There,
The uncornered animal, running off
Touched with the moon's red silver,
He flies like a bolt running home.
—James Dickey, "Fox Blood"
Samantha held her hand out, palm down, keeping her arm perfectly level. Her skin
was tan, the fine hairs bleached golden by the sun. The little salamander walked
along her arm.
"See that?" Sam said. "Isn't that cool?"
Mulder leaned back against the gritty stone, the noon sun bathing him in a
pleasant heat. Feeling utterly tranquil and at peace, he watched a bee settle
languidly on a purple flower. Soon it would be lunchtime and they would have
sandwiches, cheese for Sam and turkey for him.
Looking over at Sam, he felt a limpid sense of surreality, and yet nothing had
ever seemed more real than her face, so much like his own, with its
almond-shaped hazel eyes and full lower lip. Her flowered shorts and faded pink
top were familiar. She had kicked off her flip-flops and was running her toes
through the long grass. A grasshopper leaped away, its wings whirring.
He wanted to tell her he was sorry, that he had tried to stop them from taking
her. That every moment of his life since then had been haunted by that night.
If I could have gone in your place, Sam, I would have.
But seeing her sitting there, wrinkling her nose and
laughing at him, he felt the old fear and grief
lifting from him, weightless and ephemeral as bubbles.
A strong lassitude had spread through his limbs. More
than anything, he wanted to put his head down on Sam's
shoulder and doze off.
Sam was saying something about the church. Mulder sat
upright. Hazy fragments were coming
back...running...gunshots...fire.... He felt confused,
awash in conflicting emotions. Sitting here with Sam,
he was transported back to the lazy joy of those days,
unfettered by the pain and guilt and helpless anger
that had gnawed at him for so long. If Sam had not
been taken, how different everything would have been!
He could hear Alex's quiet voice in the night, asking
him about that. If Sam had not been taken, would he
have been driven to do the work he did, uncover the
conspiracy, the colonization plans? Would he have ever
met Scully? And Alex—would he have ever known Alex?
At that thought, memories surged up with a galvanizing
urgency. Alex pushing him, looking desperate and
determined...Scully shooting...
"My friends...people I love are there. I have to go
back."
Samantha tickled his ear with a weed. "Well, start
walking, buttmunch.
Mulder pulled himself to his feet. Leaning down, he kissed the top of Sam's
head. Her hair was warm and glossy. The little salamander had curled itself into
a circle, sitting happily on her palm.
He started walking. The church was much further away than he expected, and the
cemetery bigger than he remembered. Even from a distance, he could see that the
door was blackened, the plants around it shriveled in the heat. A clammy current
of fear assailed him. Shaking it off impatiently, he jogged toward the door.
The doorknob was too hot to touch. He wrapped the hem of his shirt around it and
gave a hard tug. It refused to open. He pulled harder, still to no avail, then,
in a furious frenzy, pounded and kicked it, the rough wood bruising his hands.
It was sealed shut. On either side, the iron gate blocked his way, stretching
out as far as the eye could see.
He forced himself to calm down, think rationally. There must be a way around to
the front, or through the gate. Maybe Sam would know. But already his encounter
with her was receding, taking on a dreamlike quality. Sprinting back through the
cemetery, he could not recall where they had been sitting. She was not there.
Closing his eyes, he tried to memorize their encounter, mentally crystallize
everything she had said and done. It was slipping away, like a fistful of water.
Before him was the trail out of the cemetery. He began running, feeling a
mounting urgency to get back to Scully and Alex. He recalled the Consortium
operatives coming in the front door, shooting, as Alex shoved him out the
back...the timbers of the church engulfed in flames. Had they made it out, were
they hurt? Desperately, he pounded along, his heart thundering, his lungs
gulping and grabbing air.
Sharp pain in his side brought him up short. He was running too fast and too
hard, not pacing himself. Stumbling along, clutching his side, he emerged in a
clearing. Before him on the ground was a ring of white stones. Tomasina had
buried her friend here, the coyote-dog.
He sank to his knees beside the grave, bowing his head. He remembered her words:
"I lived to fight with him." He had lived to fight with Alex. And then he had
lived to do so much more.
His fingers dug into the dirt. He heard the coyote howls, all around him, fierce
high yells of despair dominating the air. It took him a moment to realize the
sounds were coming from him.
