uh, upstairs?" "Haven't you been here before?" I ask, a little amazed that he doesn't have the plans to this house committed to memory. After all, he's surely done surveillance in the past for... Well, we don't want to think about that right now, do we? "Yeah, upstairs... help yourself." He disappears, noiselessly. Jesus, he must have wanted me to know he was here, when he arrived earlier. He knows how to move like a shadow, utterly silent. I sigh, and then lean over the cider to breathe in the vapors. Considering the bottle of rum on the counter, I grin to myself, and on an impulse, I pour extra into Alex's mug. By the time he's come back downstairs and is back in the living room, the cider is ready. I take the two mugs back out and hand one to him before sitting back down. Getting comfortable, I'm watching him out of the corner of my eye as he takes a cautious mouthful. He raises his brows at me. "Mulder. Are you trying to get me liquored up?" I'm snickering over my mug; I can't help it. "Don't try to read anything into it. I just thought you might need warming up after being outside in the cold for so long." Alex We sit in companionable silence, sipping our drinks, each lost in thought. Of what might have been—of what comes next. I'm doing my best to NOT think about his admission about his sexuality. Gay, bi, or whatever, I just can't imagine that he might want me—not after all that's happened between us. "So," he says suddenly, startling me out of my reverie. "What about you?" "What about me?" "What's your preference, sexually speaking?" How the hell does he DO that? Looking everywhere but at him, I mumble, "I'm gay, Mulder. Always have been. It was just another bit of ammunition for them to use against me." Why does he look so pleased, I wonder, as I glance fleetingly into his face. Surely he doesn't want... NO. I won't even go there. We're just chatting. Bonding. Getting to know each other. Mulder shifts in his seat. "Alex," he says hesitantly. "Please tell me they didn't use you as a... " "Whore?" I spit out the word in disgust. God, I never wanted him to know this... "Yes, they did—and it was... I can't... " Moving swiftly, he comes to sit on the sofa with me. "It wasn't your fault, you know." Eyes fixed on the glass in my hand, I shake my head. "I know that, Mulder. Or, at least my brain knows that... but, sometimes I feel so filthy, you know? It went on so long, and I hated it so much. It's getting better—not so many nightmares these days—but that part of my life will haunt me forever." "And now?" HUH? "And now what?" "Well, many victims of sexual abuse are incapable of having relations. Do you still..?" In for a penny... "I haven't had sex in years now—can't bring myself to trust anyone that much." "Mmmm." He sits back and regards me with sympathetic eyes. "If you want... I AM a psychologist, you know. I could help you with that, maybe." Jesus! Mulder as my therapist? Oh no—that wouldn't work at all. I shake my head. "Thanks but... I don't think that would be a good idea." "No? Why not? I'm good, you know." I'll just bet you are! But still—if there was one person I might possibly be able to be intimate with, Mulder is the guy. And, somehow, I don't think that's the kind of help he's offering. Mulder I should have known; I should have expected it. But somehow, I'm not prepared for the startlingly raw and distinctly awkward flood of confession from Krycek, of all people. For one thing, I'm a little amazed that he would even confide anything of this nature to ME, and that he actually feels comfortable enough with 'us' to tell me at all. Unless he's just trying to arouse my sympathy or observe my reaction... But no, this is the real deal. He really is in pain; I've seen that look before, in too many victims' eyes... And suddenly it all comes crashing down around my head. I had assumed so much about him. Then I glibly tell him I want to know him, to know the real 'Alex Krycek', only to discover that on top of all the hardships I DO know he's survived, the rest of his life has been just as shitty for him. DAMN. And I can't help but feel a little ashamed at the way I've acted towards him in the past, regardless of how many times he might have proven himself untrustworthy to my cause. Equally undeniable is the surge of sympathy I feel for him. I want to believe it's not pity, but it is. I'm going to have to tread carefully, here. He's quiet for so long, I'm starting to wonder if I suggested the wrong thing. Carefully, somberly, he asks, "Why would you be willing to DO that?" As if he just might be considering taking me up on it. I blink. "Because it's what I do. Well, one of the things. I'm not just a retired FBI agent. Anymore than you're 'just a Russian'. We're many things. And I think I owe you." And THAT hits him, dead-center. His voice is dangerously calm. "In more ways than you can imagine." "I'm sure," I agree, nodding slowly. "I think I had you pegged all wrong, in fact." Careful, here, gotta walk VERY lightly through this one. He looks so suspicious... I swallow and take a breath. "Alex, I'm not offering to give you therapy, I'm just—I think it might help if you had someone to talk to, that's all. Sometimes, just being able to talk about it can aid the healing process." Alex wrinkles his brow with incredulity. "Mulder, don't get me wrong, here—I do understand what you're—what you think you're offering. But think about it for a minute—with all the history between us, and all that's happened, you can't possibly be serious. I mean, what you're suggesting... it only works if the dynamic is one based on trust." I nod. "Yes. Exactly. I'm suggesting that we put the past behind us and actually build something new. And my offer of help is part of that. It's included." A new look crosses Krycek's face. "Friendship." I smile at him. "Yeah. Why not? I mean, can you think any reason why we shouldn't?" He looks away from me, his expression betraying a certain amount of chagrin. With a note of regret, he replies, "It's a nice sentiment, Mulder, but it's based on an illusion." I shrug. "If you want to break it all down to the barest components, then everything we believe in is an abstraction, an illusion. The Tibetans would say that the past no longer exists, even our memories change over time, and that right now, this present moment is the only one we should be concentrating on. Still, our very being, our essence, our identities are founded on the premise that our memories create who we are. I can't deny that we've crossed swords, but you can't deny NOW that we can put those swords away. In the interest of peace." He is staring at me and then he scowls. "That's just like you. I don't want to have an existential debate; I want to forget about the past, as much as possible. I DO want to leave it behind." "Denial," I point out, nodding at what he's saying. "The basic, first and best response to trauma. And actually, having a friend is the only way out of that one. But if you don't believe me capable of being your friend, then we have a non-starter here, don't we?" Krycek is glaring at the window across the room. The dark window, shuttered by the drawn curtains. Then he seems to shrink back in on himself, leaning back against the couch. Quickly, I quietly put my hand on his right arm and just warmly squeeze, once, before pulling away. "Alex. It's okay. In fact, how's this," I suggest, brightly, "this'll be my Christmas present to you. Friendship. Sincerely. I really mean it. I'm offering you my friendship. And if you don't accept it, that's okay too. The offer stands, for whenever you want to take me up on it, or not." Alex God, his offer is tempting. Mulder's always been my—jeez, this is embarrassing to admit—he's always been a kind of idol for me. Everything I could have been had I lived a normal life. Honest. Caring. He has a normal life—well, as close to normal as such a man as he can have—lived in one place for umpteen years, had a job he loved, friends—REAL friends... All the things I never had. I just don't know if I'm capable of letting him in. Of actually talking to him without all of my ingrained reticence censoring my words—my reactions. And, to have him help me with my lack of social skills! Damn, wouldn't that be a kick in the ass? Mulder as my sex-therapist? I'd laugh if I weren't so close to tears. "Mulder," I say in a rusty tone, "I don't HAVE friends. I wouldn't even know how to begin." He smiles. "Ya gotta