Sacred Stillness by Khirsah PRESENT: J Edgar Hoover building "You're wasting your time. You do know that, right?" Special Agent Jennifer Candice Yevonn-Bridges, impressive name shortened by her dark-suited associates to Jenny-witch, leaned over her partner's shoulder, expensive perfume wafting down to surround the two in a pleasant— if strong— cloud that was reminiscent of nautical breezes. "You're never going to be able to figure out what any of that gibberish means." "It's not gibberish, Jen," her partner, Caroline Ann Baker, insisted in her quiet tone, not even bothering to look up. Her small, thin hands held the cracked leather-bound journal as if it were some precious treasure as she scanned the scrawled words that made a faded black relief against the age-weary page. I'm not sure that we'll ever find it, but A. insists that it's only a matter of knowing where to look. This could be what we've been searching for for so long, what we've sacrificed so much for. A. isn't sure that I'm ready to see it, but I'll be damned if I let that rat go at it alone, and besides, if this is my chance to find a cure, a salvation, then I'm going to do whatever it takes. God, Scully, I wish you were really here— you'd probably tell me that I was crazy for trusting A. after all that he's done, but with what he's done lately... well, I wouldn't put him on my top ten list to head out and choose curtains with— much less turn my back to— but it's enough to make me think that he may be telling the truth. I wish you'd wake up. I'll make you wake up, and then I'll show you what I found, what the third world has given me. "The 'third world'? Carrie, honestly, does that sound like a rational man talking?" The smaller woman looked up through dark-rimmed reading glasses, gray eyes serene and blank, as they always were whenever she was tuning out her investigations partner of going on three years. When Jenny-witch had first joined the FBI, she had expected to be able to use her force-gained experience in crime scene sweeps to bring acclaim to herself and the department, but after five years with six separate partners— amazing how politely the fed stiffs could dump you off for somebody else to deal with— she began to realize that perhaps her particular brand of truth-seeking wasn't so eagerly accepted within the hallowed halls of Hoover's precious Bureau. And then, in the ultimate blow-off, she had been sent to work with the mousy Hair and Fibers specialist Carrie Baker to begin her prison term in the distant basement office that had been claimed to be haunted for years. Not that anybody believed the old ghost tales... no-one, that is, besides Carrie. The first year had been tough, for Jenny-witch had entered into the partnership with her usual bitchy flair, only to find that Carrie wasn't quite like other Agents. Her tiny, fragile build made her an unlikely investigator, and she was infamous for her off-beat technique. However, Jen soon found that the older woman was much more brilliant than was widely known, and over time the rigid partnership had loosened into friendship both on a professional and personal level. And then Carrie had found the journal of one Fox Mulder and obsession had begun. "What could he have meant by the 'third world'?" she muttered to herself, absently tucking a thin strand of graying brown hair behind her ear. "Maybe he meant Heaven," Jen suggested, sighing as she situated herself on the edge of her own immaculate desk, manicured hands smoothing her designer blazer absently. They'd had this discussion many times before— too many times to actually count— so she was expecting Carrie's objection. "That's not something that Fox would search for." Her soft voice was adamant as she turned in her seat to face her beautiful partner, reaching up to take off her reading glasses as she continued. "He wasn't interested in anything that fell along the lines of organized religious practices unless there was something exceptional or unusual about the institution." Jenny-witch cocked a dark brown brow bemusedly. "Glad to see you two know each other so intimately." Thin lips narrowed only marginally. "You'd understand if you took the time to read it, you know." "And deprive you of your opportunity to lecture me about the amazing Fox and his exploits? Not likely." She smiled to take the sting out of her words as she hopped off of her desk. "But I honestly believe that you are wasting your time and energy on this when you could be working on our case. You know, the thing that we're supposed to be devoting all our time and efforts to solving?" Carrie turned back to her desk and picked up her glasses, perching them decisively on her long, thin, freckled nose. "It's a pointless case, Jen. They're throwing us a bone." "Yes, but at least it's something!" Jen exploded, throwing her hands up expressively. "God, Care, we may be getting the shit-dregs of the pile here, but at least we're getting real cases now instead of that busy-work that they've been dishing us. And if we just do our jobs and solve this case like they want, then maybe, just maybe, we'll get another case, and then another, and then maybe we'll be promoted out of this hole-in-the-ground and into some real detective work with a real office and a real chance to prove ourselves!" She knelt by the rickety chair, dark eyes luminous and pleading. "Wouldn't you like that, Carrie? Wouldn't you like a real, true office with heating and sunlight and real, breathing people that just may stop in? Wouldn't that be much better than this... this cold, dank prison where the only people who come down here do so because they have to?" Carrie looked down into Jen's pleading eyes, her own gaze soft and gentle. "Don't you like our office?" "God, Care!" Jenny-witch shouted, pushing herself back up onto her feet. "How can you be content to go on like this? Our careers are stagnated, the higher-ups know us as rabble-rousers and trouble-makers, and you..." She paused, honey-brown face twisting at she looked down at her partner and friend. "You're..." "Dying," Carrie supplied softly, folding her thin hands over the precious journal. "I believe that that's the word you're looking for." "These conditions can't be good for your health, Care. The Bureau should give you special considerations." Thin lips quirked into a smile. "There have been people before me with cancer, Jen. It's not a unique condition. Besides, the Bureau has given me all considerations that I need; they even helped pay for my hospital bills." "How very gracious of them." "I thought so." Gray eyes met brown for a long moment as the two women tried to speak without saying a word, Jen broadcasting her frustration, her worry, her need to do something while Carrie sent back her own calm conviction that it would turn out as it should, that there was nothing to be worried about. We're like Fox and his Scully that he spoke of, spoke to , in his entries. We understand each other. But would she end up like Fox's partner, wasted and asleep in a timeless coma, kept alive only by the will of her partner? What was he searching for? What was A. going to show him that may have saved his partner? And why did he never come back? "All right, Carrie," Jen sighed, caving in as always. She settled herself into her own hard wooden chair and looked at the older woman expectantly. "Tell me about ole Foxie." Smiling brightly, Carrie opened up the journal. Ever since she had found in hidden behind the ancient filing cabinet, she had been swept away by the strange stories that Fox Mulder had to tell. "It was his partner, Agent Dana Scully, that eventually convinced him to keep a journal. For some reason, they were afraid that if they left no record of themselves there would be nothing left of them in the future... Scully explained herself by saying simply, "Mulder, if I don't write myself down now, then there may be none of me left when I'm gone." It was so unlike her, but at the same time, exactly like her. So, Scully, here I am taking your advice. Maybe if I run into foul play someday, somebody else can take over the X-Files... She's starting to get sick again. I know that I shouldn't be surprised, but I am— I thought that restoring the chip in her neck would keep her from that damned illness forever. Instead, I have front-row tickets to watch her waste away from the cancer that's slowly eating her alive, and there doesn't seem to be anything that I can do about it. Though I've tried, and I'm going to keep trying. I swear that, Scully. Meanwhile, the rat-bastard has been sending me e-mail prompts to hidden X-Files. I don't trust him worth a shit, but all of his leads have so far panned out. I wonder what game he's playing at? "The mysterious 'A.', huh?" Jenny-witch commented thoughtfully, tapping a pen against her lips. "I wonder who he was?" "From the journals, he seems to have been quite a figure in Fox's life. At first, Fox only speaks of him using terms like 'the rat' or even 'the little fucking shit of a rat-bastard'." Jen raised her brows. "Impressive use of the English language." "Well, it turns out that A. kept doing Fox favors— sending him mail with tips, bagging evidence, even saving his life twice and Scully's once." She smiled. "It was the fact that he saved his partner that made Fox start to think twice about him." "How'd he save her?" "He shot her doctor." "Excuse me?" Jen sputtered. "He shot her doctor ?" She shook her head. "And he's supposed to be a good guy because of this?" "Oh, A. was never a good guy. He always did things for his own reasons. Besides, the doctor was poisoning her IV." "Excuse me?" "Scully's IV. She was in a coma due to her cancer. This wasn't the first time, either..." "Well," Jen cleared her throat, picking up a pile of papers to begin riffling through them noisily. "While that was a great story-time, don't you think it's time we began working on our actual case?" She looked up over the edge of the papers with pleading dark eyes. "Of course," Carrie agreed softly, setting aside the leather-bound journal immediately. "How silly of me to forget." Nodding, she turned back to her own pile of boring and pointless case-work. And there was silence. LATER, AT THE BAKER RESIDENCE "Come on, Fox, what was your secret?" Carrie muttered as she stared at the dull blue screen. Numerous searches through every reference that she could think of and any Internet requests had come up with nothing on the third world or on the X-Files. Any questions at the FBI office were met with confusion and polite derision, and searches as to Fox Mulder or Dana's Scully's identity came up with nothing. There was no trace left of Fox or Dana or the mysterious A, which prompted Jenny to claim that they had never existed. But Carrie couldn't believe that— the emotion within the journals was too real, the quest too driving to be merely the figment of someone's very active imagination. There had been a Fox who had a partner who was dying of a cancer that was somehow some other man's fault. And there was an A, a beautiful, mysterious man that seemed to awaken everything that was good and wicked within Fox. It was real. It had to be. And A. had taken Fox to find the cure for Scully's cancer and coma. It was real. It was Carrie's only hope. "All right, A., let's see what you've got to do with this," she muttered as she flipped to the relevant page. She had memorized the entire journal what felt like ages ago, but it still made her feel something flutter inside whenever she read the words of Mulder himself, or in this case, A. The handwriting was different, neater, stronger, and sharper, which seemed to Carrie to fit the man described perfectly. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the man with the dark hair and searing eyes, one armed and clad in ever-present leather, dangerous beyond belief but willing to come forward to explain himself and to offer peace. The way that Mulder spoke of him made it sound like Fox had hated the man, but the sound behind the words didn't quite sound like hate. It sounded like a lover. Fox— ready to hike through Death and commune with the spirits? just don't forget what we talked about if we want to get it right for Dana. No name or signature, but Carrie knew instinctively that this was A. And A was taking Fox on some adventure to save his partner. And whatever they found or were going to find could save her as well. "Nutty old woman," she muttered to herself as she stood, ratty old cat meowing as she made her way to the kitchen. "All right, Zipper, let's get you some food," she spoke to the tabby, stepping expertly around the twisting ball of mangy fur and meows. She opened the fridge door and pulled out the milk, smiling as she bent down to fill the bowl. The sudden wetness on her lips startled her, and Carrie dropped the milk carton with a cry as she jerked her hand up to touch her face, wincing when her fingers came away wet with blood. "Damn," she muttered fiercely, snatching a wash towel to cover her face. The nose bleeds again. "Damn, damn, damn." It was then that the phone rang. "Typical," she muttered to the happily lapping cat, bending down to pick up the carton with what was left of the milk, wincing as she stepped through the huge white puddle on the green tiled floor. Then, sighing, she picked up the phone, hand still pressing the cloth against her nose, and said: "Yeth?" "Carrie?" It was Jen, of course. No-one else ever bothered to call her. "Hello, Jen." "You sound funny. Is everything all right?" Before Carrie even had a chance to defer, she barreled on. "You had another nose-bleed, didn't you?" Carrie sighed. "Jen, it's no big..." "Screw that— it is too a big deal. I'm coming over there." "I don't think Kenneth would..." "Screw Kenneth. What's a date to this?" Wincing gingerly at the sharp pain that raced through her chest, Carrie sat on the low sofa. "I don't think you need to do that, Jen. It's just a nosebleed. I've had them before." There was a silence on the other end of the line, and Carrie could tell that there was something more that Jen had to tell her, something that she wasn't sure if she should. Finally, however, her voice carried over the line, more subdued than Carrie had ever heard her. "I think I know where they went." "Excuse me?" She blinked at the sudden change in topic, but something inside warned her that this was important. "Fox and A. I think I know where they went." She couldn't breathe, could barley think. Where they went. To discover Scully's cure. To disappear forever. "Where?" "I don't..." "Dammit, Jennifer, where ?" Carrie demanded, tone harsh. Jen breathed in a gasp of surprise, shocked at the raised tone. Carrie had never acted even remotely angry in the three years that she had worked with her. "In Arizona, on Navajo Tribal lands. Canyon del Muerto, where the Anasazi lived." The Anasazi, ancient Pueblo ancestors. Furiously, Carrie racked her brain for something, anything about the Anasazi. They pecked petroglyphs into the rocks and build pueblos into the canyon walls. They made kivas and pottery. They arose up to this world, the fourth world, from... The fourth world. "Oh, God Jen," she breathed into the receiver, washcloth falling forgotten onto her lap. "You're right. A. said that they were going to 'hike through Death.' Canyon del Muerto. Mummy cave." Her ears were ringing so that she could hardly hear. She was on their trail. And then Jen's voice cut through and caught her attention. "So, when shall we leave for Arizona?" PRESENT: ARIZONA, CANYON DE CHELLY "It's absolutely amazing here," Jenny-witch breathed, dark gaze scanning the steep canyon walls. Her short-clipped dark hair was covered by a gauzy red scarf, and as their horses— rented from a Native tour industry— walked down through the canyon floor, hooves raising tiny shivers of water, passing trucks and tourist vans slowed and honked. Jen waved at each passing vehicle, smiling beautifully, which had slowed their process as several vehicles containing men had found it necessary to stop to talk. Sighing irritably— they were so close—Carrie tipped back her wide-brimmed tan hat and tried to smile at her partner. "Our guide is losing us," she pointed out sweetly, nodding ahead at the dwindling figure of the Navajo man. "And you know that it's Canyon law that we remain with a Navajo guide at all times." "I don't quite see the point. It's not like he's been doing much guiding." Holding the reins firmly, Carrie reminded herself that it was Jen's nature to be difficult. "Yes, but that could be because the ruins in these Canyons were not originally Navajo, but Anasazi. Puebloan." Jen nodded half-heartedly, having heard all of this already, and Carrie looked away with an impatient sigh. "Oh, when will we get to Mummy Cave?" They rode in silence for awhile then, each content to watch the beauty of the Southwest, smiling up at the red canyon walls. Every once in awhile, Jen would cry out and point to a petrogyph high up on the rock, but her companion's mind was fixed on what was ahead. Is this the path that you trod, Fox? She could almost see his footsteps ahead of hers, stretching out straight towards a mystery, a strange X-File. Perhaps she would be able to solve this X-File. Perhaps... "Carrie? Carrie? Carrie!" Carrie blinked in surprise, turning in her saddle to look at Jenny-witch. "We're there, Carrie," Jen pointed out, smiling as she easily dismounted, dark hands patting the graceful neck of her animal affectionately. "Mummy Cave," Richard, their guide, spoke, motioning towards the open mouth in the canyon wall. "We are now in Canyon del Muerto, which is named that because of the many Navajos who were killed here in the massacre. The warriors found refuge nearby at Massacre Cave and were all shot together by..." But Carrie could not hear him through the sharp ringing in her ears. This was it. This was what she had been searching for for so long, for years of her life, though she had never known it until now. There were answers to all of her questions to be had here, as well as answers to questions that she had never thought to ask. Slowly, as if in a daze, she dismounted from her animal, absently swiping the hat from her crowned forehead as she began walking towards the cave. "There was something strange about the way that it pulled me," she whispered, eyes unfocusing as she stepped closer and closer. Voices made a buzzing backdrop, then faded beneath the green silence. "Like it had been pecked into the rock, just for me. I looked up at A. and wondered if he felt it too, this strange compulsion to fling bodily through the very rock, as if it would open up beneath my weight." A pattern formed beneath her eyelids as she stepped, blind, near the rock. Heat radiated from it's surface, blistering her hand as she reached forward, hesitating. "Then his hand was holding mine, and there was nothing strange or awkward or sexual about it. It was like it was supposed to be there, as if we were born with our hands tightly clasped, fingers pressing together tightly in a mix of bone and skin. And then," her fingers brushed against the molten rock, shuddering electricity as sparks flung through her blinded sight, "hands clasped," pain that wasn't shot through her body as she leaned forward, "we stepped through the rock," and fell... THE PAST: CANYON DEL MUERTO "What the fuck are we doing here, Alex?" Fox Mulder muttered as he hefted his huge external-gear pack again, eyes narrowing on the man hiking in front on him. "Are you going to let me in yet, or aren't you done playing with me?" "Fox, you are ever so fun to play with," Alex tossed over his shoulder, obviously in high spirits. His dark hair was slightly rumpled and completely adorable, detracting from his bad-ass exterior. Not that Alex had ever managed to look like anything more than a young boy playing at being wicked. "And careful over this next rise." "Where do you get off telling me toOOF!" The loud cry and following crash resounded through the dark, night-washed canyon, echoing eerily in the night. Sighing, Alex turned back to view the damage, eyes skillfully passing over the other man to make sure he wasn't injured. Once he was assured that Mulder was in one piece, the black-clad man tilted his head and watched, enjoying the sight. Fox was sprawled on the rough ground, pants soaking in the thin layer of water that covered the canyon floor, legs propped up and head forward as he braced himself against his splayed hands. Forcing his eyes away from the opened juncture of Fox's thighs— temptation to touch aside, he didn't think Mulder'd appreciate him looking— Alex let his bright, shit-eating grin break through just as Mulder met his gaze. "Told you," he said simply, reaching out his hand to help Fox to his feet. "Shut up, Alex," Mulder growled, not even hesitating as he reached up to grab the proffered hand. Krycek's grin broadened as he pulled Fox up and helped to steady him, fingers remaining emeshed in the warm grasp much longer than necessary. Hazel eyes met green as they stood there, fingers tangling tightly as they swayed towards one another, tension filling the cold air as electricity skitted from one to other. Then, with a loud clearing of his throat, Mulder broke eye contact, pulling his hand away from Alex's loosening grasp as he reached up to tighten already-tight straps. "So... this way?" He didn't wait for confirmation but moved onwards, feet picking a more careful path in the darkness. Krycek remained where he was, rooted to the spot by the warmth that fluttered throughout his body. For a moment there, he had been sure... No need to get all fluttery about it, he mentally berated himself, forcing himself to move after the dwindling figure. He just held you hand— that's all. Yeah, but not too long ago he would have refused to have taken his hand at all. And now he understands that I'm not the monster he thinks I am. After Scully had been hospitalized for that final time before she had shuddered into a coma, Fox Mulder had been attacked and injected with the Andora syrum. Hyped up on the dangerous drug, Mulder had preceded to make an appointment— a secrete, well-hidden appointment— with his boss, AD Skinner. Once the older man had appeared, the brilliant Agent had shaken his hand, thanked him for coming, and had shot him three times, twice in the face and once through the chest before he had leaned down, wiped the gun on the other man's clothes, and dropped the still-smoking gun as he left the crime scene. Later, when the syrum had worn off, he had been stricken with shock and remorse, but Alex had been there in time to channel the other man's emotion into anger at his attackers and had convinced him that turning himself in would be suicide. Which is what Walter Skinner's death had been attributed to when he had been found four days later. From that point on, Mulder had begun to