A hand gripped his shoulder, strong and warm. He looked up to see Tomasina's
face above him, very dark against the bright sun.
"Tokala. Ho." She was wearing a long turquoise skirt that rippled in the wind.
He jumped to his feet, his chest still heaving from the long run. An
overpowering sense of relief and gladness filled him. "I need to get back," he
panted.
She began to walk, not back toward the old church but in the other direction, up
toward the bluff. He followed her, in a dreamlike haze of desperation. Although
the way was steep, she moved easily, seeming to float over the ground. She was a
careful walker, making way for animals and plants and even stones in the path. A
small snake lay across the trail, and she lifted it, placing it on a log to the
side, out of harm's way.
Seeing the snake reminded him of Scully comparing Alex to a serpent, with the
offering of the apple. The apple for Adam and Eve had brought knowledge, but
also the fall from innocence. Wasn't that what they were about to do to the
world? Everywhere at this moment, in cities and towns, people were happily going
about their daily lives, their biggest problem getting Bobby to Little League on
time, or whether they would make partner at their firm. They knew nothing of the
plans for colonization, the black oil virus, the battles being waged. The apples
would bring protection, but also the shattering revelation of all this. But the
world could not remain innocent forever, any more than he could have stayed in
that graveyard with Samantha forever.
He remembered Alex's voice, low and impassioned: "Unless you pull your head out
of the sand, you and I and about six billion other people on this planet are
going to go the way of the dinosaur." Alex had known, for a long time, carried
that inside him. Maybe Alex had always known what a dangerous place the world
was. There was so much darkness and pain in him, but so much good as well.
They had reached the top of the bluff. She led him to the very edge, where it
dropped off steeply. A red-tailed hawk rose and circled above them.
"Down there," she said. At first he saw nothing, just acres of trees. Then
Tomasina pointed, down and off to the side. Far below were two tiny figures: a
man lying on the ground with a woman next to him, bending over his body. His
heart jolted at the sight. Scully and Alex!
Urgently, he turned to Tomasina. "I have to get down there. I don't know the
way."
"You know the way." She pointed along a different trail from the one they had
come, her hand sketching a sinuous path in the air. "Follow that."
It seemed impossibly vague. "Can you take me down there?" he demanded.
"You will get there. Take this." She was wearing a bracelet of braided grass,
and she untied it now, holding it out. "Sweetgrass." Taking hold of his arm, she
fastened it around his wrist. Mulder breathed it in. It was indeed
sweet-scented, like fresh-baked rolls or new-mown hay.
"What's it do, ward off bad spirits or something?"
"It is not to ward off the bad. This is to bring the good." Taking his face in
her hands, she patted his cheek. "Go, Tokala."
He hugged her. She smelled of sage. "Thank you," he said. He started down the
path. She said something in Lakota, watching him go.
Not wanting to miss any words of wisdom, he turned back. "What does that mean?"
The bright grin creased her face again and her eyes sparkled mischievously. "I
said, the fox has a beautiful tail." Chortling, she swatted his rump. "Go!"
He walked along briskly, fighting the urge to hurtle down the hillside at top
speed. When the road forked he stayed to the left, driven by some inner sense.
There the path evened out and began to descend. He hurried down, dodging roots
and brambles. Thick highbush blueberries choked the trail, and gnats swarmed
around his head. He wished he had some water. At times like these, he thought,
city living was definitely preferable.
He recalled Tomasina's care in walking through the woods, the respectful way she
approached each animal and object. Meanwhile here I am, trampling down like a
water buffalo. Breathing in the sweetgrass, he forced himself to be a little
calmer, look around more. He felt some inner sense guiding him now, the way
becoming clearer.
Beyond a thicket of mountain laurel the trail curved outward in a rough shelf, a
kind of natural lookout. Mulder peered over, hoping to catch another glimpse of
Scully and Alex. About fifty feet below, he could see the place where the road
into the woods intersected with the unpaved path going toward the cabin. A car
was parked there. Leaning against it was a tall man with gray hair wearing a
rumpled overcoat.
And smoking a cigarette.
A rage that was pure adrenaline ripped through Mulder. C. G. Spender, waiting as
usual for his flunkies to come back from doing the work he would not dirty his
hands with.
