The Gift of an Enemy Part IV by Sylvia Katja Dahl's house was near the town center, not far from the hotel and in very close proximity to the police station. Mulder did not think this location was a coincidence, and he grew even more certain when the door was opened by a diminutive young woman with a tight coil of coal-black hair on top of her head and what was either the blood of a Lawrence or tomato sauce staining the shirt of her uniform. Since the likelihood Riley's army had gone into action already was relatively small, Mulder decided that the policewoman had been helping in the kitchen. "Fox Mulder, FBI." She gave him a penetrating stare from cool, almost electric blue eyes and gripped his outstretched hand briefly. "Wynne Erlental, Weimar Police Department." Alex took the cue to step forward and introduce himself, giving Erlental an engaging, subtly interested smile of which she seemed to take no notice whatsoever. Smart woman. Either that or she needed glasses. "Agent Mulder." Riley appeared behind Erlental. "Mr. Alexander. I'm glad you could make it. Please come in-let me introduce you to the others." The gathering may have been taking place in Mrs. Dahl's house, but there was no mistaking that this was Maureen Riley's show. She herded the new arrivals into the living room and introduced them to three Dahl brothers, two Dahl sisters, one Dahl husband, two Dahl wives, one Dahl fiancée-Erlental-and a nervous young man proclaimed to be Gerrit Dahl's best friend. Three of the Dahl siblings-two brothers and one of the sisters-were also police officers, as were the husband and one of the wives. Erlental was the only one in uniform-she had just come off shift-but she did not seem in the least out of place. Conversation was sparse; what there was of it had a forced, strained tenor and was conducted in almost hushed tones. It was classic. Unbearable tension, harrowing uncertainty, terrible helplessness combined with the inability to grieve, the inability to hope, the inability to act, to do anything to relieve the feeling of powerlessness and inadequacy.... With nothing that could be done, the rage and anguish and guilt turned inwards to eat away at every certainty, every purpose, every meaning.... There was a brief moment when Mulder was certain that he wouldn't be able to bear it, when he'd just shaken the last hand and the silence in the room was complete. It seemed that every eye in the room was fixed on him, every gaze heavy with the weight of helpless anger and the bitter, silent struggle against despair. He could almost imagine he heard them raging at him to do something, anything, don't just stand there, go out and do something, find him, get him back, there must be something you can do.... A light touch at the small of his back brought him back to the present. Alex gave him a brief, unreadable glance as he moved past, following one of the Dahl sisters over to a sideboard bearing several bottles. The prettier one-the unmarried policewoman. Like a silver blade, the memory of his roughened voice whispered to Mulder, woven through and drowning out the more unwelcome memories that wanted to surface. It burns my soul to look at you. "And now I'd like to introduce you to Katja Dahl, the head of the Dahl clan," Riley announced, steering Mulder back out of the room, past the front door and into a large, modern kitchen. "Agent Mulder." Mrs. Dahl did not wait to be told his name; she was already moving towards him when he entered the kitchen, reaching out to take his hand in a very firm grip. She was not a particularly tall woman, but the way she held herself made it seem as though she were. Her features were not remarkable in any way, but the way she wore them lent her both attraction and distinction, and the look she leveled at Mulder through eyes an unmemorable shade somewhere between brown and grey was one of the most piercing he'd ever been subjected to. A closer inspection revealed that she had been crying-the skin around her eyes was still slightly swollen. Only determination and relentless purpose showed in her features now, though. "My son's partner says that you are willing to help us.... That you understand what we are dealing with here." The last remnants of the frozen numbness that had briefly enveloped Mulder dissipated. He nodded decisively, his purpose restored. "Deputy Riley no doubt told you that I witnessed your son's abduction by Maximilian Lawrence, an incident that laid to rest any remaining doubts I may have had concerning the nature of the Lawrence family. I do understand the situation, and I will do everything in my power to end the witches' reign over Weimar and free your son." "Yes." Her gaze slid away, her mouth setting into a bitter line. After a second, she turned away, pretending to check something about the setting of the stove. "Everything in your power." The remark had not really been addressed to Mulder, but it was a good opening. "You don't believe it is possible to stand against the Lawrences?" She straightened to lock a hard, uncompromising gaze on him. Steel showed in every line of her bearing. "I have no way of knowing, Agent Mulder. I hope they can be defeated, but it may well not be possible. I don't know. In a way, it doesn't matter. They took my son. I will try. I have to. There is no choice-none. Can you understand that?" "Yes, Mrs. Dahl. I can understand that very well." A flash of surprise passed through her expression, tears starting in her eyes. She blinked sharply, shook her head, and reached out for his hand again, giving it a quick, almost compassionate squeeze before releasing it. "Yes... I think you can. Now. Let me just get dinner on the table and we can talk about the Lawrences. Dirk has always been interested in them-between the two of us, we can provide you with enough wild stories and unlikely rumors to fill a library." Her claim was not an idle one. Mulder lost track of the time as Katja and her oldest son recounted tale after tale of the Lawrences, some of them mere anecdotes, others highly detailed stories of considerable length. There was even a genealogical listing, which Mulder had both Katja and Dirk recite twice in order to be certain there were no discrepancies. Some of the tales about the Lawrence witches were clearly exaggerated, and Mulder believed several to have been fabricated from whole cloth. Nothing he had seen so far inclined him to believe that the abilities of the Lawrences extended to causing animals to talk or turning lead into gold-he wouldn't have gone so far as to pronounce it impossible, but he did consider it extremely unlikely. However, there was a solid core of fact discernible behind most of the stories. There were recurring tendencies in the description of their abilities and behavioral patterns that were consistent with Mulder's conclusions-with the help of these legends and tales, Mulder should be able to work out a comprehensive theory on the general potential of the average Weimar witch. Unfortunately, information on the terms and origins of the pact was scarce and far sketchier than that on the witches' deeds and powers. While there were dozens of versions of the legend describing how Weimar's treaty with the witches had come about, none of them had anything truly useful to say. The only reliable data to be gleaned from them was the fact that the instigators of the agreement had been a married Lawrence couple and half a dozen non-Lawrences. Accounts of the exact conditions of the treaty did not seem to exist even in local legend. "Although... there is this one story I heard," Dirk Dahl said slowly, absently crumbling a roll in one hand. Fragments of crust rained down on the congealed mass of cheese, lasagna noodles, and tomato sauce still sitting on the table in front of him. Riley had not been exaggerating when she said that Katja was a very good cook, but predictably, no one had had much of an appetite. A glance at his own plate revealed that Mulder had silently declared his fellowship with the Dahls by hardly touching his food, although in his case, it had been a simple oversight-concentrating on the Lawrence legends, he'd completely lost sight of the fact that he was sitting in front of something he was expected to eat. A piece of crust fell to the table and Dirk looked at the mangled roll in his hand with a faintly puzzled expression, finally putting the sad remains down to sit back and rub his forehead in the manner of someone feeling a major headache coming on. "It wasn't about the treaty, exactly, but now that I think of it.... What was the woman's name-Maria something or other, can't remember. Anyway, it seems that sometime back in the thirties, this Maria had been seen with Graham Lawrence, so when she disappeared, everyone knew she'd been taken away by him. Now one day not long after this, old Terence comes into Weimar for the first time in decades. He's all wrinkled and tottery and he goes up to Maria's house and asks to talk to her father and says is it true that your daughter Maria had a fiancé? And the father says yes, she was about to get married when she met that no-good bastard Graham, or something to that effect. And then old Terence gets very pale and kind of wheezes for a bit and leaves, and a day or two later, Maria turns up again swearing she's been off to see the world but decided after wandering around in a big city for a day or two that she's seen enough, thank you very much. And that's the story she stuck to right to the day she died, which she only did after marrying her fiancé and having children and living a completely ordinary life. What do you think, Agent Mulder-could that have been about an unknown term of the treaty?" "It might have been. People involved in a serious relationship are not eligible for being taken. An existing prior claim." Mulder frowned. It was possible, likely even, but there was something about it that didn't feel quite right. There was something he was overlooking about the entire set-up of the Weimarians' immunity and the circumstances under which the immunity lapsed. Attacking a witch, stealing from a witch, having sex with a witch... unless you were involved with someone else prior to and parallel to your sexual relationship with the witch? Elizabeth, the Dahl sister not in the police force-Mulder recalled that she had opted to become a graphic designer instead-cleared her throat. The sound seemed very loud in the subdued silence and she flushed slightly as she pushed back her chair and stood, instantly becoming the sole focus of attention. "Ah, I think I'll clear the table a bit. Anyone for brownies? Wynne drove by Mehlig's on her way here." Several other Dahls jumped up to assist Elizabeth, proclaiming an enthusiasm for Mehlig's brownies that was entirely out of keeping with their earlier lack of appetite. Attempting to find reassurance in the mundane, every-day normality of known patterns such as clearing the table and bringing in dessert. Bonding through the shared task. The blonder policeman brother-Thomas, Mulder's memory supplied automatically-picked up a basket half filled with rolls, began to head for the kitchen, paused, and then hurled the basket into the wall with such force that crazily spinning rolls ricocheted off in several directions. Mulder checked his instinctive grab for his gun and shot a quick glance around the room, discovering that at least four other people in the room were armed and extremely nervous. Make that five-Erlental had appeared in the doorway soundlessly, eyes alert and hand hovering over her side holster. Make that six. Alex was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting his jacket. It looked like an utterly innocuous habitual motion, but Mulder knew better. "Honey?" Concerned now, Erlental came up behind the distressed Thomas and slipped her arms around his middle. He turned immediately, catching her in a hug that almost lifted her off her feet. "It's so typical," he said in a choked voice. "That dumb sap-I should have known he'd do something like this sooner or later. He was always falling from trees rescuing kittens that could climb a hell of a lot better than he could." Riley's head came up sharply, a mixture of guilt and angry defensiveness written plainly across her face. The reaction passed unnoticed by everyone but Mulder; she went back to gathering up plates almost immediately, her mouth set into an even grimmer line than before. "I don't know why you want to make him out as some kind of helpless idiot," Dirk snapped at his brother. "He's not-he knew what he was doing and he did it well. Would you have thought of stabbing Riley? He's tougher than he looks. We'll get him out in a little while, he can manage till then. He'll be just fine." "Dirk's right." The police sister walked over to put a slightly awkward hand on Thomas' shoulder. "And Gerrit knows we won't let them have him for long. He knows we're coming to get him out of there...." She trailed off a little helplessly and looked to Dirk for assistance. The Dahls drifted closer together, everyone gravitating towards the still embracing Thomas and Erlental. Mulder had observed telltale signs of old quarrels and traces of sibling rivalry earlier, but beneath the stress of Gerrit's abduction, such trivial differences were melting away. The family was drawing together, closing ranks against the rest of the world. "We'll get him back. We won't let them do this to him-we'll show them they can't do this to us." Katja was pulling Dirk and the police sister-Angelika?