Sunflower Seeds V by Jami Wilsen Home Mulder sat in the dark, the only light in the room provided by the healthy fire that still burned restlessly in the fireplace. A noise from the stairs made him look up. "A penny for your thoughts? They look deep," Dana said, wondering why Mulder was still up. Her youngest had woken and she'd just managed to get him back to sleep. "Scully, have you ever wondered if the choices you'd made up to the present moment were in reality just a series of impulsive irrational actions that were guided by the hand of fate and your whole life was something that you really had no control over?" Mulder's delivery of this was in his customary flat but curious monotone. Dana could tell that something was bothering him. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Well, I can't say that I haven't suspected it sometimes, but I'd have to say that for the most part, I'm fairly certain that the choices I've made and the outcome of my life up to the present are purely my own responsibility. Why?" Mulder was staring at the fire. "Just—I don¹t know. I get the feeling that maybe everything I've done, everything I fought for, was simply a haze of jumbled, inconclusive incentives, when in fact none of them were even close to what I was looking for." "It was my understanding, the last time I was here, that you had made a particular choice and were happy with it. I take it this is no longer the case." Dana took a breath and said, "I was going to have a cup of hot chocolate. Why don't you join me?" Mulder slowly pulled himself to his feet and wandered into the kitchen after her. When she opened cupboards, obviously trying to locate the cocoa, he opened one on the other side of the kitchen and got out the tin of drinking chocolate. He handed it to her, along with a half-filled bag of marshmallows. She bustled about getting a pan and filling it with milk, putting it to heat on the stove and getting out two mugs. "UHT Long Life? Don't you have access to the real thing? It's skim, as well. What about cream? This stuff isn't real milk. I don't know how you can drink it." Mulder shrugged. "It's easier. Besides, it's an acquired taste and we've adapted to it now." "Mulder," Dana paused, wondering how to broach this, "is this anything to do with the fact that Krycek was staying here for a while?" Mulder pulled a face and gave her a humorless smile. "Got it in one, Scully. Who've you been talking to?" She poured the tablespoons of cocoa powder into the heating milk and stirred it with a whisk. "Walter," she admitted. "He told me a little bit about what happened. Also, Bill Peterson was telling me before we arrived that you had a guest, someone from your past. When he told me who it was, I understood why you two would react the way you did to having him here. I was surprised though to find you'd welcomed him with open arms." Mulder shot her a frown. "What did Walt tell you?" She poured the hot chocolate into the two mugs and turned off the burner on the stove. She took them both and sat one in front of Mulder and then took a seat at the kitchen table opposite him, warming her hands with the mug. She sipped cautiously. "Mulder, your relationships are your own business. I'm not here to pass judgment on you about with whom you choose to have them. But it seems to me that you drove Alex away." Mulder stared at her in disbelief. "Not you, too," he said, with a slight note of disgust. "Look, I'm more than aware of that; you don't have to rub my nose in it." She took a breath and made a face at him. "I think you don't really know what you want. When you're with Walter, you want Alex. When Alex is here, you don't want him here because you're afraid Walter wants him more than he does you. You're conflicted, Mulder." "Tell me something I don't know," he started, but she interrupted him. "Look, what would make you happy?" "I don't know!" he said, miserably, looking down into his mug, absently noticing how the swirls of the melting marshmallow foam on top were taking the shape of a miniature spiral galaxyŠ Dana studied him for a moment then looked back down at her own hot chocolate. "If there's one thing I've learned from being married and having children, it's that you get out of a relationship what you put into it. It will only work if you want it to. So maybe you should just ask yourself if you really want this." Mulder licked his lips and looked back up at her. "I know. I already know that. But it's complicated. Walter—" She shook her head. "Walter loves you. But there's room in his heart to accept Alex there as well. You've always wanted Alex—don't give me that look—I've known for years, Mulder. Every time anyone mentioned his name you practically jumped out of your skin," she remarked, dryly. "The question is, can you be as accommodating as Walter is and let both of them exist in your heart at the same time? I can't presume to tell you how to make a threesome work; I'm not sure I could do it, in your place. But without you, they don't have a threesome, and they certainly aren't going to do anything without you. It has to be something that all of you want." Mulder put his face in his hands and then leaned back, casting his eyes to the ceiling. Sighing, he said tiredly, "I know. You're right. You're both right. I drove him away. And now I'm in danger of losing Walt, too. What can I do to get him back?" She knew which 'him' Mulder was referring to and she took another sip. "You can stop avoiding answering the question. Do you want to make it work? And if so, what are you willing to change in the way you behave with them?" "It's academic, Scully. He's gone!" "You're right. Have you done anything about bringing him back? Or have you just been sitting here feeling bad about it? If you want him back, what's stopping you?" "You weren't there, Scully! I went down on my knees in front of him and the bastard let me think that he accepted my apologyŠ it was humiliating. For God's sake, he went to bed with us and then slipped out the next morning without even saying goodbye! It wasn't like I didn't try. I did!" Dana could see the boiling anguish beneath the surface of his bleak exterior. She¹d noticed that both he and Walter had seemed as though they were just going through the motions, putting on a brave face for she and Peterson. It was impossible not to see the underlying sadness and tension in their faces. She put out a hand and touched his wrist. "I'm sorry. Listen, I had words with Walter. He suggested that it might be good for you to spend Christmas with us; you could come back with me and stay with us for a while. I don't know. It might help you to have some breathing room, have a change of scenery. Give you a chance to think things over. Walter said it was not going to be a very happy Christmas with just the two of you here. What do you think?" Mulder looked up and met her eyes. He nodded slowly. It probably was a good idea, except that it made it uncomfortably clear that he and Walter were experiencing difficulty themselves. It would be too easy to pin the blame on Alex and say that he had successfully driven a wedge between them. Mulder knew that was untrue. Walter had refused to use sex as a means of comfort, and when Mulder had refused to talk about the issues facing them, Walter had been unhappy. In Walter's opinion, Mulder was simply perpetuating the problem by not being willing to accept the fact that he was unable to resolve his feelings for Alex or to deal with the pain his attitude and actions had caused Walter. For Scully was right; Walter had generously opened his heart to Alex—at first because he knew Mulder wanted —hell, needed some kind of resolution of his feelings for Alex, and then because he had grown quickly fond of Alex himself. How could Mulder tell Walter that he couldn't do that? He just couldn't. He couldn't make himself pretend that Alex hadn't done the things he'd done in the past. Nor could he understand how Walter could simply be willing to make room for another person—just because Mulder wanted them. It raised questions about the strength of Walter's regard for him. Where he thought it had been the two of them, maybe Walter was right: Alex's shadow had always been there, between them. And it was Mulder's fault. Mulder hung his head again and closed his eyes. The next morning, Walter spent an hour and a half shut in his small office downstairs talking with Peterson. Arrangements were made. It was hard. It was hard for Walter to watch them go, lifting away—and bearing his lover with them. Mulder had agreed to spend a few weeks with Dana and her family. Walter pursed his lips thoughtfully. It hurt to see Fox needlessly torturing himself. All he had to do was let go of the accusations and the pain. Walter knew Mulder had to forgive himself before he could really forgive Alex. All the pain—it was completely unnecessary. And now he was on a big guilt trip too, over having driven Alex away. Walter had been unable to talk to him about it. Not for lack of trying, though. He'd tried to talk to Fox without success. His lover seemed trapped in his own heavy cloud of despair over Alex's departure. But when the unspoken remains left alone too long, it festers, and by the time Bill Peterson and Dana had arrived later that afternoon, he and Mulder were no longer even speaking to each other except when it was a polite necessity. Walter knew something that Mulder didn't though. They had become a threesome, no matter how much Mulder tried to deny it. He trusted Dana to keep Fox out of harm's way. Despite what Fox might believe, Walter had no intention of spending Christmas sitting in grey disenchantment in an empty house, alone in the wilds of the North. No. Walter had a mission. It was strange to see the stars above the city, high and bright, distant pinpoints, amidst the swirling snowflakes. Alex felt at home in Belgrade; the numerous strings of lights in the City Square were so beautiful. They didn't celebrate Christmas here, which made things easier. This place was another world entirely removed from the one he had run from. He was more than aware that he was running from it, too. But there had only been so much he could take. Mulder's constant needling of him, reminding him all too candidly at intervals that he, Alex, was still unacceptable in Mulder's regard and his heart. And therefore not welcome in their bed or their house. Correction, welcome in their bed but only with the provisory understanding that it was sexual comfort, nothing more. Mulder could kid himself all he wanted; Alex knew that Mulder did not love him. Mulder desperately wanted to, if only to keep Walter happy. He shook himself angrily and ordered another pot of coffee. He liked the Serbian method of drinking coffee; it was thick, rich and gloopy. Thick enough to drown in, despite the ridiculously small amount that was served at one sitting. Thick enough to leave tracery patterns in the bottom of the tiny cups it was served in; patterns that the old women sitting in the table next to him eyed hungrily. Finally, with a wide smile, he offered his cup to the nearest one. She was obviously dying to read it for him. Her eyes lit up and she took it, peering into it as if the mysteries of the universe were revealed to her in the little, wet, sludge trails of the grinds. For all he knew they probably were. In broken English she said, "You are a traveler? You are far from home. Ah, see here," she leaned over, and Alex frowned, trying to see what she saw and getting only a glimpse of brown, dried dregs like leaves, "you have a home but your heart was broken." She looked into his face and he suddenly became aware of how sharp and aware her small black eyes were as they looked into his, intently. "You go home, you have two hearts waiting. Only then is happiness yours. Otherwise it will not be, cannot be." And the other old women at their table nodded sagely and murmured as if she had uttered nothing but the most profound of truths. He took his cup back. "I know," he said, with a tight, answering smile. "Thank you—hvala, hvala." Getting up, he shook the old woman's hand and kissed her in the customary fasion on both cheeks, nodded at them and left the café. There wasn't anywhere he could go that didn't hold some kind of reminder. Pulling the collar of his coat closer about his neck against the bitter chill of the wind, he wandered along the streets for a while. It was so dark, and yet there was so much activity. The nightlife in Belgrade had surprised him; these people knew how to party. And all the women looked the same: svelte, voluptuous, dark-eyed black-widow spider princesses or cold Mediterranean beauties with glaciers for hearts and more steel balls than the brash, foolish young men who fell for them. But the fur hats that everyone wore reminded him of Russia and his previous travels in the ex-Soviet Union, and he didn't like that much. The all-pervading smell of boiled cabbage, glavatica, served to keep him grounded, however; this country literally had over twelve different ways of describing the same food. Not that he liked cabbage. But its prevalence kept