It was ten days since Fox Mulder awoke in a hospital bed, the victim and
survivor of an unidentifiable alien virus. Mulder's recovery had been
inexplicable and rapid. Within two days, his vital signs were perfectly
normal; the last physical signs of his abduction fading away. Within three
days, the hospital had run out of tests to perform on him, and booted him
out the door. Since then, Scully and Skinner had taken up residence at his
apartment, worrying about his health and caring for his every need until he
was ready to go crazy from the surfeit of tender concern and total lack of
privacy.
"Go home, Scully," Mulder said firmly, gently coaxing her very pregnant body
toward the doorway of his apartment. "I appreciate the way you've been
looking after me, but I really am fine now. You've reintroduced my
refrigerator to the concept of food; the dustbunnies have fled in
ignominious defeat; and I am pleased to announce that you can now bounce a
coin on the sheets of my newly made bed. This I know, because I tried."
His cheerful voice reflected his generally good spirits. Funny how a
near-death experience could make even his pathetic excuse for a life seem
new and exciting. "I also know which orifice to use for the thermometer. I
even remember how to dial a telephone." He smiled reassuringly at his
partner and best friend.
"I know, Mulder. I didn't mean to seem patronizing —"
"You're not," he quickly interjected. "It's okay, Scully. I appreciate
everything you and Skinner have done these last few days. But it's time I
started to take responsibility for my own life again."
Scully was still plainly wavering. "It's still less than two weeks, Mulder.
Perhaps it would be best —"
"Scully. I'm. All. Right." He imbued each word with as much assurance as
he could find, willing her to believe him. "Really, I am."
She managed a weak smile. "Okay, Mulder. But if there's a problem —"
"If any of my body parts start falling off, you'll be the first to know. I
promise." Her incipient protest died as he tenderly kissed her forehead.
Their relationship had become a lot more tactile since his return from the
dead. It was as though she still had trouble believing he was really there;
had to keep touching him to reassure herself he wasn't a ghost.
"Go home," he repeated quietly. "Get some rest. You know you need it.
Gotta take care of little uber-Scully in there." He nodded toward her
abdomen, distended in a pregnancy she still hadn't been able to explain to
his satisfaction.
Her smile broadened. "Goodnight, Mulder."
"Goodnight, Scully." He stood at the door, watching her slow retreat, until
she was swallowed up by the elevator. He exhaled in relief, sagging against
the door.
< Furthermore, he was expecting a visitor, one he knew would not be making an
appearance until Scully and Skinner had disappeared from the scene.
There was no guarantee that his anticipated visitor would show that night.
Hell, the man might not show for a month. But sooner or later, his arrival
was inevitable, and Mulder planned to be there, waiting.
The apartment was dark, a wash of moonlight through the windows providing
the only illumination. Mulder lay on the couch, listening to the quiet
gurgle of the fish tank.
Thank God they'd kept the apartment for him. It was difficult to believe
he'd been gone so long, with no memory of those months.... at least, no
conscious memory. He suspected he was remembering in his dreams — Scully
and Skinner had wakened him numerous times in the past few days as he
flailed and screamed in his bed — but the images always faded away the
moment he awoke. It would probably take regression hypnosis therapy to
recapture those memories. He flinched at the thought. Scully said she had
dreamed of him on the spaceship. She had offered few details, but the
little she'd let slip suggested that any recovered memories involving his
abduction were not going to be pleasant. Though compared with any
recoverable memories of being buried alive....
He shook off the morbid thoughts with a repressed shudder, and burrowed more
deeply into the couch. He smiled to himself, enjoying the familiar feel of
leather against his back, and relishing the solitude. He'd always been a
private person in many ways, and it was nice to finally have the apartment
to himself again after so many days of Scully or Skinner sleeping over to
keep an eye on him. Worse, they'd insisted he sleep in the bed, taking the
couch for themselves. In vain for him to protest that he was more
comfortable on the couch.
In some ways, his homecoming hadn't felt real until now. Tonight had been
his first opportunity to reestablish his own accustomed patterns. He'd
heated some stew in the microwave; watched the news on television; enjoyed
his videotape of Planet 9 From Outer Space for the 43rd time. Everything
still felt a bit off to him, but at least his apartment was slowly
beginning to feel more like home.
At first, he wasn't sure if he'd heard the noise or imagined it. But when
he heard the scrape in the lock, he knew it was no dream. His expected
visitor had obviously resolved to take immediate advantage of the
opportunity to find Mulder alone, perhaps fearing another chance might not
come anytime soon.