-closer to Thomas and Erlental so she could hug all of them at the same time. "They can't have one of my children. I don't care who they are or what they can do. They're not taking any of you." The remaining Dahls were still drawing closer to the communal hug, obviously intending to join in what seemed to be a family tradition in times of duress. Riley appeared next to Mulder, touching his shoulder to get his attention. The strain in her expression had eased, even though her jaw was still set in a harsh line; in response to Mulder's questioning look, she jerked her chin towards the door. "I think you'd better go see what your lawyer's up to, Agent Mulder. He looked a bit upset." Startled, Mulder looked around to find Alex's chair empty. You couldn't let him out of your sight for a single moment. What now? "Thank you, Deputy," Mulder said, rising to track down his... ex-partner? Betrayer? Ex-enemy? Unusual gift and useful source of information-temporary, unwilling ally.... Sexual obsession.... What the hell was Alex Krycek to him? He shook his head and relegated those questions back to their drawer unanswered once more. Mulder found Alex just outside of the living room, looking out at the night through the thin, vertical strip of glass set into the front door's frame. He did not seem upset in the least-quite the contrary, he looked impassive, completely collected, and hard. It was an instant give-away; the sight sent an icy sliver of shock stabbing through Mulder. This was the cynical killer, not Kevin Alexander. Alex was wearing the wrong mask, and it was a kind of mistake that he simply did not make. A bit upset? He was considerably more than upset. To make this sort of glaring, uncharacteristic error, he had to be completely off balance. Falling back on the persona without feelings, the one that afforded the most protection from emotional trauma. How could Mulder not have seen this coming? It was so obvious-if it had been anyone else-if anyone but Alex Krycek had been working on a case with such obvious parallels to their personal history, Mulder would have been watching them, watching for telltale signs warning that the case was no longer a case-that it was transmuting into the shape of old, terribly familiar, personal demons. It had happened to Mulder.... And Mulder knew that many of Alex's demons wore faces like those of Mulder's own-mirror images, the same horrors seen from the other side. When this was getting to Mulder, how could Alex be expected to shrug it off easily, indifferently, like a creature devoid of human sentiment, beyond affection, beyond pain.... There was an acrid taste in Mulder's mouth and he tried to swallow on a dry throat. This was not acceptable. It had to stop. It would stop, here and now. Mulder would never find the reality of the man if he couldn't bring himself to see Alex instead of the flat and distorted image Mulder had once created for his own peace of mind. Why was this so difficult? Mulder didn't hate him anymore-he wanted-needed to see the person behind the lies- "Are you planning on staying long, Mulder?" Alex asked abruptly, sounding frosty and faintly derisive. "Getting a bit melodramatic for my taste." Mulder regarded Alex's stiff posture and replayed the remark several times, taking note of the revealing aggression, finding and weighing the subtle strain in the smooth dark voice. Subtle, maybe, but obvious.... Much too obvious. Firmly suppressing the inner voice that demanded to know what the hell he was doing, why he was doing it, and why he wasn't bothering to think through the implications and consequences, Mulder surrendered to impulse. He walked up behind Alex and wrapped both arms around him. It worked for the Dahls-and while Mulder had never been comfortable with casual physical contact, it was different with Alex. It didn't feel awkward to touch him like this; his proximity didn't register as an invasion of Mulder's personal space. It felt right. Alex stood as stiffly as though he were carved from wood. After a moment, Mulder tightened his grip, curving one arm over the broad chest and the other around the waist and drawing Alex back against him. "Mulder. What do you think you're doing?" "I'm holding you," Mulder said calmly, bending his head to nibble at the soft, exposed skin behind Alex's right ear. Alex jerked in surprise. "And I'm biting you. And since the Dahls probably wouldn't appreciate it if I put the other ideas floating around my head into practice at this time, that's all I'm doing." Several heartbeats passed. Mulder was almost certain Alex would draw away; the rush of emotion that overcame him when the warm, solid body in his arms relaxed into his embrace took him almost as much by surprise as Alex's silent concession that he would allow himself to be comforted. The gun in Alex's waistband dug into Mulder's stomach as the other man leaned back against him. Mulder dismissed the minor pain as irrelevant, molding the now pliant body against his as closely as possible with so many layers of fabric in the way. Breathing in the scent of Alex, Mulder closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against the other man's. Alex turned his head slightly to facilitate the contact. Yes.... This was the way it was supposed to be. Alex in his arms. Alex surrendering to his touch. Alex melting back against Mulder without resistance, without barriers, without pretense. Just Alex. "It wasn't you," Mulder murmured after a while. "It was nothing you did or failed to do. It was not your failure." The deep breath Alex took was slightly unsteady, and Mulder gathered him even closer, fighting down a sudden, fierce surge of rage. What kind of man would tell his child that it was not really a choice-practically tell him that he deserved what was going to happen to him, that it was due to his own lack of talent, of lovableness.... What kind of brother would not look for him, would let him go with a handful of money when he risked his life to come back.... Mulder would have to keep Alex close from now on. He'd have to keep him safe. Not let anyone hurt him again. Not let him hurt anyone again. There would be no more killing, no more lies, no more betrayal. Mulder would- What? Reform him? Redeem him? Claim him? Keep him? What the hell am I thinking? The sound of a throat being rather indelicately cleared alerted Mulder to Deputy Riley's presence; he released Alex with reluctance. The quick glance Mulder shot at the other man showed that he had donned a slightly flustered, vaguely guilty expression. Thank God-Kevin was back. "Ahem. Agent Mulder, Katja has thought of another account of a kidnapping that you might be interested in, and we still need to establish a course of action." There was a faint frown on Riley's face when she looked at Alex. The vestiges of a conservative upbringing making themselves felt? She hadn't shown any such signs earlier, though, and none of the disapproval was directed at Mulder. "Mr. Alexander, if you're ready?" A faint hint of color was rising into Alex's face. Mulder wondered how he did that. Blushing on command implied a degree of control over the body's reflexive responses almost too disquieting to contemplate. "Ah, yes, that is, no. I was-in the process of leaving." Alex straightened his jacket self-consciously, assuming an air of excessive formality. "I find myself somewhat fatigued. I believe I will give my regards to Mrs. Dahl and then return to the hotel on foot to leave Agent Mulder with the car. I really should look into acquiring a rented vehicle of my own. Be that as it may. Deputy?" She took his outstretched hand soberly. "Sweet dreams, Mr. Alexander." Definitely not the vestiges of a conservative upbringing. The only one who seemed to be suffering from that problem was Kevin Alexander, who gave Riley an almost hunted look as he brushed past her to take his leave of the Dahls. Riley shook her head. "He's crumbling, isn't he. I've seen it happen with some of the rookies-they're cool as corpses while the heat's on, but then come apart completely a couple hours later, or days, sometimes. I guess now we'll see what he's made of.... Better watch him, Agent Mulder. It may be we'd be better advised to leave him out of this, after all." Mulder forbore to comment as he followed her back into the living room. Something about the situation had called forth a vague but definite feeling of unease in him. It was probably no more than the general tension making itself felt, but he made a mental note to analyze it further as soon as he found the time. There was no sound, so it must have been movement that drew Alex's attention. There was nothing as clear and unambiguous as a motion seen out of the corner of an eye or a shadow falling where none should be, though. All Alex knew was that one moment, he was walking down a deserted Weimar street beneath the intermittent light cast by decorative cast-iron street lamps, silent as a ghost, silent as the night surrounding him-and the next instant, he was whirling in a defensive crouch, hand hovering above a gun he'd only barely stopped himself from drawing. Max Lawrence leaned against the post of the lamp Alex had just passed, no more than four yards away. Both of his hands were stuffed negligently into the pockets of the long coat he wore; his grin was mocking, insolent, and definitely predatory. "Kevin," he said, his voice smooth and low. "You really are lovely. I'm so glad you're not from here." A jolt of sheer panic sliced through Alex and he ground it out viciously, reaching for the cold, detached focus he needed. He moved to shift his stance, testing his control over his own body without being obvious about it. So far, it seemed the witch had not made his move. If defiance was what this Lawrence wanted, it would be a mistake to give it to him.... Not yet, at any rate. "Lawrence," Alex said in a slightly unsteady voice, pausing to clear his throat. "What-where's Officer Dahl? Is he-have you hurt him?" "Oh, Gerrit's fine. I'm quite happy with him. After his little performance at Maureen's house, it's clear he's much more entertaining than he appears at first glance." The witch widened his grin. Teeth flashed in the yellow light of the street lamp. "He's not what I'm in the mood for this evening, though. I suppose some would find him handsome enough, but having seen you and your lover...." He straightened, beginning to prowl forward. There was no other word for what he was doing-he was stalking prey. Playing with the mouse before he pounced. Whetting his appetite. Alex backed away, retreating no faster than the Lawrence advanced. No need to speed this up. If Max wanted to draw out the kill, that was fine with Alex. "It's a pity Gabe is such a stick-in-the-mud. It would have been such fun to have both you and your... Fox. But then, perhaps it's better this way. Miranda said we should not provoke the FBI, and she has quite a temper on her. I'm afraid you won't like her, Kevin." The gleam in the witch's eyes was brighter now, his features lit with anticipation. "I like the way you move, little one. I like your voice. I am looking forward to hearing you scream." Alex's hand closed over the grip of the gun before he knew that he had moved. He forced himself to let go. This weapon would do him no good-he would not make this if he did not keep his head. "You can't do this," he gasped, the note of fear in his voice not requiring the slightest effort. "I'm a partner! You can't expect to get away with this!" Irritation narrowed Max's eyes and he picked up his pace. The long shadows cast by the uneven lighting cut across his face in harsh angles, distorting his handsome features into an almost demonic mask. Walking backwards put Alex at a disadvantage, and he certainly wasn't about to turn his back on the witch. Instead of speeding up his retreat, Alex stumbled and came up hard against the post of the next street lamp. "Don't be such a tiresome idiot," Max growled, his face already lightening into malicious amusement again at the sight of his prey cowering against the obstacle. "Well, well. Stopped running, have we?" He stopped where he was, still several steps away from Alex, and regarded him for a while, hands once again buried in the pockets of his coat. His stance was casual and relaxed, but the look in his eyes was not. Alex knew that look. Max Lawrence was savoring his victim's fear. It excited him. Good. If fear was what he was after, if he wanted his prey to struggle, he wouldn't be in a