look at him not as the man who had killed his father and tried to kill his partner, but as someone who had been under the influence of something far beyond his control. Alex Krycek was no longer an evil killer— Alex Krycek was someone who had been manipulated by the Consortium, someone who could be likable and attractive and trusted. The warmth that grew in Fox Mulder's eyes and the pure physical tension that had finally been allowed to be released between them— if not yet acted upon— those many weeks ago was a blessing to Alex Krycek's yearning soul. And the fact that Alex had not been under the influence of the syrum, had killed because he had to do so to save his own skin and not because he physically had no choice...? Well, what Fox Mulder didn't know wouldn't hurt Alex Krycek. Smiling at his own thoughts, Alex took the last few quick steps to catch up with his old partner, glancing over at the handsome face which was pulled down in concentration as Mulder attempted to keep himself from taking another bad step. Smiling slightly, Alex glanced down the long stretch of land, assessing as he reached out to grasp Mulder's shoulder. "We're going to stop here," he explained to the other man's questioning expression. "For the night." "Shouldn't we keep going?" Fox protested, just like Alex knew he would. "We're not that far... I think." "No." He unclasped his special pack-harness and let the huge weight fall from his shoulders. The old scar tissue around his amputated arm felt odd and tight, and he winced as he reached over to rub the sore flesh through his leather jacket, shivering as a cold wind swept through the canyon. "It's getting early, and'll get very cold very soon. It'll be better if we're in our bags by then." Leaning down, he began unstrapping his down-lined sleeping bag, trying not to smile as he felt Mulder's eyes assessing him. If Fox felt like looking his fill when he thought Alex wasn't looking, let him. "You did remember to bring an ensolite pad, right?" "Huh? Oh, yeah." Squatting down, Mulder began to unpack his own bag, a blush coloring his face in the darkness. He shivered against the freezing wind, his gloved hands fumbling with the bungee cords that held his bag and pad on the pack. "Don't forget to bring out your change of clothes now," Alex reminded him, efficiently spreading out his own pad and bag and reaching into the pack for his extra jeans, underwear, socks, shirts, and sweaters. "You'll want to pretty much strip down and then climb into your bag. After about ten minutes the heat will begin to soak out of the bag and you'll want to shimmy into your extra clothes. Just don't stay in anything that you wore during the day." "I remember, Mom. And keep my head covered. Got you." Spreading out his own bag, Mulder dragged out his change of clothes and looked up to say something snide, only to jerk his head back down with a soft, startled cry, heat washing through him at the image of Alex, shirtless, unbuckling his black pants and stepping slowly out... Swiftly, Mulder busied himself with smoothing out his bag, not daring to look up until he heard the tell-tale whine of a zipper being pulled up the long cloth bag, and even then he kept his gaze fiercely averted. "So," he began to cover the silence, "how far are we from this cave?" "Not far." Alex shifted uncomfortably, wincing as a stone dug into his side. At least they had been able find a dry stretch to camp in— otherwise, they'd never be able to sleep. The winter nights were hellish in the southwest. " How far, Krycek? A mile? Two miles?" At Alex's low grunt, Mulder shrugged and pulled off his sweater, shuddering as the freezing air brushed across him. "Shit!" he hissed, stripping out of his shirt and fumbling with his belt buckle, body breaking out into the rash of gooseflesh. "It's fucking cold!" "Whine, whine, Fox," Alex yawned, pretending to look the other way. He wasn't, of course— he'd never miss the chance to see his own personal Fox Mulder strip show, but he didn't want to risk a kick in the face. Mulder had been so good about not beating up on him lately. "You've been in colder." "Not in my skivvies, I haven't," Mulder muttered as I crawled into his sleeping bag, cursing his lack of insight in not bringing a pillow. "And certainly not with you there." "Ah, shucks, I'm beginning to suspect that you don't like me," Alex grinned up at the stars, eyes gleaming as he settled himself. "Gee, I wonder where you would've gotten that impression." But there was no real malice in the tone— Mulder really did like Alex, though he'd be damned if he ever told that to the other man. He was insufferably smug as it was— it wouldn't do to out and tell him that he'd won Fox's respect and friendship, even if he already knew. As long as the FBI Agent could pretend at distance and distaste, then he could hold the... triple agent?... away from him and not have to admit that... "Shit, it's freezing," he cut into his own thoughts, not wanting to go there with the other man so close. And he was cold— so cold that he was shuddering violently as he tugged his clothing into the bag and began pulling them on roughly, fingers fumbling helplessly against buttons and zippers. "Jesus." "It's not that bad, Mulder," Alex rejoined, beginning to pull on his own clothes within the confines of the bag. It was difficult to do with his handicap, but he struggled along anyway, determined as usual. "Just 12 degrees, I'd say. That shouldn't be a problem with your sub-zero sleeping bag." There, he'd managed to pull on his shirt and pants, though right now, the buttons were beyond his capability. "What sub-zero bag?" Alex shifted in his dark bag to look at Mulder, his face white and erthereal in the cold moonlight. "You did bring a sub-zero sleeping bag, didn't you Mulder?" By the sudden, worried blanch that covered Fox's face, he knew the answer. "Fuck, Mulder, are you crazy!" he hissed, trully angry. "This isn't a game here— you could die out here from the cold..." "Yeah, I know!" Fox snapped back, anger ruined by his chattering teeth. "I just wasn't thinking." "Ah, God," Alex muttered, closing his eyes as he began to mumble to himself in Russian. After cursing Fox, the cold, the canyon, and his own loss of foresight for not checking to make sure that everything needed was packed, he let his words trail of, breath making white clouds in the still, dark air. Then, sighing, he reached over to partially unzip his sleeping bag. "Well, get in then." "What?" Fox looked comical in his surprise, mouth dropping open as he stared at his one-time partner. "You've got to be kidding me." Drawing in a patience-seeking sigh, Alex said, "No, Mulder, I'm not. It's almost freezing out, you're not equipped to deal with it, you could freeze your ass off if you don't have proper protection, and I'm not going to let that happen. You're not going to die on my watch!" His vehemence surprised himself as well as Mulder, and their eyes met over the thick space between them, hazel and green clashing and melting as understanding began to flicker and swim like a physical presence between them. Then, swallowing, Alex pulled his gaze away, disconcerted, and muttered, "Besides, I can't use you if you're dead." "Ah." Clearing his throat, Mulder nodded and unzipped his bag, rolling out of it's inadequate warmth with a shudder. "In that case..." He stifled a glad sigh when he slithered in next to Krycek, feeling the difference in warmth already. There was a long moment of awkwardness as the two men shifted in the too-small bag, each straining not to touch as they stared resolutely away from one another. Then, suddenly, Mulder barked a laugh and wrapped his arms around the warm body next to him, settling down until his face was pressed against the smooth leather of that damned, ever-present jacket. "We may as well be comfortable," he whispered to the leather, feeling Krycek's body tense beneath him. "Otherwise, we won't get any sleep tonight." "Okay." Alex's voice was a choked gasp, and Mulder quickly stifled the curiosity that rose up within him, part of his knowing instinctively why the other man was so uncomfortable. Don't think about it. Long moments passed as they both lay still and warm in the small down bag, breaths even and regular as coyotes yapped on the mesa-tops, distant and soothing. Then, slowly, the tension left Alex Krycek's body as he looped his arm around Fox's shoulders, sighing and snuggling down to sleep. And the harvest moon watched over them both as they drifted off into dreams. "We're almost there," Alex said over his shoulder, listening for the responding grunt. Mulder wasn't talking to him, frustrated and angry and still sexually charged from the morning, when they had woken up in each other's arms... He could feel the heat radiating from beneath him, feel it cascading in waves as he snuggled closer to that warmth, integrating the strangled gasp into his dreams as his fingers trailed over sweater-covered flesh. Someone was breathing heavily, making odd choking noises as he shifted forwards, twining his legs tighter as he... Blinking, Alex opened his eyes, mouth suddenly dry as he realized that the thick, throbbing heat against his thigh was Fox's hard cock, and he closed his eyes against the sudden responsive thickening of his own shaft, his face lifting to look up into dilated hazel eyes... Alex chuckled. For a moment, he had though that they were going to kiss, but then Mulder was moving away, and Krycek had never seen anyone untangle themselves from an equally-horny ex-partner and a sleeping bag so fast in his life. Fox had looked so ridiculously adorable, standing above Krycek, mouth gaping, prominent bulge drawing green eyes like bonding ions... Yes, this was shaping up to be a lovely trip, even if he was risking death by helping Mulder. Shaking his head at the intrusion of dark thoughts, Alex took a moment to consider exactly why he was here. The strange book with the tales of ancient people and their mysterious disappearance... The shaded sketch of a pictograph of a woman, dragonflies mating against her skin, light shining from the arch of her neck and her abdomen... A chance that Dana Scully's cancer could be cured... Alone, none of it would have been enough to convince Alex Krycek to defy the Council, steal the information, and spirit Fox Mulder away on what may yet prove to be his last trip— They never took defiance well. But add to those factors the desperation in hazel eyes and the gentleness of a large, callused hand reaching out to take the white, thin, unresponsive fingers in its grasp... That was enough. Sighing and rubbing at his face— he was risking death for someone else: he must be going soft— Alex paused and looked up at the canyon wall. He might as well enjoy it while he was still breathing. "We're here," he said quietly as Mulder joined him, voice hushed by the sudden sensation of sacredness that surrounded the area. "Mummy Cave." "And the pictograph?" Mulder was as excited and intense as ever, made more so by the opportunity to save his dying partner. "Where is it?" Alex shrugged, pulling off his pack. "I'm not sure, but if we look, we'll find it." "What are we looking for?" Fox unclipped his own pack, letting it drop to the ground with little regard for its expense. Alex hid a smile, glad to see the fire lit inside of Mulder again, banked after so many defeats. "I'm not sure. We'll find out." "Is there anything that