Mulder lay still as the door silently slid open. He waited until the
intruder had stepped all the way inside and closed the door behind him to
turn on the lamp on the table next to the couch.
Alex Krycek froze, outlined against the wall by the entrance, blinking in
the sudden brightness, his gun pointed directly at Mulder.
"Come on in, Krycek," Mulder said, dragging himself into a seated position,
ignoring the weapon now trained on his heart. He himself was unarmed. His
own FBI-issue firearms were being held at the FBI pending his reinstatement
hearing, which had not even been scheduled. Scully and Skinner had offered
to leave him a weapon for protection, but he had refused. "I've been
expecting you." He waved vaguely at the room. "Make yourself at home. You
always do."
Krycek's eyes flashed at the words. He stared around the apartment
suspiciously, the gun tracking his search, his nervousness apparent.
"Worried, asshole? This isn't a set-up, if that's what you're thinking.
Nobody here but us formerly undead, alien-hosting incubators. I sent Scully
home. But of course you already knew that, since you were watching the
place."
"You don't mind if I check for myself?" Krycek asked, obviously unconvinced.
Mulder shrugged. "Knock yourself out." He paused. "I mean that
literally."
"Nice to see that famous sense of humor is still intact," Krycek jibed.
"Only you, Mulder.... Only you ... could hitch a joyride on an alien
spaceship... spend months ... on a specimen table... some alien's ... pet
science project... wind up... buried alive... in a coffin... food for
worms... and come out of there... joking about it." He moved cautiously
through the apartment as he spoke, searching room by room, closet by closet;
pausing every few moments to make sure that Mulder hadn't stirred. Mulder
leaned back against the couch with his eyes closed, trying to look as bored
as possible.
"It's a gift," Mulder replied, looking up briefly to check the progress of
Krycek's slow, painstaking search. "Aren't you going to scan for bugs?" he
asked sarcastically.
"The only bugs in this apartment are mine, Mulder," Krycek retorted smugly.
Mulder sighed and closed his eyes again. It figured. And the Lone Gunmen
had swept the place less than a week ago.
Eventually, his paranoid visitor had to concede that they were alone in the
apartment. Mulder noted with amusement that even after Krycek holstered his
weapon, he still seemed to expect an attack. The assassin lingered near the
kitchen doorway, far from any windows, and about equidistant between the
front entrance and the fire escape.
"You said you were expecting me?" Krycek asked suspiciously. "Why?"
"I spoke with Skinner. He told me you paid him a visit — two visits,
actually — while I was unconscious and hovering near death in the hospital.
His description of those encounters was most enlightening."
"In what way?" Krycek evidently decided that the living room was safe after
all; he claimed one of the chairs across the coffee table from the couch.
He still looked wary, as though not entirely sure of this new, improved
version of Fox Mulder.
"Scully told me that Skinner had saved my life by taking me off
life-support. When she came in to check me a few minutes after he'd done
that, my condition was stabilizing rapidly. A couple of days of strong
anti-viral medication, and I was myself again. But that isn't how it
happened, is it, Alex?"
Krycek flinched almost imperceptibly at the use of his first name. Mulder
noticed. He said nothing but filed away the observation for further
consideration at a more convenient time.
"What are you talking about?" Krycek growled. Covering the slip.
"Skinner let me see my file. It made for interesting reading. Especially
the part about Absalom and Jeremiah Smith. Since the millennium, the aliens
have trotted out a new strategy for colonization. They've been abducting
humans, and infecting them with a virus that uses human tissue to create a
new alien life form in human shape. At least, that's what this
self-proclaimed prophet, Absalom, told Agent Doggett. He's Scully's new
partner — I think you met him? There was something in the file about an
encounter in the hospital parking garage..." Mulder grinned at Krycek's sour
expression.
"Absalom didn't say an alien virus was responsible," Mulder clarified.
"That's what you told Skinner. But Absalom told Doggett that if Jeremiah
Smith didn't heal the abductees in time, they were transformed into aliens.
So Scully's convenient 'life-support' theory doesn't work."
Krycek started to interject something, but evidently thought better of it.
Mulder waited a moment, but Krycek remained silent, so he continued his
explanation. "Scully claimed that I recovered because Skinner took me off
life support. That is what you wanted her to believe. But it doesn't hold
up as an explanation. I was buried in the fucking ground for three months
and the alien virus kept me alive and incubating. Yet taking me off life
support was supposed to have some magical effect?!" Mulder shook his head
mournfully. "I also found it inconceivable that standard, nonspecific
anti-virals, no matter how powerful, could have had any impact upon the
alien virus that had infected me, let alone cure me in little over 24
hours."