hurry to get a mental hold over Alex. And this kind of hang-up was a weakness-it made him predictable. It was exploitable. "Come here," Max said after a while. His tone was soft, almost coaxing. "Go away!" Alex snapped back. He didn't feel a compulsion to obey-there was no pull, physical or otherwise. The witch was still playing. Alex would have liked to get closer to him while this state of affairs lasted, but he couldn't go to him. Max had to be the one to draw closer-he was the one calling the shots. If he felt he was losing control over the situation, the game would be over. The Lawrence chuckled. "I think not." He stepped closer, the unnatural light bleaching his hair to the pale, dull yellow of old bone. "Kevin. Come here." Something brushed against Alex's mind. For a moment, he thought it was the vanguard of another wave of unreasoning fear and wrapped himself into purpose and control.... Then he walked forward, almost into the Lawrence's arms. And he hadn't wanted to do it. Ice-cold panic closed around Alex, too brutal, too sudden-impossible to resist. He knew it would be futile to try; he forced himself to let it wash over him instead, letting it seize him and steal his thoughts from him, swallowing his soul, erasing him-allowing the wild, mindless terror to fill his existence. The fear must have been plain to see in Alex's expression when Max turned him so that his face was in the light, but at that moment, the fact was meaningless. There was no meaning or purpose or intent left, and Max was no more than a pale outline, completely insignificant in the face of the raging, sourceless torrent of terror that consumed Alex's world. But by the time the witch leaned in close, his breath warm on Alex's cheek, Alex was aware again. The wave of mindless panic had drained away and Alex had thrown up every bit of resistance he could muster against the next onslaught, locking down his defenses, settling back into purpose. Not now. Not yet. Wait for it.... He'll want you to fight at some point. Wait for it. Max blew into Alex's ear playfully. "Does your agent make you scream, Kevin?" The question seemed to require no answer-either that or even the witch's compulsion wasn't enough to make Alex figure out the right one. He isn't mine? My name's not Kevin? I don't think so? Alex turned his attention inwards as a light touch brushed over the fading bruise on his cheek where Mulder had hit him. There was no sign of any alien presence in his mind, no difference in the way he perceived his body. He merely could not move, and he stopped trying immediately when the attempt threatened to recall the unreasoning fear. For now, he was caught. He would wait for his moment. The witch's touch firmed, moving along the line of his jaw and down his neck. A hand wrapped around his throat for a moment, squeezing lightly. Trying to frighten him. Not satisfied with the reaction you're getting, witch? Alex waited while Max gripped his head and kissed him; when the witch's tongue demanded entry, he opened his mouth without attempting to resist, not entirely certain whether he himself or the witch had orchestrated the movement. Didn't matter. Not yet, Alex.... Max drew back to scowl darkly at Alex, obviously dissatisfied. "Kevin." The sharp edge of annoyance in his voice found an echo in the angry glitter of dark eyes. "You're not paying attention. I don't like being ignored." To his surprise, Alex discovered that he could laugh. He'd assumed Max's hold on him would preclude any voluntary action not approved by the witch, and the short, hard bark of laughter startled him almost as much as the Lawrence. Alex didn't like the look of interested speculation that followed the brief astonishment in the other man's eyes. An experimental attempt to flex his fingers failed; experimenting further, however, Alex found that speech was possible. "Do you realize what kind of problems you are-" "Quiet." There was no compulsion behind the command, but Alex snapped his mouth shut immediately, cowering a little as Max stepped away. That he was able to cringe led Alex to conduct another subtle test of how far his control over his own body extended; it seemed that the witch had now released him completely. The mouse had done something interesting. The game was on again. "You followed your agent into Maureen's study like someone who knew what he was doing," the Lawrence said, his tone once again low and warm with anticipation, the joy of the hunt glittering in his eyes. "You spat defiance at me without saying a word, and you tried to attack me because you thought your Fox might if you didn't. But when I track you down alone, do you stand and fight? No, you back away from me and talk nonsense like a coward.... And now, now I find that you lock yourself away easily when I touch you, and laugh at my displeasure. There's something wrong there somewhere, wouldn't you say?" The witch paused to tip his head slightly to one side in a curiously studied gesture. "What's your name?" The words whipped out like a lash, tearing the answer from Alex before he had even understood the question. "Alexander," he heard himself rasp. His throat spasmed and he choked briefly, fighting to draw breath. Come on, Alex, breathe! "Hmm." Max began to move, circling Alex once and completing a second, slower circuit while he spoke. The witch was doing this on purpose-trying to wake associations of predators, of cats playing with their prey-reveling in the role of the hunter. Damn show-off. "Perhaps I watch too much television. Still, something doesn't fit about you, Kevin Alexander.... But I won't pry your secrets from you tonight. Let us wait for a better time-I have other plans for this night." He stopped in front of his intended victim and studied Alex with a slow, almost lazy smile. "But none of those plans include having you hide from me-I will not let you ignore my touch. And you don't want to, do you? You are mine now." With a wrenching, sickening twist, Alex's awareness shattered and reformed, shattered again and blew away in a sudden maelstrom of fragmented thoughts and perceptions that refused to form any comprehensible shape. His vision blurred and he thought he fell to his knees, or screamed, or clutched his head, but he didn't know, he couldn't know when there was nothing to hold on to, no familiar pattern to any perception, no perception even, no concept.... The nothingness receded slightly and perception returned, ordered itself. His sight cleared to reveal the Lawrence standing in front of him, still wearing the same smile. Alex himself was still on his feet, arms hanging loosely by his sides, exactly in the same spot he had been in-when? A heartbeat-five minutes, an hour before? And then the heart of the void that filled his mind dissolved, leaving-leaving.... "Kevin," Max coaxed, stepping forward. "To whom do you belong?" Leaving Max. Time ground to a halt as the shock of what he was feeling raced through Alex, stunning him. He remembered this-he had felt something like this before. No.... not quite. This was different, but.... He remembered something like this. This painless, fearless knowledge of belonging, being known, being loved and loving in return-this soul-deep, absolute, unquestioning, unconditional certainty of-of-Alex knew this, he remembered this. It belonged with the tall, quiet woman with dark hair and green eyes, who listened to him with a smile when he was happy and held him when he was sad and whose hand was cool on his forehead when he was sick. It was bound up with the memory of the broad-shouldered man with the laughing voice and the tousled fair hair, who would call his name and swing him up into strong arms when he ran to meet him, who would bake cookies and let Alex steal some of the almonds-it was the emotion that went with the boy who taught him how to ride a bicycle, who shouted at him when he ran across the street without looking for cars, who tossed him into the air and caught him again until he grew too heavy- Oh God, he remembered, he knew what this meant-he remembered what this was. It was not the same, but it was close enough. He knew the meaning of this, he remembered enough-remembered the look in the woman's eyes as she ran from him and shut the door in his face when he tried to follow and ask what was wrong. The hard tenseness in the voice that told him it was not much of a choice, no choice at all. Not bright enough, not promising enough-too much trouble-not loved enough-they survived, they could survive without him, didn't need him. How much to make you stay away, how much to keep you away from my family, mine, not yours, you are dead, you have been dead all these years and you will remain dead because we chose you to die, we never looked for you, we didn't wait for you, we don't want you, it was our choice-we are happy without you, stay away, we want you to stay away- "Kevin?" "I belong to you, Max," Alex said quietly, knowing it for the truth. Max smiled. There was no gradual accumulation, no slow build-up of emotion. Quietly, easily, in the space of one breath, Alex's world expanded and stilled into the familiar wide-open, clear-edged, echoingly empty, razor-sharp focus of extreme rage. His mind cleared into emptiness. Clarity. Control. At last. Alex relaxed into the cold, cleansing fury, surrendering all of the pain and confusion, feeling secure for the first time in longer than he cared to remember. He knew this place inside his own soul. It was haven. It was safety. It was the part of him that had blanked out the pain and terror and despair and sometimes even the memories when he could bear no more, when he thought that the sight of one more needle, one more operating table, one more harshly lit white room filled with unfamiliar stainless steel equipment would make him start screaming and never let him stop. It was this part of him that had looked up at Bill Mulder when he stood above Alex with the report in his hand, saying, I see you're hardly above the required value in muscle coordination, now we both know you can do better than this Alexander, I will schedule you for testing in a new fiber tone recalibration technique, maybe that will get you off your ass. It was this part of Alex that had smiled an invisible, silent, predatory smile and whispered, I will wait. I know who you are. I will find you, there is no hurry, I can wait because I will survive and I know the time will come. It was this part of him that had stepped back and watched and waited while his body was being fought over by men who were already dead, even if they didn't know it yet. This part of him had wiped the blade clean on Julie's jeans. This part of him looked on Maximilian Lawrence, whom he loved without thought or reserve-to whom he belonged, body and soul-and knew neither doubt nor fear. His path lay clear before him. "Come here," Max invited, opening his arms. Alex stepped into the embrace and pulled the other man close, relaxing into the caress when the witch stroked down Alex's spine to the small of his back and drew him tightly against his body. Waiting while Max paused on encountering the gun and laughed softly into Alex's ear. "Another one? For me? You shouldn't have." Max's stance shifted as he pushed closer. His hands were on Alex's buttocks now, pressing him tight against his erection. "I wonder what you will taste like with me on your tongue...." Alex tucked his chin down, nuzzling the witch's throat to cover the motion while he ran one hand firmly over Max's back, feeling only faint contours of shoulderblade and spine beneath several layers of fabric; the sweater Max wore beneath the trenchcoat was too thick, preventing Alex from feeling ribs. Alex slid his hand up over the other man's nape, curling his fingers into the soft hair at the back of his head and gently tightening his grip. The hilt of the blade from his forearm sheath was cool and reassuringly solid in his palm; in a smooth, powerful motion, he forced the tip between two vertebrae and plunged it deep, twisting it forward and sideways to slice neatly through the bundle of nerves. The knife snagged, grating on bone when he pulled it out again. Alex pressed the witch's head firmly into his shoulder, still keeping his own chin tucked against his chest to protect his throat. Who knew whether the Lawrence witches' physiology was comparable to that of normal humans.... But Max made no sound, put up no struggle; he sagged limply against Alex, shuddering once before collapsing into dead weight. Alex waited, keeping completely still, alert for any sign of motion in the body along his own-a lifting of the chest, no matter how slight-a shift in the balance, a twitch.... But there was nothing. When Alex finally twisted to the left, releasing his grip in the same instant that he leapt back, the witch's body crumpled gracelessly to the ground, skull impacting on cobbles with a dull thud. The sound exploded into bright fragments in Alex's mind; consciousness splintered and swirled, dissolving and reforming