Brutal Forces II
by Josan


Part Three

Walter propped himself up on an elbow and examined the face of his lover sleeping next to him on the bed.

The past two days had been fraught with tension, revelations, and a lot of sex.

Walter discovered that the car Alex had been driving was Mulder's Bureau issue.

That his bank account had been paying for groceries. Alex had used up the thousand he'd had on him when he'd arrived. Had simply forged Walter's signature to the cheques he'd used to buy anything after that. He had kept a meticulous account of the money he'd spent.

That Alex had been in weekly contact with Scully, who was keeping him up to date on the OPC proceedings.

All of this revealed with the expectation that it would be the straw that broke the infamous camel and Alex would find himself booted out.

It hadn't taken long for Walter to understand that all the patience and tenderness Alex had shown him during those days and nights to heal him, had torn up Alex's soul. He had given what he so desperately wanted himself but never expected to receive. That he, Walter, had returned the tenderness had only increased the anticipation of the pain when he would no longer be of use.

Walter realized that in his life, Alex had often been treated as a thing to be used then discarded as so much garbage when his usefulness was over.

It wasn't going to be easy convincing him otherwise.

Walter reached out with a finger and traced Alex's lips. The sensuous upper lip, the full lower lip. Watched as a smile slowly woke under his stroking. Alex turned his head, sighed, and opened his eyes.

Walter, now reading his lover better, saw the hesitant fear that flashed in Alex's eyes before he pushed it down deep within himself. Then saw the smile warm those dark green eyes.

As he bent for a kiss, Walter promised himself that one day Alex would wake without that initial reaction.

Alex licked Walter's lips, stretched sinuously against his lover. "Weren't you the one complaining of the lack of recovery time just this morning?"

Walter hummed a sort of answer, brought his head down to lick Alex's nipples. "You were wrong," between nibbles, "about my not having an addictive personality."

"Really?" Alex's hand caressed the large shoulders hovering over him.

"I find that I am getting quite dependent on the taste and smell of post-coital Krycek." Walter rubbed his roughened chin on Alex's neck.

"I understand," Alex sighed, rather dramatically. "I'm into eau de Skinner myself." And whooped as Walter grabbed him by the only ticklish spot he had on his ribs. And then had to retaliate.

It was, thought Walter, a bit like rough-housing with a jungle cat, claws sheathed, but still dangerous.

He ended the fun by rolling off the bed, grabbing a still laughing Alex and hauling him over his shoulders in a fireman's clutch. "Shower," he snarled, and started down the stairs with Alex, hanging upside down, wrapping his arm around a leg.

Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the phone rang.

In all the time Alex had been there, the phone had never rung.

By the third ring, Alex pulled himself out of Walter's grasp. Watched as Walter picked it up. Knew the man was hoping it might be someone from his family.

"Skinner."

Saw the disappointment quickly banished for a pleasant, "Agent Scully. Nice to hear your voice."

Alex sat on the bottom step, intent on his lover's face.

Walter showed real pleasure at something Scully said. Leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, listening, face serious. Nodded occasionally. Still just listening.

"He did, did he? Yes." He looked at Alex. "Hang on, will you, Scully, I want to tell him."

Walter cupped the phone against his chest. Alex cocked his head, had an idea what the call was about.

"OPC's report was presented today. It fully exonerates me."

Alex grinned. "Are we surprised?" His tone was mocking.

Walter met his grin. "Back pay to the day of the initial investigation. Full pension re-instatement." Watched Alex stroll up to him.


"Nice."

"With," Walter continued, "the recommendation that I take the rest of the time I've booked off to consider my future with the Bureau."

Alex lost his smile. "Fucking shit!"

Walter reached out and pulled Alex to him. "I'd rather fuck you."

He put the phone back to his ear. "Scully, Alex feels pretty much as you do. Do me a favour and inform the Director's office that I'll do that. Yes, have them send everything to the condo."

He listened, hand stroking Alex's neck and shoulder. Then, "No. It's not worth it. A press release isn't going to change anything. No one will cover it; it's old news. And besides, it won't change people's minds. Those who want me to be dirty, will just think it's another government cover-up. And those who never believed it, well..."

He listened a bit longer. Alex rested his head against Walter's free shoulder, wrapped his arm around Walter's waist. "Yes. That would be fine. I think I'd rather like the OPC report to at least make its way around the Bureau. Who? Mulder's Lone Gunmen? Can they hack into... Oh, I see. Sure. That sounds rather appropriate.

"Thank you for all the support. Thank Mulder too. Yes, supper when we get back to DC. Yes. And Dana, thanks again. Bye."