him aware of where he was, not letting him slide back into a numb despair of disorientation. Black, bare trees standing bereft beside closed houses and buildings, avenues of futile darkness and littered with emptiness; he passed it all, feeling safe in the knowledge that it matched his inner state so well. The slippery streets and sidewalks were packed with dirty snow and he nearly slid a few times on the ice. This city was so bleak and miserable that he felt right at home here. Not only did the city retain its pride but its heritage in the midst of the rest of the world's censure. They hadn't survived two World Wars and countless bombings under the Americans, and too many other enemies to count, for nothing. They were survivors. The Serbians considered Russia their big brother and afforded no one else that respect. Alex fit in here; he could play the American or the Russian with equal aplomb. And his background would make him hardly noticeable—everyone and their uncle were either involved in the mafia, the military or running some kind of underworld scam. He had enough experience in all three to find his way around well enough. Here, too, he fit in nicely with the native self-pity and pride that imbued all the landmarks and buildings; the very streets were composed of it, right down to their original foundations. Belgrade was used to affliction, and its people happily and contentedly carried on, refusing to bow down or crack under the pressure from outside. They had taken so many blows that they no longer cared what anyone thought of them. Many of the people themselves retained a marked innocence, unaware of the outside world's view of them. Alex felt for them. He could see their point of view, as parochial as it was. The entire nation of Serbia, as well as its sibling counterparts of Croatia, Bosnia and so on, were all more than twenty years behind the West. America and Britain were space-age compared to them. Of course, Italy wasn't much better; cleverly disguised with culture, history, architecture and the Catholic Church. And the television; Jesus, it was like a foreign time warp every time he saw a TV. The nightclubs were fun though: modern music with Serbian techno beat and Croatian lyrics. He smiled grimly to himself: he felt right at home. He felt comfortable, surrounded by people who had done more than their share of suffering. He wasn't the only one with a story to tell; he wasn't alone here. Everyone he met in the street and in every café had a fascinating story, and a lot of memories and pain they carried on their backs. And it was the last place anyone would think to look for him. It was unlikely his enemies would have the imagination to come up with Belgrade as an option. As he passed another disco the doors were swinging open to release stoned kids and pounding music; for a moment he thought he saw a glimpse of Harvey Keitel. He wouldn't be surprised: Belgrade boasted a number of high-profile visitors, for it was actually quite a busy city and had many political and cultural figures come and go on their way through various stops to other European cities like Vienna and Athens. The hour was getting very late, and he was freezing. He finally took refuge in an all-night diner, with lighting that was so yellow it was almost painful. Serbski was close enough to Russian that he could get around all right here. He ordered pivo—beer—and a sandwich. He pulled out a newspaper he'd folded in three and stuffed in his pocket. He'd been there barely five minutes when someone slid into the seat opposite him at the table. Alex frowned as he put down the newspaper. He turned white. It was Walter Skinner. Walter nodded at him. "Alex." The way he said it spoke volumes. Where have you been, what have you been doing, what the hell did you think you were doing and when are you going to come to your senses... It was loaded and Alex's mind was suddenly gripped in a seizure of frightened panic. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?" Alex's reply was low and menacing as he tried to hide the unaccountable mixture of relief and pain he felt at seeing Walter again. Jesus, he'd only been gone fifteen days. It sure hadn't taken Walter long to track him down. And he'd been careful. Fuck. And Walter looked so good; he looked warm and cozy against the cold city background, the winter coat he wore and the fur hat on his head... Alex wanted to throw himself into Walter's arms and just hold him—and be held. He swallowed. Walter shrugged. "I took a chance. I've actually been here for three days now, looking for you. I figured you'd come here. I've visited this city before and knowing you and the state you were bound to be in, I guessed you'd find your way here." His brown gaze pinned Alex where he sat, stupefied and trapped. Alex's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you. Someone had to have tipped you off. There are a million other places I might have gone. I was thinking of Singapore, actually. I might try that next." He said it almost as if it was a threat. Walter raised his eyebrows at him. "Running that far, huh? Has it helped?" He turned, looking at the man who brought Alex's sandwich on a plate and his beer. He offered some cash to him, saying "Yeden pivo?" The man took it and nodded. Alex snorted at this. God knows where Walter had picked up the rudiments of Serbski—well, he did know some Russian and the two languages were so similar—but when the hell had he ever been in Belgrade? "Show it off, why don't you. Fine, you've caught up with me here. What do you want?" Walter regarded him momentarily, gauging him. "You," he said, finally. Simple and direct. Alex looked down, fiddled with his plate. He grabbed up the bottle and opened it, drinking it down simply to have something to do. But he couldn't deny the warmth and hope that surged through him at Walter's simple answer. It undid him; it began unravelling all the resolve he'd built up inside to not run home to both of them. Shit, days and days worth of resolute strength and pride, all undermined in a matter of seconds by just the hint of acceptance from this man. Walter lifted his chin and nodded once at him. "You're hurting, I know. So am I. You left rather suddenly. I don't blame you, considering the circumstances. But wherever it is you're running to, I'm going to ask you simply this: take me with you. If you want to go to Singapore, fine, but I'll go with you. We can work this out, Alex. I'm not going to let go of you this time. You belong with us, and you know it." Alex angrily faced him, setting the bottle down with a thud. "Us? Yeah, right; let us not forget dear Foxy. How is he? I doubt he's pining away back at the ranch, keeping the bed warm." Walter raised a brow at him. "Actually, he was. Dana took him away to spend Christmas with her. She's looking after him for me while I've been looking for you." Alex looked down at the sandwich. He wasn't hungry anymore. The thought of eating it made him ill; the food would taste like cardboard in his mouth. He swigged his beer again instead, wishing it were something stronger. In an undertone, Walter admitted, "He doesn't know I'm here. He thinks I'm still at the lodge." Alex's eyes shot back up to Walter's face. "You didn't tell him? Why not?" Wearily, Walter opened his beer and drank from it. "Alex." He sighed and took another drink. "This is between you and me. Fox wants you, but he can't admit that he needs you. My relationship with him doesn¹t work anymore because you were always there in the back of his mind and when you arrived, you quickly made a place in our home as well as our hearts. You can't just leave without expecting to make some kind of impact by doing so. In the aftermath, I realized that we had become a threesome. Fox can't go back to it just being the two of us without my consent, and I don't want that; it isn't honest." He took another drink of his beer. "This is good, actually. Cheap, Yugoslavian beer. I'd forgotten it. But all of this is history, now. It is what it is. Alex, we need you back. I want you back. If you won't come back, at least let me stay with you for a while, see if we can't work something out. You and I never had a problem. And if you do decide to come back with me—in the end—then we'll deal with Fox together. Okay?" Fortified by their surroundings and his relative freedom to choose, Alex was recovering quickly from the shock of having Walter sit down at his table so unexpectedly. He would have thought he'd be fighting emotions and tears but he felt strong inside, a sense of freedom that having the whole world to hide in gave him. "Okay. Singapore it is." He held up his own bottle, thrusting it forward to clink against Walter's. Walter looked taken aback. It was almost funny. Alex chuckled. "What, did you think I was going to refuse you? I think you underestimate your powers of persuasion." Walter's brow furrowed slightly. He really hadn't expected such a swift capitulation. Alex shrugged. "You're right; I never had a problem with you." "You could have talked to me," Walter pointed out, a bit stiffly. Alex looked out the window. "I know. I needed to get—some space. Some breathing room. It was all so domestic; I felt like a houseboy. I know you never intended it that way but I haven't lived with anyone else in years, let alone in one place that long. I needed a break." "From Mulder," Walter countered. Alex's gaze slid back to meet his, squarely, not bothering to play any games. "Yeah." He picked up his sandwich and took a bite; his mouth was still dry but he realized the knot of tension had already begun to unwind in his belly. "Whatever you do," Alex said, around a mouthful, "do not look at the men sitting at that table across the room. Please. They're all packing. And they're having a business meeting." Out of the corner of his eye, Walter managed to get a vague impression of five nondescript, ordinary-looking Serbian men all twenty-five to thirty-five years old, dressed in innocuous dark coats and jeans. Nothing to distinguish them from anyone else, really. But he trusted Alex's warning. Packing what? For all he knew, it could be AK47s. No, they admired Russians: Kalashnikovs. He shook his head and sighed. "Drugs? Or mafia?" he asked. Alex shrugged again. "Probably both, who knows? Where are you staying?" Walter watched him down the last two bites of the sandwich and a stab of lust ran through him. Watching Alex eat was virtually an act of voyeurism. In this place, after all they had been through, and not really knowing if he would be able to find him here, Walter found the danger and the odor of their European surroundings abruptly arousing. Plus he hadn't been able to have sex with Mulder at all since Alex's departure, not without it being an act that would have perpetuated Mulder's avoidance and denial problem. And Alex looked so good; self-pity, it seemed, did wonders for his color. Sulking seemed to have helped him take better care of himself. On the run or not, Alex looked fit and at ease to be in his element; the wandering, contemporary dark prince. He forced himself to look away, stared out the window, and finished his beer. He became aware that Alex had gone quite still and silent; his eyes flew back to him only to find Alex smiling at him. He remembered Alex's question; he'd completely blanked out. He flushed. "I missed you, too," Alex said, in a husky soft tone that, unbeknownst to him, sealed his fate; Walter was going to find a way to get this boy back up to his hotel room if it was the last thing he did tonight. "Yeah, well, don't forget what I told you, back home a while ago," Walter growled. "I said if you ever ran, I'd find you. And give you the biggest spanking of your life. Remember?" Alex paused, his smile gone, his eyes going quite dark and his skin suddenly taking on a slight glow. He licked his lips. "Promises, promises." Walter suddenly found his jeans were too tight for him to remain sitting comfortably. Alex drained his bottle and set it down. Then he took out his wallet and laid down a tip, wedging it under the empty bottle. "Let's get out of here." He got to his feet. It had abruptly become absolutely imperative that they find a room, somewhere, somehow. Out from under the harsh, sallow, yellow light of the diner and back under the orange glow of the streetlights, Alex reminded Walter of a fallen angel, dark and pale, untouchable, aloof from the seediness and danger, his beauty setting him above the rest of the people they passed. Alex seemed part of the natural environment here. Walter was struck by how he walked, even given the treacherously icy sidewalk. He stalked as if he owned the place, as if these streets were his territory. Alex glanced at him and his eyes were bright. Walter caught his breath. He was quickly growing so hard that he was going to have to find a way to make some adjustments... Alex found his entire body thrumming with anticipation, following Walter as they wandered back towards the city center to locate Walter's hotel on the other side of town. The streets were alive; it was comforting to know that they were part of it