start somewhere, Alex. And, you have to admit that we have a good start—we already know each other pretty well, wouldn't you say?" "But the things you know—what I've done, what I've been—how can you put that aside, Mulder?" "Look, Alex, what you've done is directly related to what you've been—what you were forced to be. Do you really think I can't empathize with what you've been through? No ten-year old would stand a chance against the kind of treatment you endured." He sighs and takes a sip of his cider. "Actually, it's pretty damned amazing that you managed to find yourself again and break free of them." Is that admiration I hear? For ME? "I... Okay, Mulder," I finally murmur once I regain my voice. "If you really mean it, then yes, I'd like to try." "Good, that's settled then." Looking inordinately pleased with himself, he leans back and drinks some of his cider. We sit silently for a couple of minutes, then he suddenly jumps up. "You know what we need?" "What?" I ask warily. "Music. We should be listening to carols—it IS Christmas Eve, you know." Oh. Well, I can live with that. "The CDs are over there," he says, pointing to the stereo in the corner of the room. "You go ahead and pick something while I get us more cider." More cider? At this rate I'll be drunker than hell in no time flat. But he looks so happy with our agreement, so eager to celebrate, that I can only nod. "Okay, Mulder. Just go easy on the rum this time, okay? I don't drink much, and I'm already feeling the first one." With a grin, he takes my cup and heads back in the direction of the kitchen. Mulder If the rum in the cider doesn't get him, the eggnog WILL, I chuckle to myself as I open the fridge and take out the carton. I pour two glasses of eggnog, and then a thought occurs to me. I happily ransack the fridge for cheese and pate. Crackers follow, and soon I have a laden tray of what is probably the most untraditional but appealing Christmas Eve snack I've ever had. The strains of Haydn's 64th Symphony fill the air, and I laugh quietly. He's turned the CD player on, and that disc was the last one I listened to, so it's still in the player. Surprisingly, he leaves it on. The cider is heating nicely. I take the tray and the plates through to the living room. Krycek looks up in surprise as I come in bearing snacks, and then sits up straight as I set everything down on the low table. "Dig in," I say, "I have to go check the cider in a minute; it's still heating up. You want anything else with this?" He regards it all and then shakes his head. "No... I—" I hold up a hand. "Wait, I forgot something." I go over to the mantle and retrieve the basket of nuts with the silver nutcracker in it and bring it back to the table. The nutcracker was part of a parcel that the Scullys had sent two years before. I figure we might as well use it... Although I'm not going to mention any names to Alex. I realize this must be overwhelming for him as it is. That would just spook him. Dana Scully never did stop equating Melissa's death with Krycek—although she was the one who identified Cardinale as the killer. Krycek looks pale. Uh-oh. The surreality of this scene must be reaching him now in ways he can't avoid. Damn. The only thing I can do about it at this point is to talk to him. I glance in the direction of the kitchen and then down at the food. I lean down to snag a cracker and a piece of cheese. Munching on it, I say, "So, did you have plans later, Alex? Or will you be free? I was thinking we could stay up until midnight and look for reindeer. They sometimes leave tracks in the snow." Krycek snickers at me slightly. "The really scary part about this is that you're serious." I turn to regard the fireplace. "Well, there isn't any way Santa's going to fit down the chimney. Tooms, maybe... but... Nah. Okay, not reindeer." I grin at him. "Actually, there is a meteor shower scheduled. I was hoping to see some if the cloud cover lifts a little." Krycek regards me impassively and then blinks. "I know what you're doing, Mulder." I glance nervously towards the kitchen. That cider is going to boil away if I'm not careful. And I'm NOT a cook—the dangers with stoves and food and me are much greater than for other people. "Is it so hard to believe that I'm discovering I really LIKE having you here for Christmas?" Outwardly, I wait, trying to keep a friendly and non-threatening, relaxed manner. Inside, I'm suddenly really nervous because I realize it's true. I do NOT want him to go. I really don't. Suddenly the most important thing in the world, my own peace of mind and happiness, is hanging by a thread, one that could snap at any moment along with Krycek's composure. The calm analytical side of me is observing this with great interest. The vital parts of me are quivering with excitement and adrenaline. Fuck! How did this happen?! Why do I want him to stay so much? It can't just be due to the fact that I'm such a miserable loser and misery loves company... Loneliness—but I LIKE being alone... In fact, this is the first time I've really been alone with Krycek since... that kiss in the dark when... Wiekamp AFB... I'm feeling dizzy suddenly, and I sit down in the chair and lean over, my face in my hands. Sitting up, I take a breath and look at him. He's watching me with some uncertainty. "Alex, I have to go take care of the cider. And for some reason, call it a hunch, I'm really worried that you're going to disappear in the short amount of time it will take for me to bring it in here. So I want you to promise me you won't disappear. Promise me," I stress. Alex Knowing that my promise is somehow very important to him, I meet his eyes seriously and say, "I'll be here, Mulder. Won't disappear. I promise." After he leaves the room, I sit back and reflect on this incredible turn of events. Not only does he welcome me, he WANTS to spend this holiday with me. And, try as I may, I simply cannot come up with any ulterior motive on his part —and, believe me, I can always find a hidden agenda in the actions of others. What is he DOING to me? I never talk about my past. Never have I told anyone about what THEY did to me when I was a child. Yet, I can't help myself tonight. Can't even blame it on the cider—I started babbling well before the liquor could loosen my tongue. And he took it all in stride. Isn't judging me—hell, he's sympathetic. Wants to be my friend! Friend. The last time I had a friend was in grade school. Philip McDaniel was his name. Yeah, Philip. Damn, we'd had fun together. Built a fort, splashed around in the creek near our homes. Shared our mutual disdain of girls. We'd just done... well, the things kids do. I first met him when I needed a math tutor. Thought he was a geek. But, gradually, I saw past his exterior and realized that he was a good guy. We'd fallen into a mutual protection thing—he was small and wore glasses and always got A's, which made him a favorite target for the bullyboys in school. I was a terrible student—not stupid, just not interested in what they were trying to teach me. So, he helped me with schoolwork, and I protected him. It worked out well. We developed a close friendship and spent hours together every day. And he had the most amazing sense of humor. Dry. Off the wall. Kind of like Mulder, now that I think about it. Lost in thought, I don't even hear Mulder re-enter the room. He sets a fresh cup of cider in front of me and goes over to check the fireplace. I study his movements, fascinated by his casual grace. He really is a good-looking man. If I were to try a sexual relationship, it could only be with him, I realize. Because I do trust him. He wouldn't hurt me or make me feel dirty and used—not Mulder. There's a core of decency in him that always wins out. But, could I? And, more importantly, would he? Satisfied that the heater won't burn out anytime before the New Year, he rises and comes to sit on the couch with me. "Heavy thoughts?" he asks. "Just... well, I was remembering the last friend I had. Before they took me. I haven't thought about him for more years than I care to count." "You wanna talk about it?" Good old Mulder. He means well, but... "No. Not now." I soften my refusal with a slight smile. "I'd rather just sit here and... well, enjoy the fact that we're not at odds for a change." Mulder I lean forward and help myself to crackers and cheese, and pate. "Yeah, it really is quite novel." I notice his gaze flicking over to the door, and