Alex rested his chin on Walter's collarbone. "I'm sorry. I don't understand why they're taking that attitude. You've been exonerated. What more do they want?"

"They want me to stop being an embarrassment to the Bureau. And the only way I can do that is by not being around."

"So people forget." Alex didn't like that idea.

"So people forget," agreed Walter. "Well, there's still a shower that needs to be taken. And," he leered, "I believe you had an idea or two."

###

"Walter. I need to go to Boston. Legit business. Come with me."

Walter looked over his morning coffee. "What kind of 'legit' business are we talking about here?"

"I've got a safety deposit box with some money in it. Clean money. If I'm staying here with you, I need to pay my share.

"Come on, Walter. You've been cooped up here since what? the end of September. We're in March. You need to get back into the real world. We need some new reading material. And there's a great little jazz club in Boston I think you'd like."

Because a good half of the records, tapes or CDs that filled the cabin's entertainment area were jazz. Which, to Walter's surprise, Alex not only liked, but was actually quite knowledgeable about.

"Look, we drive up. It'll take us a good day. We can spend a couple of days there. Stop in New York on the way back. What do you say?"

Walter quirked an eyebrow. "I suppose you've got a safety deposit box in New York as well?"

"No. Actually about four. Or five. Well?"

Alex drove the way he played chess: with very little regard for the rules. He broke the speed limit: "What the hell are radar detectors for?" He drove mostly in the right lane: "It's for passing, isn't it? And I am passing all those cars."

But, Walter had to admit, once his heart-rate had returned to normal, that Alex wasn't reckless, was attentive to the road. And sang along with the classic rock station in a very acceptable tenor.

"Why classic rock?" Walter was curious. "Apart from the jazz, you strike me as more of the hard rock type."

Alex grinned one of those grins that warned Walter he was going to get zinged. "Because I don't think you'd know the words to those songs."

"And these I do?"

"Well, it is a classic station, Walter."

"Is this a subtle reference to my age, Alex?" Walter's voice had become just a bit dangerous.

"Far be it for me to point that out, Walt. After all, I'm not the one who keeps on saying he's not twenty any more."

"Not all of us, Alex, have the recovery capacity of an otter."

"Otter, eh." Alex thought about that for a while. "As long as it's not a cat."

Ah, thought Walter, a little sign of jealousy. "Certainly not a domestic cat. Too pampered and slick for you."

He made a bit of a show thinking about it, enjoying the slight irritation that Alex couldn't hide. "A leopard maybe. Always untamed. Always just a bit dangerous. Always beautiful." He leaned over and bit Alex's ear. Alex purred.

His baritone harmonized well with Alex's tenor.

###

Alex registered them into the Boston Hilton. Paid with a credit card. Wouldn't let Walter see the name on the plastic or the registration card.

He'd gotten them a large room that came complete with two king-sized beds.

Walter watched Alex toss himself backwards on one of the beds, bounce. Hold his hand out in invitation. "We have time to mess this one up before we head out for supper and the club."

The club was not what Walter expected. He thought they would head into a little rat-hole somewhere below ground level. Instead, in South End, near Northeastern University , Alex brought him to what looked like an old victorian house, at least three storeys high, complete with large wrap-around porch, lace curtain windows, well-maintained gingerbread decorations. And a discreet sign on the door: "Vodka and Jazz".

Alex seemed nervous to Walter. He'd gotten very quiet and kept on watching Walter for his reaction to the area, the building. Inside, he became wary.

Inside, Walter found that walls had been torn down so that the actual club space was a large room that took up the entire left half of the downstairs area. There was a wide beautiful staircase that went to the second floor, with a "Private" sign hanging from a thick velvet rope at the foot of the stairs.

To the right of the entrance was a door marked "Office". And from the smells, there had to be a kitchen behind the stairs and to the right in the back.

Alex led the way to a table in a dark corner, close to a door by the kitchen area that wasn't being used by the staff: they used the doors that were under the stairs.

The waitress asked them what they wanted to order. Reminded them that once the show began, no orders were filled or accepted. And that the show would begin in ten minutes.

Alex ordered a bottle of vodka, paid for it with cash. It came straight from the freezer, in a bucket of ice. Alex poured two drinks, toasted Walter, and tossed his back. Walter followed his example. The drink was so cold that at first he felt nothing, then an incredible warmth that filled his stomach, throat.

"Nice," he gasped to Alex. Alex nodded, refilled both their glasses.

The lights in the club, already dim, dimmed even further. A young black man walked over to the piano, was joined by a older man with a sax, a blond kid who looked like a teenager with a base fiddle, and an older woman who seemed to be a mixture of races. The music began, the woman picked up the mike, and Walter heard not English, but Russian play so well with melody and tone that it gave him the shivers.