Spender's expression turned to shock and dismay as Mulder came charging down the
hill toward him. Mulder did not bother to check his speed, letting the force of
his momentum slam Spender back against the car. He jerked the cigarette from
Spender's hand and ground it under the toe of his running shoe.
"Don't try and threaten me, Mulder, " Spender had said to him once. "I've
watched presidents die."
Mulder didn't give a damn about any of that. Spender wasn't invincible. Right
now, in particular, he seemed almost frail, out here alone with the others
possibly dead. Just an old man, shaken, beside a car that had seen better days.
"You know, tobacco is sacred to the Lakota," Mulder told Spender. "It's unique.
You know why?" Spender did not reply. He was grimacing in pain from the impact.
Mulder kept a hand on the man's chest, leaning his weight into it. "It gets
power from sucking all the nutrients out of the earth. Everything. Just like you
tried to suck everything out of Alex. You tried to use him up and then destroy
him."
Spender made a small croaking sound, looking at Mulder out of his reptilian
eyes.
"But it won't work this time. When he came to me, he brought me evidence. Names,
dates, documents. Enough to put you where you belong for about a hundred years.
It's in a safe place right now. But if anything happens to Alex—anything
at all—you better believe I'll use that to destroy you."
He gave Spender a final, vicious shove to emphasize his words and stepped back.
Spender straightened up. An ironic smirk twisted his lips. "Your ham-handed
chivalry is touching, if misplaced, Agent Mulder. I have no real need to
threaten the life of Alex Krycek. His days are already numbered, thanks to an
unfortunate encounter with—"
"Bullshit, Spender!" The fear made Mulder's temper rise anew. "If you believed
that, you wouldn't have come here to kill him."
He had no more time to waste on Spender. Scully and Alex were down there, and
they needed him. He turned to go, then had a better idea. "The car keys."
Spender started to protest, then simply handed them over. Mulder hurried around
the car and got into the driver's seat.
"Alex Krycek, eh?" Spender shook his head. "You could have been so much more
than that, son."
Mulder paused briefly. "I could have been so much less, too." He started the
car, then leaned his head out the window. "I'm not your son!" he yelled
fiercely. Spender stumbled backward as Mulder sped up, driving into the woods.
A quarter of a mile further down the road he spotted the Lincoln and the brown
car, and beyond that, the burned remains of the old church. Scully gasped his
name in relief as he jumped from the car and sprinted toward them. He was
shocked to see how ghostly white and still Alex looked. Scully was pressing a
blood-soaked wad of cloth to the wound on Alex's side. With her other hand, she
checked his pulse.
"Put your hands here," she ordered Mulder. "I need to get my equipment."
He noticed then that she was nearly topless. Stripping off his shirt, he handed
it to her. Scully gave a tiny smile at his gallantry. But instead of putting it
on, she tucked the shirt over Alex.
"He needs it; he's going into shock." She scrambled to her feet. "I'll be as
quick as I can."
Mulder kept pressure on the wound. There was so much he wanted to say, to tell
Alex, but his heart was pounding too fast and too many emotions were sweeping
him.
"Stay with me, Alex," he whispered. He repeated the words over and over, a
desperate mantra, until he heard the sound of the car pulling up. Bag in hand,
Scully hurried over to Alex. Mulder moved over to sit on the ground behind Alex,
lifting his lover's head into his lap. Feverish, half-conscious, Alex struggled
against Scully's ministrations, pushing her hands away and protesting hoarsely.
Mulder reached for Alex's hand and held it. On impulse, he undid the band of
sweetgrass from his wrist, tying it around Alex's instead. He held Alex's arm
under his nose so he could smell it, and murmured words of comfort and
reassurance.
"C'mon, Alexei, don't be a fucking wuss...it's just stitches."
The sweetgrass—or the three hits of Valium Scully injected him
with—did the trick, calming Alex down enough to let Scully clean the wound
and sew him up. She worked quickly, her face tight with tension. Mulder kept a
tight hold on Alex's hand and arm.
"It didn't hit any vital organs, thank God," she told him. "He's lost a lot of
blood, but if I can get the infection under control, he's got a chance,"
It took both of them to get Alex into the car, and then into the cabin and onto
the bed. He lay there, panting and wild-eyed, covered in dirt and blood. Scully
got a washcloth to clean him up. Mulder reached to take it from her. This, at
least, he could do.