I add, "I don't think you need to worry about anyone looking for you." "Of course not. Who, other than YOU, Mulder, would bother looking for a dead man? Were you serious about the meteors?" "Yep. They're not expected to land, don't worry." "I wasn't." I look over at him and I can't help it; I crack up, and have to swallow my mouthful unless I want to end up inhaling it. With a grin, I say, "I made room in my life a very long time ago for the bizarre and the paranormal. I would've thought that you'd've had to make the same concession, some years back. Especially with the company you've kept. Resistance fighters, bounty hunters and alien healers?" Krycek shifts uncomfortably. "I'd rather not talk shop. I mean, that whole thing—it's still... Mulder, don't you want to get past it? We won't heal if we keep going over it." I pick up my cider and sip it. Less rum this time, less overpowering. Good. Carefully, I reply, "Okay, no business. No family, no memories. No past. Got it. That just leaves now and the future. You already know what I'm planning to do. What are your plans? Someplace quiet and warm, you said... I was thinking along those same lines." He gives me sharp look. "I am NOT traipsing after you all over Easter Island, Mulder. Forget it." "You could do worse," I point out, stiffly, attempting a mock pout. Krycek puts down his cider and regards me closely now. "Let me get this straight: you're inviting me, ME, to accompany you on a world tour of freaky historical sites." I squirm slightly and reach for the basket of nuts, pulling them closer to me. Cracking open a pecan, I say, "Think about it. When was the last time you did anything for fun? I mean, just for yourself?" Alex Fun? Hell, I don't even know how to have fun. But I'm tempted to let him teach me. I enjoy his company, his humor, his odd way of thinking—but, am I really up to going off with him? Will we really be able to leave the past behind? Can we get past all that's gone before? "Alex, it's not a trick question. I'm lonely—you're lonely—we know enough about each other to not be shocked by our personality quirks. I think it would be fun—and, if it doesn't work out... well, we'll just part ways." Part ways? Just the thought of leaving him—of being rejected by him—causes my stomach to drop. I don't know if I can do this. To lose him—his friendship—would be the last straw, I just know it. Shit! I'm in waaay over my head here. "Alex?" I start at the sound of his voice. "Yeah?" "What do you say? A trip together, spend time with each other with no FBI or Consortium or Resistance to deal with. Just us. Having fun." That voice of his is almost hypnotic. Without having made a conscious decision, I find myself nodding. "Okay, Mulder. I'm in." He smiles widely at my agreement. Rubbing his hands together, he frowns in thought. "When?" I shrug. "Whenever—it's up to you. Anytime is good for me." "Good! I'll look into making travel arrangements after we sit down and come up with a mutually satisfactory itinerary." His eyes sharpen, looking at me with concern. "You will stay here with me for now, won't you?" Jesus, he wants me to stay! I can't quite take it in. After all those years of animosity, this is... unbelievable. Dizzying. "Um... If you really want me to stay, I will." "Of course I do," he says confidently. "I'll make up the guest room for you." He jumps to his feet and starts out of the room. "Mulder," I say in a low voice, "don't bother. I don't sleep much—the sofa's fine for me." Mulder Uh-oh. I can't stop the sheepish grin from creeping over my face. "I'm rather partial to the sofa, myself. But that's okay. It's just—I don't like sleeping in my mother's room all that much." Krycek considers this. "You take the guest room, then." I sigh and sit back down on the sofa beside him. "It's alright. Let's just sit here and talk until we lose consciousness." Krycek looks down at the table and then slowly reaches over to help himself to the crackers and cheese. I pick up my glass of eggnog. He's so quiet—I can't help wondering why he's so—suspicious. Maybe small talk is the wrong way to go, here. But I really don't want to get into some heavy psychological scene. I don't think I'm up to it, myself. Maybe we can find middle ground. This is even harder than I suspected it would be. Then it hits me. Brilliant. I don't know the first thing about him, really. So. By process of elimination, we can go through the obvious. "What's your favorite color?" Krycek stares over at me, startled. "What? Green. Why?" Then his face relaxes. "You're not thinking of giving me a sweater or something—are you?" "Heaven forbid. Like I should DARE to give you a sweater, Alex. Fear not." I grin at him over my eggnog. "I would never subject you to the horror of wool. Cashmere, maybe, but never wool. And I don't know how to knit, so you're safe. I was actually thinking more along the lines of vital statistics and basic knowledge. What's your favorite movie?" Krycek squirms now, a little. Almost imperceptibly. After an uncomfortable pause, he says, "'It's a Wonderful Life', I guess. But that's a favorite for a lot of people." Mildly, I point out, "Doesn't matter, it's still a valid movie." Krycek looks away. "Look, I've never been much of a movie buff. You've probably seen them all." The cozy atmosphere of the room, the heat and warmth of the Christmas lights and the fireplace, the strange happiness and satisfaction I feel—the sheer contentment—at having someone here, even Krycek, is all starting to get to me. I'm trying to figure out why I'm trying so hard to reach out to him, to make contact somehow... When it occurs to me that I've never been allowed the luxury or space of exploring the notion of 'friendship' with him. Never. Other things have always gotten in the way. Most of all my own conscience, for so many reasons—the most glaring one of all being my father. But now that we're here and we've both managed through death and resurrection to come to this point in time, I can't help feeling I've achieved a fait accompli somehow. Softly, I muse, "You know, it doesn't get much quieter or warmer than this. And there aren't many people around, either." Krycek considers me. "When were you thinking of going?" I shrug. "A week or two. Any longer than that, people might come looking for me here. I really don't want anyone knowing I'm still around. It'll be hard to make a new life, otherwise." He nods, accepting this. Then he smiles. "I'm still trying to wrap my brain around this... this new side of you. I honestly never would have believed you could be like this." He looks rather surprised. No one's more surprised than myself. Believe me. "This is the new me, the Millennium version. Twenty-First Century Fox." He rolls his eyes at me and finishes off the last of his cider. Alex I can actually feel my walls coming down. Mulder's so... relaxing to be around tonight. Shoving aside my fear of the old Mulder making a sudden reappearance, I relax back into the soft cushions of the couch and sigh with contentment. "This is nice," I say softly. He leans back next to me. "Yeah, it is." That's all he says, but the fact that his shoulder is brushing against mine says so much more than words could. Watching the tree lights blink is almost mesmerizing, and I find my eyelids drooping sleepily. My head droops to the side and— "Shit," I straighten, lifting my head from his shoulder. "Sorry." "Hey, don't worry about it. C'mon," he says, placing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me up against him, "just relax. I don't mind. In fact, I kind of like it—you smell good and you're warm." Now, I don't normally like to be touched. It invariably means pain—but, somehow, this feels right. Gradually, I release my tension and rest against him. "That's it, Alex," he whispers. His hand touches my jaw in a fleeting caress then his head comes to rest against mine. "We're fine. I won't hurt you again. We're past that now." And I believe him. It IS possible. For us to be friends. I really do believe that now. Amazing, huh? "You know," I say drowsily, "we're both gonna be in a world of hurt come morning if we sleep this way." "Mmmhmm." Doesn't sound like he cares much. "Mulder." "Yeah?" "Shouldn't we... I don't know, move so that we can lay down?" Oddly, it doesn't even occur to me that we should separate. "Ummm... Okay. I guess we could squeeze ourselves along the couch." I look at the furniture in question