The woman sang, the trio played and no matter the language, the style of song, Walter felt he had been handed a wondrous gift. He reached out to Alex, squeezed his arm and mouthed, "Thank you."

The set was a long one, over an hour. Though the club was filled there were no sounds from the audience above a whisper. And the applause was heartfelt.

After the last song, the pianist announced they would be back in an hour. The lights came back up, the staff appeared and the noise level rose.

Alex also rose, but stayed where he was. Walter turned and saw an older man approaching the table. Alex seemed to be braced for something. As Walter pushed back his chair and stood, he wondered what the hell was going to happen.

"Alexei." The man stood in front of Alex, smiled and gently touched his cheek. He said something in Russian that had Alex relaxing slightly. He shook his head, answered the man's question. Made a comment and then switched to English.

"Walter, this is Anton Rozanovski. He and his wife own the club. Anton, this is Walter Sergei Skinner. In spite of the Sergei, he doesn't speak Russian."

Anton Rozanovski looked like some absent-minded professor. He was slight, a couple of inches shorter than Alex. Had thick grey hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Wore dress pants, expensively tailored, a dark tie to go with a slightly lighter shirt. Instead of a suit jacket, he wore a sweater which from its shape was a comfortable old favourite.

Walter figured he was in his mid to late sixties.

He had taken his time looking Walter over as well, decided he liked what he saw, and offered his hand.

"I won't hold that against him," Rozanovski said to Alex. "What part of Russia are your people from, Mr. Skinner?"

"My mother's grandparents came from St. Petersburg."

"Ah, very acceptable, Sergei. May I call you Sergei?" The man's blue eyes challenged him with a twinkle.

"If you wish. No one else does."

"Ah, but here, in a Russian club, it is a good name to use. Are you enjoying the music, Sergei?"

Walter noticed out of the corner of his eye that Alex was slouching against the wall, watching the interplay between the two of them. Staying out, but carefully evaluating.

"Yes. You have a rare combination here. Marvellous musicians, great booze and a very appreciative audience. Even rarer, a well-trained audience."

Rozanovski laughed. "Yes. One of the advantages of a small club is that there can suddenly be no place available for noisy customers the next time they show up. Sergei, I hope you don't mind, but I must have Alexei join me for a while in the office. We have some business to discuss. Will that be all right with you?"

Walter found it strange to be asked permission for Rozanovski to talk with Alex. He looked at the man slouching against the wall, was surprised to find himself feeling slight twinges of jealousy.

Alex straightened, came to stand by Walter and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "It really is just business. I'll be back before the next set." But also waited for permission.

Walter nodded. Watched as Rozanovski, face beaming, followed Alex out to the office.

Walter sat down, decided he had had his quota of liquor for the night, asked the waitress for a coffee.

A few minutes later, the door behind him opened and a different woman brought him his coffee. She set it down in front of him, spoke to him in Russian. From her age and clothes, Walter figured she was Rozanovski's wife and stood.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak Russian."

"You will have to learn then." She sat down in Alex's place. "Please, sit down. How nice that someone took the time to teach you manners. Today, that seems to be considered old-fashioned. Not too many people go out of their way to practise such skills.

"I am Mina Rozanovski." She held out her hand.

Walter took it. "Walter.."

"Sergei Skinner." She finished. "Word got back to me very quickly." She sat back in her chair. "So, Walter Sergei Skinner, let me look at you. And you can look at me."

Mina Rozanovski was about the same size as her husband, just as slim, with fashionably short grey hair, eyes a darker blue. Her age was harder to guess: she had that ageless bone structure, the type of skin that could make her forty or sixty.

She was dressed casually in pants and man's shirt, probably one of her husband's. Apart from her wedding ring, worn Russian style on her right hand, she wore no jewelry. Walter concluded that was out of personal choice because the clothes were expensive.

She seemed to be very pleased about something.

"So," she finally said, "our Alexei has chosen well. You seem to make him happy. Does he make you happy?"

Walter pulled slightly back from the woman. "How do you know Alex?"

"Since Alexei was a small boy. You haven't answered me: does he make you happy?"

"Yes. He does. What was..."

"Alexei like? Is that what you want to know?"

Walter nodded. And held his breath, knowing he was going to be given a key to Alex Krycek.

Mina Rozanovski leaned over and took one of Walter's hands in hers. With her thumb she stroked the knuckles of his hand.

"You are the Skinner who is an assistant director of the FBI?" And Walter's hand tightened involuntarily in hers. She ignored his reaction. "So," she continued, "you know the adult Alex Krycek." And got a hesitant nod. His eyes cooled and she decided that this man could make a good enemy.