you do know?" His tone was only half as snide as it would have been as he followed Alex, eyes scanning the walls as they neared the cave. "Like what we're supposed to do when we get there? What we're supposed to be looking for?" "We'll see," Krycek assured him, turning to the right in sudden impulse, almost feeling the shift in air currents as Fox turned with him at the exact same moment, as if they were programmed to react together as a single whole. His hand itched and his eyes felt heavy as he turned his head, slowly letting some force beyond his control pull him, as if shriveled fingers plucked and tugged at his soul. And then, sudden as a revelation, he saw it. "Alex," Mulder whispered dryly, "do you...?" "Yeah." Out of its own violation, he reached his hand out and tangled his fingers with Mulder's, not surprised when Mulder gripped his hand back. The image pecked into the rock seemed to expand as they moved slowly towards it, hands gripping and hearts thudding in their breasts as their chests rose and fell in rhythm together, twin expressions on their wide-eyed faces as they stepped closer and closer, drawn and compelled to the rock face. And then, not pausing to think of the ridiculousness of this reality, they stepped up to the rock and fell through. He was falling through blackness, tidal darkness oppressing and compressing his soul, compounded by the cold. He wasn't aware of his own body— if he had a body— or of an identity or purpose. His entire world was swallowed and sunken to the cold and the night and the fall. Then light surrounded him, bright and searing as he tried to desperately close the eyes he did not have, chased by the shining, burning light. In a flash of brilliance, the light faded, becoming replaced by the howling of wind against his non-flesh that beat against him violently. Then even that died away and he was aware of wetness seeping into his subconsciousness as he sank further and further, diving down through the layers, seeking for the source as a dowser seeks for water. Then the choking of soot as he fell through the ashy layers, bracing himself for impact as the last layer was breached. Shuddering in sudden reawakening, Mulder opened his eyes, thankfulness that he now had eyes to open washing through him even as he began to look around him, aware of a choking gasp beside him and fingers tightening about his own. Turning his head, he met a pair of wide green eyes and smiled, then laughed, a sudden, harsh, joyful noise that bubbled out of him and sang throughout the echoing cavern. "God, Fox," Alex breathed, shaking his head as he tore his gaze away, intense eyes focusing on the shining walls in wonder. The rock that was not rock, that was more than rock, undulated sensually in dappled light as painted figures rippled over the surface, paintings in motion that depicted star-shaped men falling down through the night sky and beaked giants snapping as they danced. "I don't believe this." "Believe it." He shivered in joy as he reached up to touch the other man's cheek, utterly serene in his display of affection as large green eyes turned back on him, wide and amazed. "Can you...?" "Yes." He didn't have to hear the rest— he knew what Alex was thinking even as he thought it, his mind and soul broken open, shining from the broken shell of his concealing body, a mix of light and dark. "So beautiful," Krycek whispered, not talking about the brilliant lights or the dancing pictographs, but instead of what he saw in the other man that reflected deep and serene and alive out of those dark eyes. "So beautiful." The sudden whisper of wind made them both turn, gazing out at the darkness with twin expressions of wonder as the air danced before them, shimmering and coalescing into arms, hands, a face. Eyes watched them solemnly from the tsunami of energy as a body formed, glowing and strange. {Follow.} Mulder was in motion almost as once, sensing Alex's hesitancy behind him as they moved after the shifting, ethereal figure, taking one step, two... And then they were elsewhere. This cavern was larger, though no less strange than the other had been, water dripping off of shimmering stalagmites to drip into lazily churning pools, bell-like tones sounding through the air as each drop of condensation joined the twisting fish. {Fox Mulder,} a low, echoing voice spoke, seeming to come from everywhere at once, from the walls, the water, the shimmering air. Their glowing guide was gone, swallowed by the sky, and Alex stepped closer to Mulder, glancing nervously around him. {Alex Krycek.} This voice was lighter and fiercer, pitched higher than the booming bass had been. Moving together, Alex and Mulder turned to look at a huge boulder, hands clasping nervously as it shuddered to life, two figures stepping from it's surface, hands clasped tight as well. One was tall and older, stern face still and mapped with deep lines. His eyes were wise and calm as he looked at the two men, and Mulder felt himself shudder beneath that seeking, knowing look, made bare by his knowledge. The other was younger and smaller, his thin, beautiful face lifted and arrogant and almost effeminate, a fierce smile playing over his lips as his wild gaze bore into Alex. {You do not belong here.} The deep bass rumbled through the cavern walls, loud and impersonal as he stared at Mulder, his gaze thick and strong. "We've come to find a cure. My partner has cancer, and..." {You do not belong here.} "But the cure, the truth..." {Is not for you— it is for another to find.} Wise old eyes looked into him, through him, and Mulder felt himself shudder, almost if he were outside of his own body. {Now, go.} "But we came..." {Go!} The cavern shook with the terrible noise, and Mulder fell back with a startled gasp, hands clutching fiercely at his ringing ears, stumbling to the slick floor in a boneless heap. Alex darted forward as if to catch him, but Mulder shot out a mental don't! and Alex stilled his motion, his face twisting as he looked towards the two glowing figure. "Fuck you," he hissed darkly, stepping to confront them, eyes wild and furious. Mulder reached up to stop him, then halted and stared at his hand in horror, amazed at the blood dripping from his fingers. Slowly, he touched the side of his face again to confirm the slickness that flowed down from his agonized ear drums. The elder of the two stared impassively, but the younger was grinning wildly, sparks seeming to fly from his body in a shower of light. "We traveled here, risked everything, on the chance, the chance , that coming here would be able to help Dana Scully." {You did something and expected nothing,} the younger of the War Twins spoke, sneering. {You did something for once out of genuine love and not in self interest. You sought to save his soul by saving her body.} The hard gaze traveled to the gaping Mulder and then back to the stiff Krycek. {We cannot give you what you seek. The cure is not for her— there is another plan in store for Dana Scully. She will not find the truth. And neither will you, Alex Krycek, or you, Fox Mulder— your destinies lay within the third world.} "You claim that we'll never find the truth," Mulder began, slowly rising as he cupped his ear, wincing in pain. "That we're searching in vain. But that doesn't matter— even if we do nothing more than destroy ourselves, if we can reach one person, help bring one manipulator down, it'll be enough." {Strong words, Fox Mulder,} the elder of the War Twins spoke, {though foolish. You cannot escape your destiny, and you cannot fight it. Even now your old partner dies— even now, your new one grows closer to death. How long will you last alone, Fox Mulder? How long will you last without either Dana Scully or Alex Krycek?} Mulder paused, his mind racing. Alex could feel the turmoil inside of him, feel the terrible anguish at those words as he began to falter, to give in one final time. Don't Alex whispered inside of himself, knowing that Mulder would hear. Don't give in— never give in. Fight, Mulder. "I will," he whispered, then louder, "I will continue my fight." {Then may your quest end in joy.} {And you,} the younger twin began, moving forward slowly, shimmering in the thick air as he approached the frozen form of Alex Krycek, {you will fight with him.} He paused in front of the green-eyed man, sparking light as they stared. Then, suddenly, he thrust his hands forward, burying them elbow deep into Alex's chest. "Alex!" Mulder screamed, darting forward, but he slammed into a wall of shining air before he could reach the other man. Alex was screaming silently, writhing on the War Twin's grip as his body jerked, eyes rolling up into his head. Mulder could feel an echo of his pain center in his own chest, and he groaned as he frantically tried to beat through the invisible barrier and reach the other man. "God, Alex!" And then the younger Twin was pulling out his arms, tanned skin covered in red and black liquid as Alex slumped to the cave floor, choking and gasping frantically. The black oily substance on the War Twin's arm coalesced and sank down into the flesh, disappearing from sight as he shot the gasping man a cocky grin, stepping back beside the older man. Then the barrier dissipated, and Fox dropped down beside the other man, drawing him impulsively into his arms as he buried his face into the mussed dark hair, worry creasing his forehead. "So I was under the influence of something," Alex murmured in amazement, his eyes wide as he wrapped his arms— both of them, whole and pure— around his new lover's neck, holding Mulder to him. "It wasn't me acting." {The only thing you were under was the influence of your selfish self-serving attitude. That is your greatest flaw. The Shadow merely made it easier for you to serve your own ends and save your own hide.} "But, I..." {You must go,} the elder broke in, hand grasping his younger counter-part's tightly as he stepped back to the rock-face. {Fight if you must, one next to the other, but know that your future is here.