"You going somewhere with this, Mulder?" Krycek asked, impatiently shifting
in his chair. "I do have other plans for tonight."
"I'm getting there. You want a drink? Scully and Skinner stocked the place
with enough food and soda to last through the next millennium. Nothing
alcoholic, I'm afraid." Krycek demurred, but Mulder wandered into the
kitchen to return with an unopened bottle of Coke and two empty glasses. He
placed both glasses on the coffee table near Krycek, and opened the bottle
with a grin and a flourish intended to demonstrate it had previously been
sealed. He filled both glasses, and then invited Krycek to choose first.
His guest ignored the sideshow and declined the invitation, so Mulder
eventually selected one of the glasses for himself, leaving the other within
Krycek's reach. He resumed his place on the couch and took several swallows
of the Coke before continuing.
"It occurred to me, after talking with Skinner, reviewing my file and
puzzling over Scully's totally implausible explanation of events, that there
was a much simpler explanation at hand. You." He leaned forward on the
couch, his fingers steepled, staring intently at Krycek. As Mulder leaned
toward him, Krycek seemed to instinctively pull away. He appeared
superficially calm, but his eyes betrayed his uneasiness.
"It was you, Krycek; wasn't it? You were in the hospital room with me,
alone, when Skinner found you. You'd already given me the vaccine, but you
didn't want Skinner to know that. So you offered him that ridiculous trade
— my life for Scully's baby — knowing that he'd never consider such a
deal. Then you goaded him by warning that if he didn't accept your terms, I
would inevitably be transformed into an alien, unless he could figure out a
way to kill me first. So of course he tried to kill me, as you knew he
would. Giving you cover for my 'miraculous' recovery."
"It's a nice fairy tale, Mulder," Krycek sneered. "But why would I want to
save your miserable skin; and even if I did, why wouldn't I want to milk it
for all the reward I could get? Doesn't it occur to you that maybe I just
wanted to jerk Skinner around — make the big guy squirm — and I didn't
give a damn about you at all?"
"Of course it occurred to me, Krycek." Mulder took another sip of his Coke.
"It was my first thought, actually — you being the sadistic bastard that
you are. But it didn't explain my 'miraculous' recovery."
"Fuck it, Mulder, why should I give a damn what happens to you?"
Mulder shook his head. "Damned if I know. But since you obviously do,
perhaps you'd like to answer your own question?"
Agitated, Krycek rose to his feet. "I'm not listening to this!" He stalked
angrily toward the door. Moving remarkably well for someone who'd been at
death's door only a few days earlier, Mulder intercepted him, slamming
Krycek against the wall with enough force to rattle the fixtures.
"You're not going anywhere, Krycek," Mulder spat. "You're not leaving until
you've explained why you saved me, why you came here tonight and what
exactly the hell is going on."
Krycek fumbled for his gun, but it was two hands against one, and Mulder got
there first. He pressed the barrel against Krycek's chest, and the assassin
instinctively recoiled; then slowly leaned into Mulder and the weapon he
held. A tongue snaked out to lick the lips now curled into a defiant smile.
Green eyes like darkened pools — you could drown in those eyes — framed
by those delicate lashes, so totally out of place on the face of a
killer....
Mulder blinked, wondering what the hell he was thinking, and why time seemed
to be standing still.
"Do it, Mulder." Krycek's whispered command sent shivers down Mulder's
spine. "Pull the trigger."
For long seconds, they stood there, entwined, feeling each other's heat;
then Mulder dumped the gun magazine onto the floor and tossed the empty
weapon toward the kitchen, well out of reach. Still holding Krycek firmly
in his grasp, Mulder dragged the other man back to the chair he had so
recently vacated, and shoved him into it. When Krycek immediately tried to
rise, Mulder slammed him back. He waited there patiently to make sure
Krycek would stay put before resuming his own seat on the couch.
"Well, Krycek?" Mulder said with false politeness. "I still want an
answer."
"Fuck you, Mulder," Krycek growled.
"Is that a request or an explanation?" Mulder asked brightly. Krycek
started to rise again, but the ominous glint in Mulder's eyes convinced him
to stay where he was.
Krycek finally took a sip of his own soda, obviously buying time to consider
his response. When he finally spoke, his words came as a considerable
surprise.
"All right, Mulder. Yes. I gave you the vaccine. We used you as a guinea
pig — wanted to see if the new vaccine would work in an uncontrolled, real
world environment. Happy now?"