"Alexei was four when he and his parents moved next door to our home. Not here, but in..." she waved with her hand, "not important. He was very beautiful. He is very beautiful now, but as a child...

"He was slender for his age. And those eyes! Large, green eyes that you could drown in. Black-haired. Fair-skinned."

She looked from their joined hands to Walter's eyes. "Except for the bruises, the marks."

She leaned forward, eyes intense. Her hand gripped Walter's hard. "In those days, one did not interfere with parental discipline. Do you understand? The times were not like today, with their social agencies, children's advocates. And even if they had been around, that part of town was filled with immigrants from countries where to involve the authorities was to betray one's neighbours. Maybe to end up in jail yourself.

"Do you understand, Walter Sergei Skinner?"

Walter's hand ached with the force of her grip. And he nodded, because he did understand.

She smiled sadly at him, let up the grip she had on him, though she didn't release his hand.

"He was very serious. Very shy. It took me weeks to coax him to the back steps. Then inside. I bribed him, with chocolate cookies that I made just for him. Gave him milk and cookies when his parents weren't around. He wasn't allowed in their house if one of them wasn't there.

"The bruises were always there. Other marks as well. He never cried. Well, never when he was awake. Once I found him on our back porch, very early one morning, curled up against the door, crying in his sleep. He never remembered doing it when he woke up."

"Why?" Walter had long ago guessed that Alex had been abused, but still his skin crawled at the images she was handing him. "Why did they hurt him like that? He was only a child!"

Mina Rozanovski leaned forward and passed her free hand over his cheek as if to soothe him.

"Are you old enough to remember Kruschev? What he looked like?"

"Yes."

"And his wife? Well, you see that is what Alexei's parents looked like. Peasants who worked the soil for the landowners. Except that sometimes the landowners or their sons would amuse themselves with the peasants' daughters. Alexei is a throwback to his mother's grandfather, who owned both large tracks of land and many serfs. Of which her father was one, even if his father was not.

"He was an embarrassment to them. I think they were both firm marxists, if not communists. One didn't ask one's neighbours what their political philosophy was. I think that to them he represented all they had been trained to hate. And they did hate him.

"There was nothing much we could do, Anton and I, except offer the child a place to come to when he had no other place to go.

"And they were his parents. And children do want their parents' love.

"They were our neighbours for four years. They ignored us, thought us inferior because we are from the Ukraine, and Orthodox. We ignored them because to get their attention would have been bad for the child.

"Then one day, Alexei was outside with a friend from school. He was doing well in school, liked it. The school authorities could make trouble for people, so the beatings were less often, less severe.

"He and his friend were playing, at something or other, giggling the way children do at that age. His father heard them. Came rushing out, yelling obscenities at his son for the sounds he was making.

"The friend ran away, terrified. Alexei just stood there, waiting. The man pulled off his belt and began whipping the boy, there, in the yard, in front of all the neighbours. Most of whom just went into their houses and shut their doors."

She paused, remembering the ugliness of that day. Walter took her other hand in his, as if to encourage her to continue.

"My Anton is not a big man. You've seen him, Walter Sergei. Nowhere near the size of that monster. And he is a gentle man, which was why I fell in love with him, why I still love him. I had never seen him angry. Until that day.

"He rushed over and pulled the boy away from the man. Picked him up in his arms and carried him away. His voice was very cold with his anger. He told the man if he ever saw him hurt the boy again, he would kill him himself.

"The boy was almost unconscious. We tended to his welts. We got some medicine into him. We took turns holding him so he could sleep.

"It was very late at night when she just opened the kitchen door and told us she wanted the boy back.

"I could not have children. I begged her to leave him with us. After all, they did not love him, did not want him, did not care for him. He was a bother to them. So why not leave him with us. We would love him, take care of him. His looks, his body were not his fault.

"Anton tried to persuade her as well. We even offered to buy him from them. But she didn't listen. Just kept on repeating that the boy belonged to them and that they wanted him back. Finally she threatened us with prison, for kidnapping. Said that who would the authorities believe, us or them, the parents.

"Alexei was on the couch in the living-room, hearing all this. When she threatened us with the police, he came into the room, went up to her. She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away.

"They were gone the next morning. That week someone came and took their furniture and things."

Mina Rozanovski had held Walter's eyes through the telling. Had seen the anger, the pity and now the understanding in them. She raised the hand she still gripped and placed a gentle kiss on the knuckles.

She gave them both a bit of time to calm before she continued.

"It was ten years before we saw him again."

"He came to you?"