} And then, in a flash of light, they were gone. Mulder groaned as he opened his eyes, knowing before he moved what he would see. Alex was in his arms, but he could no longer feel that deep connection to the green-eyed man that defied reason or explanation. He stirred, feeling the hardness of rock beneath him as he looked up at the pictograph that had taken them into the third world. Slowly, he moved out from under Alex and stood, hand reaching forward to touch the rock: nothing. "I guess it only works once," Alex murmured from behind him, and Mulder turned to look at his lover, eyes scanning down to the shoulder that was missing the arm. Krycek followed his gaze and made a face as he stood, running his good hand through his hair. "Guess that was too good to last." Then he wet his lips, eyes casting away as if embarrassed. "And I was wondering... I was wondering if that was the only thing too good to last?" Slowly, he let his gaze rise to meet Mulder's, and the wariness there was enough to make Fox's heart break. "No," he said roughly, pulling the other man into his arms with a sigh. "No, it's good, but it'll last." Alex sighed and pressed in closer as Mulder stared at the pictograph, feeling empty and yet filled as he realized that though Scully hadn't been saved, perhaps Krycek had. "Come on," he sighed, tensing his arms around the leather-clad shoulders one last time before he pulled away, face pale and eyes hooded. "We've got a long way back to Washington." Alex nodded shortly and pulled on his pack, watching with worried green eyes as Mulder did the same. "I feel different, you know," Alex added quietly, meeting the hazel gaze openly. "A lot... lighter. Freer. It feels good." he shrugged. "I can't explain it." "You don't have to." Nodding for Alex to precede him, Fox took one last, longing look at the pictograph before he turned away and followed after, minds eye filled with glowing skin, dancing fireflies, and deep green eyes. You don't have to. "I can't believe that there was nothing there," Mulder whispered dejectedly, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned his face towards his reflection in the window. "All that we went through, all that you risked, for nothing." "I wouldn't exactly call that 'nothing', Fox" Alex reminded him quietly, turning his gaze away from the road for a moment to look at his lover with worried green eyes. "In fact, that was anything other than nothing." "But there was nothing to help Scully!" Fox exploded, turning in his seat to glare at the man next to him as if Alex were to blame. "There was supposed to have been a cure— they were supposed to have been able to help her." "There's still a chance, Mulder," Alex reminded him, his hand gripping the steering wheel tightly, cursing inside that he didn't have two hands so that he could touch his lover to comfort him. "We'll find a way." The deep sigh next to him quickened his breath as he recognized how close the other man was to giving up. "No we won't, Alex. You have to keep in hiding so that the black-lunged bastard doesn't get you, and I can pretty much kiss my job good-bye after taking off without a word like I did." "That doesn't matter, Fox. We'll find a way." The voice was so firm and so assured that Mulder couldn't help the flare of hope the jumped to life within him. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't help but feel that if Alex Krycek said that something was to be, then it was to be, no matter how impossible it seemed. "I'll get Dana back for you." He didn't bother to blink away the tears that were gathering on his lashes as the emotions of the last months began to wash over him, the despair and hope and dejection and horror combining together into an alagamation of feelings as he looked over at the man he used to hate and now loved beyond all reason and smiled. "Okay." The handsome face glanced over, and Mulder felt himself sinking into a pair of green eyes, floating and insubstantial in their mesmeric power. Then Alex pulled his gaze back onto the road and Mulder felt the tension that had built inside of him loosen a notch. "We're almost at the hotel," Alex remarked, turning off from the highway with a glad sigh. "Just one more night and we're back in Washington." "Back home," Mulder added quietly, not believing it himself. Washington couldn't be home anymore, not with Scully almost gone and the X-Files once again taken from him, as he knew they would be. Then, quietly, he spoke the worry that hounded him even more than the other two. "Will you be able to come see me sometimes in Washington?" Alex was perfectly still, his jaw tightening as he stared fixedly ahead of him. "You know that I wont be able to, Fox," he spoke finally, his eyes never leaving the road as he coasted into the motel parking lot and expertly parked the car, one hand efficient as always. "At least, not often." He turned in his seat to look at his lover seriously, his pale face intense. "I've blown Them off, Mulder, and even though there's a chance that They won't come after me if I lay low— a chance—it won't be taken well if it looks like I'm trying to enmesh myself into their plots." "So you're going to run away?" He really didn't mean to sound as accusing as he did, but the hurt squeezed inside of him like a fist, shuddering with each breath that he drew in. "Give up?" "I'm going to survive, Mulder. It's what I do." He stared ahead of him, green eyes narrowed and intent as they fixed upon the brick wall of the Motel 6 as if it held the answers that he needed to make the other man understand. Finally he gave up, shaking his head bitterly as he got out of the car. "It's just what I do." With the snap of the door shutting, Mulder was alone with his thoughts. He sat for several moments, staring out across the street at the bright light of a Waffle House, feeling broken and empty inside. He wasn't sure what he was feeling anymore— the entire three days had been an emotional rollercoaster for him, passing from faintly distrusting passion to consuming love and trust as easily as he had stepped through that dark Petroglyph and into... what? Had he and Alex truly been to the third world? Had they spoken with the War Twins and seen the great Kachinas, or was it all merely another trick? Yet he couldn't deny the raw emotions that he had felt when he had been there, hand grasping onto Alex's as if they had been melded together, dragonflies drifting against their heated skin, eyes meeting for the first time in mutual understanding... That had been real. Sighing low, Mulder climbed out of the car, noting Alex coming towards his, plastic key in hand. "Room 132," he said as he neared him, handing Mulder the extra key. "I had to do some extra maneuvering to get us the first floor." "Smart man." "Damn skippy. Get that bag, will you?" Trying to smile, Mulder hefted Alex's pack along with his own and followed his lover to their hotel room. Alex slipped the card into the slot and pulled it out again, cursing lightly when the red flash lit. Trying again, he smiled triumphantly at the welcoming green light and pushed open the door. Mulder followed the other man into the dark room, dropping the heavy packs as he nudged the door closed with is foot, glancing around as his eyes adjusted, taking in the perfect uniformity of the hotel room with the welcome smile. No matter what else happened, the Motel 6 never changed. "I was debating whether or not to take a shower," Alex commented as he shrugged out of his jacket and began unbuttoning his black shirt, "but that bed looks too good to pass up." He dropped the shirt behind him and began unbelting his— black— pants. "Is this a seduction?" Mulder smiled, looking pointedly at the single large bed. "Just going to bed here, Mulder." "Ah, well, shit." The flash of white in the darkness made Mulder grin back, and he stepped forward and into Alex's personal space, hands reaching out to lightly trace over the fine, delicate bones of the other man's wrist. "Need any help there, Alex?" he whispered against the soft skin of Krycek's neck, moving forward to press flush against the broad chest. The low expellation of breath against his hair was answer enough, and Mulder began lightly kissing and licking at the pale expanse of skin as he began unbuckling the dark pants, pulling the cloth halves apart and gently lowering them down boxer-covered hips. Dropping down to his knees, Mulder tapped the sensitive flesh of Alex's inner knee and waited for the leg to lift, Alex's hands splayed against his head to correct his balance. Gently, Mulder pulled off the black shoes and socks, then shifted to the other foot, drawing off each pants leg with soft tugs to the thick cloth. White skin slowly became exposed to his gaze, and Mulder leaned in closer for a moment, tongue snaking forwards to touch the sparsly-haired thigh. "God, Fox," Alex sighed, the muscles along his thigh jumping beneath the wet, trailing tongue. He closed his eyes and whimpered low in his throat as Mulder applied pressure, sucking at the white skin as his hands trailed up into his boxers. "God..." Then Mulder pulled his mouth away and looked up, waiting for Krycek to open his eyes and meet his gaze before saying, "You even wear black boxers ?" "Symbolism, Mulder," Alex said succinctly, reaching down and pulling them off of his hips with a sigh as his erect cock sprang free. Hazel eyes zeroed in on the bobbing red flesh, and Krycek reached down to touch the soft cheek, delicately brushing his thumb over the roughness of stubble. "We don't have to do this," he said softly, the pure gentleness of his tone forcing Mulder to raise his gaze. "There was so much bad blood between us, and we don't need to rush..." "I want to," Mulder choked, reaching up to touch those gentle fingers. "In— in the cavern, I saw you Alex, and it was..." He shook his head, unable to explain the complexity of the emotions that raged within him. "I just want to." "Okay." Green eyes were bright and alive, far happier than Mulder had ever seen them before with the sole exception of that moment in the cave when he was whole and pure, and Fox couldn't keep back the responding smile. "Far be it from me to keep the Oral Fetish Master from doing his work." Licking his lips, Fox leaned forward, hands reaching out to cup Krycek's hipbones before the other man's words hit home. "Excuse me?" he asked, affronted. "Oral fetish master?" "Mulder," Alex sighed, kneeling down impatiently and reaching out to tug at the other man's shirt. "Clothes off." Obligingly, Mulder began stripping off his clothing. "And besides, Mulder, you have such an oral fetish. Your pen, your tongue, those damn sunflower seeds... God, I've never been so jealous of an inanimate object as I was when you were making love to those seeds." "Making love?" he scoffed, shifting to pull off his jeans and boxers with a sigh, tossing them to land with the rest of their clothing as he stood, tugging Krycek up with him to head towards the bed. "I never made love to sunflower seeds Krycek." "Oh, it was quite a drawn-out ordeal. First, you sift through the bag and take out a seed, your fingers tracing lightly over it," demonstrating, Alex trailed his fingers across Mulder's collar bone and down his chest, circling lazily over a swiftly-puckering nipple. Closing his eyes, Mulder let his head fall back as he enjoyed the sensual attention, his breath quickening at the deliberate eroticism. "Then, you'd draw it towards your mouth, slowly, slowly, so incredibly slowly, as if you were drawing out each lavicious moment." Matching his words, he leaned forward and lightly touched his tongue to the sensitive bundle of nerves, eyes smiling as Mulder jerked up in surprise, a strangle gasp forced from his lips. He watched in aroused amazement as Alex continued lapping at the pink nipple, teeth delicately wrapping around it as he pulled, causing Mulder to stiffen at the sudden deluge of arousal that shot through him. Murmuring appreciation, he let his hands drift to the dark hair, tugging impulsively at the fine strands as Krycek bit and suckled his nipples, first the right, then the left, laving attention to each in turn. Then, finally, he pulled his face away and looked up at his panting lover with wicked green eyes. "Do you want to know what came next?" "God, yes!" "Your tongue would move over each seed, seeking for a hole, an entrance, a weakness." Sinking suddenly to his knees, Alex grasped the base of Mulder's red, pulsing cock and covered the tip with his mouth, teeth lightly scraping as he moved down on the other man. "Shit!" Mulder jerked his hips up reflexively, eyes huge as he looked down as the energetically sucking man, green eyes closed in blissful concentration as he moved his mouth up and down the pulsing shaft, tongue flicking against the small slit at the top, tasting the bitter tang of