Scully lifted Alex's hand, holding it in her own while she checked his pulse
again. "He was very brave—"
"You don't have to use the past tense, Scully!"
Her voice was strained, but she spoke gently. "I meant back at the church. He
was very brave. He risked his life to save both of ours."
Mulder nodded, his throat constricting. He went on washing Alex, cleaning away
the blood.
He stayed by Alex's bed that night, and the next day. Alex's skin radiated heat
from the fever. He looked at Mulder with eyes that were huge and black with
pain. He did not seem to see Mulder, or anything else in this world. Mulder
spoke his name and tried to talk to him, but Alex did not hear. He gasped and
groaned and bit the air, writhing and twisting so violently that Mulder feared
he would fall off the bed. But when Mulder tried to restrain him, Alex cried out
hoarsely and fought him off, looking terrified.
Scully drove into town to get injectable medications, since Alex was too ill to
swallow pills. Alex hated the needle; Mulder had to hold him down so she could
administer the drugs. It was almost unbearable to see the look on Alex's face
when he did that.
Late the second night, they stood outside the bedroom doorway and talked in low
voices. Mulder leaned against the doorjamb. He was exhausted from the effort of
keeping watch on Alex but unwilling to take a break, although Scully had offered
repeatedly to spell him.
"We may have to airlift him to a hospital," Scully said. She gazed up at him,
her features taut with worry. "For one thing, he should have IV fluids. He lost
a lot of blood, and he's not taking in enough water. I'm afraid he's going to
get dehydrated on top of everything else."
Mulder didn't say anything. He knew they were thinking the same thing. Neither
one of them wanted to do that. For one thing, Alex would probably freak out
completely. And, even though he had gotten Cancerman to back off, Mulder still
didn't want to chance bringing Alex out into such a public place in his weakened
condition. Most of all, though, he didn't think being in the hospital would even
do Alex much good. They were dealing with something completely outside the realm
of medical knowledge.
They agreed to give it one more day. Mulder returned to his vigil. Alex huddled
on the bed, shaking so violently he seemed unable to catch his breath at times.
He gazed at Mulder dully, his eyes green slits of misery.
Mulder felt despair crushing him, heavy and hard as iron. After all they had
both been through, separately and together, after all they had gone through to
get back to each other, he could not lose Alex now.
Putting his head down on the bed, he slipped into a dreamlike, half-awake fog of
grief and weariness. A pain on the top of his head brought him back to full
consciousness. Alex was gripping his hair. Gingerly, Mulder unclenched Alex's
fingers and sat holding his hand until Alex subsided into a restless sleep.
Mulder got up to get himself some coffee. Something that looked and smelled like
homemade applesauce was bubbling on the stove. He picked up the spoon to taste a
bit.
"Leave that alone!" Scully's voice cracked like a whip. "That's for Alex!"
Mulder drew back, astounded at both her vehement tone and the use of Alex's
first name. He indicated the pan. "What is that? Applesauce?"
"That's right." Scully stirred the mixture a few times before switching off the
stove.
"But..." Mulder pulled the refrigerator door open, searching for the Ziploc bag.
It was gone. He looked at her in bewilderment. "Scully, you used the vaccine
apple?" It hit him with a shock that the little vial of vaccine was missing as
well. "And the vaccine?"
"Exactly. If this is caused by some reaction to the live vaccine... I've been
going over some of the tests, and comparing them to his blood results. Heat
changes the chemical structure, breaks it down somewhat..."
"But—Scully, you know that was the last—"
"I had to try it, Mulder! He can't last like this!" Scully pushed her hair back.
"I saved some of the vaccine. And the seeds to propagate more apples...if the
ones in development now don't take, or..."
Mulder felt a rush of relief. He should have known she was smart enough to do
that. Still, there was a desperate part of him that would have sacrificed
everything, even that, to save Alex. He touched her arm, a little surprised at
her emotion. "Scully, if it helps...thank you..."
"It might not." Scully sounded grave. "Taking the vaccine is what caused his
illness in the first place. If this hasn't changed enough to form a new
compound..."
He knew what she was saying. Alex might die from another assault of the vaccine
in his already-weakened state. Still...they had to try. Nothing else was
working.