dubiously. "Don't think that would work, Mulder. One of us would end up on the floor for sure." He giggles. GIGGLES! "Well, how about if we make up the bed in the spare room and sleep there?" Share a bed? All night? Oh. Still, the thought of losing his warmth—this strange security I feel being so close to him—is NOT appealing. "Okay," I agree. Mulder Must be the rum. Has to be. Nothing else can account for the strangely protective urge I feel to not let go of him. I think he's still out in the Twilight Zone somewhere, but at least I've done all I can to get him to relax this much. Fed him, liquored him, talked to him... There isn't much more comfort I can really offer. And somehow, it's exactly what I needed, too. Somehow, in offering my friendship to Alex, it's starting to heal the rift between us almost magically. Or maybe the change is in ME. But he's definitely responding, too, so... Well, he's right. We need to get up. I don't want to, but if we don't, we'll probably regret it. At least, that's what I'm telling myself right now. Because there's this niggling sense of anticipation in the back of my mind and that adrenaline surge is running through me again. He's actually agreeing to sleep with me. In a bed. Together. Standing up, I yawn and look down at the cheese. "I'll just put this away." But he interrupts me. "Let me do that. You go ahead and make up the guest room." "Sure." Then something else comes to me. "You want a shower?" He looks frozen at this. I have to bite my lip suddenly because I can tell he thinks I'm suggesting that he shower with me. Then he turns away to start clearing away the cheese and the plates, the cups and glasses. "Yeah, maybe I'd better. Had one this morning but I've been traveling all day. Drove straight here," he adds. "Okay. There're fresh towels, so help yourself. I won't be long." I make my way to the guest room, stopping by the linen cupboard on the way to snag sheets and pillowcases. My heart is beating hard inside my chest as I make up the bed. I switch off the main light and just leave the bedside lamp on. Abruptly, I sit down on the edge of the mattress. Rubbing my forehead, I wonder just what exactly I'm doing. Closing my eyes, I think of him in the shower. Right. And I'll bet he doesn't have a change of clothes, either. To keep myself occupied and not start worrying about whatever 'this' is turning into, or what I'd like it to turn into, I go to the closet and retrieve a clean t-shirt and pair of sweats. Some supernatural entity must be controlling me though, because I find myself grinning wickedly as I walk to the bathroom. The door is closed but the shower is running. I knock loudly on the door and open it, calling out, "It's only me. Brought you a change of clothes. I'll leave them in here." I gather up the clothes he'd been wearing, including his boots and his jacket. Hesitantly, he replies, "Thanks." He's not moving; I can tell from the vague, indistinct outline of him behind the shower curtain. I close the door behind me, firmly, so that he knows I'm gone. Chuckling to myself, I go back downstairs and put his clothes in the washing machine. I'm sure he thought for a few heart-stopping moments there that I was going to join him in the shower. To be truthful, so did I. The urge to go back into the bathroom is so strong that I have to force myself to go into to the guest room and get undressed instead. As I pull on the t-shirt and shorts that I usually wear to bed in this chilly house, I try to identify exactly what it is that I expect from him. What DO I want? The answer is ever so simple and yet devastating. I want HIM. I think I always did. No. Don't even go there. Don't think about it. I crawl between the sheets, adjust the covers to my satisfaction, and lean back against the headboard with the pillow between my shoulder blades. Waiting for him. I really want to feel that warm, close feeling again, of just—holding him. It doesn't have to be anything more than that. And besides, from what he's told me earlier tonight, it's a miracle that I've actually gotten him to trust me enough to agree to be anywhere near me. Especially considering the times our paths have crossed in the past.... And I let my fists fly. Along with my temper. I screw my eyes shut. Damn it, why did I always imagine that he was the obvious choice for whipping boy? If anything, I realize now that I've contributed to the damage... Damn it. I can make it up to him. I can. I will. I'll be the best friend he's ever had. Alex Once out of the shower I grow ever more nervous about having agreed to share a bed with Mulder. Questions run through my mind one after the other... Will he expect sex? Would he even WANT to have sex with me? After what I've told him tonight, I just don't know. And, if he does, can I handle it? Oh, I can fuck—well, be fucked to be precise—but I don't want to disappoint him. And, I know that if I retreat into that special place inside of my mind, escaping the reality—the horror and shame of being used yet again, he'll know it. That would hurt him. He's trying so damned hard. Reluctantly, I realize that procrastination won't work. I open the bathroom door and walk into the bedroom. And there he is. Lounging on the bed, propped up on a pillow... smiling at me. "Feel better?" "Uh... yeah, I do. Thanks for the clean clothes," I mumble, plucking at the front of the t-shirt he gave me. He watches me as I stand frozen just inside of the doorway, staring at him. I just can't seem to move any closer. So many times I've fantasized about this—Mulder being nice to me—Mulder forgiving me—Mulder wanting me... "Alex," he says softly, "come get in bed. I won't bite you, you know." Dragging my feet, I walk towards him, then pause again. "Really, Alex—nothing will happen that you're not ready for." He lifts the covers invitingly. "I promise to control myself. Let's just lay here and enjoy this opportunity to be close." Okay. I gather my resolve and climb into the bed, lying stiffly beside him. I'm so... hell, I'm scared. Being in a bed with another man has invariably ended up with my body being used—most times roughly—then a rapid departure of whoever that night's trick may have been. Mulder shifts, adjusts his pillow, and lies down. "How do you feel about cuddling?" he asks out of the blue. I think on it for a moment, then shrug. "Don't know. Never tried it—cuddling isn't something a whore ever has the opportunity to do." He sighs and turns his head to look at me in the dim room. "Would you like to?" "I... yeah, I suppose that would be okay. Just don't—don't make me feel restrained." Mulder I turn and switch off the light, then inch closer to him under the covers, until I can put my arms around him, lightly. Quietly, I try to ignore the ready, eager stiffness of my cock and say nonchalantly, "How's this?" There's a brief pause and then I can hear the acceptance in his reply. "It's good." "You know, I don't think I've ever felt as content as this before. Here with you, I mean." I can virtually hear this ringing and rattling around in his head before he lets out a quiet breath. "That's—I'm glad, Mulder." "How're you doing? Would it be easier if we kept the light on?" "Would you be able to sleep with it on?" "Sure." I start to lift away, to move back, but his arm reaches up to hold me in place. "No, it's okay. Really." I can't make out his expression in the dark. Doubtfully, I say, "It's no trouble, Alex." His arm tightens around me. "I'm fine." Fuck. How the HELL am I supposed to sleep like this? His touch is doing things to me, to my composure, affecting my heart rate and my breathing. He's so warm, and knowing how vulnerable he is just now, it's almost unbearably tantalizing, to just gather him closer to me... The need to feel his skin against my own and get these damned annoying shirts off... I swallow hard. This is NOT what he needs right now. Comfort. That's it. Supportive, calm, friendly. FRIENDSHIP. Yeah. Dryly, he comments, "Are YOU okay, Mulder?" "Absolutely," I say, firmly. There's a long silence and then he states, "You aren't, are you?" I snicker; I can't help it. "I'll live. Don't worry about it." His body tenses. Hm. I hope I haven't said too much there with that simple little remark. I wonder if he'll feel threatened now, being in bed with me, while I'm lying here beside him with a raging erection all night. Hell, I certainly would, in his place. I clear my throat. "Um, Alex?" A cautious answer: "Yeah?" "I've always wanted to hold you like this." It's his turn to snicker now. I don't mind; despite being utterly serious, I'm relieved he can see the humor in it. It's better than him breaking down into some kind of flashback, brought about by our situation. And he says, softly, "So have I." I swallow again. And with my heart in my throat, I whisper, "Alex?" I wait, with my heart pounding. "What?" "I'm not—don't get me wrong, here—I'm not pressuring you or anything. I'm just wondering... I'd like to kiss you. Just a kiss. Nothing heavy. It doesn't have to be a prelude to anything. At least, not anything you aren't comfortable with." God, the heat of him. In my arms. It feels so good, and I'm praying now that he won't pull away, he won't freak out on me, here. God, Alex, trust me. Just trust me. Please. Alex A kiss. He wants to kiss me! And, he's being so damned nice about it. I know that if I refuse, he'll accept my decision. Won't force me. Won't pout. And I—well, the more I think about it, the more appealing the idea becomes. I've never shared a simple kiss with anyone. Yeah, I have been kissed. Forcefully. Roughly. And have always hated it—knowing that they were just showing their domination over me. But with Mulder... "Okay, Mulder. Let's try it." He doesn't move. "Mulder?" "You have the lead, Alex. I don't want to take from you—I just want to share." I lift my head and shift up until our mouths are close but not quite touching. "I'm probably not very good at this," I warn him. A warm hand rubs my shoulder. "Oh, I think you'll do just be fine, Alex." Ever so slowly, my mouth lowers onto his. A shudder runs through his body, startling me. I pull away, sure that he's disappointed. "Sorry," I mumble. "Sorry?" I can hear the confusion in his voice. "Sorry for what?" "I don't... I've never tried to kiss anyone before. They always..." "Hush," he says. "That was a great beginning. I think an electrical shock ran through me!" A sigh of relief escapes me, and I rest my forehead against his. "Really?" "Yes, really... do you want to try again?" Oh yeah. Definitely. I tilt my head and press my lips against his again. And... it's nice. More than nice. Gaining confidence, I nibble at his lower lip, tasting him with awe and pleasure. He seems to approve. His breathing increases and I can feel his pulse accelerate. So far, so good. I let my tongue trace a line around his lips—damn, he has wonderfully soft lips—and he moans. When I break off the contact, he sighs happily. "Wow," he says in wonderment. "You do that VERY well, Alex." Quite pleased with myself, I smile in the darkness. "Your turn, Mulder." Mulder MY turn? Christ, I can barely contain myself. In fact, he's in serious danger of being ravished, here. And how the hell did I become the 'experienced one'? I have less experience than HE does... In the sack. Ah. Right... More experience with loving... and giving love. Jesus fucking Christ Almighty... I never, ever would have thought that I'd be making love to Alex Krycek. And with such care and so gently. It's worse than being with a virgin—not that I would know, having never had that particular experience—but I can't help thinking that unless HE takes the initiative, I'll end up inadvertently doing something he doesn't want me to do. Right now I'm petrified I might scare him off. But he's waiting for me so I simply press my mouth against his, feeling my way in the dark with my arms around him. He relaxes into it, letting himself flow ONTO me, and it's so deliciously warm and melting; he feels like a big blanket descending around me. His mouth opens, and I have to fight to remember not to just lick at his tongue. He pulls back again and whispers, hoarsely, "What do you—I mean—" Firmly, I interrupt, "Alex, just do what YOU want to do. Whatever you're comfortable with. Believe me, anything you do right now is good. Very good." I'm trembling beneath his weight, and I think he believes me—because of nothing more than that involuntary reaction to the fact he's lying atop me, against me, our legs entangled slightly. Close as we are, he can hardly miss the rather obvious hard on I'm sporting. He smiles with a little breath, I can hear it in the dark, and then he's kissing me again, his tongue slipping between my lips and meeting mine. Wet, deep, marvelous—my world's dissolving away into soft, warm sweetness. He moans almost inaudibly against my mouth, into me. I reach up with both hands to touch his face, his ears, sliding my fingers up into his short hair and then down his neck, over his back. He withdraws, obviously to catch his breath, which is coming faster now. I'm delirious and quite content. I mean, I certainly WON'T be sleeping anytime soon, but he really is the sweetest kisser. He needs to know that, actually. "You're the best kisser I've ever known." He stills, and says, "Really?" He sounds astonished. I chuckle. "Another kiss like that and we're going to have another load for the laundry." He's grinning as he replies, "So are you. The best kisser I've met, I mean." Slyly, I ask, "You know, you can take me out for a test drive. That's allowed." He's hovering over me in the dark, his face so close. God, it's all I can do not to growl and grab him, and kiss him until I come. "I want to touch you," he announces, breathlessly. "I've thought about it, so many times." My mind is whirling. "Anything, Alex. Please." I think he can sense how urgent my situation is becoming. And I think that it's too much for him because he stops, thinking so loudly that I fancy I can almost hear it again. I clear my throat and quickly put a hand up to touch his cheek, his lips. "Whatever you want." Alex inhales, and says, "I want—I've always—wanted—" I don't stop touching him, hoping that the contact will make it easier for him to connect with me on this. I don't want him fleeing just because he can't handle the thought of having what he desires. Alex "Tell me, Alex," he urges softly. "Whatever you want. I'm all yours." God! I want... everything! I want to touch him, taste him, feel his hands on me... maybe even his— "I... Oh, Mulder, this is so much more than I ever hoped for. And I'm so afraid that I'll disappoint you." I snort at my sappy words. "I'm fucking pathetic." "Alex, you couldn't possibly disappoint me now—unless you cut and run. You won't do that, will you? I know this is frightening for you and new to you, but anything you can handle is okay with me." I release a shuddery sigh. "I've never—my experiences were all so cold, so clinical. I don't know what to DO, Mulder." "Well," he says reasonably, "you said you wanted to touch me. That would be a good start, don't you think?" "Yeah, yeah it would... but, what if I can't carry through? What if I just... can't?" "Alex, anything you do will be wonderful. I've wanted you so much for so long that I'll probably come just from your touch." His sincerity and need are so apparent in his voice that I find a little confidence. Maybe I CAN do this. He won't push me—ask for more than I can handle. "Okay, let me just... just feel you." "Works for me." I can hear the relief in his tone. I slide to one side, lying along his length, and tentatively explore his chest. I can feel his warmth through the fabric of his t-shirt and I like it. A lot. But, I want—"Would you take your shirt off, Mulder? I want to feel your skin." "Oh yeah," he says, quickly working his way out of the garment. Taking my hand in his, he places it on his chest. Soft. A sparse scattering of hair. A thundering heartbeat under my hand. I think he likes it. I know I do. And, if he feels this good... I shift position and open my mouth to taste him. "Ah!" He arches up and ruffles his fingers through my hair. "'s good, Alex." His eager reaction encourages me to continue. Curiously, I keep on caressing him with tongue and hand, fascinated by his unabashed reactions. When my mouth lands on one nipple, he gasps. "Yeah," he moans. "More. Please!" Reflexively, I press my hardened cock against his hip as I continue to explore him. I don't know exactly what we do next, but whatever it is, I now feel sure that I WILL enjoy it. Mulder will make sure of that. Mulder He's... unraveling me, turning my brain to mush and my insides to jelly. I want him so badly, so fucking BADLY... I can't just push him into this, and yet he seems so desperate to please. His cock is a burning brand against my body, and I realize that I'm going to have to do