rather than outside of it. And he kept looking over at Walter, reassuring himself that he was really there. That it wasn't a dream that Walter had actually come all this way just to find him. No one had ever done anything like this before, not in all the years Alex could remember. It made him feel wanted. He liked it, and wanted more of it. He wondered when he had actually fallen in love with Walter Skinner. Hard to tell when, exactly, but he guessed it was probably the first time he'd confronted him once he had risen in the Consortium ranks. Alex remembered that moment of seeing Walter again after so long; Walter unable to threaten him, the feeling of power and the way Walter had stared back at him from behind his desk at the Bureau, refusing to surrender, meeting the challenge. It had made him hard then, almost as hard as he was right now at the thought of Walter making good on his threat to spank him when they reached the hotel. The wind had grown even icier as it blew around the corners of buildings and down the dark, dank streets. Walter found himself hunching inside his coat against it. "You couldn't have picked a warmer place, could you?" he grumbled. Alex's answering grin was feral and stark in the dim light of the streets. "Harder to feel sorry for yourself in a balmy, tropical paradise, don't you think?" A shuddering chill ran through Walter, a strange sensation given the heat that was rising all along his bloodstream and his skin. He felt electric, alive. "Then why Singapore?" Alex turned to him with a slight shrug. "I don't know. Picked it at random. Sounded good at the time. Who knows? Maybe we'll find out why when we get there." Alex pulled his coat tighter about him, his teeth chattering—and not just from the cold. "Where are we going?" Walter stopped in front of the hotel and pulled open the glass doors to the lobby. "We're here." He led the way, making his way to the desk and checking his messages. Alex stood, dark-eyed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Walter regarded him and a smile curled his lip before he could stop it. "Are you alright?" "Bastard. Prick. Tease. Which room are we?" Alex looked around for the elevator. Chuckling, Walter led the way. In the elevator though, Alex kept his eyes facing front, not looking at him. As a pang of doubt ran through him, Walter gently inquired, "Not having second thoughts, I hope?" Please, please, no. Please. Alex gave him a desperate, glazed look, like he was drowning. "If I—If— I—we start -anything here, we'll never make it to the room." The tension radiating off him was enough to make Walter tingle. Walter offered up a silent prayer. Thank you, God. Now just let this last, at least until I can get him into the bed. Finally they made it out of the elevator and with a feeling of unavoidable impetus, Walter was turning the key in the lock and reaching inside the door to turn on the light. Alex came in after him and Walter locked the door behind them. Alex was impressed. He caught Walter's eye. "This is great; jeez, Walter, what you laying out for this?" Walter raised his brows at him. "I can't believe you'd forget the rate of exchange, here. Right now, especially, with the holiday rates it's dirt cheap. You picked a good time to hide out here." He took off his coat and hat, as well as his boots. Alex followed suit, feeling self-conscious and more exposed without his coat to cover the front of his jeans —and his obviously erect state. "Do you want anything?" Walter asked, wondering if they needed room service, as he went to turn up the thermostat on the heater. Alex shook his head briefly and went to the window. They were six floors up. The nighttime skyline view was high enough to cover the grime and corruption with a covering of wintry postcard perfection. He smiled. Setting his glasses down on the cabinet, Walter came up behind him and carefully put his arms around him, just holding him close. Alex leaned back against him with a little sigh, his right hand going up to cover Walter's. "Missed you so much," said Walter, roughly. He finally gave in to the impulse that he'd been checking since he'd caught up with him in that garish diner. He placed a warm kiss on the back of Alex's neck, not moving away but continuing to mouth the hot skin. His caresses got quite a response; Alex sank back against him harder and gasped, his hand suddenly clutching at him. Walter pulled him to face him and found himself suddenly with his arms full and his lips caught by Alex's fierce kiss, demanding, desperate, and uncontrolled. Finally, Alex pulled away, to gasp out harshly, between catching his breath, "Need you, want you—" Walter firmly held him at arm's length. "Yeah, me too," he muttered. Then added, "First things first, though. You put us—me—through hell. You've had me wandering around searching all over for you. If you hadn't used that particular passport in that particular airport in Zurich, I never would have caught up with you. And I'm not the only one looking for you. There are a number of people who would like nothing better than to see you dead, you know." Walter allowed his fear to come through in his voice. "I don't want to lose you, now." Alex breathed out with a controlled effort. "I'm sorry. I am, Walt. I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt you. I really didn't. It's just—" Walter shushed him with a kiss. "I know. But you know what this means. I'm not going to let you off scot-free. It wouldn't be right. Would it?" Alex suddenly gathered what Walter was on about. He grinned. "No, it wouldn't." Walter began taking off his belt. "You know what this is for, don't you?" Walter's voice was calm, nearly inflectionless. Alex nodded slowly, wordlessly. The happy, silent shout of joy and exultation that rang through his head left him almost giddy, not just with expectation but also with relief and pleasure. "Take off your jeans. And kneel over the bedside." Walter's voice was strong, leaving no mistake that there was no tolerance or room for anything but obedience. Somehow that tone helped, leaving Alex with the unmistakable feeling of security. In bringing the lesson sharply home, Walter was bringing Alex home, finally, along with it. Walter understood; he knew what Alex needed, what he craved. And he would take care of him. Soon Alex was kneeling at the side of the bed, his ass bare with his jeans and shorts bunched up on the floor beneath his knees, providing them with a measure of padding. His cock though—Jesus, his cock was achingly hard, dripping now. He didn't think he was going to make it through this without coming. His face was burning and he was finding it hard to catch his breath. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so conscious of every passing second, so aware of his surroundings. Hyperaware of Walter coming to stand behind him. As the belt suddenly landed on his ass, blazing across the skin and leaving an arc of fire there, he stopped breathing and closed his eyes and waited. Waited for the next one. It didn't come. Still he waited, tense, his buttocks clenching so tight by now that he could only imagine the picture he presented to Walter. Disappointment momentarily flared through him. But then Walter was sitting beside him on the bedside to take his right arm and help him to his feet. "Take off the sweater. Just leave the shirt on." Walter dropped the belt, letting it fall to the floor. He knew Alex needed a more personal touch. Using his hand on Alex's bare skin would be less painful than the belt but no less direct and inescapable. He didn't want to hurt Alex; that wasn't what he was trying to accomplish. He wanted to pleasure him and he knew how much Alex wanted it; knew how much Alex loved being touched. Alex needed the security and warmth of this act and was trusting Walter to get it right for both of them. Alex did so, feeling somehow more naked for keeping the shirt on than if he had been told to remove it. He wished Walter would touch his cock but knew he wouldn't. And then Walter was drawing him over his knees, both of them; helping him keep his balance, steadying him with a warm hand as he settled him across his lap. Walter idly traced his hand along the red stripe across Alex's butt. The caress both burned and soothed; Alex couldn't help twitching. Walter laid his hand on the smooth skin and let it rest there, warming up from the contact with the heated cheeks. "Hard to tell who needs this more, you or me." "P-Please," Alex strained, hoarsely. And then there was no sensation left in his world other than Walter's hand coming down on his ass, the slaps raining haphazardly and hard, striking even on his lower thighs occasionally. He twisted under them and didn't even bother trying to restrain his gasps and finally the cries that were torn from him. It wasn't pain; it was absolution, it was security. Here at last, with Walter, Alex had come home. Walter was home, for him. And the punishing hardness of each spank as it landed on his now flaming scarlet ass as Walter did not let up for a moment tipped him over the edge of reason and he found himself shaking, shuddering, trying desperately to press the tip of his cock against Walter's leg. Of course, Walter had been careful to position him just so that he wouldn't be able to. Walter allowed all his frustration, all his pent-up anxiety and all the pain he'd suffered over this man wash away with each blow to the rosy ass bouncing in his lap. It was strange, that this act should somehow be so perfect and profound as to leave him feeling clean. He suddenly realized he had to stop. Alex had too high a pain threshold for him to know when it might actually be too much, and was trusting Walter to know when to stop. Breathing hard, his erection like stone in his jeans and screaming to be freed, Walter said gruffly, "Get up. Get on the bed, on your belly." Alex did so, shaking slightly in every limb, scrambling forward to climb onto the bed as Walter frantically shucked off his clothes and searched for the essential tube of lube in his drawer of socks and shorts. Turning back to the bed, Walter found himself brought up short by the sight. In the light of the one lamp on in the hotel room, Alex lay facedown, trembling, almost visibly trying not to grind himself into the sheets, his reddened ass in the air with his legs apart slightly. Walter tried to swallow in a throat that had gone very, very dry. Clambering up to kneel between his legs and force them apart even more, Walter ran one hand along the softer skin of Alex's inner thighs before running his fingers along the velvet of his balls, and then over the rose-red of his punished asscheeks. Walter grinned wolfishly, suddenly. He knew just what to do to drive Alex insane. And leaning down, he blew along the sweet crack, all the way down; across the tight pucker and right down to the sac, which was now so drawn up his balls were nearly to bursting point. Alex was not going to last long, Walter was certain. And then ran his tongue down the same path his breathy trail had taken. Alex let out something that sounded like a strangled shriek, accompanied by a jerking, twisting motion he tried to abort, followed by a deep groan. Muffled by the covers, Alex's voice reached Walter's ears, "Jesus Christ, fuck, Walter... please, God..." Walter made several tiny, teasing pokes with the tip of his tongue at the now fluttering anus, eliciting more gasps and choking sounds from Alex. Finally, he decided to be merciful, and with one smooth motion, he plunged his tongue straight into the musky opening, his senses flooded with the remembered scent of Alex, the tide of treasured memories of this act and the pleasure it had given both of them. The sweetness of making Alex squirm, of giving him this pleasure, and for the both of them to know it was merely the prelude to the coup de grace, it made it all the more perfect on the heels of having just spanked him. A simple series of little thrusts and Alex was nearly sobbing, his hand gripping and twisting the covers, his back and shoulders shaking with the effort to not buck upwards or shove backwards too hard. But having to hold down Alex's squirming body was too much and Walter had had enough. He had to take him; getting up once more, this time snatching up the lube and squeezing an over-generous amount onto his fingers, he anointed his already-weeping, purple-headed cock and then ran his hand down Alex's crack to wipe away the excess lube where it would do the most good. Alex felt the slickness, and then one finger slid into him, felt as it moved for a short time and then withdrew, and he knew what Walter was going to do. He held himself tightly in readiness, waiting, waiting... "Please," he whispered. Walter moved up to lean on one hand while using the other to guide the tip of his cock to Alex's asshole, and then pressed in just enough to allow an inch inside, then another, as Alex sucked in a breath. Alex was so hot, so tight, so fucking velvet and silk and wet smoothness inside, Walter didn't think he was going to last much longer if he didn't do this slowly. Trembling, Walter tried to hold