He lifted the spoon. "Is this cool enough to feed it to him?"
On the bed, Alex had torn the covers off and was curled into a ball, shivering.
Mulder sat on the bed next to him and got him to sit up a little, while Scully
spooned some applesauce up and held it out. Alex grimaced at the sight, turning
his head away and closing his eyes. The braid of sweetgrass was still tied
around his wrist.
"Alex. Eat this." Scully's tone was absolute. Alex's eyes widened.
Seeming to come back to himself a bit, he obediently opened his mouth and let
her feed it to him. The effort of eating appeared to tire him out. They sat with
him, watching him, as Alex tossed and turned restlessly on the bed.
Mulder's thoughts went to the vaccine. The explosion in the lab had destroyed
whatever supply was in there, or more probably, the Consortium had smuggled it
out to a new location. Would there be enough left? Right now, as he sat here,
the scientists were attempting to graft the vaccine gene into apple trees on a
large scale. Would they be successful?
And would Alex live to see it, if they were?
Alex had drifted into a fitful sleep. Scully checked his vital signs. He was
still feverish and his pulse still raced, but no worse than before. She touched
Mulder's arm.
"He's okay for now," she whispered. "Take a minute and eat something yourself."
He followed her out to the living room, noticing for the first time how
exhausted she looked. Her blue eyes were shadowed, and she had been wearing the
same shirt for two days now. She made sandwiches, and they sat at the table.
Mulder had no appetite, but he forced himself to take a few bites.
"I know the vaccine is necessary," Scully said. "But it was that or—"
Mulder held up a hand. "I know." He looked at her bemusedly. "So Scully, does
this mean you're getting to...like him a little?"
Scully gave him a tired half-smile. "Well...I can see how much you care about
him...and how much he cares about you. And he does...grow on you." She hesitated
for a moment, biting her lip. "I realized, too...I didn't trust him...but it
wasn't just that, or my sister's death. I was also feeling...jealous." She
looked down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Not that I—"
Mulder nodded. "I know. I was jealous of Paul."
Her eyes were warm and sad. "We did make a good team, didn't we?"
"The best."
"You and Alex make a good team, too."
Mulder swallowed hard, suddenly unable to speak. Scully reached out and gripped
his hand.
"He'll make it. He's amazingly strong, Mulder."
He covered her hand with his. "Why don't you get some rest? You look wiped."
In the bedroom, Alex seemed the same as before, his breathing rapid and shallow,
his movements pained and restless. Mulder lay down next to him. He laid a hand
on Alex's chest.
Alex, if I could give you my life, my health, I would. Please, fight this.
Please...stay with me.
He rested his head on his arm. Exhaustion overtook him and he felt himself
drifting.
Stay with me, Alex.
Mulder awakened several hours later. The room was dark, but there was enough
light from the other room to see Alex's face. Alex was awake and alert, big wide
eyes gazing at Mulder.
Mulder smiled. He put out his hand. Alex took it. "You're alive."
"So are you."
They stayed that way, just looking at each other, for a few moments. Mulder
rolled closer. He reached to stroke Alex's hair. It was wet, soaked with the
sweat that meant the fever had broken. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"
"I need to pee." Alex pushed the covers away and swung his legs over the side of
the bed to sit up, then grabbed for the side, his lashes fluttering. "Ooh."
"C'mon." Mulder came around the bed and put an arm around him. He felt the hard
muscles of Alex's back under the damp fabric of his shirt. When Alex had
finished using the bathroom, he helped him strip off the wet clothes and wash
and change. The sheets on the bed were damp with sweat and streaked with blood.
He changed those as well.
The clock on the bedside table said 3:30 a.m. He got Alex settled into bed, and
then sat in the chair. Alex looked at Mulder, then cast a pointed look at the
other side of the bed. Mulder grinned. He lay down next to Alex. It felt like a
miracle, all of it—Alex's hand holding his, Alex's eyes alive with
something other than pain, Alex's head on his shoulder. He could tell that Alex
was feeling it too.
He talked to Alex quietly, telling him about seeing Samantha and Tomasina, about
what he had said to Spender. Alex laughed softly when he told him he had taken
Spender's car.
My hero.