"Yes. One night." She took a deep breath, seemed to be making a decision. "You have good eyes, Walter Sergei Skinner. I think you also have a good heart.

"One night, in summer, there was some noise in the back yard. The trash cans fell over. Anton went to see. Sometimes the animals got into the garbage and spread it all around.

"There was a young man, lying on the ground by the cans. He must not have seen them and backed into them. He was having trouble getting up.

"At first Anton thought the boy was drunk, but when he turned his face, Anton could see that he'd been badly beaten. He could also see his eyes. Large, green eyes. He went to help the boy, called him by name. Eventually, persuaded him to come into the house."

"Did he tell you who beat him up?" He had an idea: but did these people who had loved the child know.

"No. We never asked. We just assumed it had been a customer. Or his pimp." She waited to see if this were news to Walter: it wasn't.

"How did you guess?"

"By the clothes. The smell on him. His injuries. He stayed three days. Slept most of the time. We told him he could stay. That we wanted him to stay. Told him each of us in turn. Told him together. But the fourth morning, he was gone.

"After that, he would show up, sometimes hurt, sometimes not. Stay for two, maybe three days. And leave. Sometimes it was months before we saw him again. Once, almost a year. Always, when he came, he waited for us to invite him in, as if he were afraid that one day, we would not allow it."

"But you did want him. Jesus! Why didn't he stay?"

"Tsk, Walter Sergei, do not blaspheme." Absently, like she was correcting a child. "A wild animal, Walter Sergei, if he is injured enough, if he is ill enough, will come sit by the fire. But not stay, because he fears the fire. We understand that, my Anton and I. Do you?"

"Yes."

She smiled at him, approvingly. Looked down at their clasped hands. Examined them. "You have good hands, Walter Sergei Skinner. Big hands. I think they are gentle hands. Hands that will not hurt our Alexei."

She felt him flinch. Looked at him differently, a little coldly. "You have hurt him. When?"

Walter knew he was being evaluated and was coming out on the short side. "Some time ago."

"Not lately."

He shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because he made me very angry."

"Ah, because he had done something to hurt you." Mina sighed. "Our Alexei sometimes does that. He doesn't understand the little things that hurt so much."

Then she smiled at him. "But you love him now." It wasn't a question, still she waited for his nod. "So all will be well, because he loves you too."

"Does he?" Walter suddenly wanted her assurance that Alex did love him: so far he had been the only one to say the words.

Mina leaned back in her chair, looked at him like he was not very bright . "Of course. Why else would he have brought you to meet us? He has never done that, you know. Never brought anyone here to his home."

She stood up, bent and kissed Walter on each cheek, on the forehead. "Welcome, Walter Sergei Skinner. Maybe next time you and Alexei will stay here, with us, in his room?"

"That would be nice."

She beamed at him. "Marise!" she called the waitress over, "Bring Walter Sergei another coffee." To Walter she said, "I'll just be a few minutes. You will be here when I come back? Good."

The coffee was good and strong, helped settle the feelings he had churning in his guts. He didn't hear Mina return. A large plate of perogies appeared in front of him, the smell alone making his stomach growl in appreciation. She handed him a fork, placed a bowl of sour cream in front of him. "Taste and tell me what you think."

Walter remembered the taste of his grandmother's perogies with nostalgia. His mother hadn't much time for what she called "ethnic foods": they were too time consuming.

And these had had lots of time spent on them. And because they were very, very good, and because he understood what they represented, he rolled his eyes, grabbed Mina's hand, kissed it loudly. "Mina Rozanovski, run away with me?"

She laughed happily, kissed him on the top of his head. "Eat. You're a big man. And big men need lots of replenishing. To keep their strength up."

Walter laughed. Especially with Alex, he thought.

###

Alex slipped back into his chair.

"Hey! Leave me some!"

Walter started smiling, was going to make a comment. Stopped when he realized that Alex was incredibly drunk. His eyes had a glazed sheen to them, he was slightly flushed, his grin was almost feral.

He reached over, took a perogie with his fingers, used it to scoop a pile of sour cream and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. All the time, his eyes holding Walter's, daring him.

Daring him to what? thought Walter, sitting back in his chair. To comment about his being drunk? About what Mina had told him? Because he suddenly was aware that Alex's absence had meant that Mina could check him out, could fill him in on Alex's background. He had been tested, and found acceptable. By Mina and, he supposed, by Anton as well.

But Alex was drunk. And was, as Mina had said, a wild animal—his leopard—afraid of the fire it craved. Setting up the opportunity to be discarded because wanting was too painful.

"First of all," Walter spoke very softly, "you will keep your hands off my perogies. Secondly, you will give me the car keys."