back. Alex was writhing under him, feeling nearly angry at the teasing. Walter was being too careful, too gentle. He wanted it hard, rough, inconsiderate. There was a measure of it as Walter's movements rubbed and chafed the sore skin of his ass. He tried to shove backwards onto him and ended up with Walter pushing him down harder, using his weight to keep him in place as he slid in at his own pace. Finally, Alex gritted out, "Fuck me, Walter, for God's sake, fuck me! Don't —don't play with me. Just do it! Harder... Harder, please! Fuck—" and the reward of being abruptly filled with the entire length of Walter's cock inside of him, stretching him to fullness—it pierced him to the core, so that nothing existed but his ass and Walter's delicious weight on him, the hardness of it, rendering him incapable of doing anything but ineffectually wriggling slightly, under him... And then there was only the purest heat and incredible exhilaration of Walter reaming his ass, thrusting into him over and over again, the tempo increasing until Walter was suddenly shuddering atop him as he shot hard into him again and again. The deep groan that was pulled from Walter was too much as he clutched at Alex's waist and his shoulder, fucking him so hard, so hard—and then Alex's world dissolved into that swirling, promised, awaited darkness filled with little sparkles around the edges, the pleasure blasting through him as his cock erupted in the long-sought release against the bedcover. Sweating, Walter found himself opening his eyes and wondering how much time had actually passed between that... That incredible exercise in worshipping Alex's ass, and the present moment of awareness. All seemed right with the world. Alex, naked under him, on his bed. The prospect of retirement and hiding from the rest of the world not so bad now, as long as it afforded him this eternal luxury. It almost hardly seemed to even matter that they weren't at home, in the big bed in his bedroom, with Fox nearby or with them in the bed— Alex moaned under him. "Get—get off." Chuckling breathily, Walter moved off of him, slapped a hand uncaringly on his unprotected butt as Alex jumped. "How about a shower?" Alex was glaring at him at the slap and gingerly winced as he touched his own hand to his ass. Not too bad; hardly any welts—amazing. It felt like he'd sat down naked on a bucking rodeo bull in Mexico City in July. With another groan, he picked himself up and went into the bathroom, pulling off his shirt and removing the prosthetic. The steam was already clouding up the room and Alex opened the shower door to reveal Walter soaping up his body. Alex stood, blankly staring, rapt at the sight. Walter grinned at him. "Get in here." Alex obeyed; feeling like a lost truant boy who'd decided to behave. He licked his lips. "I can't believe I was running—from this." Walter regarded him. "Yeah. Temporary insanity is the only thing I can come up with." Alex shook his head. "Why in hell would you give up Fox for this, though?" Walter gave him a penetrating stare. "Who says I am? I'm gonna have both of you and I'm not taking anymore shit about it, either. When we do get back, Mulder's ass is history. It's going to be kicked. Seriously. I'm not going to allow him to cling to his absurd issues anymore. I think I owe him that. I should have taken care of it before that last incident made you run." Alex shook his head again, grabbing up the shampoo. "Things were building up to a breaking point. He would have ended up pushing me over the edge sooner or later." Walter stopped and turned around to face him, grabbing him, forcing his undivided attention. "Don't you ever run from me again." But it wasn't a threat. There was too much love. Alex stared back at him, matching his gaze evenly. "I won't." Walter seemed to let out a breath then, relief covering him. "Jesus, what we go through for peace and happiness. Look, do we really need to bother with Singapore?" Alex shrugged. "I guess not. One hotel room is as good as another, and I guess your bedroom is the most comfortable. Less chance of being disturbed, too." Walter grinned at him. "Home, then?" And Alex answered by moving in against him and pulling his head towards him for a long, wet, lingering kiss under the showerhead. Walter pulled back and said wonderingly, as the water continued to spray in droplets on them like a little private waterfall, "So beautiful. You are, Alex. Beautiful. I don't think you realize how much." A little wince crossed Alex's face and he said, "Sure." Walter smiled and kissed him again, waiting until Alex went limp under him once more before moving back and saying, "I thought we'd gotten over that one. I guess I'll just have to keep saying it until I convince you." Alex let his gaze drop lower, and then even lower, before lifting his eyes back up again. "Yeah? Well, I'm not alone. You're—" he paused, "sexy as hell; and irresistible. You make me shake, do you know that?" "I noticed," Walter replied. "I also noticed that you are a bottom-hog." Then laughed low in his throat, delighted, as Alex blushed. "Come on, we're getting pruney." Walter stepped out, leaving him to finish using the soap. After he'd left the bathroom, with a towel wrapped around his waist, Alex found Walter lying on the bed, leaning on his elbow. Walter announced, "I'm hungry. What do you want?" Alex shook his head. "I ate earlier. It's close—" he checked the clock on the bedside table, "Jesus, it's close to midnight." He gave a funny little frown. "How did that happen?" "Pivo," Walter said, gravely. "How many did you have?" Alex stared at him. "One. With you, there in the diner, with that sandwich." Walter looked at him and then burst out laughing. "So, this whole time that I thought you were stoned, you were just, what, consumed with lust?" Alex sat down on the bed and then leaned back, letting the top of his head rest against Walter's chest. Walter absently ran a hand up Alex's body from the towel at his waist, to stroke his cheek, then his jaw. "Well, I'm starving." "So am I," Alex murmured, and Walter looked down at him at the tone of his voice. And caught his breath at the look mirrored there in Alex's green eyes that always gave away so much. "I love you," Walter said, quietly. Alex smiled. "Love you, too." And then couldn't say anything more because he was caught in one of Walter's very fervent kisses. Alex realized that his world was no longer cold and dark... It was filled with love and warmth and light once more. And he mentally kicked himself for falling into Mulder's issues as though they were his. Never again, he silently promised himself in a corner of his mind as Walter blocked out everything with sweetness and his tongue. A million miles away in another part of the world, Mulder was sitting on Scully's couch watching her and her doctor husband build a snowman outside on the lawn with their kids. It was so normal and safe and real. So domestic. He knew instinctively that they had all been right to suggest he come here. But he didn't like the thought of Walter sitting at home alone all these days. Christ, it had been weeks, really. A few times he'd found himself reaching for the phone only to remember that Walter had specifically said, "I'll call you." He didn't want him phoning him up seeking emotional reassurance. Mulder couldn't understand why Walter was shutting him out over Alex. It didn't make sense. Scully had spoken with him about it a couple of times, but he still couldn't understand why he was the one who was in the wrong, when Alex was the ex-killer, the ex-Consortium villain, their old enemy, and Walter was willing to forgive him all his crimes and yet wouldn't forgive Mulder, his own lover, for having conflicted issues about said enemy. He frowned, angry again just thinking about it. Never one to heed warnings, Mulder finally picked up the phone and dialed Walter's number. He hoped the signal would be boosted; Frohike's gadgets didn't always work according to spec and the range to the northern parts of Canada was often disturbed by electromagnetic storms in the ionosphere and the more orthodox winter storms beneath. After five rings, Walter answered it. "Hello?" Mulder hesitated. "Walt?" There was a deep sigh. "Fox, I told you not to call me. I said I would call you." "It's been weeks, Walt. I was worried about you. I've waited for you to call but—" "I'm fine. How're you doing? The kids aren't running you ragged, I hope? And how's Dana? She taking good care of you?" "No, they're—they're fine. Listen, Walt, I just wanted to talk—" Walter muffled the mouthpiece, talking to someone else but Mulder couldn't make out the words. "Fox, I can't talk right now. I'm kind of busy. Look, can you just—just stay where you are, okay? Give me until tomorrow. I'll call you, alright? Tomorrow, I promise. I have to go." There was a longer pause filled with silence. "Love you, my Fox." Confused, Mulder said, "I love you, too, Walt. I—" The line went dead. Mulder stared at it in his hand. Then replaced the receiver. Dana came inside to get something. She noticed him standing there looking bewildered. Red-faced, out of breath, eyes starry and bright from the cold, a smile on her face, she said, "Hey. Mulder. You okay?" "I—That was Walter..." "What? Is he back already? My God, I didn't think—" "Back? Back?" Mulder repeated, as though trying the idea out in his mind like a new flavor. Dana stopped. "I mean—sorry. Look, they're waiting for me. Tell me about it when we come back in, okay?" And she was gone, the door closing behind her with a swirl of winter cold. Mulder thoughtfully watched them playing outside from the window. Back. Back from where? And who was with him up there, that he'd be so busy he couldn't speak to him? A niggling thought grew and the suspicion began to take root. He must've found Alex. Correction: he might have found Alex... The hope, relief and annoyance that rose to the forefront of his mind at this possibility alarmed him. He did want closure on that whole episode; it had left a bitter taste in his mouth and he felt as though he'd humiliated himself before Alex for nothing. Having Alex leave as though he didn't believe Mulder's passionate declarations had hurt, for he had been completely sincere about not doing that to him again. Whatever it was that he had done. He still wasn't entirely sure what he had said to hurt him, exactly, except that it was probably the manner in which he said it. But then, talking to Alex was always a minefield. Alex was so touchy that the least little thing he said could be leaped on and used against him. It was with growing restlessness, and an inability to see how it could be anyone else up there at the lodge with Walter, that Mulder impatiently waited for Dana to come back inside. He had to restrain himself from going out and demanding that she tell him then and there. When the family all piled back inside, however, it was a chaotic scene with children's wet mittens and snowboots being kicked about and retrieved, wet jackets and cold ears taken to the kitchen and cups of hot chocolate being poured. He remained in the living room and tried to control his breathing. At last, Dana came into the room and said, "You called him? What did he say?" Mulder folded his arms. "Not a lot. Just that he'd call me tomorrow. Scully, what the hell's going on? He found Alex, didn't he? Why didn't you tell me? Where was he?" Dana held out her hands. "Whoa. Mulder, I didn't know he'd found him. All I know is that he went looking for him. I know that he wanted you to be here for two reasons. First, because having you there would probably just have made Alex run again, without listening to what you had to say. And second, because you needed some time here to regroup, think it over. Okay? We weren't deliberately trying to keep you in the dark. Besides, we didn't see the need in getting your hopes up if he couldn't find him after all. It was a shot in the dark, really." Mulder was scowling. He sighed. "Okay. I get it. Where was Alex, though?" Dana shrugged. "I have no idea. Walter wasn't going to keep phoning up here with updates. He said he would only call if he had news. I think you just beat him to it though, from the sound of things. Is Alex with him, there?" "I think so. Someone was." "Where is he?" Mulder shook his head. " I assumed he was at home, but now I don't know." Dana regarded him. "Well, we'll know more tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest you give some thought as to how you want to handle this, if Alex is back. Do—" she stopped. "Mulder, do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head. "Thanks, Scully," he murmured. "Dana," she corrected, absently. "I keep telling you, I ceased to be a Scully a long time ago." The night was long and the hours leading up to the expected phone call from Walter were tense for Mulder, who waited in the living room and virtually refused to leave it, jerking whenever anyone came into the room. When it did finally ring, sometime after lunch, Mulder snatched it up. "Hello?" Walter sounded as though he were on a plane. Or something with a loud