once again, this time into a familiar, comfortable shape. Alex knelt cautiously to roll the witch onto his back. One arm flopped loosely across his chest; no pulse beat in his throat, and his dark eyes were open wide, giving him a faintly startled expression that the rest of his face failed to emulate. Death had relaxed Max's features into slack expressionlessness, wiping them clear of malice or amusement. He looked younger than he had in life-younger, even more handsome, and absolutely harmless. "Bet you wish you'd stuck to the shiny happy ones, you dumb bastard," Alex told him quietly, looking around for a place to deposit the body temporarily. "I guess you won't be making that mistake again." Unlike the house Alex had bought in a suburb of Berlin, the hotel had an unlimited supply of hot water. Alex took advantage of the fact by staying in the shower for twice as long as he usually did and then getting right back in again when he hadn't even dried himself off yet. It was irrational behavior. He reminded himself firmly that there was no reason to stay in the shower anymore-that he was as clean as he was ever going to get, that this wasn't doing the healing abrasions on his wrists any good, and that his skin was beginning to wrinkle. Shriveled fingertips probably reduced sensitivity, which-he told himself reasonably-might well be dangerous. Would someone with wrinkled fingertips be able to handle a gun as efficiently as someone with unwrinkled ones? A pistol crossbow? A knife? So. It was definitely time to get out of the water. Alex managed to dry himself completely this time; then he succumbed to the urge to run a bath. He could keep his hands out of the water. God, he was getting to be as bad as Mulder. It would soon be a neck-and-neck race to decide which one of them had the greatest variety of compulsions, phobias, and assorted other behavioral disorders. Absurd. This was completely absurd. It was irrational and illogical and Alex knew it perfectly well. He should be able to overcome it. He bent over the tub and reached for the plug. Maybe if he soaked for just a minute or two, though. Showering hadn't helped to rid him of the unreasonable feeling that he was somehow sullied, that Max's touch was imprinted on him, had sunk into Alex's mind and body and polluted him like a particularly nasty smear of noxious substances. Idiotic. Still, maybe a bath-he could get out again right away if it didn't work. Damn it, you know a bath won't help either. Who do you think you're fooling, you're not this dumb, Alex! He shouldn't have been going on like this even if there had been considerably more to the encounter with Max. He'd dealt with worse without half the fuss. Max Lawrence hadn't had a chance to do anything but kiss Alex, for heaven's sake. It had been nothing. Nothing at all. This exaggerated reaction was entirely out of place. Ridiculous. Pathetic. Okay, Alex, face it. It's not that he touched you, is it? Not really. It's that he called you and you walked over, that he decided you should stand still and you froze in place-that your body obeyed like a well-trained dog, obeyed him even when you were screaming at it to stop. Worse, it's that he forced you to feel an emotion you shouldn't-couldn't-have been feeling. You knew it perfectly well, but it made no difference. You felt it. It was real. It would have made you enjoy his touch if you hadn't been too furious to take notice. That's what's bothering you, Alex. That you were his. That you belonged to him. It was no lie. It was real. And of course it wasn't just Max. It was those alien bastards, too. The bright flicker, the burning in his sinuses, the fire searing along every single nerve in his body, and then the pressure against his mind, the presence of something-something stronger than Alex, something that probed into and through him, questingly at first, searching, and then when it had found him, striking. Seizing and scrabbling at his consciousness, turning him inwards, away, down, under, twisting him from himself.... Down, under, but still aware, helpless to do anything but struggle helplessly and rage and hate and panic and swear no you can't do this to me not to me don't touch me let me go let me up I swear I'll kill you (knowing it wasn't true) trying to scream without a voice.... While it settled into his body and sent out probes of fire into his memories, exploring, ripping and tearing- The oily thing, different, not burning, not bright. Quenching, heavy, dark-harsh and painful against his half-stifled awareness, seeping in everywhere, filling his body, his consciousness, his memories, taking Alex away from himself, turning him into a thing to be used and then discarded, not even important enough to kill.... It had left oily residue everywhere, Alex had been covered in the stuff, the stench and taste of it everywhere, his entire body slick with it, his eyes and nose and mouth and mind-he hadn't been able to get rid of it, not ever, he could taste it even now, feel it against his skin, stifling him, inside and out, everywhere. Don't leave me in here with that thing, let me out of here, help me, let me out- Alex emptied several more of the small scented bottles of bubble bath the hotel provided for its guests into the filled tub and sank into the water, inhaling deeply, letting the slightly cloying flowery fragrance drown out the memory of the stale, bitter, harsh smell of the oily alien son of a bitch. The water was almost scalding, hot enough to sting Alex's skin like pinpricks, almost hot enough to drown out the assortment of sensory memories that always rushed back in at an opportunity like this when his defenses were worn low. He submerged completely for as long as he could hold his breath. He'd been right about the Lawrence witches' method of possession-it was not as intensely traumatic as the alien experiences. It brought up the memories, though, and in its own way, it was equally unpleasant. The witch had turned Alex's own emotions against him-and that other method of control, that actually had been close to alien possession, though thankfully without a real sense of invasive presence to trigger the hopeless struggle for the upper hand, full consciousness, regained control.... The steamy air seemed to clog Alex's lungs and he gasped for breath, silently cursing himself for a sap. He'd survived. It was over. He was alive and not even injured and- The door opened. Alex almost inhaled a mouthful of bath water in his panicked dive for the weapon by the side of the tub. Get it together, you're back in control, breathe- A wave of chilly air swept in and Fox Mulder froze in the open doorway, looking surprised. His gaze fastened briefly on the pistol crossbow Alex had aimed at his throat, slid over the knife balanced in the soap-dish and the fencing foil propped against the side of the tub, and went on to take in the completely steamed-up interior, lingering briefly on the beads of moisture that were running down the mirror before returning to Alex. Alex put down the weapon carefully. "You're letting all the warmth out." After another moment, Mulder came in the rest of the way and shut the door. The surprise in his expression had been replaced by something strangely like fear. "Alex... are you all right?" His tone was soft, almost soothing. It was the voice Mulder used on witnesses who seemed likely to begin sobbing or screaming hysterically any second. To his astonishment, Alex discovered that he rather liked to hear Mulder address him in that voice. Not that Alex was about to start sobbing or screaming, of course. He might panic and drown, but he'd do it in dignified silence. "I'm fine, Mulder." He caught himself wondering whether that counted as a lie and hastily turned his thoughts from the subject. Now. How could he tell Mulder he'd killed Max Lawrence without being drowned, throttled, shot, or beaten? There was no predicting how Mulder would take the news. He was touchy on the subject of killing, specifically killing done by Alex, and it was not unthinkable that he would take it into his head Alex had murdered one of the fascinating witches without due cause. If he did.... Alex didn't even want to think about it. It was next to impossible to shake Fox Mulder loose from a notion once he'd gotten hold of it. Worse than a pit bull terrier. "Alex?" Mulder advanced a slow step. "Did you meet any of the Lawrences?" "Look, Mulder, it was like this." Alex inspected a heap of bubbles near the end of the tub in order to avoid meeting Mulder's eyes. "I was minding my own business, walking back here, when Max Lawrence turned up out of thin air. Maybe he was watching Katja Dahl's house. I didn't see him or hear him approach, he was just there suddenly, like Riley said. He came looking for me. I certainly wasn't anxious to run into him again. It seems Max decided that Dahl was not his type and had gone out to find someone more to his taste. You think it's my aftershave or something?" Alex realized he was beginning to babble and stopped. When he glanced at Mulder, he was startled to find that the touch of worry in the other man's expression had turned into full-fledged horror. "Alex, I'm so sorry." He sounded guilt-stricken. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have let you leave alone, he'd as much as said he'd-I knew, I should have known-" Jesus. Alex tried to laugh, but managed only a slightly choked sound. His throat hurt. His chest hurt, too. He was really losing it now. Maybe he would start sobbing or screaming, after all. "No, Mulder, it's-really, I'm fine. The thing is that I-Max-" Alex sank lower in the tub, avoiding Mulder's tortured gaze again while he tried to find the correct way to phrase this. "Max subjugated you the way he did Riley and Dahl? Alex, look at me. He did, didn't he?" Why did he have to be so earnest and sympathetic? Alex wasn't prepared for gentleness and understanding from Fox Mulder. He had no idea how to react. It confused him. He felt worse now than when Mulder had come in. What little self-possession he'd still been holding on to was crumbling away even now.... It chilled Alex to be the recipient of that horrified, worried, almost caring look. He was beginning to shiver in spite of the heat of the water. He wished.... He wished Fox would leave. "Yes, he did," Alex said. "And I-did Riley tell you they have two distinct forms of control? One disconnects the control of mind over body-transfers it to the witch somehow-and one-twists emotions into the shape the witch wants them to take. They're not imposed emotions as such, they're genuine, originating within the subject but taken out of their natural context and-" "Alex, don't depersonalize it. It wasn't a witch and a subject. It was Max Lawrence and you. I'm-look at me, Alex. I know you don't want to talk about this now, or even think of it, but you won't be able to forget it. I know it's not easy, but you have to face it. It will be better if you do it now. Tell me what happened, Alex, please." "I'm trying! You keep interrupting me!" Alex thought he'd managed to put an appropriate amount of irritation in his voice, but he couldn't feel it. He was too numb to feel anything but general wretchedness, shot through with bright sparks of the panic trying to edge past his weakened defenses. Better get it over with and give Mulder the whole story before he broke down completely. "What happened was that he stalked me for a while and put me under the merely physical influence when he got bored with that. Then he decided he'd prefer active and unforced cooperation and... adjusted my emotions to make me love him. I did-I adored him, worshipped him. He wanted to own me, and it worked, too-though certainly not the way he-anyway. Then-" Mulder exploded into motion with shocking suddenness, whirling to smash a fist against the mirror above the sink. Glass cracked, the sound ringing out like a gunshot. Alex's fingers had already closed around the crossbow by the time his mind caught up with his reflexes, and it took a conscious exercise of willpower to release the weapon again. "I'll kill him." Mulder's voice was low and steady, forming a complete contrast to the shudders that racked his body. "I swear I'll kill the bastard!" Alex had to clear his throat. "You're too late, Mulder." He turned slowly, dark hair falling into wide, almost wild eyes. "You killed him? But-you said that he forced you to feel love for him." "Yeah, bad mistake." Alex tried to smile. Judging by Mulder's odd expression, he didn't succeed very well. "It was the wrong kind-too open, naive-I didn't even really remember that. There's no way I can feel that. It was unreasoning, unquestioning, unconditional-holding nothing back-that-it just isn't in me anymore. But he-dug it up somewhere, and it must have shorted out something, I don't know. The last time-I think it must have happened that way because the last time I felt that for anyone, they sold me to the Consortium." Mulder quickly crossed to the side of the bathtub and crouched down to bring his face on a level with Alex's. His movements were stiff with rage and agitation and Alex shied away reflexively before realizing that, amazingly enough, none of the anger seemed to be directed at him. "My God, Alex." There was no trace of suspicion or even reproach in Mulder's eyes... none at all. He looked even more horrified than before, but the worry and compassion and anguish were still there, as well. It felt-very peculiar. "That son of a bitch. I'm so sorry, Alex, I should have known he would try something like this, he even said as much, and I let you leave and walk back alone.... You know that you had no choice, it's a good thing that you had that reaction to what he was trying to do." Mulder's tone darkened and acquired a cold note of menace that, as Alex knew from first-hand experience, was completely genuine. "I'm glad you killed the bastard." The pain lumped in Alex's throat grew all but unbearable. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what was happening-nothing was familiar anymore. And now Fox Mulder was acting as though he wanted to fight Alex's battles for him, was looking at Alex as though it mattered to him what happened to Alex, as though Alex mattered.... It was not the right moment for this, Alex couldn't make sense of it now. He was too confused and miserable and afraid to understand anything at all-he only knew that that look on Fox's face, that expression in his eyes, hurt far worse than any beating the man had ever bestowed on him. He didn't know how to deal with this kind of pain. He didn't even know where it was coming from. "Alex," Fox said, his tone gentle. "Can I touch your cheek? I promise I won't do anything else. You look confused and unhappy and lonely and I-I want to touch you, to show you that I'm here. Is that all right?" Alex nodded without thinking. He didn't care that he was showing weakness. He didn't mind that Mulder was practicing post-traumatic therapy on him and that Alex was experiencing all the predictable responses. At this moment, he was perfectly content to let Mulder pull his strings. It was too much effort to fight and he didn't want to fight Fox, had never wanted to. He just wished it would stop hurting so much. Very slowly, Fox reached out and cupped a hand against Alex's cheek. Alex stared into the intense, earnest blue-grey gaze and turned his face into the touch. Fox's hand was cool against Alex's skin. He held it perfectly still along the side of Alex's face. It was ridiculous that it felt so reassuring. There was nothing safe about Fox Mulder, and yet his touch suddenly seemed to be the only element of safety in Alex's world, the only remaining hold on reality. "I'd like to hug you," Fox said after a while. "Would that be all right, Alex? I'll let go immediately if you want me to. I just want to hold you, and I won't hold you tightly. Do you think you can do that?" You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't- Alex hastily scrambled to his knees in the bathtub, splashing water over the rim, and allowed Fox to gather him into a careful, loose embrace, the side of the tub separating them. Alex's cheek rested against the side of the other man's neck. When he breathed in, he breathed in the scent of Fox Mulder's skin, of Fox Mulder's hair. It felt too safe. It felt.... Alex was falling for a very dangerous illusion, succumbing to his most serious weakness. He had to push Mulder away and get out of this tub and find a place to be alone and pull himself together. In a minute, he would. He couldn't let go of Fox yet, though. He tried. It wasn't possible. "I'm getting your Armani wet," Alex mumbled, forcing the words out past the pain in his throat. Fox tightened his grip slightly. "I don't give a damn." Alex laughed and was surprised at how thin and shaky it sounded. He was falling apart. "Who are you and what have you done with Mulder?" The arms around him tightened another fraction. "He won't be back." Fox's voice was rough and barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Alex." "I'm not. You smell good, whoever you are." He closed his eyes and shifted closer, leaning into the reassuringly solid body, allowing one hand to creep to the back of Fox's head to thread into his hair. It was just as soft as he remembered. Alex was so tired.... He didn't want to fight anymore. Not himself-not anyone-and especially not Fox. He couldn't bear fighting him, it kept getting harder, every time he saw him, every time he dreamt of impossible things, every single time.... Just for now, for a minute, the space of a breath or two, Alex wanted to pretend that there was no need to fight. For just this instant, he wanted to not only feel that he was safe, but believe it-believe that there was no more need to kill and lie and scheme, no more need to struggle for the next day, the next hour, the next instant of existence. What a pity he couldn't make himself believe the lie, not even for a single moment. "You're shivering," Fox murmured. Alex could feel the subtle vibration of his voice against his body. "We've got to get you out of the water and dry you off. How long have you been in here, Alex? You must be as shriveled as a prune." "It's real, you know." Alex exhaled against the sensitive skin of Fox's neck and watched him shiver slightly. "The name. It's my real name. Alexander. Alex." "I know-it suits you. And now get out of the water." Fox pulled back, forcing Alex to release him. Alex got to his feet and stepped out of the tub, beginning to run through a quick, undemanding stretching routine to reassure himself his body was still taking orders the way it should. He didn't even think about what he was doing until he saw the arrested way Fox was watching him. Their eyes met and held briefly before Fox turned away. He snagged a towel from the rack in passing and tossed it to Alex without so much as a glance in his direction. "Fox?" Oh, Alex.... Wrong name. Wrong tone. Wrong everything. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, looking back after a noticeable hesitation. His eyes flicked over Alex's body quickly before fastening on his face. After an awkward pause, Fox gave a crooked, self-mocking smile. "It's okay, Alex, I'll be right outside. And-Alex. Don't call me Fox unless we're alone." Alex's eyes widened in shock. "Okay," he whispered to the closing door. When Alex emerged, wrapped in a bathrobe that was damp with condensed moisture, Fox was sitting on the far bed, the case file spread out in front of him. He looked up at Alex's entrance, frowning slightly at the collection of weapons Alex deposited on the floor within easy reach of both beds. "Don't worry, it won't warp," Alex said, pretending to misunderstand the look the other man gave him. "It's all steel and plastic these days." No answer. Fox began to gather the papers back together, finally slipping the file back into the briefcase. The untypical, slow meticulousness of his motions announced that he was buying time. Alex sat on the edge of the free bed and watched, waiting. After a moment, he drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped both arms around them, resting his chin on his knees. It went against every instinct he possessed to lapse into telling body language, but it would have been pointless to pretend to unaffected detachment at this point. Even if it hadn't been for the scene in the bathroom, Alex had no illusions about his ability to keep up a dispassionate facade right now. He would have liked to be hugged again. He'd discovered that he liked being embraced in a non-sexual context, at least by Fox Mulder. To go by Fox's demeanor, however, the time for hugging was past. Just as well, really. Alex couldn't allow himself to become used to a compassionate and understanding Mulder. "It's okay, I won't freak on you," he said when Fox made no move to open the conversation even after he'd closed and put away the briefcase. "Go ahead and ask." That earned him a searching look, but nothing else. Several moments of silence passed and Fox made no attempt to ask any of the questions that must be burning on his tongue. Alex sighed and rubbed his itching wrists lightly through the pristine cloth of the newly applied dressing. Fortunately, the bandages had been antiseptically sealed in waterproof plastic, or they would have been as damp as everything else in the bathroom. At this point in the healing process, it would have been preferable to leave the healing wounds open to the air and allow them to scab over, but bandages were a lot more inconspicuous than wrists that had obviously been abraded by restraints. When several moments had passed and Fox still gave no signs of planning to break the silence any time soon, Alex decided to go ahead with the debriefing. The situation was already complicated enough. He wasn't up to playing waiting games, or whatever this was supposed to be. "I severed his spine with a knife. He was dead immediately. No signs of unusual-" "You severed his spine with a knife." Mulder's voice was utterly inflectionless. Wonderful-the interrogation voice. Mulder had refined the unpredictable mood swing to an art form. He packed more moods into one hour than half a dozen pubescent teens did into a week. "That's right." Alex tried for an equally neutral delivery, but the tired note in his tone was unmistakable. "It had to be instantly lethal. Stabbing him in the heart wasn't an option when I couldn't be certain I wouldn't hit a rib first. With a normal human, it wouldn't have mattered, but as it was, I couldn't risk giving him even an instant of time to react." "How the hell do you sever someone's spine with a knife without giving them even an instant of time to react? It sounds like a-a rather brutal method." "Not at all. You slip the tip of the knife in where the cartilage meets the bone-ideally, you feel out the vertebrae first to find the right spot. Takes a little strength, but mostly it's the angle of entry and the right twist. It's all in the wrist. No mess, no fuss. Don't look so shocked. What did you think I did, challenge him to an honorable duel?" Breathe, Alex, you are in control. This is a positive development. You need him at a safe distance. Mulder shook his head, disquieted. "It's just-Alex, it's so-" "Professional?" Alex closed his eyes and tightened his hold around his knees. "Yes. It is. Can we continue?" "Alex, that's not-it's just that-to feel for the right spot, to come that close to him...." "Don't worry about it. He didn't get anywhere before he met his untimely fate. You'll want to take a look at the body. If you want, I can dump it in the river at a convenient spot where it'll be found by a jogger or dog-owner so you can have an autopsy made. I'll have to get rid of the outer layer of his clothes.... Fiber samples are a bitch. But it's not as though it can be made to look like an accident, in any case. And I forgot to tell you, I had the rental company charge the Mercedes to you." He was babbling again. Alex shut up as soon as he realized it, but by that time he'd already gone on for far too long. He should have known better than to talk without thinking.... But then again, what the hell. Mulder already knew he was a killer-no need to play at being an amateur. "The Mercedes?" Opening his eyes, Alex found Mulder regarding him with a slight frown, but no apparent disgust. "Hey, you can hardly expect Kevin to make do with a Ford. I'd have taken the Porsche, but Max was a tall son of a bitch. He wouldn't have fit in the trunk." Mulder was silent for a long moment. "Let me see if I got this straight. After you were-after you killed Max, you stashed him in a garbage container or other convenient place of storage, found a taxi to take you to a still-open car rental agency, found Kevin a representative car with a sufficiently large trunk, and drove back to pick up the body. Then, you parked out front and flirted with the receptionist while filling out the form allowing you to take up garage space. You then brought car and dead witch into the hotel garage, where Max presently resides, wrapped in plastic bags, in the trunk of a Mercedes rented in your-Kevin's-name. And once you had double-checked that you had locked the car, then you came up here and decided to have a bath." "Yep." Alex smiled, a bit crookedly. "I didn't double-check the car, though. They have surveillance cameras down there, you don't want to seem like you have a reason to be nervous. Still.... Pretty good. Haven't lost your touch." Mulder exhaled explosively, shaking his head. "Alex, this isn't what I wanted to talk about. Not now. You have to tell me about what happened between Max and you." Of course he was interested-Max had been a witch, and here was information about his general worldview and modus operandi, both of his domination techniques, and-as an added bonus-his sex life, all wrapped into one. Irresistible. But Alex had already told him what had happened. What more did he want to know, for God's sake? "I