"Who is 'we'?" Mulder queried, firmly repressing his excitement at the
grudging confirmation of what he had suspected all along.
"Alien rebels. Opposed to colonization." Krycek took another sip of his
Coke. Mulder waited for him to continue, but he remained stubbornly silent.
"You're working with these rebels? They gave you the vaccine?" Krycek
shrugged. "You told Skinner it was something my father developed," Mulder
half-accused, half-questioned.
This time, a smile played around Krycek's lips. "I lied." He took another
sip of his drink. "What the colonists are doing — infecting humans and
transforming them into alien life forms — is new. So is the vaccine that
halts the process. The Tunguska vaccine has no effect against this
particular alien virus. Obviously, since you yourself are immune to the
effects of the Tunguska Oil."
"I'm immune?" Mulder echoed.
"Jesus, Mulder, what did you think we were doing in Tunguska? Playing
scrabble?" Krycek sounded disgusted.
"I thought I dragged you there, following up a lead. It wasn't until
several weeks later that I realized who had manipulated whom." Mulder
glared at Krycek with more than a touch of his usual antagonism. "You let
them torture me!"
"I had you immunized against the Black Oil," Krycek corrected frostily.
"And some thanks I got for my trouble." He looked sideways at his
prosthetic arm, and Mulder unwillingly followed the glance.
"I might have been more grateful if you'd bothered to explain instead of
jerking me around," Mulder retorted, already considering the implications of
what Krycek had just told him. Had Krycek really had him immunized? Was
that the true explanation for that particular exercise in manipulation?
Something else to think about at a more appropriate time. "What about
Oregon, Krycek? Did you arrange to have me abducted for my own good, too?"
"I didn't plan that," Krycek said coldly. "That was your smoking friend's
idea. He made a deal with the alien bounty hunters. You'd proved a thorn
in their side so long, they wanted a closer look. Spender was only too
pleased to accommodate them." Krycek smiled malevolently. "He lived just
long enough to regret that mistake."
"He's dead?" Sudden realization. "You killed him!" Mulder accused.
"He met with an unfortunate accident shortly after your disappearance.
Stairs can be so dangerous," Krycek said, sounding very pleased with
himself. "Though the timing was unfortunate for him. The aliens had
promised to heal his illness once you'd been safely delivered to them; but
even they can't revive those already dead."
Mulder tried to absorb the shock of this revelation. The Smoking Man, dead.
Finally, permanently, irrevocably dead. At Krycek's hands. Mulder quickly
realized he didn't give a damn that Spender was dead. What was shocking was
the implied suggestion Krycek had killed him in retaliation for Mulder's
abduction.
The hell with that. Krycek was probably just pissed off Spender had used
him to get to Mulder. Mulder nodded to himself, reassured. Yes. That made
much more sense. Krycek the master manipulator probably didn't care much
for being manipulated himself. And he undoubtedly had his own scores to
settle with the Smoker. That was much easier to believe than the idea that
Krycek had somehow been troubled by Mulder's abduction. Although it was
very easy to believe Krycek might want Mulder to believe that; might want
Mulder to feel grateful for being avenged.
Of course, based on what he'd confirmed tonight, Mulder already owed the
ratbastard his life. Not a happy thought.
Mulder brought the conversation back to the original topic. "Forget
Spender. Let's talk vaccine. When I was returned, you knew I was infected
with an alien virus. Your rebel friends had recently developed a new but
untested vaccine you, or they, thought might destroy this virus. So you
tried it on me. Everything else was subterfuge, to distract Skinner and
Scully from what was actually happening. Is that about right?"
"Close. The vaccine had been tested, but only on infected tissue samples
under carefully controlled laboratory conditions. It had never been tried
on a living, infected human." Krycek leaned back in his chair and placed
his feet on the coffee table.
There was a challenge implicit in the action, but Mulder wasn't fool enough
to take the bait and hare off on a tangent of macho male posturing when
Krycek was, for once, being fairly informative. "So you didn't know if the
vaccine would actually cure me?"
Krycek shrugged. "We knew it would destroy the alien infection. Whether or
not you would survive the process was a question mark."
"Another reason you wanted cover." Mulder nodded to himself, satisfied.
"Thanks."
Krycek blinked, startled. "For what?"
"I couldn't figure out why you helped me, even though it was the only
logical explanation for my recovery. It didn't make sense. But now it
does. You weren't trying to save me; you were trying to prove the cure. I
was just a convenient lab rat."