engine. "Fox? Listen, why don't you come home? I'll be there, okay? We can do our talking then. I can't talk long, here." Mulder was pacing the floor. "Walt, where are you?" "On the road, on the way home. I've got the truck, alright? I've arranged with Peterson for you to have a lift in the chopper. Fox, please come home?" Walter was waiting. Mulder licked his lips. "Alright. But you owe me an explanation, damn it. Jesus, I was really worried about you." He could hear the broad smile in Walter's reply. "I'm fine, Fox. And you will be too. Just come on home. I love you." "I love you too, Walt. Bye." "Bye." And the connection was cut, but not before Mulder's sharp ears caught the sound of another man's voice, and he was willing to swear it was Alex... As the helicopter flew through the sky, Mulder dozed, dreaming of barely-remembered visions of green eyes, dark hair and a shy, sometimes smirking grin. More accessible was the longer impression of holding him close in the dark, though. And the feeling of Walter pressing up behind him, always ending up being slightly squashed between the two of them and basking in the warmth of it. Maybe it was selfish of him to want that back, but he knew he wasn't alone. The others wanted it, too. And a sneakily more aware and alert part of his consciousness knew that whatever the repercussions upon his arrival, he would be happy to be back, and to see them both there. Regardless of his previous misgivings, Mulder realized it was a case of not knowing what he'd held until he'd let it slip from his fingers. He'd spent the entire time since Alex's departure in a state of denial, steadfastly pretending to himself that he didn't want to go through with the whole reunion scene... if they were ever so lucky as to find Alex returned, safe and whole. Now that he was on the verge of seeing both his lovers again, he could see in retrospect just how close to the edge he had taken all of them with his inability to forgive Alex for... for what? Being Alex? His past actions? All of that seemed to fade in the light of the events of the future awaiting him upon his landing. All he wanted now was to just... hold him. And be held. And be forgiven himself. For the first time, Mulder looked inside himself and saw something he hadn't wanted to see, had been hiding from in fact from the very beginning: that no matter what anyone else did, it didn't warrant him hurting anyone else. Treat others as you'd like to be treated. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Turn the other cheek. Christ, just because Walter had convinced Alex to come back, it didn't necessarily follow that Alex would forgive him. He'd taken it for granted that Alex, being in love with him, would always do so, no matter what. And suddenly, he was ashamed at ever having hit him. Ever. He felt sick, at the swift and nearly perfect recollection of each and every time he had lashed out at Alex and hit him, both physically and verbally, each blow as thoughtless and justified as the others. He shook himself. Falling into a guilt trip about this, though, was precisely what Walt was always telling him was not the way of to deal with it. He took a breath and opened his eyes, watching the snow-covered terrain pass beneath them as they ate up mile after mile in the air. And he realized that he loved Walter... And he loved Alex. He wanted them both like food— like oxygen. They were necessary in his life. Having them both handed back to him like this was—it was almost as though Destiny was saying, 'here, even though you didn't appreciate it enough when you had it before; here's one more chance, do the right thing this time'. And he intended to do just that. When they finally neared the lodge and touched down, Mulder could see Walter making his way over to them, in the driving snow blown up by the blades of the chopper. Walter helped him get his bags unloaded and carry them away from the mock snowstorm. They trudged in silence with the heavy bags until the chopper had finally passed far enough from view and then Walter found himself flat on his back on the snow, with Mulder on top of him, hugging him. "I'm sorry, Walt. I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me." "Hey, hey. It's okay. Everything's fine. Let's—" he laughed, as Mulder continued to squeeze him right there in the snow. "I didn't think you would be happy to see me," Mulder said. "Well, I most certainly am. Let's get up and get back inside. Fox. Fox, it's alright." He tried to kiss away that worried expression on Mulder's face. Mulder returned the kiss, and then sat up. His face cleared somewhat. He stood, and reached down a gloved hand to help Walter up. Together, they dragged his things back to the house. With a simultaneously sick and joyful feeling roiling in his stomach, Mulder let Walter open the door and go inside, first. He followed him with his heart pounding, looking about quickly. Disappointment and intense relief washed over him as he saw there was no sign of Alex. They took off their coats and gloves and snow-covered boots and left them in a moderately tidy pile behind the door. Mulder's bags were piled off to the right. He wanted to take them upstairs because the sight of them reminded him that he hadn't yet fully arrived. He turned to Walter, his heart in his mouth—which was very, very dry. He bit his lip. He asked, in a very low, almost inaudible voice, "What if he doesn't want to see me?" Walter frowned and then smiled at him. "No, don't worry. He's in the kitchen, probably. Or the pantry. He's cooking dinner. Come on. It's some kind of Yugoslavian pastry dish. Geebaneetsa, I think it's called. It's the national food." Walter shook his head and gave him a wry look. "I always found it a bit bland." "Is that where he was? Yugoslavia?" "Yeah. Belgrade. Come on." Walter took his hand and pulled him from the spot to which he seemed to have suddenly become rooted. Mulder felt lightheaded. He really didn't deserve for this to be as easy as it appeared to be. Surely. His brain had turned to jelly and all that mattered was that he remember how to speak. He was so tense now that he was almost trembling. His feet were suddenly made of lead and he felt so ashamed that he was certain his face was red. At the doorway of the kitchen, Walter took pity on him. "Mulder, he's looking forward to seeing you. I promise." Mulder swallowed and went into the kitchen. Walter sat down at the table where he'd obviously been sitting before Mulder arrived; a half-drunk cup of tea was there. And then Alex emerged from the pantry, wiping his hands. He was wearing an apron. But when he expectantly and hesitantly looked straight at Mulder, Mulder found all the things he meant to say had fled, leaving him staring, unable to breathe. Alex stared back at him, his eyes wide. Tentatively, he came into the room and stood by the table, absentmindedly rubbing the flour off his hands, both the real one and the new one. Walter took a breath. "For God's sake, you guys. Say something." "Alex?" Mulder managed. Alex let out his breath. "Mulder, I—" In two short paces, Mulder had crossed the distance to him and had flung his arms around him, hugging Alex to him hard, unwilling to let go. Alex was holding him back, returning the pressure, shaking just as badly as he was. They stood there like that, eyes closed, just holding onto each other, in the perfect warmth of the comfortable renewal of the feel of it. "Mine." Apart from that broken entreaty, Mulder couldn't think what else to say. He was close to tears, with a lump in his throat. And then Walter was there, enfolding both of them in one of his large, expansive hugs. He kissed both on them on the head and said, "We're home. Let's keep it that way." Mulder nodded, still clinging to Alex. Alex finally lifted his head. His lashes were wet and he was blinking excessively. He didn't meet Mulder's eyes. Mulder grabbed his chin and made him face him. "I love you, Alex. Please believe that. Do you?" Alex nodded, a slightly resigned look in his eyes. Mulder kissed him desperately, just pressing his mouth to Alex's lips, not demanding, just kissing him, letting all the love and forgiveness that he felt flow into this one act, hoping that Alex could feel it. And then Alex was returning it, his right hand coming back around to the back of his neck and pulling Mulder against him more firmly. When they broke off, Alex's eyes weren't any less bright or full, but he was smiling. "Love you, too, Foxy." Shakily, Mulder said, "Let's not have any more of that running off then, huh?" Alex gave a little shake of his head. "No way. You're stuck with me now." Some tired, desperate part of Mulder longed to just keep hold of him and weep on his shoulder, into his neck, fold him within his arms and never let go. But he was dangerously close to losing it right here and now, so he reluctantly released his hold on Alex, letting him go to the stove to check the food. But it was more a chance for Alex to catch his breath than any real danger of burning dinner, for Walter had conscientiously stirred things as the two of them stood there lost to the world. Mulder sat down at the table, on Walter's right, watching Alex as he moved about. He turned to Walter. "Aren't you going to—" he stopped, wondering how to address this. "Are there going to be repercussions, for what happened?" Unspoken: are you mad at me? "What do you think?" Which was: yeah, of course, but only until I've tanned your ass. Mulder's eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat. "Later, then?" A reprieve. He was really begging: please get it over with? "Later. Let's just concentrate on being happy, for a while. It's such a relief to have us all here in the same place, in one piece." Translation: you are so fucked, it's unbelievable. "Yeah. It's so good to be back." Happily: thanks for forgiving me. At this, Alex turned and with a slight smile at Mulder, he quipped, "Home is where the heart is." Which of course could also be translated as: I love you, therefore I forgive you. But if you think you're in the clear you are so wrong. Nervously, Mulder glanced back to Walter, as if for reassurance. Or: what the hell does he mean by that? But Walter simply smiled fondly at him. Alex carefully managed to keep himself occupied while the two of them sat at the table. He felt safer this way, having something that needed his attention and stopped him from getting caught up too tightly in anything else. But every time he looked over at Mulder, he could see the almost desperate look in his face, as though he was constantly reassuring himself Alex was still there. It didn't seem to have any hint of the previous vibe he'd grown so used to. That accusing, slightly mocking expression that had always put him in his place... If anything, it was almost as if Mulder had suddenly recognized that he was no longer the dominant one—and Mulder was now bottom dog, Alex realized, because Mulder had abused his position over him he'd lost it and it had now shifted to Alex. Interesting. He stopped at this thought, straightened, and turned to look at Walter who, feeling his eyes on him, looked back and seemed to confirm this, with both a twinkle in his eye and a definite narrowing of his gaze. When Alex grinned at him, Walter winked. Fuck. Mulder was toast. Alex bent back to the oven and opened it. He wondered if Mulder had any idea what was in store for him. He wondered what Walter had in mind. Walter had actually given him no indication as to how they would proceed when Mulder came back; just that he'd have to take a learning step, and that Walter would help him resolve that denial/acceptance issue once and for all. Walter hadn't wanted to dwell on it, keeping things focused on enjoying their time together. In a strange way, the benefit of his having left had been an even stronger cementing of his and Walter's relationship. It had bonded them together in a way that made him secure enough to withstand the reintroduction of Mulder into the equation. Which in itself was no mean feat: Mulder and he still had a tumultuous dynamic under the best of circumstances. But once they sat down to dinner and were eating together, the three let thoughts of the future evening fall away and just enjoyed the happiness that seemed to have infused the entire house. Mulder lapped up the fact that they were all there, together again. He was behaving like a repentant puppy that didn't want to be sent back out to the doghouse again and was determined to be good for the rest of eternity. Scully's words had never left him and continued to haunt him: you get out of a relationship what you put into it. It will only work if you want it to. Walter was enjoying the stability and solidity of having both of them under his care once more, as they should be. He had no reservations or remaining doubts now that this was going to work, even if he had to drag both of them along kicking and screaming. Alex was riding the wave, no longer expecting anything from anyone, least of all himself, simply enjoying the house itself and the fact that it existed, with all three of them together