Slowly, Alex began to recover. A couple of nights later, when Scully had gone to
bed and Mulder asked if he wanted anything, Alex gave him a sultry, definitely
inviting look. The fever was gone and his appetites—all of
them—returned. Of course they could not get too acrobatic. But it was an
astonishing gift to touch each other gently and explore, and to hear Alex
moaning in pleasure, not pain.
Even this mild exertion tired Alex out, and he fell asleep, leaning back in
Mulder's arms. Mulder sat up awake holding him, his mind whirling with plans.
Soon Alex would be well enough to travel, and then they would face the difficult
question of where he would go. Mulder had an idea, if he had the courage to
carry it out.
Alex was heavy, but not unbearably so; Mulder's back was a little stiff, but he
didn't really mind. Every now and then Alex would stir and thrash around a bit,
and Mulder would talk to him and soothe him back to sleep. It felt very
peaceful, almost meditative. He thought about Samantha, how happy and at peace
she had seemed when he'd seen her. Had all of that been real, or some sort of
dream? Or had he really been able to revisit the past? Whatever it was, if she
was there with Tomasina, he was glad.
A couple of hours later Alex woke up. He stared around, then up at Mulder,
looking startled and almost alarmed to find that Mulder had been holding him all
that time.
"What are you doing?"
Mulder shrugged. "Just thinking. Couldn't sleep."
"Because I'm laying on you."
"C'mon, Alex. If I wanted to sleep I'd roll you off me and do it. How do you
feel?"
"Fine," Alex said. Mulder could tell he was in pain. He was sitting forward
awkwardly, breathing hard through his teeth. Mulder leaned over, scratching his
back gently.
"You want anything? Tea, ice cream, pain meds?"
Alex shook his head.
"Want me to rub your back? Your neck?" Mulder let his hand drift suggestively
down Alex's side, being careful of the bandage. He brushed his fingertips over
Alex's belly. "Or anything else?"
"Mulder, we already—"
"What, you can't get it up twice in three hours? Maybe I should ask Scully if
she can get you some Viagra."
"I'm okay. Would you leave me alone?"
Mulder had a momentary perverse desire to say, "Sure, fine," and go out to the
living room to watch TV. But Scully was sleeping out there, and probably
wouldn't appreciate being subjected to late-night reruns of "Star Trek." And he
knew Alex didn't really want him to go. He was rubbing Alex's shoulders, and
Alex wasn't pushing him away; he was leaning into Mulder's touch, even tipping
his head back a little. Alex was tense, but Mulder was pretty sure that was due
to pain, not annoyance with him.
"Alexei...I was supposed to be protecting you. Instead you got hurt like this
trying to save my life. I want to—"
"Would you just stop trying to—"
"Would you just shut the fuck up and let me love you?"
They both froze for a second, hardly even breathing. Mulder didn't really know
what he had meant to say. They never used that word. He had only said it
once, on that day Alex almost left him. That had been a big horrible emotional
scene that neither of them wanted to revisit anytime soon.
His hands were shaking, or maybe that was Alex trembling against them. Maybe
both. Mulder leaned forward, resting his chin on Alex's shoulder, and whispered
in his ear.
"In my own kinky way, of course."
He slid his hands down Alex's body, pulling Alex back against him. Yeah,
definitely shaking.
"I hate this," Alex complained softly, scared and sad like a little kid.
Mulder wrapped his arms around him and held tight. He didn't argue. "Yeah, I
know, Alex." They sat for a few minutes in silence.
"You too," Alex whispered suddenly, sitting up a bit.
"What?" But Mulder already knew; he was just stalling for time.
"You too, Fox," Alex said, more surely and clearly this time. He glanced up at
Mulder. His eyes were brilliant and intense. "Getting hurt...saving you...I'm
not a martyr."
Mulder felt something swelling in his chest, cutting off all speech. He could
barely squeeze the words out. "Yeah...I know, Alex..." Then he couldn't look at
Alex. He put his head down on Alex's shoulder and closed his eyes. Alex put his
hand on the back of Mulder's neck.
"Fox." His voice was very soft.
Don't say it don't say it don't say it don't say it don't say it don't say
it. Please.
Alex's fingers ghosted through his hair, his lips against Mulder's forehead no
more than butterfly wings. But even as gentle as he was being, Mulder was about
to be annihilated by this, and he couldn't stop it.