Krycek smiled as he visibly relaxed. "Yes. You were. Not that I had any
objection to your survival; you're an amusing enough conversationalist,
Mulder, when you're not trying to bash my brains in."
"Which brings us to tonight. Why the return visit? Follow-up on your
research project?"
Krycek nodded, and pulled his feet back off the table. "You haven't lost it,
Mulder. Good guess. I took blood and tissue samples from you, both while
you were infected, and after the administration of the vaccine. I also
arranged for a couple of later samples taken while you were recovering to
find their way to the rebel scientists. But the rebels want additional
blood and tissue samples. They want to make sure there's nothing in your
system that shouldn't be there. No residual effects from either the
infection or the vaccine."
"And you expected me to simply sit here and let you draw my blood?
One-handed?" Mulder stared at him in disbelief.
"Actually, I had counted on holding a gun on you at the time, and letting
you draw your own blood," Krycek confessed sheepishly, his lips twisting
slightly. "I hadn't really envisioned the possibility of a civilized
discussion of the matter."
"It's not our usual mode of communication," Mulder agreed, grinning. "All
right, Krycek. I'll give you your blood and tissue samples. Voluntarily.
On two conditions."
"What conditions?" Krycek asked suspiciously. He withdrew the blood kit
from his jacket pocket and tossed it gently onto the couch beside Mulder.
The agent opened the kit to study the contents; then laid it to one side.
"First, I want to know the results. If there's anything floating around in
my tissue or my blood that shouldn't be there, I want to know about it."
"Done," Krycek agreed readily. "And the second condition?"
"I want the truth about Scully's baby."
A mask fell over Krycek's face. It went absolutely still. Even his eyes
were cold. "What do you want to know?" Admitting nothing. Conceding
nothing.
"Whose child it is, for a start. How she became pregnant. You know —
everything. All those trifling little details. Oh, and why you gave that
warning to Skinner. And don't tell me you were just trying to jerk his
chain and cover the use of the vaccine."
"Warning?" The mask lifted enough to reveal polite disinterest.
"You threatened Scully's unborn child. I want to know why, Alex." He
placed a light emphasis upon the name, while keeping his tone deliberately
gentle. This time, he was unsurprised to see his adversary's flinch.
Interesting. Another piece of data to file away.
"I hardly threatened the child," Krycek said evasively. "I merely offered
Skinner a trade."
"A trade you knew he would never consider making. So you must have offered
the trade for other reasons. Why, Alex? Is something wrong with the fetus?
Is Scully in any danger?"
"What the hell —?" Krycek pursed his lips, apparently thinking better of
whatever he had been about to say. He sighed. "Scully is always in danger,
Mulder. As are you, since you insist on poking your head into matters that
don't concern you, even when that can prove hazardous to your health. One
might think your recent visit to the outer limits might have cured you of
the tendency, but it doesn't seem to have had any effect. As far as
Scully's child is concerned, I'm going to do you a big favor. I'm not going
to answer your questions."
"But you know how she became pregnant. You know whose child she's
carrying."
"And if I do?" Krycek hedged.
"I have to know," Mulder argued, his tone becoming strident again. "Damnit,
Krycek, I need to know if the baby she's carrying is a danger to her!"
< Unfortunately, old habits were very difficult to break, and it was far too
easy to fall back into habitual patterns of recrimination. Particularly
when Krycek had such a natural talent for making Mulder angry.
But whether from relief or something else, Krycek was finally answering
Mulder's questions, after a fashion. "The fetus itself? No. But there are
a lot of parties interested in that child."
"Are you one of them? Or was that just a smokescreen?"
Krycek dipped his head. "I have an interest, yes. Or rather, the rebels
do. It happens to coincide with yours. We want to be sure that the child
does not fall into unfriendly hands."
"Unfriendly?" Mulder said uneasily.
"Alien," Krycek clarified, green eyes locking on hazel ones intently.
"Fuck!" Mulder said. He was half expecting it, but the truth still burned.
"Is that a request or an invitation?" As Mulder flushed in embarrassment at
hearing his own words twisted and aimed back at him, Krycek rose and came
over to the couch. Mulder firmly resisted the impulse to pull away. He
faced Krycek almost defiantly, ignoring the tension permeating every inch of
his frame.
"Shall we?"
It took a moment for Mulder to realize that Krycek was referring to the
blood test. He blushed, willing his body to relax, and damning Krycek to
the seven hells. Bastard had done that on purpose, to unsettle him, and
he'd succeeded. A small retaliation for Mulder's casual commandeering of
Krycek's name in all likelihood, Mulder imagined.