within. He felt he had finally come home. With the combined, renewed determination of all three to make their situation work, it was little surprise that they found the tension had been defused almost completely. By the time evening found them in the living room in their usual accustomed seats, Walter with his book and Mulder gnawing on the occasional sunflower seed, things had returned to a semblance of normalcy and safety. There was no denying the underlying current of a more intimate reunion, however. The affection and the gladness had grown infected with hungry glances and longing looks that dared not be interpreted as demanding. Walter was as fully aware of the humming level of it as the other two, and when it had reached the point where it seemed someone was going to crack and say something, he pointedly said to Mulder, "You haven't unpacked yet. Don't you think it's about time you moved back in?" "Oh, yeah. Thanks, I'd forgotten about that." He got to his feet, stretched and went to his suitcases and bags. Alex joined him. "I'll give you a hand." Together, they staggered up the stairs. Alex was standing in the doorway, shaking his head. "You really packed everything you own," he said, a little bemused. "I just happen to own more than you do," Mulder pointed out. He stopped, his breath catching as he felt that lump in his throat return. He'd come so close to never seeing him again. Alex abruptly found himself rushed and enveloped in another embrace. With a small, surprised laugh, he hugged him back. "Hey." "I thought I'd lost you," Mulder said, over his shoulder. "I didn't think you wanted me," Alex explained, slowly, not wanting to get too deeply into this. Mulder pulled back and met his eyes. "I do. I do, Alex." Alex nodded. And smiled. Mulder turned and stepped away, returning to his bags. "I'll be down in a bit. I just want to get all this put away. I won't be long." "Okay." Alex turned and left him to it, going back downstairs. Walter looked up at him as he sat back down. "Everything all right?" "More than." Alex looked back at him however, a question in his eyes. "I think he's worried, though." Walter nodded. "He's still not sure how to be with both of us at the same time, now that things have changed. But he will, once he's healed things with you." Alex raised his brows. "Oh?" Walter nodded again, a little smile gracing his lips. "Trust me, Alex. It won't take long." A swift recollection visibly crossed Alex's face. "I never gave you your Christmas presents—" Walter grinned. "No, we never did get to exchange anything, did we? Mulder and I didn't, either. It all blew up before Christmas. How about tomorrow? We can do it after dinner or something." Alex chuckled. "In that case, I have some things to do. I'll be in my room. Uh, do you have wrapping paper?" Walter pointed at the little storeroom beneath the stairs. "Try that one. And there are scissors in Fox's desk. Unless he packed those, too," he added. Alex went upstairs bearing gold and silver foil paper and shut his bedroom door. By the time Mulder came back down, Walter had become quite engrossed in his book once more. Mulder threw himself down onto the couch lengthwise and grabbed up a handful of seeds to resume munching his way through the bowl. "Where's Alex?" "Upstairs." "What's he doing?" Walter put down his book and regarded him. "Wrapping presents. We're going to have the belated gift exchange tomorrow. After dinner, I thought. What do you think?" "Sounds good." Walter had picked his book back up again. Tentatively, Mulder said, "Walt?" Walter suppressed a sigh and bookmarked his page. "Yeah?" "Are you angry with me?" "No. But I think Alex is." Mulder thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. "I'm sorry, you know. I am. I think I was so busy worrying about his actions that I was avoiding looking at my own. You were right in the very beginning, when we started this thing. I always project my issues onto the object of them and then lash out at them. Like with you in the hallway that day." Walter gave a single laugh. "You will never have any idea how surprised I was, to find you suddenly throwing yourself at me, hitting me in the mouth, out of a clear blue sky with absolutely no provocation. It took me a while to figure out that one. Of course, it got a little clearer after I heard you were high at the time and not exactly in possession of all your reasoning faculties." Mulder swallowed. "And it also explains why I always hit Alex." Walter sat there, waiting. So Mulder gathered himself and tried to continue. "I wasn't able to do a lot of thinking about it while I was at Scully's, but it all sort of came together on the flight back up here. I—I owe him, for taking it out on him. Especially once he came here and... I guess I was apologizing for the wrong things. Or at least, not all the things I should have. And I didn't appreciate what he'd been through, to get to the point of being able to stay here with us, or place himself at my mercy, to ask for forgiveness." Walter nodded. He stood up and began taking off his belt. Walking over to where his lover glumly sat, he said, "I think you know what to do with this." He handed his belt to Mulder who looked up at him in surprise. "What? What do you mean?" Walter shrugged. "If you don't know, then you don't deserve him." And he went back to his comfortable chair and sat down, picking up his book and seemingly dismissing Mulder from his thoughts. Mulder sat, holding the belt in his hands, simply looking down at it for a long time. So long in fact that Walter, surreptitiously regarding him from time to time in between paragraphs, began to worry that he was going to balk. But eventually, Mulder shuffled to his feet and murmured something about seeing him later. It was hard to catch exactly what he said. Walter breathed a sigh of relief. Alex was putting the finishing touches on one of the presents for Mulder when the knock came on his door. "Wait, just wait a minute," he called, quickly putting the other presents out of sight and the wrapping paper too. "Alright, come in." Mulder stood there, a weird look on his face. Alex regarded him. Mulder looked zoned. He wondered what the hell was up. "What?" Mulder shifted uncomfortably, almost fidgeting. He came in, closed the door behind him and folded his arms in front of him. "I've come to apologize. Properly, this time. I'm sorry for taking out my problems on you. I abused your friendship, your trust. You wanted forgiveness from me and I never gave it. I couldn't, because I was still feeling guilty about—about not being able to ask for your forgiveness." "My forgiveness? What for?" Mulder looked down at the carpet. "For hitting you every time our paths crossed, for using you as my punchbag, the recipient of all my frustrations. Will you ever be able to forgive me for that?" Alex slowly nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so. So—you forgive me, now? And we can leave all that behind at last? We won't have to keep going over it again and again? I mean, I'm not going to have to sit through another session with you in, say, a week from now, hearing about how I can't change and haven't changed?" A self-mocking smile twisted Mulder's lips. "No. I promise. No more lectures. I forgive you." "Well, great. That's—that's great." Alex stood, waiting. He wasn't sure what more Mulder was expecting here with this. Then Mulder uncrossed his arms and let them fall back to his sides. Alex saw what he was holding. His eyes narrowed. Mulder held it out to him, coming forward a few steps to hand it to him. Without a word. Alex's first reaction had been withdrawal and suspicion but now the world had suddenly flipped over on its axis as he realized what Mulder had done. He held the belt, familiar leather—it was Walter's, and he said, "Mulder, are you sure?" He frowned at him, wondering how serious Mulder was about this. Mulder nodded. And still without saying anything, he went to Alex's bed and pulled down his jeans and his shorts, kneeling on them. Facedown and forward, waiting for Alex to... ...To punish him. Alex wondered if he could. He never, ever, not once in all their acquaintance, had ever actually wanted to strike Mulder. Not his Fox. His pretty Fox... No, that was for Fox to do to him. But things had shifted, irrevocably. And he realized it was the only way to clear things between them; just as Walter had helped him when he'd first come here, by dispersing his guilt and shame cycle he'd been on, thinking that he deserved Mulder's blows... Now it was time to do the same for Mulder. Because in a way, the only reason Mulder had hit him was because it was the only way he could allow himself to touch Alex—and was ashamed to face that. Of course, that hardly justified beating anyone, attacking them or hurting them. So. Alex's eyes narrowed purposefully and he folded the belt in his hand. And stepped forward. Mulder took a breath and held it as he heard Alex move closer. He tensed. Of course, nothing prepared him for the actual blow. He gasped. Fuck. The pain billowed and bloomed all over him, centered on the nearly wet stripe of fire that stripped across his ass. He hadn't realized Alex was that strong. He gulped. Then the next one came, and the next, fast on its heels, and Mulder was crying out, flinching, trying hard not to move away from them. Alex nearly dropped the belt, unable to believe that he had actually hurt him. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg him to take it away from him, to punish him instead. After all, he deserved it far more than Fox did... The way he was kneeling there, shaking and whimpering, it was too much. Too fucking much; he had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying anything. And then found himself thinking, but he came up here and brought you the damn thing, he fucking handed it to you himself! He needs it. Two more landed now in quick succession and Mulder was sobbing, the shame of it mingling with the pain as he shifted away, unable to stop himself from doing so. With a burst of crystal clarity, as he raised the belt again, Alex realized that he actually needed this more than Mulder did. It was more than 'forgiving' him and helping him feel better about his 'misbehavior and bad attitude'. It was a way for both of them to find an acceptable way for Alex to be able to hit him back, to at last give him back a taste of the same physical medicine that Mulder had dished out to him for years, as well as for driving him out with his unforgiving attitude. The belt landed again, and again, over and over, evil and terrible as it seared throughout everything in Mulder that demanded he stand up and fight back, every part of him that almost yelled within his own head that he should be the one holding that thing, wielding it, using it on Alex— Alex stopped, unexpectedly, a little taken aback at the depth of satisfaction and stored up resentment he'd found himself unleashing in this act. Mulder was scared, reduced to a cowering, sniffling child inside, trembling and waiting for the next volley. And something broke inside of Alex's heart; he couldn't hit him any more. He just couldn't. Mulder quivered, hating himself, hating Alex, hating the belt, and hating his own inability to withstand it. And then there was the rustle of movement behind him and to his surprise, as he jumped again, expecting another blow, there was Alex's hand at his flank, steadying him. And then the press of cool lips against his burning left buttock. It was repeated on the right and then Alex had left the room. Cringing, swallowing his tears along with his pride, Mulder gave himself over to the sheer humiliation of it all. He felt sick inside, and not at all clean. And beneath it, the curiosity flared brighter. Why had Alex done that, at the end? The hatred he'd felt fled as quickly as it had arose and he was left with a strange emptiness. He started to painfully get to his feet. Fuck; with all his famed profiling ability and successful rate of solved cases, he couldn't figure out this one enigmatic man. But Alex had returned and he said, in a low, husky voice, "I got the gel. Here, let me put it on you, okay?" as he shut the door behind him. Mulder simply knelt back down in the same position; he didn't think he could bear facing him at this point. And then there was the almost frightening cool relief of Alex's fingers gently smoothing the salve on his sore ass. In fact, the tender and solicitous way in which Alex was smearing it across the seared areas was even nicer than the way Walter usually did it. He didn't trust himself to speak yet though. "I forgive you. And I'm sorry, for everything. I truly am. I love you, Fox," Alex said, in the same honey-and-gravel tone that trickled down into Mulder's body, bypassing his thought processes with images of breathless moans and memories of fucking Alex in the dark. Mulder had to concentrate on what Alex was actually saying. And realized that it had been a lot harder for Alex to do what he'd just done than Mulder had assumed. Maybe that was the motivation behind those two little kissesŠ "Me