pre-cum. "God, Alex," he sighed, breath panting in and out of his body as he labored against the incredible sensation. "Ohh..." Corners of his lips lifting in satisfaction, Krycek took his lover deeper into his mouth and hummed delicately around the shuddering shaft, riding up expertly with the sudden fierce thrust of Mulder's hips. Half-shrieking half-moaning, Fox fell back onto the wide bed, bringing the tenacious Alex with him, tongue sliding against his flesh. He groaned when that talented mouth moved from him, eyes squeezing shut as he shook his head in denial, wanting the sensation to continue. "Finally," Alex whispered, voice husky with sex, "you crack open the shell and suck out the salt and kernel, letting it slip down your throat as you swallow, throat working sensually as the taste explodes through you." "Fuck, Alex," Mulder moaned, head tossing at the sensual caress of his lover's words. "I'm gonna... ah..." "I know," Krycek whispered, hand reaching up to tighten on Mulder's before he moved back down to the glistening cock, his smile widening as he licked his swollen lips. "I know." Then, with a sigh, he opened his mouth and licked slowly up the bottom of the thick shaft, knees bracing on either side of the long, twisting legs as Mulder let out a deep, hoarse yell, body tensing and releasing as a stream of semen washed out of him, bathing the white skin of Krycek's chest, spilling hot and steaming against his tensing stomach and erect nipples as he gasped, legs losing their strength as he effortlessly followed Mulder over the edge, spilling himself with a soft cry onto the twisting legs. He knelt there for a moment, forcefully keeping himself from collapse as sensation washed over him, bright and searing his flesh and mind, uniting him once more with the brilliant man below him. Then, with a final sigh, he let himself drop to the bed, falling to the side as he rolled against Mulder's outstretched arm, body limp and spent. "That was," Mulder began, but he couldn't find the words. "Yes." "Sleep now?" "Hell, yes." Pause. "We leave early in the morning, don't we?" Krycek sighed and shifted closer to his lover, reaching out lazily for the box of Kleenex on the bedside table. "Yeah," he agreed, wiping half-heartedly at his chest and Mulder's thighs, eyes closing in exhaustion. "Wake-up call at 4:00am." "Shit." "G'night, Mulder." "Night." Then, bodies shifting comfortably together, the two one-time enemies fell asleep in one another's arms. The sun was rising in a plethora of red and orange as Alex Krycek drove the simple, ordinary car down the highway, wind rustling through his dark hair as he contemplated this new hell he found himself in. Life had always been complicated— when his Russian immigrant father had introduced him into a job of high benefits and even higher risks; when he had started working his way up the ladder; when he had become partnered with Spooky Fox Mulder and had subsequently betrayed him; when he had turned triple agent; when he had turned his back on the shadow government to help the man who was his only chance at redemption... Through all the dangers and trials that he had faced, Alex Krycek had always managed to remain on top, saving his own skin no matter what the cost by dealing out one more lie, by adding one more body to the ever-growing pile of dead that hung around his neck, like an albatross. And now, caught in the web of his one moment of altruism, Alex Krycek, hard-assed, self-serving, uncaring rat-bastard was reduced to ashes. Glancing over at the man sitting beside him, asleep and drooling in the passenger seat, Alex felt a harsh twinge catch his breathing. He silently damned Mulder even as the small, ridiculously tender smile lifted his lips, wishing feverently that he had two arms so that he could reach over and touch the warm skin in reassurance. How was it that he had given up everything, perhaps even his own life, for this man, and yet he would be willing to do more, give more, if he had the chance? By even returning to Washington, he was giving himself over to the men who would have no mercy, yet as he woke that morning with the darkness still stagnant outside and Mulder warm and asleep against him, he knew that he would not leave the man alone, no matter what the cost. He had kissed the man as a Judas, and had now become his Peter. Even Russian rats can walk on water if the right hand is held out to steady them. Smiling sardonically, Krycek turned his attention back to the road, shaking the pointless thoughts from his head. There was much planning to do, favors to be called and precautions to be taken if he were to step back into the den of madmen. If he were to help in Mulder's crusade for the truth, then he must be ready for all exigencies. Yes, he thought as he turned off onto an exit, glancing at the softly stirring man beside him. Mulder's crusade. Mulder and Scully's— I've already found my truth. And, if he played his cards right, he had found his redemption as well. "That's impossible, Fox!" Alex snapped, staring out the window at the swiftly passing trees, his shoulders tight in denial. "You can't do that." "I can and I will." His voice was tight with anger and worry as he flicked on the headlights with a little too much force, his hands gripping the plastic wheel until his knuckles shone white in relief to the gathering shadows of night. "Alex, you can't honestly think that I'd just let you stay in Washington— it's too damn dangerous for you to even be there. The black-lunged bastard and his associates would have you before I had to chance to stop them, you know that. Nothing that we could do would be able to stop them." "But quit the FBI? Go fugitive? Mulder, do you even know what you're suggesting? You're whole life is the X-Files." "Not my whole life." The gentleness of his tone gave Alex pause, and he tilted his head to study his lover's profile, green eyes questioning. "Besides, the X-Files have been castrated ever since... ever since Skinner died. Ever since I killed him." "You know that wasn't you," Alex rejoined softly, touching the pale hand, warmth seeping through his chest as Mulder turned his own hand over and threaded their fingers together. "No," he conceded, "but that doesn't change anything. With Skinner gone, all of the really vital cases have moved beyond my reach. I'll be able to do more good cut loose, moving about with you." "But..." "Unless you don't want me to be with you?" He glanced at the green-eyed man out of the corner of his eyes, then cut his gaze back onto the road, jaw tightening as he waited for the response. Alex sighed. "Mulder, you know that's not true." He shook his head fiercely, clearing it from the seductive thoughts of Mulder and him, free from the Shadow, seeking truth on their own terms... "All right, then. Say you and I go AWOL— what happens then? What about Scully?" From the silence next to him, Krycek could tell that he'd hit on the crux of the argument. After several long moments of driving, Mulder finally answered him, voice halting and almost timid. "Scully is... there's nothing that I can do for her, except to bring these bastards to justice. She'd want that. And if I find the cure along the way, then I could bring it to her and she could join us..." "And probably end up shooting me," Alex muttered darkly, but he nodded, giving in. "All right, Fox— let's go outlaw together." The sudden grin was brilliant and breathtaking. "Sounds like a plan. We'll be a regular Bonnie and Clyde." "Who's who?" "Take a wild guess." "Fuck, Mulder, why do I always have to be the effeminate one?" "If the shoe fits," Mulder shot back, glancing over at the other man from beneath his lashes. "But seriously." "You, serious? Gee, Mulder, what's the world coming to?" Then, shrugging, Alex dropped out of levity as easily as he had brought it out from within him. "There's a cabin about 73 minutes from DC— I had it furbished in the likely case of an emergency." "Why, Krycek, you're a regular boyscout." "Cute, Mulder. To point, I shouldn't be heading back into the city— it's too risky. You, however, are expected to return and head to the hospital, and then back to your apartment. If you then wait several hours before heading out again, They shouldn't suspect anything's amiss. You'd come get me, and then we'd be out on the road before the alarm could be sounded." Mulder nodded thoughtfully. "It sounds good, but I'd really feel better about it if we headed off immediately. You know, just turn around and drive away now." "No Mulder," Alex said softly, fingers brushing across the other man's arm. "You need to see your partner one last time before we leave. She was a strong woman, a formidable woman, who, by the way, scared the shit out of me , and she deserves to hear your voice one last time." He sighed and glanced away, face reflecting off of the dirty glass. "Besides... you need her." "You're right, Krycek— I do need her. But I need you, too." Smiling tremulously, Alex turned to meet the deep hazel gaze, long lashes blinking over the sudden, insane wash of tears. "Yeah, well, you remember that," he warned gruffly, his sudden sniff ruining the tough attitude. "You big softy," Mulder grinned, turning back to the road. "Ah, damn, Mulder— you made my mascara run." A brown brow rose. "And you complained about being labeled the effeminate one...?" "Just drive, jackass." "Yes, dear." A lone man sat in a small, cramped office, bored gaze flickering over the varied surveillance screens as he took a long swill of cold, flat coffee, his face screwing up into a grimace as he spit the brown liquid back into the ceramic mug. "Shit," he groused, pushing back his folding chair and standing, mug clenched tight in his hand as he walked the two steps towards the sink and tossed the old coffee down the drain, turning on the cold water to rinse the stained interior. Then, dropping the cup into the sink with a sigh, he turned back to the screens to stare at the dullness of empty rooms. When his eyes hit the final screen, he cursed loudly and reached for the phone, excitement rising in him as he hit the only button on the small black machine, his breath escalating as it rang once, twice, then... "Yes?" "He's back, sir," the man spoke quickly into the phone, eyes following the two men as they stepped out of the vehicle and embraced. "And Agent Mulder is with him. They seem to be... ah, fuck, sir, you never said they were fags." "You're not entitled to know everything. Watch them and don't let Krycek leave the safe house alive." "Understood. Agent Mulder has already gotten into the car." "Very good. We will be there shortly." Then with the smile, the soft-voiced man hung up his phone and turned to his associates, lighting a cigarette as he smiled. "It looks as if our wayward companion has returned," he said softly, blowing out a stream of smoke, bluish in the darkness. "And he's brought us a gift." Matching predatory gleams shone in each eye as the circled men looked at one another. "Then you know what to do." Dragging deep on his cigarette, the elderly man nodded his head. "Of course." Then, in a cloud of smoke, he left the room. "This is crazy," Krycek moaned against the frantic press of his lover's lips. "I'm going to be seeing you in a matter of hours." "I know," Mulder agreed, tongue snaking out to tangle with Krycek's before he moved away, licking frantically down the other man's throat. "I just... need to