something to get this show on the road. "Alex," I manage, "I want to feel your skin, your body. Here, help me take these off." I start squirreling out of my shorts, and he assists me, pulling them over my feet. He's still wearing the t-shirt and sweats, and as I reach for him, he stops. "Mulder, I'd rather keep the shirt on." "Okay. Sure. Um, I can't exactly see you, here. I'd really like to feel you against me." There's a prolonged pause and then he strips the shirt over his head. I guess I convinced him. I immediately move up against him, letting my body do the talking. And I'm keeping my hands on him, to steady him. It's almost like trying to soothe a frightened horse—or something even wilder. A tiger. "God, you feel SO good," I say fervently, and it really is no exaggeration. Suddenly, after years of deprivation and solitary dreams, I've got more beauty in my arms than I know what to do with. Somehow, I can empathize with what he's going through. I mean, I've never been forced, and I've never had to whore myself to anyone, but there's always an initial awkward feeling that accompanies anyone's first time with a new lover. Truth be told, I can feel it too. I think that's why I'm treating him like glass, here. I don't want to fuck this up. So I just keep caressing him, warm, slow, not tickling but gently enough to calm him. It's working. I grin in the dark and then lift up, turning, to kiss his chest. He's smooth, and he's beautiful... I can't understand why he's so modest about his body. He's gorgeous. I kiss my way down to his belly and slowly let my hand linger beside me on his skin there. It's almost like having a cat belly-up, exposed, only he's not purring. Actually, the way he's breathing and making occasional moans, it's the next best thing to a purr. And then I say, "Alex, I want to undress you. I want to take these off you. Is that alright?" "S-sure, Mulder, fine." He's having trouble speaking. This is a good sign. Very heartening. I slip the waistband down over his hips, past his hard cock and beyond his knees. He helps me, kicking them off past his ankles. We're getting tangled in the covers though, so I lift them up and pull them back up over us. Then I move to cover him, just resting on him, enjoying the way our bodies lay together so well. "Wow," I say. "You okay so far?" "Yeah," he says. Fuck. I don't think I've ever experienced anything so sensual before in my entire life. And his skin... it feels like hot silk against mine, so alive. I think I like the element of his maleness, his danger... Women I've been with in the past always seemed so tame and kittenish—being with Alex is unlike anything I can compare it to. And we're both so tense, so aware, that it seems to have heightened the experience. Every inch of my body is hyperalert, oversensitive to the slightest sensation. "I want to come on you, with you...IN you," I say, letting my appreciation for him color my words. "I want to make you come, Alex. I want to hear you." Alex In me. He wants to come IN me. I can't help tensing at the idea. He wants to fuck me... just like all the others. "You want to fuck me?" I can't quite hide my fear at the prospect. "No, babe, I want to make love to you. I want to show you how wonderful it can be. To hear you moan and scream with pleasure." The silky tone of his voice makes me think that he really CAN do this—make intercourse a pleasurable thing. "I... Okay, Mulder. Just go slowly—be gentle." "I'll make you feel things you've never felt before—never imagined could be possible," he promises. And I believe him. I relax and smile to myself. Yeah, if anyone can do it, Mulder can. "How do you want me?" "No rush, Alex. Just relax and let me... play for a while." Play? Not a word I've ever associated with sex, but... "Okay." I lie quietly, waiting to see what he considers 'playing'. He starts at my neck, nuzzling, licking, tasting, and it's like nothing I've ever felt before. His lips are soft on my skin, and I can't help tilting my head, encouraging him to continue. By the time he moves down to my chest, I hear myself whimpering with pleasure. Don't think such sounds have ever come from my throat before. He slithers down further, lovingly caressing every inch of my suddenly sensitive skin along the way. And then—OHMYGOD—he licks the head of my cock! Mulder From the way he jolts and cries out, you'd think no one had ever done this to him before—Oh. Right. He's probably not been on the receiving end very often. I say, musingly, "This is a night of firsts, Alex. I've never done this before, either. Gone down on a guy, I mean. Don't worry, I'll be careful. But I might need some help with technique. Just tell me if I don't do it right." I'm hoping that appealing to his sense of greater experience in this area will help put him more at ease. With a groan, he replies, "Jesus, Mulder... just do it. I'm sure you're a natural." "Thanks," I remark, and then lick at him again, this time prepared for his reaction. He tastes salty and nearly the same as I do. Damn it, he might be right—I may well be a natural. I open my mouth and take him in as far as my jaws can handle, until the head of his cock is jammed against the back of my throat. Moving back up with the flat of my tongue against him until I reach the crown again, I pause. "How am I doing?" >From the incoherent gurgle, I take it I'm not doing too badly. Feeling rather smug, I'm smiling as I fondle his balls, gently, then a little more tightly, going back to gentle almost before he has a chance to tense up. And he's quivering in place. I really want to make him come in my mouth. Returning to lick around the flared head of his cock, I alternate my licking with nibbles, using my lips. Hm. He seems to like that too, practically thrashing in place and nearly sticking it in my eye. "You could put someone's eye out with that," I remark. "Okay, Alex... Are you ready for dessert? I am." "Mulder—" His response is part-gasp, part-squeak, and I take pity on him, I open my lips and take him all the way into my mouth again, this time going for the gold. Alex I've never... no one's ever... Jesus! This is beyond pleasure—it's ecstasy. The warmth of his mouth, the way his tongue manages to convey his own pleasure in what he's doing to me. I don't think I'll last much longer at this rate. In fact— Shit! My balls draw up tight and I'm losing it. I just can't wait—much as I'd like to enjoy this experience endlessly, I can feel my orgasm gathering in the pit of my stomach, sending jolts throughout my body. I'd always thought that those old tired clichés about orgasm were just that. Not so... Fireworks, bells, whistles—you name it, I feel it. Once I recover, I turn to look at him. He's watching me expectantly. "So? How did I do?" "Couldn't you tell? My complete loss of control should have given you a hint." I grin and press a light kiss on his cheek. "That was... God, Mulder, no one's ever done that for me. I... thank you." He pulls me into his arms and sighs. "Glad you liked it—I did too." "You did?" "Yes, Alex. Feeling you come apart because of me was... well, wonderful. Like nothing I've ever experienced before. And the taste of you!" He smiles. "I liked it." Huh. I'll be damned. Giving blowjobs was always such a demeaning thing for me —kneeling in front of some man, having him control my movements with a firm grip on my hair—definitely not enjoyable. But maybe with Mulder... I could at least try, I suppose. Maybe. Someday. His erection is prodding at my hip, and I realize that he's in need. "Are you... I mean, do you still want to... you know." Mulder I confess quietly in his ear, "Whatever you're comfortable with, Alex. I meant it then and I mean it now. I'd LOVE to come inside you. But if we're moving too fast, hell—I'm not averse to coming ON you, either." Surprisingly, he shakes with silent chuckles at this. "Well, considering that it's YOU, either one sounds alright to me." Good. Now I have his weakness. Orgasms. All I have to do to get him to relax and have fun is give him mind-blowing orgasms. This is good; I now have a strategy. Let's see, how many orgasms can he handle a day? How many can I handle? And do I want this relationship to be founded purely on sex? That stops me short. Relationship? Yes, well... I don't know how else to classify what we have. And it really isn't founded on sex, although I do know that this mutual attraction of ours is what brought us together in the first