too, Alex. I love you, too." Alex moved behind him. "Why don't you pull these up now?" He began pulling at Mulder's shorts and jeans. Mulder got up and slowly hissed as he carefully drew them up and fastened his jeans. He still wasn't sure what to do about looking Alex in the eye. But he found himself spun round and hugged. Tightly. Mulder returned it, letting the anxiety drain away, replaced with comfort and exhaustion. Then, something occurred to him. SomethingŠ niggled in the back of his mind. What— Oh, yes. This was all very well, but WalterŠ Mulder suppressed a feeling of misgiving. It stemmed from the knowledge that Walter hadn't actually punished him, yet. He winced, wondering if Walt would do so tonight. Maybe he could plead leniency and wait until tomorrow, although he doubted his ass would be any less sore then. But perhaps that was part of the punishment. Along with the dread. But then, he was paranoid. And just because he was paranoid doesn't mean that he wasn't going to be spanked by Walter. He had every good reason to imagine it would happen... He'd have thought something was wrong if it didn't. A bitter humor darkened his smile. And Alex was looking at him. "What is it?" A noncommittal tone, not sure what to make of his expression. He shook his head, quickly. "Not you; just thinking about Walt. I don't think the night is over." Alex bit his lip and shared the wry smile. "Yeah. I didn't even think of that. I'm sorry. Maybe I should've held back a bit, there—" "No, no," Mulder said, "it's alright. Don't worry about it. Listen, Alex," he changed tack again, suddenly, "do you think you could—just tell me to shut up if I start up again? Or ignore me when I say or do something thatŠ" he trailed off. Alex shook his head. "Don't worry, Mulder. It's alright. Things have changed. I've changed. And I think you've changed, too. So just—don't worry about it." Still doubtful, Mulder nodded. He took a breath. "Shall we go down, then?" Alex smiled. "No offense, Mulder, really. But I'd rather be on the receiving end." At Mulder's surprised and then horrified look, Alex added, "Believe me; one of Walter's whippings is far less painful than one off-hand remark from you." And he leaned forward, taking hold of his arm again and kissing him on the cheek. Then on the other one. And then on his lips. "Come on." As they went downstairs, the dread grew in waves and settled in the pit of Mulder's stomach to gnaw on his nerves. He knew something momentous had just happened between them and he didn't even have time to ponder it or even assimilate it subconsciously at the moment because he had this—this threat awaiting him. Sure enough, when they got to the bottom of the stairs, Walter was no longer reading and he was no longer sitting. He looked up at them, looking from one to the other. Mulder held out the belt, handing it back to him. Walter took it, hefted it in his hands for a moment and then instead of sliding it back into the loops on his jeans, merely let his hand hang at his side, still carrying it. Mulder grimaced. "Fox? Are you alright?" Walter asked. "My ass hurts," he retorted. Walter couldn't help a grin. "I'll bet. Alex, I didn't know you had it in you." Alex snorted and went to sit in his chair. "Neither did I." Walter was looking at Mulder though. "Fox." He took a breath before continuing. "Whatever happened between you and Alex upstairs, remains there. And I told Alex that if he ever ran from us, that I'd find him, and give him the biggest spanking of his life. He's been punished for running. But there's still something outstanding." Alex turned to look at Mulder too. They both waited to see what he would say. He felt on the spot and then, from out of nowhere, he recalled it, word for word. Walter saying to him, that the next time he got out of line, he would punish Alex instead of him... And he gulped. Audibly. Walter smiled. It wasn't a particularly pleasant smile, either. "You remember." Mulder flicked a glance at Alex. Jesus, no. He stared at Walter with a mute appeal. Walter gave a little shrug. "I did warn you. And considering the severity of the repercussions that your little bitching session, your tantrum, had on Alex and all of us, I think it will be quite a heavy punishment, indeed. Don't you?" Mulder felt torn. On one hand, he did not want to have his already painfully sore ass to be torn into yet again under Walter's relentless hand. On the other, he couldn't bear to simply pass it off onto Alex when in fact he had been the one who'd made him run in the first place. And caused all three of them heartbreak and torment for weeks on end. Because of his stupid denial of his feelings for Alex... and his inability to let go of the past. Alex had been through so much, and mostly on his account—he couldn't bear it. Not now, not when they'd just got back together and all seemed like it might finally be ready to work between them here. He closed his eyes. This was like a bad dream. He opened them again, finding Walter and Alex still waiting, looking a little more sympathetic than before. He pressed his lips together, displeased. "No. I can take my own punishment." Walter sighed. "Very noble of you. Especially considering your current state. I don't think you can even sit down right now, can you?" At the mere thought of it, Mulder winced. "And Alex here really is able to take more than you can. Fox, I know this is going to be hard for you, but that's the point. Maybe if I prove to you that I mean what I say, that I don't go back on my promises, as in this case, you'll think a little longer before dashing into danger, and leaping before you look. Thinking before you speak. Yeah?" Walter didn't look menacing at all. He looked tired and reconciled to the necessity of this impending... spectacle. For he knew Walter was going to make him watch. There was nothing he could say. No way he could plead with Walter not to do this. Walter was struck dumb at the depth of the despair and hopeless entreaty in Mulder's eyes. He hadn't expected him to react like this. Not until after it had happened. Incredible. The man never thought twice about lashing out at Alex, physically or not, when his temper snapped, but just the hint that someone else lay a hand on him and Mulder was dying in front of them, willing to undergo the most terrible price to avert Alex's pain. He shook his head in complete disbelief. Alex was lost, looking from one to the other, growing more dismayed with each passing second. Not only did things look heavy, they were taking on an ominous note. He had no idea what it meant but he was sure that anything that could scare Fox that badly couldn't be good. He was about to intercede and insist that Walter not carry out his threat, whatever it was, when Walter suddenly looked at him, directly. He sat up straighter. "I warned him, a few days after you had arrived, that if he ever crossed the line again with you, that there would be a severe punishment—given to you, in his place." "Oh, right. Yeah, I remember that." Alex relaxed. Mulder was dumbfounded. How could Alex simply blow that off? Didn't he know Walter was serious? And then it clicked: Alex did not feel the same way that he did about discipline with Walter. He didn't regard it in the same fearful way that Mulder always had. For Mulder, it was an honest deterrent; the slightest hint of it remained something he wrestled with. Partly because of the humiliating shame of it, of needing it, and partly from the pain of the act itself. It wasn't pain, per se, but the combination of both, and then to be doled out by Walter, who he had associated with authority and as his superior for so many years prior to their relationship... And Alex got off on it? Damn it, Alex was a willing accomplice to this! Resentment flared within him again. He felt betrayed by both of them. This —this horrible charade; if they wanted to play it out, fine with him. Mar a perfectly beautiful evening that should have been spent upstairs reacquainting each other with the depth of their passion. Fine. He frowned. "Fine. Do your worst." Walter sucked in a breath at his bravado and cavalier attitude. "Fox, are you sure you want to play it this way?" Mulder sneered slightly, burying the little hurt he felt at the fact that Walter wanted to play discipline games at a time that was so crucially delicate. "I'm game, if you are." Alex's eyes had widened slightly. He hadn't missed the subtleties here, either between Mulder and Walter, or from Walter himself. He was willing to go through this for Mulder, on his behalf. He could understand what Walter's intentions were. But it didn't mean he was pleased about it. A loving spanking administered by Walter in an erotic setting was one thing, a caning in front of Mulder was entirely something else. Indeed, Walter was looking at him rather anxiously. "Alex? Can you handle this?" When put like that, however, and seeing as Mulder so obviously was ripe for it, Alex grinned at him. "I guess I'll have to, won't I?" Fuck, even I didn't think it would get this twisted, Walter found himself thinking as he turned and went to the closet beneath the stairs. Mulder and Alex watched him without moving or saying anything. When he turned to face them however, Mulder gaped and a cold shock ran up and down his spine. "No," he said, weakly, as he caught sight of what Walter held. But Walter was already coming forward, carrying his cane. "Mulder, sit down. No, over there, on the couch. I said, sit the fuck down." He didn't sound angry, just forbearing; his AD voice, like almost bored and slightly irritated, before the AD really started to get pissed but not quite there yet. He waited until Mulder had managed to seat himself, with difficulty given the soreness of his condition. Then motioned to Alex to go to the couch, beside Mulder. "Take down your pants. And the shorts. And kneel over the couch." Mulder bit back a caustic remark. It was hardly fair though, to have Alex right beside him. Jesus. This was going to be hellish. Then his eyes hardened. Fine; if Walter wanted this, he wouldn't deny this for either of them. And the rat bastard; pretty as he was, if he didn't care about his own ass, why should Mulder? But Christ, Alex had no idea what he was in for. But it was all happening so fast. Before Mulder had time to think about it, Walter had raised the cane and brought it down sharply across Alex's ass. The sound was light, terrible and far too easy, although it resounded as it connected with Alex's bare skin. A red line appeared and although Alex didn't even move, Mulder knew it had to hurt like hell; he flinched as though it had hit his own backside. Another one landed, far too quickly after the first. Then a third. Soon, Alex was gulping convulsively, and straining not to move. Mulder was struck with horror at the fact he was actually sitting there, not only watching it but also party to it; present not a few inches from the act. Mulder wondered if he might be cured of his voyeuristic pleasure through negative reinforcement this way. New, thin, dark red stripes appeared, mingling with the bands laid down previously. And now Alex could no longer keep back his cries as they landed. He exclaimed with every single blow and Walter didn't seem to be preparing to stop anytime soon, either. In a study of perfect anguish, Mulder sat frozen in place, unable to close his eyes even as it landed again and again. Finally, jerking every time the cane struck, he glanced at Alex and saw the tears running down his face. It wasn't even as if Alex was putting on a show—he was too obviously struggling to put on a brave front. Alex finally broke and as he cried out, he was saying between sobs, "Please, God—please—" It was too much. Mulder felt nauseous. And a deep fury borne of the pain he was witnessing inside and outside of himself took control. Mulder got to his feet, snatched the cane away from Walter and shouted, "That's enough! This is sick! You're sick! Both of you! What the fuck is wrong with you!" He was nearly in tears himself, shaking as he confronted Walter furiously, not caring at this point what Walter did. Walter looked genuinely astonished. But he quickly recovered. And quietly replied, "I'm surprised that took you as long as it did, Fox." "Fuck you, Walter," yelled Mulder, far too upset to want to get into a psychological discussion of his reactions, Walter's reactions or Alex's reactions to the whole bleeding mess. Walter raised his voice, making it a growl at the same time. It rumbled, and secretly, Alex was impressed—he wanted to clap, for it vibrated in his ribcage. "You tell me which is more sick, Fox! Beating a man who won't defend himself against your anger, or punishing someone voluntarily?! There is a big goddamned difference between you losing your temper, hurting someone, however slightly, and this man," he pointed at Alex, "voluntarily submitting himself to be disciplined in whatever fashion is deemed to fit his crime." "What crime?! What crime did he commit? It's a sham! It's just part of this sick game!" Mulder shouted back, making up what he lacked in booming bass with pure rage and