"Like hell!" Quietly snarled.

"Alex, you're drunk. You won't be driving. Give me the keys."

Alex stared at Walter, eyes wild, almost covering the despair in them. Walter searched for a way to make Alex understand that he wasn't going to be discarded. Was interrupted by the appearance of another large plate of perogies.

Mina Rozanovski picked up the tensions right away. She stood by Alex, carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. Made a comment in Russian. Alex answered her in Russian, never letting go of Walter's eyes.

"Mina," said Walter, keeping to the very tone they'd all adopted so that the people around them would not be attracted, "Alex is drunk. He won't give me the car keys."

Mina took the angle he had handed her and used it. "Tsk, tsk, Alexei. By now you should know better than to try and drink Anton under the table. You never win." She was touching him like she was trying to soothe a nervous animal. The fact that she was succeeding told Walter she had had lots of practice.

Alex looked up at her, sighed some of the tension away. Reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the keys. Mina took them from him, passed them to Walter.

"And, Mina," said Walter, hoping it would lighten the situation, "please tell him to keep his hands off my perogies." He reached over with his fork, took one back from Alex's plate.

He was watching Alex eat—Mina had stayed at the table with them - when Anton came and said, in an absent way, "Oh, Alexei, you're busy. Maybe, Sergei, you can came and help me?"

Well, thought Walter, joining the man going down the cellar stairs, the second vetting. Sharon's father had been much more obvious about it.

Anton Rozanovski turned on the light in what was the wine cellar, "Now I know it is here somewhere." He handed Walter a large flashlight. "Perhaps you could shine the light in this corner for me?"

If Alex was drunk, Anton was merely light-hearted. Whatever he was looking for, he accompanied himself with a Duke Ellington melody. Walter pointed the light in whichever direction he was told, and waited for the interrogation he knew was coming to begin.

"So you are with the FBI? An assistant director?"

Walter found himself tensing. "I'm on sick leave right now. I probably won't be with the FBI much longer."

Anton looked surprised. "Why not? It is a good job. Not the kind of job that would interest me, but a good job nevertheless. Why would you be leaving?"

"Because they don't want me around."

"Ah, that Grand Jury bullshit. Oh," he caught himself, "you must not let Mina know I used that word: she doesn't like that kind of language."

He came to stand in front of Walter, cocked his head up at him. Walter was reminded of a math teacher he had had in high school. "You are telling me that they believed the Spender scam." He made a little sound of disgust. "Idiots always float to the top, Sergei, simply because they have no brains. Nothing to hold them back."

"Did Alex tell you that I've been exonerated?"

"Exonerated? No, why would Alex speak to me about that?" He really was puzzled. "No, we discussed the club. Alex, you know, owns it with us." He sat on a small table that had some notebooks on it. "Mina says that she likes you. That you understand about Alexei." He sighed. "There are other things you need to know about Alexei."

Walter braced himself. What now?

"I love Alexei very much, Sergei, but you need to know. He is no good with money." He held up a hand to ward off any comment Walter was going to make. And finally Walter realized that Anton Rozanovski was in fact as drunk as Alex. Just showed it differently.

"He has no idea of the value of money except as a commodity for buying information, weapons, plane tickets. The small everyday things, like rent, insurance, taxes, he knows nothing about."

"Like grocery expenses, " offered Walter.

"Exactly. He lives..." raised an eyebrow at Walter, "lived?" Walter nodded, Anton smiled. "He lived on the run. Hotel here, plane there. Plastic money in the name of someone who doesn't exist. Mina, by the way, does not know all this."

Like hell, thought Walter. But nodded seriously. "Yet you say he co-owns this club with you. He told me that you and your wife are the owners."

Anton rubbed his face. Sighed deeply. "You would think at my age I would know better than to try and keep up with him.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. The club. Six years ago, I was fired from my job. Downsizing they called it. Actually, the old man who had owned the business died and his sons replaced me with a computer. I was an accountant.

"Alex knew about it. Somehow. He showed up one day, with a car. One of those Ford Taurus. You know this car? It's a nice car. Nondescript. Gets good mileage.

"Alex hands me the keys. Directs us to this house. It's a mess. The last owner started to renovate, lost interest. Alex says, I bought it for you. Make it the club you've always wanted to own."

He looked up at Walter. "When a man is handed his dream, he would be a fool not to take it."

"And it came from Alex," added Walter.

Anton smiled. "So, we have the club. It makes a great deal of money. It looks small, but the crowd tonight is typical of a weekday. Weekends, we have reservations for the next six months. We charge a great deal of money for the food, the alcohol. Because we only serve the best."

Walter nodded in agreement.