place. Holding him tighter, I whisper lazily in his ear again. "I don't have to fuck you. You could give me a hand-job. Believe me, I'm so close right now, I don't know how long I'd last anyway." He pulls away from me on the pillow, breathing harder. "Jesus, Mulder—you keep doing that and I'll—I'll—" Snickering, I lean into his ear again and whisper, letting my breath tickle him, "What have we here? I think I've found an erogenous zone, yes, I do. Well, well, well." "Ahh! Okay, stop! Stop. You can fuck me. Stop tickling." But I can hear the lighthearted tone of his voice despite his words. Thank God. I'm tired of walking on eggshells here. And I'm seriously considering the painful reality of blue-balls. I kiss him on the neck. "Sorry about that. Listen, I didn't actually plan to BE fucking you tonight. I only wanted to make sure you'd be okay. Thought we'd be sleeping here. So, don't panic, all right? I'll be right back. With stuff. Don't talk yourself into getting up, okay?" His arm tightens around me. "Okay." Jesus. The note of trust and tenderness in his voice is really touching. I always knew he had a soft spot for me, but this is— I slide reluctantly away from him, out of the bed and leave the room in search of lube. I know I'm in perfect health, and he must be too, after having been resurrected by Smith's group, so I'm happily going to forego the latex. But this is getting out of hand, here. I think I know now why he's agreeing to be my friend, accepting my friendship and even going so far as to have sex with me. He doesn't just want me; he loves me. He's in love with me. I sigh to myself as I finally locate the bottle of lube in the living room and return to the spare room. I wonder if he even realizes it, himself. He's still in the bed in the dark, probably silently conjuring up all sorts of reasons why he shouldn't go through with this. I don't know, maybe I'm not giving him enough credit. Still, if I'm right, and he IS in love with me, he's taking a big chance here, trusting me. I think I'm glad that I've taken the route I have with him tonight. It's been so comforting to comfort him. It's nice having him here, and I really DO want him... Fuck. I love him. Hm. So that's why I seem to be able to forgive him so readily for the past, despite all the things he's done over the years. That's why I'm so glad that we are BOTH out of the game, at last. So that's what this warm feeling is, in the middle of my chest and spread all through my body. My cock is urgently sending me shrieking signals of impending doom if I don't get off NOW, SOON, this minute, but for once I'm enjoying something that's a little more than just getting my rocks off. I slide back into the warm bed and announce victoriously, "I got it. Still with me, here?" Alex While he was gone from the room I tried like hell to NOT let my past rise to haunt me. But, my brain seems to have no interest in my desire, kept sending picture after picture of all those men rutting away on me mindlessly. I know Mulder won't be that way, but it's so difficult to avoid those memories and the fear and horror that come with them... I turn into his arms and sigh. "This might be... I might have a little trouble at first with this. But, it's not you—I DO trust you not to hurt me—I just can't help remembering..." "Alex," his arms tighten, holding me securely against him, "we really don't have to do this. I'll be more than satisfied if you just jerk me off, you know." I shake my head. "No. I want to do it. I want you to show me how it can be." "Okay," he says doubtfully. "But, if it gets to be too much, promise you'll tell me. I don't want to hurt you, Alex. Not anymore." "It'll be fine, Mulder." And, I know it will be. As attuned to my reactions as he is, he'll know if I can't handle it and stop on his own. That knowledge is both comforting and exciting. I lift my head and try to make out his features in the darkness. "I think—I think you should turn the light on. So I can see you—know that it's you touching me." "All right." He reaches out one long arm and fumbles for the lamp. We both blink in the sudden light, then grin sheepishly at each other. "How do YOU want to do this? What will be easiest for you?" Faced with such a decision, I'm momentarily speechless. My wants have never come into it before, and I just don't know how to respond. "Um... I need to be able to see your face." "No problem." He frowns for a moment, in thought, then smiles. "You can be on top. How's that? That way you can see me and control the moves, and I can just lie here and gaze upon your beauty." With a snort of amusement, I nod. "I suppose that would work." I reach for the lube and flip the top open to squeeze a dollop on my fingers. After I slick him up—quite enjoying the sighs and twitches my touch causes—I move to climb on top of him. "Hey," he says softly, "hold on a minute." Pausing, I look at him with concern. Have I fucked up already? He grabs the lube and, after applying a generous amount to his fingers, encourages me to lift one leg so he can reach my entrance. "Gotta get you ready, Alex. I want you to enjoy this, too, you know. That's half the pleasure, seeing my partner's enjoyment." Oh. One finger gently caresses the pucker of my anus and it's... damn! It's good. With a moan, I lift my hips, encouraging him on. Brilliant man that he is, Mulder catches on immediately. and that finger slides inside of me to gently spread the lubrication and loosen the tight ring of muscle. By the time he's inserted a second finger, I'm beginning to think that this really will be good. He crooks his fingers, finds my prostate, and I KNOW it'll be good. "I'm ready, Mulder," I gasp. Damn, am I ever ready! Mulder I don't know what I was expecting, but I didn't think that another man's ass would feel this good. He's all warm and clenching and silken inside. My cock's going to be up here?! This is the Merriest Christmas I can ever recall having in my entire life. I withdraw my fingers and grab blindly for the lube once more, to slather it generously on my cock until it's glistening. My dick is an alarming dark-red color. I stare down at it, hesitating. "Maybe we don't need the light on," I mutter. "Rudolph has nothing on THAT." Alex glances down and sniggers. Then his gaze flicks back up to meet mine, and his face softens. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, and he looks so fucking beautiful, so wanton, my breath sticks in my throat. "Please," I say, starting to shake at the look in his eye. He lifts himself into position and then backs himself down onto my cock, impaling himself slowly, so slowly. His eyes widen with wonder, and a little smile crosses his face. "No pain?" I ask, wondering how that might be possible, considering my dick. I'm proud of my dick; it's long without compromising girth, but DAMN. A couple of the women I've been with have loved it, but a couple of others had expressed discomfort, and I couldn't actually fit all the way inside. Alex settles down on me like his ass was made for my cock. He shakes his head. "No, not really." I reach up a hand to touch him, and he flinches. Ah, right. The arm. I smile encouragingly at him. "Don't worry about it," I murmur, running a hand from his left shoulder down his chest, to rest at his waist. He's staring down at my face, leaning down over me, and his eyes are shining with such emotion, so dark and wide, with those long lashes... I can't help it; I gasp and let my eyelids fall, shuttering my expression. Fuck. I wasn't—I really wasn't expecting this. It's too much. Too intimate. I force myself to open my eyes again and look back at him. I owe it to him to see this through. But a nuance of comprehension flits over his expression, and he seems to have recovered his poise as well as his erection, his cock lifting now in greeting, slowly regaining its full strength. He gently moves atop me, undulating slightly, his hips moving soooo gracefully... JE-sus... And then his mouth is on mine, and my cock is in heaven, and my brain is tumbling into outer space, falling, flying, and I'm whimpering into his mouth as his tongue delves in to taste mine. I'm sweating and shaking with the effort not to thrust wildly up into him. He lifts his head and looks back at me with that same intense gaze, the one I can't handle. "Do it, Fox. Come in me," he says, his voice husky, soft and melting ice. He starts to grind himself down on me, hard, repeatedly, the