don't know what else you want to hear," Alex said, a touch of harshness creeping into his voice. "He appeared, he forced me to love him, I killed him. What else is there?" Mulder stood up and paced to the closet, opened it idly and closed it again, crossed over to the bathroom door-which he looked at speculatively, but didn't open-and finally came over to stand directly in front of Alex. Alex refused to look up, staring straight ahead at the glimpse of rumpled shirt visible through his opened jacket. After a moment, Mulder went to his haunches and Alex found himself caught by an earnest, intense hazel gaze. Fox's soft dark hair was tousled and fell over his forehead, his face open with concern, devoid of threat or coldness. He was searching for something in Alex's expression. Alex knew that he should be figuring out what it was so that he could show it to the other man, but he didn't have the energy at this moment. Fox was beautiful when there was no hate written in his face. Hate was not a good look on him. Alex suspected that it tortured him to be capable of feeling something so ugly, to be forced into acknowledging the darkness in his own soul. Fox was too intense and pure and brilliant for his own good, unable to accept the injustice and untruth and imperfection he saw all around him, and worse, reflected in him... unable to escape his need for fighting it, for calling down the torment of guilt and inevitable failure as a penance for the evil of the world. You burn so bright, too bright for this dark and hungry world. Silver dagger, blade of light, angel with the burning sword.... "Fox," Alex murmured softly, experimentally. In spite of the unexpected permission he'd been given, Alex expected Fox to snap at him. There was no protest, though; a pained look crossed his face briefly, followed by a rueful half-smile that made Alex long to tell Fox how much he liked the name, how well it suited him. Alexanders were a dime a dozen, but there was only one Fox. You couldn't expect to get by without attracting notice as Fox. The name was exceptional, different-not smooth and simple and uncomplicated, but unique, remarkable, peculiar. Perfect for him. Perfect, like him. Oh, it was possible to discover seeming flaws in Fox by looking at individual features. The long, drop-shaped nose, the sensuously full lower lip that was peculiarly mismatched with the ascetically spare upper one, the manias, the uncontrolled bursts of violence and even cruelty, the wildly veering thoughts, the more than mercurial moods.... Alex recognized these apparent imperfections for what they were, though-part of a perfect whole. The purely physical appeal combined with the sheer radiance of soul caught Alex off guard time after time, igniting the by now almost familiar rush of wrenching delight, scalding desire and pure fear. The mix of emotions was too volatile to be effectively suppressed-he didn't even entirely understand what he felt, just that it was fierce and wild and gentle and agonizing.... Alex caught himself beginning to lean forward and hastily shifted into a cross-legged posture to cover the movement. Fox's nearness hummed through him with increasing urgency, the awareness of the warm and solid body so close to his beginning to spark vivid memories of fevered touches, the taste of Fox's mouth, the scent of his heated skin-his weight pressing Alex down while he moved deep within him. Alex swallowed on a dry throat and looked away, struggling for composure. He had to get out of here. Right now. Get dressed, get out, and arrange for a separate room. If he stayed he was going to end up screwed in the truest meaning of the word... in every meaning of the word. This was ridiculous! He knew how dangerous this was. Alex had to get himself back in line. Although... the damage is done, you slept with him once. If he didn't get it the first time, there's no reason to assume he will now. What difference would it make, why not do it again, just once, just once more... this time you'll keep your mouth shut, this time you'll be careful, you'll bite his shoulder or kiss him or- "Alex," Fox said, his voice gentle. "Tell me what you felt when Max Lawrence came after you, when he took your control over your body from you, when he forced you to feel love for him. Don't try to hide from it. Tell me what you felt when you killed him-tell me what you feel now. You can't lock it away, Alex. You know that." What he felt now. Well, that was simple. Alex felt that he wished Fox would shut up about the son-of-a-bitch Lawrence. He didn't want to talk about Max. He didn't even want to think about the bastard. He was dead, that was all. Alex didn't want to think of the witches, or the aliens, or the men stinking of blood and fear and sweat and lust-the witch, the oily thing-the nauseating, burning pain of possession-they were dead, they were all dead, it didn't matter and he didn't want to think about it! The air was growing too thin. Alex shook off the invading memories with a surge of something like anger, glaring at Mulder. "There's nothing to tell you. It's no-" He broke off before he could complete the phrase that had automatically sprung to his lips. Saying that it was no big deal would definitely be a lie. Of course Mulder knew it too-and, being Mulder, it went without saying that he was unable to leave it alone. "I know better than that, and so do you, Alex. I know you want to believe there's nothing to talk about, that you can simply shrug the incident off and forget it. I know how difficult it is to face what you feel." The dark surge of resentment rose in Alex with stunning suddenness, burning in his throat like fire and blanketing his mind in an unfamiliar haze of rancor. Mulder did not know anything. He had no idea. Where did he get off treating Alex as though he were some kind of helpless, hurt little innocent? He wasn't helpless, he wasn't hurt, and he was certainly no innocent. He didn't need Fox Mulder's sympathy. He'd survived far worse than this without being granted his oh-so-generous compassion! What the hell was this all about-Alex had killed the bastard witch and there was an end to it. Why should he have to blather on and on about it-and who did Mulder think he was, anyway, badgering Alex about things he didn't want to think about! "You carry too much around with you already," Mulder was saying. "You can't keep going indefinitely, Alex. You're strong-very much so-but you've been pushing your limits for most of your life. No one is that strong. You're going to snap if you keep this up, you can't ask it of yourself-" "You're one to talk." The viciousness in his own voice shocked Alex into silence before he could bring out the rest of the attack; he bit down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood, trying to center himself on the pain to prevent himself from losing focus. He didn't want to hurt Mulder. Mulder harbored too much pain already, and he was only trying to help Alex. There was no reason to lash out at him. There was no reason for this insane anger. Alex closed his eyes briefly, struggling for control. "Quit it, Mulder." His tone was still cutting, but most of the venom had gone out of it. "If I wanted therapy, I'd pay for it. I know how to deal with it, okay? Let's stick to the case." "You know how to deal with it?" Mulder's earnest gaze was still locked on his face, and the steady regard was making him increasingly uncomfortable. "Alex, I've seen you fight off countless panic attacks over the course of the last days. It's impossible to miss that there are many things you haven't been able to deal with. Just remember what happens every time you think of aliens, every time you recall what it's like to be possessed by-" Alex twisted away from Mulder and came to his feet on the far side of the bed. "What the fuck do you want from me?" He was shouting now and couldn't seem to stop. "What do you want, Mulder? Leave me alone! Just leave me the fuck alone! This is hard enough already! What are you trying to do to me, what the hell do you want, why don't you just leave me the hell alone!" There was no immediate answer, which wasn't really surprising, considering that Alex hadn't posed a single rational question. Christ. Alex took a deep breath and carefully unclenched his fists, trying to rein in the explosive turmoil of emotions seething inside of him. Damn, damn, damn- "I want to help you, Alex," Mulder said quietly, a trace of pain evident in the words. "I know that must be hard to believe, coming from me, but it's true. I should have asked myself why you did the things you did. I should have asked you instead of beating you up whenever we met, but I was too hurt to think clearly-too hurt to even want to think clearly. I know now, though. I don't want anything from you, Alex, I only want to help." Alex took two smooth, rapid steps closer to Mulder, who looked up at him calmly, waiting for his response. He didn't seem worried. In fact, he didn't seem even the slightest bit wary. Not one bit. Was Mulder that confident of his hold on Alex-was he so certain that he could control him? "Don't lie to me, Mulder." It came out very low, sounding dangerous. "I know what you want. You want to get laid. Or should I say you wish to resolve your fixation? Same thing. You finally got some, it felt good, and now you just want to fuck me again." Stop this, stop it now, why are you so angry, he's trying to help you- "What's the matter, you figuring I won't be much fun to screw unless you patch me up a little first? Well, you can stuff the altruistic psychobabble where the sun don't shine. I can recite that shit backwards in my sleep. I don't need your help. I never needed your help. I got along fine before you kindly decided to accept me into your good graces. I've done this before. This is nothing, Mulder. He barely touched me. What do you think I am, a sheltered little blue-eyed boy like you? It's no big-it's-not-it's just a little soon after the alien, I can deal with it, I-just need a little time, that's all!" Mulder said nothing. Alex tried to go on, but his voice failed him. Which was when he noticed that his face was wet. When had that happened-and why, why was he crying, why was he attacking Mulder like this when he hadn't done anything, when he'd only been trying to help.... One thing's for sure, you've cured him of that. He's never going to try helping you again, and he's never going to touch you again except to beat you senseless. Nice job, Alex. Are you happy now, you fucked-up bastard? No, wait, this was a good thing, it meant that Alex was safe. Fox wouldn't try to make love-sleep with him again, there would be no more danger of giving himself away. Excellent, this was very good... oh God.... Hadn't he been in an almost murderous rage only a moment ago? Where had the pain come from all of a sudden-what had happened to the rage, why couldn't he keep himself in check, how could he stop this.... Briefly, he considered slamming his fist into a wall, but he'd never gone in for voluntary pain and he wasn't about to start now. It must be Mulder's company. The guy was beginning to rub off on Alex. It was high time to get away from him, to regain his balance, rebuild his defenses. Fuck those alien bastards, he had to get away now, he couldn't do this- "It's not going to work, Alex." Mulder straightened out of his crouch to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm not getting angry. I'm not going to beat you. And I'm not leaving." Serious hazel eyes locked on Alex's face. There was no anger or hate in his expression, no resentment.... Nothing but that peculiar almost-concern. They weren't kidding when they said Mulder was a great shrink. He made it look real. Hell, he probably believed it himself. "Listen to me, Alex. It's true that I desire you. It's a problem in this situation. I shouldn't be the one talking to you about this. But there is no one else, and you need to face what happened." There was no more rage to lend Alex the illusion of strength; it had burned itself out in a single, brief flare of white-hot violence, leaving him feeling hollow and hopeless. "Mulder, please." Alex wasn't certain what he was asking for. Leave me alone, don't leave me, stop this, stop the pain, don't hate me, please don't hate me.... "It's all right, Alex." The distressed witness voice again-and there was the smile to match as Fox stretched out an arm and gave the bed a little pat at what statistics no doubt indicated was the ideal distance for the therapist to keep from a sobbing and screaming witch victim. "Come over here?" Alex closed the space between them so fast that he couldn't remember crossing it at all. Suddenly, he was crouching awkwardly on the bed next to Fox, both arms wrapped around the other man's middle, face buried against his chest. Definitely not the prescribed distance for therapy, but it didn't seem to matter-Fox didn't pull away. "It's all right," he repeated instead, his tone a soft caress. His arms came up around