"I love you." Alex's voice was quiet, washed with wonder, but calm. It sounded
like he had said it many times inside his head and now was marveling at how easy
it was to say it aloud.
Easy for him, maybe. For Mulder, all his old walls were crumbling inside and
everything rocked and tilted as though a massive earthquake had opened the
ground beneath him.
He wasn't sure why it was so scary. Maybe because he had lost or hurt so many
people who loved him. Maybe because he had heard that so many times from people
who plainly had no idea what the word ought to mean.
Maybe because, in a world where he had seen every perversion and freak show and
unexplained occurrence imaginable, love was still the craziest and strangest
thing he'd ever known, and the one that was hardest to explain.
"Hey," Alex said. "Hey, Foxy."
He only called Mulder that when he wanted to annoy him, so Mulder knew he was
doing it deliberately, trying to give Mulder a chance to pull himself together
and growl, "Don't call me that, asshole." But he couldn't even do that. He
stayed there, a pathetic lump, with his face pressed to Alex's neck, until Alex
began to get alarmed or maybe impatient, and moved Mulder's hand down to where
he wanted it.
Alex felt very relaxed afterward, leaning back in Mulder's arms contentedly.
They sat for a while in silence, pleasantly drowsing together. Mulder thought
Alex was dozing off again, when he suddenly said, "We'll be going back soon."
"Yeah." Mulder knew he'd get into his work when he went back, but the thought of
possibly being without Alex made his chest hurt suddenly, and he held him a
little tighter. He thought of what he had to ask Alex, and hoped he wouldn't
lose his nerve.
"It's going to be weird," Alex mused, looking around at the walls of the cabin
bedroom. "This place is almost like—" He got quiet. Mulder knew he didn't
use words like 'love' and 'home' easily.
Mulder rubbed his arm. "When we leave here, are you going back to D. C.?"
Alex didn't answer right away. Mulder could feel the tension in him. He
shrugged. "Yeah, probably."
"Why don't you stay with me awhile?" Mulder tried to keep his voice casual. "As
long as you want. You can keep your stuff there too, I've got space." He knew
Alex had let the lease run out on his apartment when he thought he was going
away. Not to mention that it was probably trashed beyond recognition by now.
Alex was shaking his head. "We can't," he said tightly. "It's too dangerous."
"Are you any less safe with me than you are—"
"Not for me. For you. Jesus, Fox."
"Oh well, yeah. After everything we've gone through, when we get back to D. C.
I'll just shake your hand and say, so long, pal, have a nice life."
Alex was quiet so long Mulder thought he'd fallen asleep again. "You think we
can...stay in the same place without driving each other crazy?"
"We're doing it here, aren't we?" Mulder said. "And I have cable."
Alex got quiet again, closing his eyes. After a while Mulder could feel his
breathing even out, his body relaxing and turning heavier.
"Stay with me, Alex," he whispered.
He heard Alex catch his breath, his breathing becoming erratic for a few moments
before resuming a regular rhythm. Maybe he wasn't quite as deeply asleep as
Mulder had thought.
Okay.
Mulder had another idea as well, this one much less earth-shaking. He ran it by
Scully when she returned from an excursion to the outlet malls nearby.
"Can he go into the hot tub?"
Scully considered this. "Well, I suppose the chemicals keep the water fairly
germ-free...I'll cover that bandage so it doesn't get wet." She cleaned the
wound and then put a fresh bandage on, taping a square of plastic over that.
Alex remained surprisingly calm throughout; Mulder reflected that he seemed much
more at ease with Scully these days.
Mulder got everything up and running. It was almost dusk, still light outside.
He lit the candles anyway so he would not have to get out of the tub.
Alex sighed hedonistically in the heat of the water. "I'm going to miss this."
Mulder rubbed his face in his lover's damp hair, biting strands of it. "We'll
just have to find some other way to keep warm in the winter."
"Get a German shepherd."
"Mmm...yeah." Mulder winked at him. "Or a dog."
"Asshole."
Their play-fight might have turned into something more, but for the appearance
of Scully, stepping somewhat hesitantly out onto the screened porch in an
obviously new blue and white bathing suit. "I bought this for my honeymoon,
but...mind if I join you?"