intensity. Walter nodded, his voice quieter but no less threatening. "Exactly. Exactly the point, Mulder! What crime did he commit? He killed your father. Now take that cane and you decide what he deserves. For once and for all. Alright? I'm done." And Walter turned, walking away from them into the kitchen, leaving Mulder standing holding the cane with nerveless fingers. Alex had pulled himself to his feet. He cautiously and carefully pulled his shorts and jeans back up. Mulder stood there, feeling like he'd been struck by lightening. Fuck. He'd been set up. It was too much, too perfect. Walter had held up a mirror in front of his face and Mulder was forced to look; he couldn't look away anymore. He was shaking. No wonder he'd had a bad feeling about this. His subconscious had been screaming at him that it was a dangerous area. He threw his gaze back at Alex, who stood, unmoving, watching him warily. Mulder turned and put the cane carefully against the table with the lamp beside Walter's chair. But like any curious soul, Mulder couldn't help picking at scabs. And he had to know. "Why? Why did you let him do that to you?" he whispered, hoarsely, almost accusingly. Alex tilted his head to one side slightly and looked at him like he was crazy. "Fox... don't you... there's—" he paused, "Mulder, the question is, why did you let him do it to me?" Mulder went cold. Oh, shit. Of course. "It's not fair. Talk about laying a guilt trip on someone. Alex. Alex, God, I swear, I don't get off on seeing you beaten. I swear." Alex looked down. He had a grave expression but inside he was deliberating how best to help, what to say. "You liked it before, when you thought that even that wasn't enough for what I'd done. For what I was guilty of. What's changed? Like he said, Mulder: can you let go of the past? Can you forgive me?" And despite the fact that he'd brushed the tear tracks from his face and he realized the importance of this entire episode as part of Mulder's learning and growth, everything inside of him seemed to hang in the balance. He thought he'd mastered his voice so carefully. But what Mulder saw was, yet again, the pitifully obvious desperation in his eyes, the longing and the need for acceptance, the need for redemption and Mulder's forgiveness, the helpless and despairing—love. Regret, certainly; guilt, most surely. But most of all, love. And a little hope. Hope that hadn't been there before today; a wary hope that was still shy, as it had been since the moment his eyes had met Alex's in the kitchen that afternoon when he'd come home. And finally Mulder broke; a little dam burst inside him and he sank down onto the floor, sobbing. Babbling that he did forgive him, he did, he loved him, and he couldn't bear to see him hurting anymore. Not over anything. Ever. That he would never let anyone hurt him again. Almost before he went down, Alex was there, his arm going around his shoulders and his forehead pressing close, whispering tender nothings of reassurance laced with unspoken hope and more daring affection. Kisses that licked away some of the tears. And miraculously, Walter was there, too. Somehow, they ended up back on the couch, Mulder supported by Walter and Alex on either side. Just hugging, just cuddling. No tears, no emotional discussion or intellectual points, no psychological wrangling. Just love. It seemed that not just one or two, but three hearts had been healed and brought closer together with the final decision in that climactic moment where Mulder had grabbed the cane from Walter. Mulder found he wondered why it was, that the only way he tolerated Walter's judgments on what constituted his good behavior was if Walter backed it up with discipline. As loving as it was, it was still pain. And although a very effective teaching tool, Mulder suddenly realized it was because a part of him believed he deserved to be beaten. Which was of course why he'd believed Alex should therefore be beaten—for his bad behavior. Logically enough. And he found it strange that Alex should find pleasure in the act, whereas for him it was still a terrible, painful humiliation. But maybe Alex found the pain cleansing. He certainly did. Which meant that every time he gave into letting the guilt go with the punishment; he was giving his responsibility to... Walter. This brought him up short. Why would Walter do that for him? Unless he truly... Loved him. Saw the need in him. Had been watching it as a tendency in him for years now. Knew what he needed. And had been helping to actively nurse him along to the point he'd reached today, no more than half an hour ago, when he realized that he didn't want pain to be his teacher anymore. With a swift, certain darting happiness, he realized Alex had already forsaken pain as his master and taken up love, long ago. And Mulder just relaxed further, boneless amidst the tangle of their bodies in perfect warm contentment. Walter was growing nervous. Mulder was completely spaced out. Alex was getting there. He had to get them upstairs. Into bed; at this point he didn't care if it was for comfort-sex or just mutual, clinging cuddlings, as long as they got there. They were both starting to look as though they were high. He managed to get to his feet, no easy task with a languorous, long-limbed Fox partially draped on him and the long legs of a beautiful rat come in from the cold adding to the pile. But they made it up the stairs to the bedroom. Alex was making a noise that sounded suspiciously like muffled, smothered giggles. Mulder turned on him. "Hey!" he exclaimed, in mock seriousness. "You're giggling like a school-girl. Why?" Finally, Alex had composed himself enough to manage, "Well, look at us. To anyone who didn't know better, they'd think we were stoned off our asses." Walter grimly smiled. "He has a point. Time to remove clothing, I think." Mulder considered this. "Our own, or each other's?" "Hell, take your pick," Walter said, peeling off his jeans and sweater, then his t-shirt, unaware of the enraptured twin gaze of both of them suddenly gone speechless at the show. He turned at the sudden silence and then grinned. And then burst out quickly, in a voice designed to decrease their reaction time, "Last one on the bed is—" and he jumped onto it. Mulder stared at Alex who had a dangerous grin slowly sliding onto his face. Alex beat him to it by a fraction of a second. "In the middle. Bottom-hog," finished Walter with an even more wicked grin. Mulder raised a brow. "I'm gonna get the light," he declared, casually, as if stating that he had all the time in the world anyway, and why had they left it on in the first place. He heard whispers in the dark though and when he toed his way back to them, there was stillness. Then he was suddenly jumped on by both of them at once, half-carried, half-thrown to the bed and leaped on by two kissing fiends. Walter attacked his legs, his knees, the soft under-part of his knee, up to nip at the tender flesh of his inner thigh. Alex was mouthing his neck, pinching his nipples and laying siege to whole territories in the regions that lay adjacent to his chest and ears. But then it became a tickling game and he ended up squirming and begging for mercy, then for them to stop, then cease and desist, then just fucking stop or he was going to kick their asses. Finally, panting, they let him be. At least, they ceased with the tickling. "Good. A proper girlish squeal, that was," Walter commented, his hold still a bit too heavy and gripping for Mulder's peace of mind. Alex was grinning; one could tell from his voice in the dark. "Very proper, indeed. And very girlish." "Goddamn it," Mulder began muttering, and then lost his train of thought as Walter's mouth continued its exploration upwards along his hip, his waist and then his side. Alex, meanwhile, was extending forays further south and ended up in more heavily forested areas than Mulder's chest, to his great delight. It wasn't long before Mulder was hard, harder, then hardest. And Mulder was gasping at the sensation of Alex's warm, wet mouth licking and nibbling gently along the stem of his cock and intermittently returning to his balls. Walter was sucking at his mouth though, keeping him occupied with a thorough rediscovery of the tender flesh of his lips and tongue. Soon though, it became apparent that they would have to move to something greater, unless they wanted a spent Fox on their hands. Walter asked, "Right, which of us do you want on the bottom, and which on the top?" "Can't we lie on our sides, and work it that way?" Mulder plaintively asked. "Of course. But the question is still valid. Who's behind and who do you want in front?" "Thought is obviously too much to ask of him, at this point," Alex commented from the dark, down below; his disembodied voice hovering over Mulder's groin. And so it was that Mulder found himself laying on his left side, with Walter squirreling back against him, letting his erection slide and nestle along the cleft of his ass, burrowing between his cheeks to find the tiny entrance that Walter had painstakingly lubed a few minutes before, while Alex had moved up behind Mulder. Alex was grateful for the thoughtfulness of Walter's suggestion of laying on their left sides; this way he could participate properly with his right arm. Indeed, he quickly slicked up his eager cock and aimed it right against Mulder's sweet crack, sliding home once he'd prodded a few times in the darkness, blindly. The entire venture was delicious, even as he'd hit and missed a couple of times, for the feeling of his sensitive cockhead rubbing lengthily against Mulder's waiting pucker had wrung the most interesting noises from both of them. But then they took on Lovecraftian proportions as they more closely resembled what Mulder had laughingly called 'the three-backed-hump-beast' sometimesŠ only this time it was stranded, beached on its side. As Alex thrust into Mulder, Mulder's cock was forced home into Walter; with a bit of roughly timed precision, they were finally able to find a rhythm that each could keep, without falling too far out of sync. It was Mulder who came first, unable to cope with the devastating, twin fucking of him from both sides; Alex behind him was penetrating him hard and deep, targeting his prostate with each thrust. And timed perfectly with each one, Walter would buck backwards with his hips, causing a sweating cry from Mulder as his cock was gripped inside Walter's enveloping, clenching, silky heat. But as Mulder started to erupt, the spasms in his ass made Alex crazy as the shuddering climax pulsed around his own cock and he drove fiercely forward, into him, holding him tightly. As Mulder was shooting hard into Walter, the hand he'd reached around to grasp Walter's rock-hard, drooling erection was joined by Walter's own. Together they quickly jerked Walter to completion as he came, speared by Mulder's cock. Despite the awful promise of sticking together painfully later, they ignored the wet spots and just enjoyed each other's labored breaths as they quieted and grew even. Alex licked at the sheen of sweat that had broken out all over Mulder, kissing the back of his neck and tasting him, nibbling on his earlobe. "I thought this was supposed to be comfort-sex," Mulder grumbled, feeling a cramp tighten the muscle of his right calf. They separated slowly, and Walter padded off to find warm, moist towels. It was much later that Walter awoke in the night with a jerk, and on a whim, turned on the bedside lamp for a moment. Yeah, he smiled to himself, broadly, they were both there; Alex clinging to Fox's arm, burrowing into him. Mulder reaching forward for Walter's hand. They were both asleep. He was pleased—and well he might be, for he'd managed to get both of them back into the same bed with him, all three together, sans issues and pain. He smiled at them for a little longer and then turned off the light. "G'night, Walt," Mulder whispered, nearly silently, in his ear. And Walter contented himself with leaning back and kissing him, before slipping away into the post-apocalyptic slumber that is always induced after an excavation of one's deepest insecurities. Good thing new seeds had been planted; the weeds had been pulled and the pain cut away. And the flowers there? Heart's-ease and sunflowers. And maybe a red rose or two, or three. Sunflower Seeds VI: Cabin Fever Jamiwilsen@hotmail.com

TITLE: Sunflower Seeds 5: Home ARCHIVE: RatB, Persuaders, the Basement FEEDBACK: Jamiwilsen@hotmail.com DISCLAIMER: this piece of slash fanfic is written purely for entertainment purposes; all characters and X-File series¹ situations referred to belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, FOX. PAIRING: Sk/M/K SEQUEL/CONTINUATION: yes, 5th RATING: NC-17—language, slashy m/m sex and discipline WARNING: This one contains discipline! YAY! SUMMARY: With Alex estranged and God-knows-where, Skinner and Mulder experience estrangement at home. But, home is where the heart is. [g] BETAS: Many, many grateful thanks to Jas, Candace, Lorelei and Jennie! back to top

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