"And as I said, Alex has no concept of money. Every time he comes, he leaves behind money. He thinks we need it. We don't. But, because I am an accountant, I worry about him. So I have invested it. In property, mainly."

"Anton, are you trying to tell me that Alex has a dowry?"

"That he can pay his share. He knows that we registered the club in all three names, but he refuses to take his share of the profits. Keeps on telling us to use it for the business. I'll stop adding it to the investments, send him a check every month so he is not dependant on you, so he can pay his share of expenses. It's usually about two thousand dollars a month. Will that do?"

He'd gotten up, was browsing behind a wine unit when he laughed. "Ah, here it is. I knew it was somewhere. Here, hold this. Now where is the other one? It can't be far away. Eureka, I have it."

He handed Walter another dusty bottle. "This one you need to keep in the freezer. For special occasions."

Walter looked at the two bottles in his hands, gave a soft whistle. One was vodka, Kettle One, the latest darling of the "in" crowd. But the other was scotch, The MacAllan, one of the best single malts out of Scotland.

Anton smiled at Walter. "I have been saving that one for someone who will truly appreciate it."

###

Alex had sobered up quite a bit by the time they left.

Mina hugged Walter to her, whispered, "Maybe you could come for Easter? Stay with us?" Said something to Alex in Russian that had him looking at Walter sheepishly. He was definitely going to learn Russian.

While he drove back to the hotel, Alex slouched against the door, not saying anything, as if waiting for some comment from Walter. He was less wary, but still tense. Walter wasn't sure how to deal with him right now. Waited till they had gotten into bed.

Alex stayed on his half of the bed, like he had before they had become lovers. Walter let him get away with it for a while, before he suddenly pulled him to the middle of the bed at the same time as he rolled over on him. He let his full weight hold Alex down, grabbed his wrist and clamped it hard to the mattress, immobilizing him. With his other hand, he grabbed a fistful of Alex's hair, pulling back so he couldn't move his head much.

Alex struggled a bit, but was seriously outweighed. And with the tensions of the past hours, the amount of vodka in him, he was tired. He had been waiting for some reaction from Walter and now he had it: he stilled, hoping the hurt would be quick.

"You bastard," Walter's voice was sharp, not loud, "you could have warned me that you were taking me to be vetted by your parents..."

Alex's reaction was extreme. He went white, his eyes widened with shock. "They're not my parents..." His voice was heavy with pain. Walter stopped with words with his mouth, controlling the panic he saw in Alex.

When Alex finally calmed, Walter pulled back just enough to watch Alex's eyes. "I'm not talking about your biological parents. I'm talking about Mina and Anton Rozanovski. Your foster parents, if you prefer. The people who love you enough to let you waltz in and out of their lives. Who worry about you. Whom you brought me to meet tonight as the person you have chosen to be with."

He rested his chin on Alex's. "I know you're not up on the latest social manners, but it is expected that the prospective mate bring a gift of some kind. It might have been nice to have some flowers for Mina, maybe a jazz album for Anton. Instead, I'm the one who's been given the gifts."

Alex was confused. "I don't get it. That's why you're angry?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm angry. Fortunately, Mina, your foster mother, approves of me. She likes the fact that I have manners. That I make you happy. That I love you. She liked me enough to feed me."

"Anton, your foster father, also approves of me. Enough to warn me that you are no good with money in the everyday sense of it. To assure me that you have money to pay your share of expenses. And to give me a bottle of eighteen year old scotch. As a welcoming gift."

He watched the play in Alex's eyes: confusion, hunger, hope. Fear.

"Alex," he whispered, "why the fuck didn't you stay with them when you found them again?" Alex's eyes closed in pain. "They love you. They would have taken care of you. Taken you in at any time. Christ, Alex, why didn't you stay?"

Alex had trouble swallowing. When he opened his eyes, Walter thought he had never such despair in a person's eyes.

"Because," Alex's voice was bleak, "by then it was too late. My masters would have hurt them if they had known about them. I could get away with disappearing for a little time, but any longer, and they would have hunted for me. Not because I was more important to them than any other whore in their stable, but to make the point that no one they bought got away from them. Unless they died or got passed on to a new set of masters."

Walter felt the most incredible anger build in his gut. "Who are these 'masters', Alex? Who sold you to them?"

Alex didn't answer right away. He tugged his hand, and Walter released it. Let go the pressure on his scalp. Alex closed his eyes again, not wanting to see Walter's reaction.

"My... biological... parents were sent here to spy on the Soviet immigrant community. Their contact in the Consulate in New York City ran the sex trade for the Embassy. Call girls, boys. The usual. They wanted to go home. He wanted me."

"How old were you?"