Alex and held him. Lightly, Alex noted. Much too lightly. "It's okay to let go, Alex. I'm here." By the time Fox pulled him back to lie across the bed, Alex was clutching him so tightly he was almost afraid he'd crack Fox's ribs, sobbing uncontrollably. Not loudly, which was something to be thankful for, but no matter how he tried, Alex couldn't suppress the shudders that wracked his body. After a while, he stopped trying. There was no point anymore. Fox was saying something. Calm, quiet, even slightly concerned. "Alex, you're cold. Let's get you under the covers, okay?" The words took a while to filter through, but when they finally did, Alex realized that he'd stopped crying. He was lying on his side curled against Fox Mulder's warm body, both arms around him and his cheek crushed uncomfortably against the knot of a predominantly yellow and green tie. He didn't want to move. He never wanted to move again. Fox was pushing gently at his shoulders, though, so there was no choice. Alex released his death-grip on the other man and rolled to his back, watching Fox pull himself up to sit on his heels in the middle of the bed. He'd been sitting like that just after pulling out of Alex's body-minus the clothes, of course. Watching him run an impatient hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, was enough to make Alex's mouth go dry. Fox wasn't doing it on purpose. He only wanted to get the hair out of his face. Alex had never seen Fox do anything with the purpose of being seductive. Even when he'd wanted to get Alex into bed, he'd chosen the characteristically blunt and straightforward method, bare of anything but the basic facts. I want you, let's have sex. Of course, if there was anyone who had absolutely no need of resorting to seduction, it was Fox Mulder. He only had to sit there looking sober and concerned, dark hair in complete disarray, suit hopelessly crumpled.... Alex had spent a lot of time imagining what Mulder would be like in bed, but he'd never dreamt up anything half as incredible as the reality. With his defenses at an all-time low, this was the worst possible moment to expose his self-control to such a strain. He knew it with perfect, objective clarity, he just couldn't find it in himself to care. "Fox." The need that had throbbed to life in Alex turned his voice husky and he thought he saw a brief flash of alarm cross Fox's features. Alex was close enough to Mulder to touch him, so he did, reaching out to put a hand flat against his stomach. Fox looked startled. He was unbelievably alluring with that slightly puzzled, almost annoyed look on his face, trying to work a new piece of data into a theory that suddenly seemed ever-so-slightly off. Alex found a button and worked it loose, slipping his hand through the gap only to encounter more fabric. But the warmth of Fox's body was more immediate, and when he stroked over Fox's abdomen, the muscles beneath the thin cotton tightened with gratifying immediacy. Fox didn't draw back. He looked as though he might bolt at any second like a nervous race-horse, but he didn't draw back. "Alex, do you know why you're doing this?" Alex was doing this because he would die if he couldn't feel him, taste him, get closer to him. He was doing this because nothing was important except seeing Fox look at him with desire in his eyes. Alex had to get closer to him. As close as physically possible. Closer than that. Much closer. The imperative that wrenched at Alex's soul every time he looked at Fox had taken over. He had nothing left to fight it with. He had forgotten why he needed to. "I want you," Alex murmured. He allowed his gaze to linger on the clean, elegant lines of throat and jaw, the sensuous mouth, the near perfection of the features. This was the real thing... beauty of soul mirrored in beauty of form. "This is a very bad idea," Fox said. He still made no move to get up, though. His eyes were fixed on Alex's face with peculiar, almost desperate concentration. Alex glanced down to discover that his bathrobe had fallen open, revealing a broad expanse of chest. What luck. Couldn't have done it better if you'd planned it, Alex. "That's my line." Alex rolled to his side, allowing the robe to fall open below the belt and reveal a glimpse of thigh, but no more. A man who would wrap himself into a sheet to preserve his modesty in front of the same person he'd been devouring alive not half an hour earlier needed to be coaxed along subtly and carefully. Well, as subtly as circumstances allowed. How typically Fox... he was always swinging between extremes. Subtlety hadn't featured in Fox's approach to getting Alex into bed, and he certainly hadn't needed to be coaxed into flattening Alex against the wall, throwing him down, and screwing him through the mattress. And now this shyness-Alex couldn't help it, he found himself completely charmed by the sudden diffidence in a man who could be so uninhibitedly and aggressively sexual. "You're doing this to prove that you can," Fox rationalized, his tone the embodiment of scientific detachment. Alex would have been worried if the other man's breathing hadn't been accelerating markedly. "It's the wrong thing to do. You can't cover up the memories of Max this easily. Sleeping with me, or anyone, is not going to help. In fact, it might-" Alex tugged upwards on the undershirt separating his questing hand from Fox. Fox stopped speaking as the fabric slid against his skin. "You're wrong." Alex's hand found warm, bare skin. Fox gulped for air, but still didn't move away. "This has nothing to do with Max. I'm not trying to prove anything. I just want you." There was a trapped look in Fox's eyes... he was watching his body betray him. He didn't want to do this. Alex pulled his hand away and sat up, suddenly feeling chilled. "Forget it. What a pair we make-we've really got to work on our timing." What had made him so certain Mulder would want him? It had never been in doubt that once Mulder recovered from the hormone rush that had overwhelmed him earlier, he'd regret taking Alex to bed. He certainly wouldn't be in a hurry to compound the mistake. Alex was not even remotely suitable. He was an embarrassing side-note in the far from voluminous, but very select annals of Fox Mulder's sex life. A bothersome fixation. A temporary aberration due to the prolonged suppression of primal instincts. With savage motions, Alex re-wrapped the bathrobe around himself tightly, making sure every inch of skin it would cover was covered, tightening the belt until he could hardly breathe. It was useless trying to tell himself that it was better this way. It was, but that didn't make the rejection any easier to bear. It's no more than what you deserve, you stupid bastard. That'll teach you to think-to hope- "Wait. I didn't mean-" "Spare me. What's the matter, afraid you won't respect yourself in the morning? Well, it's your loss, Mulder. I'll live." Alex was almost off the bed when he found himself yanked back by one shoulder. Before he knew it, he was stretched out on his back again with Mulder crouching over him. "That wasn't what I was afraid of," he said, his voice low and matter-of fact. "And you're right, it would be my loss. I want you. Never doubt it, Alex." Alex was still trying to read the odd expression in his eyes when Fox lowered his head, brushing his lips lightly against Alex's. Alex opened his mouth immediately, pushing himself up on his elbows to deepen the kiss. The soft contact firmed, the tip of a tongue flicking against the inside of Alex's lips teasingly before allowing itself to be drawn in. This kiss had nothing in common with the way Fox had devoured him earlier that day; he stroked Alex's tongue gently, explored his mouth thoroughly but without urgency. Nice... too nice. Alex slipped his arms around the other man's waist and tried to pull him down. Fox resisted, and for an eternal moment, Alex's heart constricted with the knowledge that he'd misunderstood, that Fox had only been trying to comfort him. Then Fox settled on the bed along Alex's side, set a hand next to Alex's shoulder, and propped himself up carefully while leaning over to resume the kiss. It dawned on Alex what Fox was doing. He was keeping his weight off Alex as much as possible, trying not to confine him... going slow, being gentle, reassuring Alex. Fox was trying not to spook the rape victim. The tangle of disbelief, amazement, and fierce longing that welled up in Alex was almost indistinguishable from pain. For a second or two, he was certain he was going to burst into tears again, which confused him even further. Fox was being nice to him, which was strange, but certainly no reason to cry. That Alex didn't know what the hell was going on was no reason not to enjoy it while it lasted. Alex pushed the last thought to the back of his mind and ignored it, concentrating on the pressure of the warm mouth against his, the leisurely slide of the tongue twining with his. Time to make Fox forget about solicitude and other such nonsense. Fox shifted closer when Alex nibbled at his lip, slid closer still when Alex took the initiative and deepened the gentle kiss into a considerably more demanding one. Soon, he had edged almost entirely on top of Alex, perhaps without fully realizing it. Alex could taste Fox's rising passion in the increasing heat of the kiss; by the time Alex rolled him over to crush him into the bed, he was fairly certain caution and holding back were the last things on the other man's mind. Better, but Alex was still not close enough to him. Not close enough by far. Alex had just begun to draw back in order to get rid of the unspeakable tie when Fox licked his chin, surprising him into motionlessness. He'd never thought of his chin as an erogenous zone before, but now, when Fox Mulder licked it again and bit down lightly- "I love that," Fox said huskily. "Do that again, Alex." Alex tipped his head back further and tried to concentrate. All but impossible when bright sparks of sheer sensation were shooting through him from where Fox nipped at the skin just below his chin, moved slowly down his throat.... "Do-what-" "Yes, growl for me," Fox murmured against the hollow of Alex's throat. The warmth of his breath made Alex shiver. Something shifted and Alex was turned to lie beneath a warm body that pressed him down only briefly before lifting away. Opening his eyes, he found the other man sitting back, sensual mouth curved into a soft half-smile. Fox held Alex's gaze with his while pulling the loosened tie over his head and tossing it to the floor. Jacket and holster-with gun-followed in short order, the latter making a muffled thump as it hit the ground. Shirt and tee-shirt were bunched up and tossed unceremoniously over Fox's shoulder, his eyes never leaving Alex's. The glow was back... the slightly demented, radiant happiness that lit his features into transcendent beauty, announcing that for one moment, Fox Mulder had let go of the pain. Alex's breath caught at the sight, a strange ache lodging in his chest. Fox's expression shifted to serious concentration as he reached for the belt of Alex's bathrobe and untied it with careful deliberation, holding it in place with a hand on Alex's stomach and pulling the loosened belt free to drop it on the floor. Still moving very slowly, he slid one hand beneath the robe's lapel, stroking along Alex's collarbone. Alex had to remind himself not to stop breathing as the firm caress moved over his chest and along his side to his hip, curving around to smooth over a curve of buttock and along the outside of Alex's leg. When he reached Alex's knee, Mulder leaned back to regard him thoughtfully. After a moment, his hand began to draw idle, lazy patterns on the inside of Alex's thigh. The tantalizing touch seared through Alex, making his entire body pulse with pleasure. After several heartbeats, Fox nodded in agreement to an inner voice and took hold of the left side of the bathrobe, folding it back as neatly as possible with Alex's arm still in the sleeve. His gaze raked down over the newly exposed expanse of skin, his face set into a small frown of concentration. By the time he laid the second half of the robe back with equal care, Mulder's intense regard was registering on Alex's passion-drugged body almost like a physical touch; he fought to lie still, but when the other man's gaze reached his groin, a surge of heat rushed through him and he heard himself groan as he lifted his hips off the bed, pushing into the intangible caress. A frantic voice was raging at Alex from the back of his mind. He shut it out as well as he could, refusing to listen ...the man isn't even touching you, you know how dangerous this is, you know that you're showing him how easy it is for him to do this to you-how simple it would be for him to break you, control you.... No, Alex wasn't listening. He was too caught up in watching Fox Mulder look at him. "Alex." Fox's eyes smoldered into Alex's, glittering with arousal and a hint of exultant