"You're brooding again, Jeffrey," I say sitting down
beside him. "It's cold out here tonight" I mentally
shake my head at how parental I sound. Another title to add onto
my business card. Alex Krycek—Saboteur, Assassin, Mother Hen.
"I'm fine," he says. "It's not that cold."
I let his blatant lie pass without commenting, reminding myself
that stubbornness, especially when it comes to admitting the obvious,
runs in the family. Instead I relax against the roof and concentrate
on taking the damn prosthesis off. I tuck my right hand inside
my shirt, relishing my body's heat after the cold tang of the
night air, and methodically unbuckle the straps that hold my left
arm in place. I can't help but sigh, as I always do, when the
last of the constricting harness is released.
Jeff watches my ritual with a hint of pity that I've never
allowed myself. He then turns back to watching and listening to
the night. "Do you ever miss it Alex?" he asks, unexpectedly.
"Nah," I reply, removing my right hand from my comforting
warmth. Deliberately misunderstanding the question, I wave it
in front of me. "I've got another."
Jeff almost laughs out loud at that. Instead he bites back
his smile, something he does too easily from too much practice.
"I meant the city, the hustle, the activity, the energy?"
"The noise, the pollution, the junkies, the derelicts,
the international conspiracies at the highest levels of government
and industry. Nope, don't miss that much at all," I answer
lightly. There's more truth to my answer than I hope he ever learns.
Jeff leans back, his shoulder rubbing against mine. We sit
staring at the sky in a companionable silence for a long time.
"Look," I say. "There's Cassiopeia." I raise
my arm and trace out the 'W' that can be faintly seen, even though
the stars burn brighter here than in the city. Scanning the sky,
I point out another constellation. "And there's the Big Dipper,
Ursa Major."
I point out a few others, and then lapse into silence when
I see Jeff isn't watching. An astronomy lesson wasn't the reason
I searched him out, but I don't want to say why yet. While I'm
finding the words, he pulls them out of the air. "You're
leaving tomorrow aren't you?"
Damn. I didn't think I was that easy to read. "I have
to," I say with a bit of a sigh. Jeff has never asked me
where I disappear to for long periods of time, and I'm grateful
that I do not need to explain to him. He knows what kind of people
I work for, and he's a smart boy.
The first time I left though it had almost been a disaster.
I had hounded him out of his sick bed a few weeks earlier. I forced
him to sit up, despite his protestations of nausea. I cajoled
him into standing up, watched him totter on unsteady legs like
a sapling in a windstorm. And I couldn't help but voice my approval
when he made it three yards from his bed to the chair. He grinned
at me, delighted with himself, and I grinned back.
It was about that time that the Smoker contacted me with a
loose end that needed to be tied up. Jeffrey has never asked me
if I still work for his murderous father, and I appreciate him
not asking how I can afford this house in the middle of rural
Vermont. And it's partly selfishness. Not that I doubt that Jeffrey
could take down his father now, but if anyone's hands are to be
bloodied by the Cigarette Smoking Bastard's death, they will mine.
Until then, I need to play the dutiful servant.
So I packed for my trip early in the morning, placed my luggage
in my car, and then went outside to cut logs for the woodbin.
Carrying my load back into the mudroom, I was greeted by the smell
of cooking eggs. I dropped my coat, pulled off my boots, and dumped
the wood into the tinderbox, sniffing appreciatively as I stepped
into the kitchen. The sight there I was appreciative of in an
entirely different manner.
Jeff stood at the stove, staring intently into the frying pan,
spatula in hand. He was wearing my hand-me-downs—jeans that
would have spilled off his narrow hips if it hadn't been for that
belt I punched extra holes in, and the blue Hippie alien T-shirt
I had intended to send to Mulder as an irritating birthday gift.
The clothes were two sizes too large for Jeff when he was in full
health. Now they were hanging off of him, making him almost look
like a stick figure. Yet I found his appearance appealing in ways
only understood if you had been there yourself.
Jeff glanced up at me and then continued scrambling the eggs.
He was perfectly intent on them, watching for the perfect moment
when they weren't runny masses and they weren't inedible lumps.
He was tired from standing, since this was longest time he had
been on his feet since he was shot. I think what made me lose
my carefully maintained control was when the pink tip of Jeff's
tongue appeared, caressing his upper lip in concentration as he
leaned his weight onto his right hip against the stove.
Jeff knows I'm bisexual. While I had nursed him back to health,
I had time to admire his body, still beautiful after his father's
brutalization. I had time to admire his fighting spirit, his determination
to return to life after it had ripped away his belief system.
Florence Nightengale Syndrome be damned, I had fallen for Jeff
Spender, and fallen for him hard.
Hell, I'm only human.
I stepped up behind him and wrapped my right arm around his
waist. I pressed against him, offering my solidity. Jeff freezes,
clearly surprised that I have made the first move. I had planned
to wait until he had recovered more, but I hadn't expected to
be called to duty this quickly. Any assignment could be one I
would not return from, and I did not intend to let this opportunity
slip by. He feels light in my arms, delicate and fragile. I kiss
the back of his neck, inhaling deep as I nuzzle his curly hair
and my hand slides under his shirt to stroke the warm skin of
his belly.
I open my mouth to whisper endearments when he speaks. "Alex
please! This isn't... I'm not..." I can feel his heart
pounding in his too thin ribcage as he stutters. He's terrified.
Of me.
I release him and put some distance between us in one swift
movement. "I... I'm sorry," is all I'm able to get
out. I had misread him completely. What I thought was reciprocated
affection was merely appreciation that I had offered him a safe
harbor. The realization makes me take a step back, almost breaking
a leg over the chair behind me. By the God I no longer believe
in, what a fool I am.
Jeff recovers his composure first. "It's okay Alex,"
he said, turning back to the eggs. "It was nothing, forget
about it."
I stand there dumbfounded for a moment. The kitchen, the house,
all seemed too small. There was no space to get away from Jeff.
I couldn't bear to be near him, I needed time and distance between
us at this moment. My words tumbled out of me. I was going on
an unexpected business trip. He was welcome to stay in the house
for as long as he liked. I also uttered a cryptic 'be careful.'
Then I was outside in my car, roaring up the road.
The three weeks gave me the time I needed to find my equilibrium
again. I was half-surprised that Jeff was still in the house when
I returned, but where could he go? I didn't make a comment about
what transpired between us before I left. Instead I continued
to push him back to full health. Jeff didn't mention it either,
and we settled back into our routine as if nothing happened. That
didn't mean I didn't think about what I wanted to happen.
I jerked myself out of those memories and back to the present.
"It'll be summer soon." I comment. "You'll be stronger
then." Strong enough to leave me. But will I be strong enough
to let you go?
"Yes, summer," Jeff murmurs in the cold night air,
"I'll be stronger then."
End
Wistful
Part II: Alex
by Shael
I search in the darkness of the house in the deep hours of
the night. He wasn't downstairs, wasn't in his room, and wasn't
on the balcony. So that left one place for him to be. Reminding
myself I wasn't attached to the railing by a pair of handcuffs
if I fell, I cautiously stood on the edge of the balcony and pulled
myself up over the eaves to end up on the roof. Yes, there he
was, staring at the stars.