"Oh. Yeah. I guess," he said lamely, still reluctant. Krycek's friends
were by far the most likely to know if there was something slightly wrong
with his blood, since they'd developed the vaccine themselves. But it
wasn't as though Mulder could trust Krycek to share the results, promise or
no.
Still, he didn't have a lot of options.
Between the two of them, they managed to find a vein and draw enough blood
to fill three test tubes, as well as scrape some skin cells onto a glass
slide. Krycek secured the samples carefully in the padded kit and replaced
it in his jacket pocket. Mulder felt strange having the other man so close
to him, well within his personal space, with no blows being exchanged.
Uncomfortable. Disjointed. The air between them felt superheated; charged
with swirling energies. The last time they'd been together like this,
alone, in Mulder's apartment — Krycek had spoken of alien invasion that
night too — invasion and resist and serve and tovarisch and he'd never seen
that curve ball coming... Mulder snapped off that train of thought with an
effort, forcing himself to think only of the here and now. He realized he
was sweating.
Krycek must have felt something as well, because the moment they'd drawn
enough blood, he removed the tourniquet, pressed an antiseptic wipe into
Mulder's hand and backed away hurriedly. Mulder might have been amused if
he hadn't been feeling such profound relief when Krycek moved out of close
proximity. Whatever this was, it seemed that Krycek was no more immune to
its thrall than he.
Some day he would really have to focus some attention on why the two of them
affected each other the way they did. Some day. Maybe in a hundred years
or so. It was not a problem he was ready to face anytime soon. He took a
deep breath, exhaled heavily. Gnawed on his lower lip.
"We're done." Krycek almost managed to sound like his usual smug self. "I
got what I came for." He patted his jacket pocket as he walked across the
room to retrieve his gun and ammunition.
"Wait! How can I contact you?" Mulder protested instinctively.
Krycek looked up in surprise from the floor where he was kneeling to
retrieve the bullet-loaded magazine cartridge. "You can't, Mulder. I'll
contact you when the time is right." He rose to his feet.
"But what if something goes wrong? What if the aliens come after Scully?
But you'll know that, won't you," Mulder said bitterly, answering his own
question, "because you'll be watching."
Krycek smiled without answering as he finished reloading his gun. He
holstered the weapon and walked toward the door where Mulder was now
standing. Mulder briefly considered trying to stop the other man from
leaving. So many questions still remaining, and the man with most of the
answers was walking out of his life once again. But it seemed from what
Krycek had said tonight, they were on the same side for a change. There
would be other opportunities to ask those questions. He'd have to console
himself with that.
As Mulder stood by the door, waiting for his visitor to leave, Krycek
suddenly pulled him close in a fierce hug. Mulder froze in surprise. His
mind blanked, awareness narrowing down to an intense awareness of the hand
on his back, his skin prickling beneath the touch, even through the
sweatshirt. The warmth of the body pressed against his own. Two hearts
thudding together in wild abandon.
"I'm glad to see you looking so well, tovarisch," Krycek whispered, his
voice so soft that Mulder was forced to press even closer and strain to hear
the words. "Take care of yourself." It was deja vu all over again as lips
brushed lightly against Mulder's tense and quivering cheek.
With an enigmatic smile, Krycek finally released him and headed for the
door. Mulder slowly collected himself and remembered how to breathe. He
barely noticed as Krycek closed the door behind him.
Mulder automatically engaged the locks, his thoughts a million miles away,
careening in meaningless circles and collisions. His right hand rose to
caress the spot where cool lips had left their mark upon burning skin for
the second time.
He stumbled to the couch on legs that were suddenly unsteady. Leaned back
with eyes closed, concentrating on his breathing, until he felt in control
once more.
This had to stop. Alex Krycek was a liar and a murderer, yet Mulder
shattered every time the man touched him. Probably amused the hell out of
the bastard. He was probably watching Mulder right now on his snoops,
laughing his head off at another successful mindfuck.
Mulder groaned, resisting a sudden desire to start breaking things. His
cheek burned, and he rubbed at it. The skin shivered in echoed memory.
Angrily, he rubbed harder. Never again. He would not be played. This was
the last time he would ever let Alex Krycek get to him like that.
Now all he had to do was convince himself.
Finis
Cabbages and Kings
by LC Fenster
"Are you sure you want me to go, Mulder? I don't mind staying another
night. Or I could call Skinner? I'm sure he's finished in the office by
now."