see... Scully and then I'll be... ready to... go." "Then go see her," Alex whispered against his dark hair, pushing gently at his lovers chest. "Before I decide not to let you leave." Mulder let himself be directed away from Alex, his smoldering eyes transversing the length of his lover's body before he nodded. "All right, but I'll see you in three hours." "Seven, for safety." "Three." "Mulder..." "Three." "Six." "Three." "You're impossible." "Three." "All right, Mulder," Krycek caved in with a smile. "I'll see you in three hours— then we'll be outlaws." "Oh, goody." Then, with less levity, "I will come back here, no matter what else happens— I will be back. Remember that." He touched the soft cheek with a hand, then with one last, light brush of his lips against his lover's, Mulder pulled open the door and climbed into the drivers seat, pulling away from the small, nondescript house and smiling man with a wave. And then, with a cloud of dust, he drove away. Alex Krycek remained outside for long minutes after the vehicle disappeared from the horizon, his eyes fixed on the long, straight road on which his lover would return. "You're growing soft," he muttered to himself caustically, but he couldn't seem to be able to pull his gaze away, hating the helpless feeling that rose up within him, wishing that he could do something to help but knowing that all he could do was wait. Wait and hope. "Here's to hoping." With one final, longing look towards the horizon, Alex turned and headed into the house. And from behind the cover of a nearby tree, a lone figure lifted his tranquilizer rifle, took aim, and fired. Darkness surrounded him like a shroud, thick and stifling against his closed lids, pulling him down farther and farther into the heat of night even as he struggled for consciousness, desperate to peel open his eyes and discern his position. He moaned lightly, sensation creeping back into dulled limbs and throbbing head as he began to shift against the cold floor, swimming into wakefulness. "I wouldn't move if I were you," a soft, familiar voice spoke, and Krycek froze at the amused warning, alarm sounding through his brain as he forced open his green eyes, fighting away the last clinging remains of the tranquilizer drug. Blinking dazedly, he looked down at the hard pressure that butted against his chest and, somehow, went even tenser, brain swiftly calculating the meaning of the rifle pressed business end to his heart. "It's amazingly difficult to cuff a one-armed man, you understand," CSM stated calmly, lighting a cigarette as he watched the thin layer of perspiration form on the pale brow. Krycek tried to speak through the gag binding his mouth, then winced at the horrible taste of the cloth against his tongue. "The trigger is attached by means of electronic sensors to your upper body— if you make any large or threatening movements, you will be, in effect, killing yourself. Quite amazing, don't you think?" Green eyes zeroed in on the black-lunged bastard, hate shining fiercely through the depths. Smiling in reply, CSM turned to the window, drawing Alex's attention up to the perfect view of the road, twisting lazily into the horizon, brightened by the moon. The road that he would come down. "We really should commend you for trapping him so easily for us, Alex. He's effectively broken all ties with the world, even going so far as to leaving a note should Scully ever come out of her coma— which she will not, I assure you— explaining that he's gone off to fight for justice elsewhere. We couldn't ask for a better cover." He turned, jowled face solemn. "Too bad you chose the losing side, Alex, or you could celebrate our victory with us." Fuck you, Alex moaned, teeth gripping at the soiled cloth that held his furious comments back. You're not going to win— you can't win. I won't let you. The sudden sound of a vehicle in the distance drew both of their eyes to the window, where the distant cloud of smoke could be seen in the horizon. "Ah, Fox, just on time," CSM smiled, eyes sparkling at the sudden freezing of Krycek's features. Pulling out his phone, he flipped it open and pressed a button, then held it to his ear for a moment before saying: "Good. I want you to track him, but do not fire until I say so." NO! Alex tried to scream, voice muffled against the rag, upper body tense and trembling with the effort of not moving. Cool eyes skated over to look at him, and he tried to convey his pleading, his helplessness with his intense gaze. I will do anything. I will cut any deal. Just don't hurt him; don't kill him. "Alex Krycek," CSM smiled, dropping his closed phone into his pocket and taking another long drag on his cigarette. "You used to be a rather capable assassin— you used to be able to take a life without this bullshit angst and terror. Has the short time you spent with Mulder really changed you all that much?" A brow rose as he viewed the sweating brow, the glaring eyes, the tense physique. "No," he finally judged, shaking his head. "No, I don't believe so." Then he moved to the side so that Krycek could have a perfect, aching view of Mulder driving happily towards his death. Turn back! he whispered desperately, willing his lover to sense his thoughts with all the sudden desperation of belief. Please, God, PLEASE! Turn back, Mulder, turn back! The car drew closer in the wan of the moon, bringing Mulder closer with each second to death. Please, no, it can't end this way! It can't ! Turn back, Mulder, fuck, God, hear me ! Tears, checked until now, shattered his raging calm, and Krycek squinted his eyes against the haze of wetness, watching with gagged and futile horror as the car that held Fox Mulder drew up in front of the house. Please. Don't die. Mulder opened the door and began to step out, face lifting up to look at the silent house, lips lifting into an irrepressible grin and he began to move to find his lover. Don't die. Please. He is my salvation. Tears making silent, desperate tracks down his face, Alex Krycek drew in a deep, gagging breath, and leaned towards the rifle. The moment froze, stretched, as he stared out at the happy, smiling face, his heart suddenly light, alive, and whole, as it had been down in the cavernous belly of the third world. The air thickened and brightened somehow, dancing in prolific lights around his dazed gaze as his lips lifted up into a wondering smile, shining through the tears that feel down his cheeks with low, echoing tones. And then the sacred stillness shattered. The sudden explosion of the rifle cut through the air, halving it with the loudness of a bullet screaming through flesh, and CSM turned with a startled curse just in time to see the transcendent, beautiful, and utterly triumphant green gaze of Alex Krycek go glassy and dull as the one-armed man, assassin and double agent toppled over the smoking barrel and fell limply to the floor, a sudden sea of red making a halo around his dark, careless hair and pale, open face. He stared down at the ruined chest and the open eyes, fury boiling through him at the calm expression laid like a veil over the features, gauzy yet substantial in death. Krycek seemed to be smiling as the sound of a slamming door filled the air as his lover fled, supernaturally protected, it seemed, from the accompanying bullets by the serene green gaze. CSM couldn't force himself to look away, even as the cooling blood washed over his shoes and seeped into his white socks. The sound of footprints jarred him out of his astonishment, and he turned to look at his man with an expressionless face, one brow raised in question. "He got away, sir," the man spoke softly, pointedly not looking at the corpse on the floor. "He heard the gunshot and... He got away." His superior didn't speak, didn't even blink, and the gunman nodded and backed out of the eerily still room with a repressed shudder, quelled by the strange light in his superior's eyes. Slowly, CSM turned back to the body of his once-assassin, hands trembling as he stepped closer, amazed by the peace. "I never thought that you had it in you, Alex. I never thought..." He'd never thought that Krycek would do something that was not to his own benefit. He never thought that Alex Krycek could care so much. That he'd die to warn another by his death. He'd escaped damnation. The Judas became the Christ. "Fuck you," he whispered, hands clenching. Then louder, "Fuck you!" His hands grasped the handle of his gun even before he was aware of drawing it, and with a deep cry, he pointed the gun and began firing wildly, repeatedly, into the expression of tenderness on Alex Krycek's dead face, his own features twisted in crazed fury as he fired again and again, close enough to feel the blood and brain matter spatter across his legs and shoes, close enough to watch that insufferable expression fade away in a shower of red. His hand trembled violently as he pulled the trigger again and again, long after all the bullets were spent and the empty chambers clicked swollen and distended in the thickness of the air. And yet he continued firing. Then, slowly, he forced his hands down, lowering the gun and dropping it to the ground as his fingers unclasped, white and sickly from the force of his grip. "You have no more power," he whispered to the disfigured body, committing the shattered chest and skull to memory, noting the way blood and brain matter soaked the black leather. "You have no power." Then he turned on his heel and left the room, left the memory of serene green eyes and smiling, peaceful lips. Left the memory of defeat. Yet somehow, he knew that that face would chase him to the grave. Mulder sighed and surreptitiously glanced around the crowded bar once more, his hazel gaze hooded and worried. "Where are you, Alex?" he whispered, hands gripping the tall glass tightly, almost shattering it. "Where are you?" There was no answer. Shutting his eyes, Mulder cut himself away from the noise and clamor of the bar. Alex was safe— he could protect himself. That gunshot had probably just been him, off in the woods, warning Mulder... Oh, how he wanted to believe that. "Be okay," he whispered, eyes squeezing tighter as he bowed his head, shoulders slumping in weariness and worry. "Please, please be okay." "Mulder." A voice shocked him out of his personal darkness, and Mulder looked up with a start, gaze fixing on the man beside him. "Byers?" "What are you doing out in public?" the dark-haired Lone Gunman hissed, pulling at his sleeve as he darted a look around at the other patrons. "You've got a price on your head." "I'm waiting for Alex," Mulder protested, pulling his arm out of the persistent grip. "Alex Krycek?" "Yeah." At the stunned expression, Mulder sat up in concern. "What do you know, Byers?" "We just heard..." "What?" Nonplused by the sudden fury, Byers placed a gentle hand on the Agent's arm. "Mulder, Alex Krycek is dead." He froze beneath the gentle eyes, disbelief coursing through him. Alex wasn't dead; he couldn't be. He couldn't be." "That's impossible," he declared, shaking off that hand again, ears ringing. "Mulder, I'm sorry, but he's..." "No! No, you don't understand. We were going to be outlaws together. We were... he can't be... No. No, you're lying." "It's on some of the secret correspondences— Langley was able to hack into them this morning. Alex Krycek was apprehended at some 'safe house' on the outskirts of Washington. He was tied up, but somehow had access to a