Alex automatically started to sit up, pulling away from Mulder. Mulder held him
there. "Jump right in, the water's fine."
Scully gingerly lowered herself into the tub. The water came almost up to her
neck. She tipped her head back, sighing. "Mmm...this is nice." Looking
up, she took in the way they were sitting, Mulder's arm around Alex, without
comment. "You look like you're feeling much better, Alex."
Alex cleared his throat. "Aah, yeah, I am." He looked at her intently, sitting
forward a bit. "Scully, ah...thank you."
Scully looked a little flustered. "It's—you're welcome." She smiled. "And
call me Dana, Alex. Everyone else does, except Mulder."
"I call her Queequeg."
Scully rolled her eyes, then turned back to Alex. She took a deep breath, her
cheeks growing pink. "Well, I hope you'll be well enough in a couple of months
to dance at my wedding."
Alex stared at her for a moment, then looked down, his lashes fluttering. He
swallowed hard. "Yeah," he said huskily.
Mulder squeezed his shoulder. "But it has to be the Macarena."
They laughed. The candlelight danced across the water's surface. Mulder leaned
back, looking at both of them. He thought of Tomasina, how she had tied the
braid of sweetgrass around his wrist to bring the good. They had all spent so
much of their life chasing down the bad, trying to banish it. Maybe it was time
to chase down a little good as well.
Epilogue
Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each
other.
—Rainer Maria Rilke
He's sleeping now. Curled on his side, turned away from me. For a while.
He'll roll back again. Reaching for me, seeking out some warmth and affection.
Sometimes I wake up to find him clinging to me so ferociously that the imprint
on my body of where he lay and held me stays with me all day.
And one day, soon again I'm sure, I'll reach out for him and his place in my bed
will be silent and cold. For a while.
If you asked either one of us, we wouldn't say we're living together. We
wouldn't say he moved in. He's just staying with me. For a while.
I was worried being in my apartment might bother him, might trigger bad memories
of what I had done to him there. But he's adapted and settled in, as much as he
ever does anywhere. He loves the waterbed. And the mirror on the ceiling.
Embrace your inner voyeur, Alex. I have to admit, now that he's here, I'm
beginning to see the benefits in it myself.
About a week after we got back to D. C., he rented a car and told me there was
something he wanted to show me. We drove for nearly an hour, up into Maryland
farm country. He parked the car on a back road, took my hand and led me up a
dirt path choked with fallen leaves. It was late afternoon, the sun sinking low
in the sky. We were the only ones there. Then I saw them.
Apple trees. Rows and rows of apple trees, the russet fruits hanging heavy on
the branches. Thousands of apples, ready and ripe.
I couldn't even speak. I stood there, gripping his hand. An incredible feeling
of hope was breaking through me. Suddenly, I was seeing the future not as a
struggle, but as a possibility.
Every detail of that moment etched itself sharply in my mind, and I knew I would
never forget it: the autumn leaves thick on the ground, the winey scent of
fallen apples, the setting sun burnishing the fruits with a golden glow.
And the man standing next to me, who had made it all happen.
I turned around and hugged him hard. His arm went around me, gripping me
tightly.
"I should have done this when you first brought me the apple," I whispered.
He laughed softly against my neck. "If you had, I would have run right out of
there."
Maybe we needed it, all of it, to get to this.
He's sleeping. Sprawled out, taking up way more than half the bed, making those
little sounds I love so much.
I don't know what the future holds. For us, for the world. I don't know if we'll
get the apples out there in time to stop the virus, if we'll find the
Consortium's stash of vaccine before they sell it on the black market. I don't
know if what's out there is fearsome and menacing, or an amazing connection to
something far beyond ourselves.
But I do know this. If I reach out to him, he'll pull me close, take my hand and
slide his body back against mine like a human shield.
And when he rolls back around, burrowing in against me, seeking warmth and
comfort, my arms will open to hold him.
Oh, and if I get him drunk enough, he sings to me.
You may not believe any of this, but it's the truth.
The Animal I Wanted
by Ladyluck
Chapter Seven
Tokala
In the other wood,
Upon instinct. Sails spread, fox wings
Lift him alive over gullies,
Hair tips all over him lightly
Back-hearing around
The stream of his body the tongue of hounds
Feather him. In his own animal sun
Made of human moonlight. 