triumph. "Definitely." Alex didn't know what he meant and didn't care. He'd reached his limit. He lunged for Mulder and caught him around the waist, flipping him over onto his back. Fox didn't seem to mind; when Alex nudged a knee between his legs, he parted them readily, and when Alex pushed close to rub his thigh against the heated bulge trapped in the other man's pants, Fox thrust against him. Alex brushed his mouth over the other man's, pulling back when Fox tried to deepen the kiss. Instead, he nipped at the full lower lip, caught it between his teeth, released it with a brief tug and licked at it teasingly. Mulder turned his head to capture the elusive mouth, but Alex pulled back further, earning an irritated little huffing sound that was so quintessentially Fox that it made Alex's mouth go dry with need. A sudden tug at the back of Alex's neck made him lose his balance and crash forward onto the other man's chest. His head was pulled firmly to the side and teeth sank into his neck, finding exactly the right spot below his ear. Sharp pleasure stabbed through Alex, all but immobilizing him; he sprawled limply on top of Fox as the other man nipped along the tender skin at the underside of his jaw. Only the irritating feel of fabric separating skin from skin lent Alex the strength to gather himself and pull back. With remarkably steady hands, Alex slid Mulder's belt open, pushing his pants and boxers down. Fox moaned as his erection was freed; he arched his back and opened his legs as far as he could with the clothes still tangled around his knees. "Alex...." He had dreamt of Fox Mulder saying his name like this. He had dreamt of it without hope of ever seeing his dreams come true. The words that had been gathering deep within Alex pressed forward, carried by a rush of fevered yearning. Brilliant, bright Fox of truth and dreams... tell me the names of your enemies. Tell me the shape of your desires. Tell me what you want. Whatever you want... tell me.... He swallowed and leaned in to taste the skin at Fox's throat, alternating licks and nibbles with firmer bites. Fox made small, pleased sounds as Alex worked his way along the elegant sweep of his collarbone and down the solid curve of chest. The sprinkling of dark hair was soft as down under Alex's stroking fingers; it felt even softer against his cheek, and when he lapped at a nipple, Mulder sighed, twining both hands into Alex's hair. Gentle nibbling made him tighten his grip and begin to move restlessly, pressing himself rhythmically against Alex's thigh. Fox was devastating with his head thrown back, his eyes closed, and his parted lips curved into an almost-smile of complete, unselfconscious sensual abandon. His body was neither wiry nor muscular, the ideal compromise between solid muscle and elegant slimness. Alex longed to tell him how beautiful he was, but he didn't dare. It was better not to say anything at all, even if it meant he couldn't tell Fox how intoxicating it was to touch him like this, how sleek and graceful and wonderfully himself he was, how much Alex wanted him, needed him.... Alex ran a hand up the inside of one thigh, watching Fox's face. Firm muscles tightened beneath his touch and Fox gasped when Alex cupped the heated weight of his testicles, lifting them in his palm, fondling the velvet skin. The rapture was so open in his face, his expression so unguarded... he wouldn't be giving himself up to sensation like this unless he trusted Alex to some extent. Mulder wouldn't let Alex see him like this if what he felt was lust for the body of someone he loathed. He wouldn't make himself this vulnerable to an enemy... would he? Alex's fingers curled around Fox's erection and he waited for the small, breathless sound of approval before stroking it lightly, firming his touch slightly on the second stroke. Fox purred and stretched, leaning into Alex's touch like a cat. You know that I won't hurt you, don't you, beautiful one... you know that I couldn't hurt you. When Alex shifted, beginning to slide down along the other man's body, Mulder gripped him by the shoulders and turned him to lie on his back once more. "No," Fox murmured against his mouth, biting Alex's lip. "Not now." A firm hand on his abdomen indicated that Alex was to lie still while Fox kicked off his pants completely and pulled off his socks. Alex managed to shrug out of the sleeves of the bathrobe and pull it out from underneath himself without dislodging Mulder's hand. Stretching across the other man, Mulder pulled open the bedside table's top drawer, pulling out lube and a condom without even the briefest rummaging. How about that.... Alex wondered whether he ought to be irritated. Not that he could manage irritation right now, but he didn't care for the thought that Mulder had been so confident he'd get Alex into bed again. Still, the assumption certainly hadn't been false.... "Growl," Fox instructed gruffly. His mouth fastened over the pulse at the side of Alex's neck at the same time an assured hand slid across Alex's hip to settle between his legs. Alex gasped as a touch like fire seared along his perineum, over his testicles, along the underside of his erection. Vision blurred as Fox's hand closed around him, fingertips pressing gently into the bundle of nerves beneath the head of his cock. The desire burning in Alex's veins ignited into a blue-white blaze that flashed through him with obliterating force; his body arched off the bed, the last vestiges of rational thought drowning in the torrent of pleasure that tore through him like agony. Frantic need spiraled outwards from Fox's touch, transfixing him. Pleasure or pain, he couldn't tell-both, neither, it didn't matter-he only knew that he ached with it, that every nerve in his body was screaming and it was not enough, not nearly enough. Oh God, now, Fox, right now- "Yes," Fox hissed, his voice fierce. "The sounds you make-the way you feel-I want you. I want you." The kiss began open-mouthed and ravenous and immediately escalated completely out of control. Alex devoured the other man's mouth with almost savage ferocity, twining himself around Fox and pressing as close as he could, thrusting against the frustratingly slow motions of the other's hand. He hooked one leg over Fox's and pulled him closer still, so close that the heated flesh of the other man's erection pressed into the juncture of his thighs. The shift in position made Fox lose his balance and he let go of Alex to support himself with both hands. No, not close enough, not nearly close enough.... Alex wriggled until he'd found the right position, grabbed Fox's wrists, and pulled his arms out from under him, making him collapse forward. Better.... The pressure and friction on Alex's erection where it was trapped between their bodies and the incredible feeling of Fox's cock stroking along his testicles when he arched up against the other man was almost enough. Almost-not quite-not yet- "Alex," Fox rasped. "You-that's-Alex. Stop!" The bed shifted as Fox pulled from Alex's loosened grasp and pushed his thighs together to straddle them. A small frown creased his brow as he groped around in the rumpled sheets for a second before coming up with the condom and lube. Success sparked a triumphant smile that turned into a playful leer as he turned back to Alex. By means of a major effort, Alex lay motionless while Mulder unrolled the condom over him. Fox's eyes glittered as he knelt over Alex's hips, planting his hands next to the other man's shoulders; he'd left the lube lying right next to Alex's hand. Alex reached between opened thighs and ran light fingertips down the crease between tensed buttocks, brushing briefly over the puckered opening before stroking onwards, caressing the sensitive skin of the balls and following the lines of Mulder's body to stroke his cock. Silken heat, incredibly soft skin.... A quiet moan made Alex look up. Fox's head was tipped back, exposing a long line of throat; his eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. His entire body followed Alex's touch when he ran his free hand along Mulder's side. When Fox stretched back a little and dipped one shoulder, lifting the other, Alex stroked down over his chest to rub both nipples in turn, feeling inordinately pleased with himself for reading the other man's body correctly when Fox shuddered at his touch. His hands were not steady anymore, but he managed to open the tube of lubricant very quickly, anyway. When he pushed a finger into Fox, the other man jerked slightly, but when Alex froze, he pushed his hips back demandingly, grumbling with impatience. It seemed Alex hadn't hurt him, after all. Adding another finger, Alex stretched him carefully, finding the small bump of the other man's prostate and stroking it. Fox's entire body tensed. He was so lovely, so perfect, he was Fox.... "Yes," he gasped as Alex repeated the caress. "Oh. Yes. Now, Alex." His hands slid down Alex's arms, gripping both of his bandaged wrists and pulling them up to pin them to the sheets above his head. Fox's face was flushed, his eyes black with desire, but his commanding look was the same as always; Alex lay still obediently, keeping his wrists where Fox had put them even when the other man released him. Fox's gaze never left Alex's face as he reached back to guide the other man's erection into himself, sinking down slowly, impaling himself on Alex. The sensation of Fox's body pushing against him, relaxing to surround the tip of his erection, pushing down oh so slowly-it was excruciating, beyond enduring.... If Alex had had any air in his lungs, he would have screamed, or perhaps cursed, but he had forgotten to breathe and could not spare the concentration for anything other than not moving. He had to lie still, had to let Fox do this in his own time, in his own way. This was what Fox wanted.... This was Fox, it was Fox kneeling above him, his pale skin flushed with passion, his eyes glittering darkly, fixed on Alex's face. It was Fox sinking down on him... it would be so easy to let go, forget everything, lose everything in the incredible sensation of the body that gripped his full length now, holding him tightly, surrounding him with Fox's heat. Somehow, Alex summoned enough presence of mind to close his eyes. Fox.... "Look at me." Fingers threaded themselves into Alex's, pushing his hands firmly against the mattress. The shift in their bodies' position tugged at Alex, sending a mindless, annihilating pulse of pleasure racing outwards from where he was joined to Fox. He wasn't certain, but he thought he gasped, or cried out- "Alex, look at me." Fox was staring at him, his expression hungry. "Do that again." Fox's hips shifted purposefully and raw sensation jolted through Alex, bursting into every nerve ending with lightning force. He heard himself moan as he lost the fight to his need and thrust upwards against the body enveloping him. Fox waited until he sank back against the sheets and then lifted, eyes and body inviting Alex to follow. The force of the joining as Fox drove himself into Alex's thrust echoed and vibrated through him in a flood of liquid fire. "Mine, Alex. Mine!" The words held no meaning as Alex arched up helplessly, following the lead of Fox's body. Fox, bright, beautiful Fox.... Just when Alex thought he could stand no more, Fox picked up the pace. His face was alight with passion and lucid with the intensity of his concentration; Alex could see every nuance of his own building arousal mirrored in the other man's expression. He longed to touch him, but Fox's hold on his hands remained firm, and soon Alex forgot about the wish-forgot everything but the rhythm he and Fox set between them, the shifting and rippling of Fox's inner muscles, the tight heat and excruciating friction of the body stroking his. Pressure built, fire gathered, flowing restlessly along every nerve, burning ever brighter with hunger and need, reaching out, reaching- "Alex," Fox said clearly and convulsed against him, throwing back his head with his mouth opening in a silent scream. His body closed around Alex, bringing Alex off the bed in the clutch of an explosion of sheer pleasure that tore through him, obliterating his body and mind in a conflagration of wild, agonizing delight. He wasn't certain how long it took him to regain a measure of awareness. At some point, the heavy body sprawled bonelessly on top of him shifted, sighing happily, and Alex opened his eyes to the sight of Fox Mulder's lunatically exultant smile. It seemed even more radiant than he remembered and it effortlessly transformed a disheveled, sweaty man with wildly tousled dark hair into a creature of transcendent luminance. Dazzling.... Almost too overwhelming to look at. Alex clenched his jaw shut so hard that it ached. I love you. I can't help it. You're all I see. "Hm," Fox murmured, eyes glowing. "Wonder if the people in the room down the hall speak Russian." Part V worldsenough@gmx.net

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