intervals between each hip-grinding thrust so timely that I don't have any control over how my body responds. Shuddering, I can only mindlessly surrender to the overwhelming pleasure as it seizes me. Jerking up into him, I cry out, wordlessly, dark light flashing inside of me with every pulse as I empty myself into his hot, hot ass. The pleasure is still racking through me with thrilling little shocks when I hear his voice surrounding me, the words velvety and warm, urging me on. "Oh, Mulder, yeah, so—good—" He spasms on me, his moan almost a sob as his eyes roll back in his head, and he arches back, his come erupting all over my belly, small flecks of it flying up to land on his chest and mine. I'm lost in the fantastic sensation of euphoric drift after my shattering, much-needed climax mixed with the sight of him coming on me; he's so beautiful... He's taking little gasping breaths as he returns to himself somewhat, and he looks down at me. "Alex," I start to say, but he growls slightly in the back of his throat and dives down to fasten his mouth on mine, hard, moving over my lips with his in a kiss that seems not so much desperate as reckless, abandoned passion. Alex I want to scream and laugh and cry and yell with triumph. I want to climb inside of him and stay there forever. I want, I want, I want. Jesus! The need for air finally forces me to break away from his lips, and I rise to stare down at him in amazement. "Mulder, I've never... no one's ever... " I shrug, at a loss for words. However can I explain to him how much he's shown me with his generosity and caring? How much he's given me tonight... Taking a deep breath, I try again, "I've never—NEVER—felt anything like that. For me sex has always meant pain and submission and shame. This is the first time I've actually felt pleasure. The first time anyone's shown any concern at all about how I feel. The first time I've come while being fucked—and the first time anyone cared enough to actually WANT me to come." He looks at me with such sadness in his eyes. Such concern and understanding. Hell, I'm going to be in tears any minute now at this rate. What has he done to me? I close my eyes and carefully lift myself off of him, moving to lie next to him. He pulls me into a close embrace and sighs. "Alex, I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through, and I won't insult you by pretending that I could—but, for what it's worth, I want you to know that this has been a night of 'firsts' for me, too. I told you that I was bi-curious... well, after this, I think I can say without a doubt that I'm gay. No woman ever made me feel like you did. And, the fact that YOU are my first male lover is somehow... right. You know?" And, strangely enough, I DO know. I know exactly what he means. "Yes," I answer in a low voice. "I do—and, really, you're my first lover, too. All the others were... they were..." "Hush," he says, pressing a light kiss to my temple. "I think I understand. It was good—very good. I think that somehow this—WE—were meant to end up here, together. It's been a rough road, but we're okay now. We've finally found each other. Connected in a good way." He pauses, then continues in a low voice, "Connected in a permanent way." My throat is suddenly thick with impending tears and I can't speak. Instead, I nod jerkily against his shoulder and reach up to touch his face gently. Mulder He agrees with me, which is a healthy sign. He hasn't broken down yet, which would be even healthier, but I guess that would take too much out of him just now anyway. The evening has been hard enough on him as it is. I lift my head. "Hey, think you could reach over and turn off that light?" He moans, disgruntled at having to move away from me, but he rises up and turns to switch it off, leaving us with the gloom once more. "Uh, we need the hand towel, too." He returns to my side a moment later with the towel, and we wipe away the remnants of our fluids from our bodies. I'm snickering at the volume we managed to produce. Dropping over the side of the bed, I move back into his warm embrace. I can't help wondering how long this will last. I know things can look very different by daylight. He nestles closer into me, burrowing against me. I grin to myself. I can't help it; he's like a sleeping dog... Good thing to remember that it's best to let sleeping dogs lie. I'm actually pretty exhausted myself, no matter how many unresolved issues still lie between us. Hell, he agreed to stay. Surely he'll stick around long enough to at least accompany me to one wild and wacky destination. I WANT to have fun. And I'd like him to be there. I just hope he can accept that I've changed and that I accept the fact HE'S changed, too. I know he's still doubtful about that. But he's warm and dozing in my arms and right now, I don't fucking care anymore. I just want to sleep with him. Alex I slowly, grudgingly climb out of sleep, amazed to find that I feel good. No nightmares that I can recall. No stiff neck from sleeping on a sofa. No weary disgust at not having slept well... Damn, I feel GOOD. Then I realize that I'm in a bed. Not only am I in a bed—a real bed—but there's a warm body pressed along my back. What the fuck? Moving cautiously, I shift around until I can see this mystery person. Mulder! Oh my GOD! I... he... WE... He grumbles in his sleep and rolls to his back, one arm flung over his head, the other resting possessively on my hip. That touch, more than anything else, brings home to me exactly what happened between us last night. Not a dream—not a hallucination—we made love. And it was amazing. Like nothing I've ever felt before. As I lie there staring at him, I realize that I've fallen in love. I should be scared. Hell, I should be halfway to Timbuktu by now! This is NOT how I thought it would be when I came here last night. I thought he'd insult me, beat me up, maybe even kill me. Instead he showed me a side of himself that I'd never imagined. And, I told him things I've never revealed to anyone. Damn. DAMN! With a snort, he shifts restlessly, and I hold my breath waiting to see how he'll react to the sight of my presence in his bed... A frown appears on his brow, he lazily stretches and opens his eyes. Looks over at me. And smiles. He smiles, I tell you. As if waking up beside me is the best thing that's ever happened to him. "Hey," he says rustily. "Sleep okay?" "Like a log," I reply, my surprise at this fact clear in my voice. "Mmmm, me too." He watches me with sleepy eyes for a moment, then grins. "So, don't I rate a good morning kiss?" Oh yeah. I can definitely do THAT. Leaning closer, I do as requested. It's good. So good, in fact, that I do it again—and again. Finally, I lift my head and meet his eyes. "Mulder, I—" "I love you, Alex." He does? "You do?" He nods firmly. "I do. And I know that you love me, too." "I... Yeah, I do," I admit quietly. "I never thought I'd feel this way, but..." "Some Christmas, huh?" I have to swallow the lump in my throat before answering. "The best, Mulder. The best Christmas ever." "Yeah," he agrees. Then he grins wickedly. "And now..." "What?" "Now I want you to fuck me, Alex." Oh. OH! But... "Mulder, I've never... and you've never... " "No time like the present, Alex. First we fuck—then we shower—then we make plans for our world tour." He lies back, quite obviously pleased with his itinerary for the morning. "You sure about this?" I ask hesitantly. "Absolutely! Now get on with it. I want you to make love to me. Now." So I do. And he's right. It's good—it's great—it's mind-blowing. I think we really are going to be okay now. Jamiwilsen@hotmail.com jennieemcg@aol.com

TITLE: Sanctuary DATE: Dec 5, '01 AUTHORS: Jami & Jennie DISCLAIMER: Why bother? There's no point. And, they weren't valued, but WE love them don't we! The answer is 'yes, oh yes.' [g] FANDOM: X-Files PAIRING: M/K ARCHIVE: RatB, Fries, DitB, others please ask. FEEDBACK: Yes, Jamiwilsen@hotmail.com, JennieeMcG@aol.com SERIES/SEQUEL: No. Well, maybe...[g] SPOILERS: Post-Existence, so pretty much everything up until then. RATING: NC-17 for m/m sex—you were expecting anything else from us?! LOL! SUMMARY: Christmas Eve. Mulder. Cider. Snow. Krycek. Truth. Lies. Sex. NOTE: this is h/c (holiday/comfort) fic. Schmoop-and-angst levels are therefore intentional. BETAS: Teri, Orithain—the queen of commas. [g] Thanks to both of you! back to top

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