rifle." Mulder began shaking his head in steady denial, refusing for once in his life to believe. "He... he heard his... associate... he heard his associate coming and to warn yo— to warn his associate, he pulled the trigger, shooting himself..." "No. He wouldn't." "Mulder..." "NO!" Mulder yanked away from the concern, face contorting in pain and rage. "No! Fuck that! Alex wouldn't... Alex just wouldn't..." The gun shot, the warning sound shattering the perfect stillness... No... "Oh, God," he whispered, face turned away as the predictable tears welled up from the knot of pain within his chest, choking him. "God..." "It's okay, Mulder," Byers soothed. "We'll..." Dead. "Those fuckers." Byers stared at him, shocked, as Mulder stood and shoved away from the bartop, his eyes wide and gleaming. Dead. "I'm going to make them pay." With a low growl, half pain, half vengeance, Fox Mulder stumbled away. Dead. Dead. They're all going to be dead. Alex... "WHERE IS HE?" Mulder screamed, furious beyond reason as he shoved past the Bearau's shocked security guards, gun drawn and waving as he slammed the men aside, intent on finding the man he knew was responsible. "Where is he?" Those green eyes, the soft lips... "You black-lunged son of a bitch! Come out and face me!" The soft hair, the almost-shy smile... "Face me!" Beautiful, intelligent gaze, whimsical expression... "Mulder." Whirling around in fury, Fox's wild gaze met the steady, calm eyes of his nemesis. "You," he hissed, voice barely recognizable as his own as he moved forward, gun raising inorexaibly towards the black, charred heart. "You killed him. You..." His finger tightened on the trigger. The sudden explosion of a firing gun filled the hallway, and Mulder met the man's gaze as his hand began to shake violently, fingers trembling and loosening as the gun skitted from his grasp. Gaze falling down in shock, Mulder touched the seeping blood on his own chest, feeling for an instant the heat of torn flesh before he toppled over, falling into an ignoble heap on the floor, breath wheezing on the sudden impossibility of breath. "Good shooting," CSM commented wryly to the guard, stepping almost eagerly towards the pooling blood. Fox struggled to pull himself up, but his body could not sustain his own weight, and he collapsed again with a gurgling sigh, his eyes squeezing shut as a pair of black shoes came into his vision. "I always knew it would end like this, Mulder. You, shot down like a dog..." Alex he whispered, fists clenching weakly as his breath began to rattle. Please, please, Alex... Lights danced across his vision, wild and wanton, claiming the breaths and thoughts from his fleeting brain. I... need... Pain arched through him. And then there were green eyes and soft hair, lips that needed to be kissed and two arms opening wide, and Fox Mulder broke into a soft smile, his eyes opening as he looked up into the gaze of his gloating nemesis. "You... never... win..." Then, with a sigh of breath, his body stiffened then went limp as hazel eyes rolled up into his head. CSM stared down at the dead body at his feet, feeling strangely empty now that the game was over. The secrets would remain that way— the Truth would never be found. he had won. So why did he feel as if he'd just lost something precious? Hands trembling— they never would be still again— he lifted a cigarette to his lips and lit it, drawing in on it as if it gifted him life. Then, mind shifting through the nightmarish images of emptiness, he turned and headed back to his dark office. In the hallway, the still body of Agent Fox Mulder almost seemed to smile. THE PRESENT: CANYON DEL MUERTO Darkness was almost a blessing after the shattering whirlwind of images, and Agent Carrie Baker held on to that darkness as if it sustained her, unwilling to part with the memory that imbued her still body with life. "Carrie! Carrie! Care!" The intruding voice made her wince, as did the hands brushing back her hair, and Carrie opened her eyes slowly, unwillingly, to look up into the worried brown gaze of her partner. "Jen." "Oh, thank God!" Jenny whispered feverently, mascara making unashamed streaks down her smooth black cheeks. "Don't worry, Care— the ambulance is on its way." "Ambulance?" She blinked and tried to look around her, disoriented. Where was Fox? Alex? "Wha...?" "You passed out and were unconscious for... oh, so long a time." Gentle fingers reached out to tuck Carrie's hair behind her ear as the other arm tightened around her. "We thought— we thought that you weren't going to wake up." The older woman shook her head, eyes closing in shock. "No. No, it was real. It wasn't a dream..." "Care?" "Nothing," she whispered, tears gathering beneath her closed lids. "I'm fine." Then she opened her eyes, needing to prove to her friend and partner that she was okay, when her gaze fell on the etching in the rock over Jenny's shoulder. "Oh, God." "The ambulance is here, Care," Jenny assured her, mistaking the stricken expression for one of pain. Carrie nodded, attention elsewhere, and he gaze never left the ancient art work as the Navajo men surrounded her and began firing off question, touching her head and wrists with professional hands. Carrie was aware of none of it— all that she could see was the etched image, stark against the canyon cave wall, of two men, the War Twins, hands clasped with a sun rising like a beacon behind them. It was real. "Miss Baker?" Her gaze clung to that petroglyph for long moments before she was able to tear her eyes away to look at the EMT. "Miss Baker, we're going to take you to the hospital now." She nodded weakly as they lifted her onto the gurney, her mind whirling with what she had learned. It was real. It had all been real. Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek had come to the Canyon del Meurto, to the Canyon of the Death, seeking the Truth, and finding each other instead. And she had come, following in their faded footsteps, seeking them and finding... "Take me to the hospital, Jen," she whispered to her partner, holding on tightly to the dark hand as she looked up with wide, ancient eyes. "I have a lot to tell you." She had the cancer, but she would be strong— she wouldn't let it beat her. She wouldn't let Them win. And when she got her strength back, she would begin her crusade at once: there was a lot of work to be done. The Truth was out there. Author's Note: Well, it's over. I'll admit that this was a very hard piece for me to write, but I had so much fun with it. I hope you enjoyed reading it, and please don't be mad at me for killing them. I promise to raise the from the dead and let them have great, hot, loving sex in the next X-Files story I write. 'Kay? All feedback to pennyprophet@hotmail.com please. Oh, and here's the poem that inspired it all— try getting Loreena McKennet's CD "Book of Secrets" if you can. You won't be sorry! "The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor And the highwayman came riding, Riding, riding The highwayman came riding up to the old inn door. He'd a French-cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jeweled twinkle His pistol butts a-twinkle His rapier-hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter Bess, the landlord's daughter Plaiting a dark red loveknot into her long black hair. "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day Then look for me by the moonlight Watch for me by the moonlight I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way." He rose upright in his stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, but she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his reign in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west. He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor A red-coat troop came marching Marching, marching King George's men came marching, up to the old inn door. They said no word to the Landlord, they drank his ale instead But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed Two of them knelt at the casement with muskets at their side! There was death at every window And Hell at one dark window For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch" and they kissed her, She heard the dead man say— "Look for me by the moonlight Watch for me by the moonlight I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!" She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood. They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years Till, no, on the stroke of midnight Cold, on the stroke of midnight The tip of her finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers. Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs were ringing clear. Tlot-tlot in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill The Highwayman came riding Riding, riding The red-coats looked to their priming, she stood up straight and still. Tlot in the frosty silence. Tlot in the echoing night. Nearer he came, and nearer, her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath Then her finger moved in the moonlight Her musket shattered in the moonlight Shattered her breast in the moonlight, and warned him with her death. He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know she stood bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched in her own red blood. Not 'till the dawn he heard it; his face grew gray to hear How Bess, the Landlord's daughter The Landlord's black-eyed daughter Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back her spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were the spurs i' the golden noon, wine red his velvet coat When they shot him down in the highway Down like a dog in the highway and he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat. Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding Riding, riding A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door." pennyprophet@hotmail.com

Title: Sacred Stillness Author: Khirsah Series: Nope Show: X-Files Pairing: Mulder/Krycek Archive: sure Website: http://www.geocities.com/ityliana Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. Well, besides the ones that belong to me, that is. ;) Summary: Sometimes old love stories don't have happy endings... and sometimes, they do. Warnings: OK, how to explain this? I've been going on a major angst kick lately, so decided to take a turn in the angstiest pairing that I could think of, even though I am only a very recent convert from Mulder/Scullyism. Hey, I admit it, I still read MSR, but then I happened upon a Mulder/Alex and... wow. So, anyways, the inspiration for this story came from listening to Loreena Mckennitt's amazing vocal rendition of Alfred Noye's "The Highwayman". So, there is a death warning and an angst warning, but hey, isn't enduring love and great sex two good reasons to read this anyways? ;) Oh, and it may seem like it goes on and on in the present, but it'll eventually get to the Alex/Fox scenes. Also, I have nothing but respect for the Pueblos and their ancestors— this story is based a lot around their religious practices, but I want the reader to remember that I am merely a scholarly Anglo who's writing a fictitious story— if you want to know about the Pueblo religion (which you should; it's fascinating) I implore you to research for yourself. Don't take my interpretation as fact. Thanks to: Jamie Fitzpatrick for doing an amazing beta job! back to top

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