"About twelve." Heard Walter swear. "Eventually, I came to someone's notice who wanted me in Boston for a while. There were these private parties he liked to give.

"Actually, that's where I met one of the men in the Consortium, who decided my skills could be improved with better and different training. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Walter had rested his head next to Alex. Now he raised it to look at his lover. Alex just lay there, no expression on his face, his eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

"Are any of these so-called masters still alive, Alex?"

Alex took some time to answer. "No."

Walter made no comment.

"What happens now?" Alex asked after a few minutes.

Walter rubbed his cheek against Alex's. Punctuated his words with a series of unhurried kisses, cat licks across face and throat. "What happens now is that we have been invited to your parents' home for Easter.

"We will get tickets, the very best tickets, for the Saturday night hockey game, because Anton likes hockey. You will call Marise and find out which restaurant would be a real treat for them. And make reservations for the four of us after the game.

"Then we will go home with them. And you and I will sleep in your bed, in your bedroom, under your parents' roof." He stopped what he was doing. "Alex. How big is your bed?"

Alex made a sound between a laugh and a sob. "A double."

"Shit. I get in bed first. You can join me after I find a comfortable position." He returned to tracing Alex's face. "Where was I? Oh, yeah, in bed. Where, because of the fact that your parents are just down the hall, we will either not make love, or make it very quietly. So as not to disturb them."

"You've done this before." Alex's voice was thick.

"Yeah. The first time Sharon and I stayed at her parents' place. Just after we were married. Does that bother you, Alex?"

"No."

"Good. Now then, in the morning, we will accompany them to the Easter service at the Russian Orthodox Church, because it will please Mina. There, Alex, we will both be on our best behaviour.

"And then we will go home with them for Easter dinner. Where," Walter's voice became threatening, "you will keep your hands off my perogies. Is all of that understood?"

"Yes," whispered.

"Good." And moved his mouth down Alex's body.

###

They spent three days in New York. Alex went and visited his safety deposit boxes. Walter went shopping by himself. They went together to music stores, book stores. Alex laughed when he saw the Teach Yourself Russian tapes and books.

He hid his laughter when, in the music store, some guy started to put the moves on him: Walter suddenly appeared at his side, looking very Assistant Director. Found it less funny when their waiter in the restaurant made it very clear he was interested in Walter.

That night, at the hotel, he made very certain that Walter knew he had a good thing going with him. By the time he let Walter come, Walter felt that the top of his head had been blown off.

So, when Alex woke sometime in the night, to find himself on his side, imprisoned in a pair of arms with hands that were busy arousing him, he sighed happily.

Hands were slowly working their magic, playing with his body, making him writhe within the circle of Walter's arms.

"Have I got your attention, Alex?"

"God, yes! Don't stop."

"I want you to listen to me. All right?"

Alex made a conscious effort to pay attention to what Walter was saying.

"I realized something important today." Alex made a slight purring sound to indicate he was listening. "I realized that I don't like it when you look at other men."

Alex felt a chill, pulled back against Walter's chest, trying to get away from his hands. Walter co-operated enough to keep his hands fairly still.

"And I don't like it when they look at you." He nibbled at Alex's ear. "Not that I know there's anything wrong with the looking. It's just that I happen to be insecure enough in this relationship to need some reassurance."

"I'm not encouraging it," protested Alex.

"You don't need to. All you have to do is breathe, Alex."

"It's not like you don't get your share of looks. Or give them either."

"And are you comfortable with that? Or was that growl you gave the waiter tonight a misunderstanding?"

"No. To both your questions." Alex's voice had chilled.

"So," Walter rested his chin on Alex's shoulder, "we need some ground rules here. Do you know what exclusivity means, Alex? In a relationship?"

"Yes." A bit hesitant.

"Well, Alex, that's what I want from you. A commitment of exclusivity." And felt Alex grow very still.

"Do I get one from you?"

Walter rubbed his stubbled chin against Alex's throat. "God, yes! I seem to have a strong streak of monogamy in me, Alex. In seventeen years of marriage, the only time I was unfaithful to Sharon our marriage was already at an end. And that was a fiasco."

"I remember. Mulder told me about it."

"So, yes, exclusivity both ways. I want only your ass in our bed, and I want to know your ass is only in our bed."

"Okay," Alex whispered.

"I think I want a bit more than an 'okay'. I think I want words like... like... I, Walter Sergei Skinner commit myself exclusively to Alex Antonovitch Krycek. Because I love him."

Alex's breath hitched, as if in pain. As Mina had said, the fire was a frightening thing.

He began hesitantly, "I, Alex... Antonovitch," accepting the patronymic Walter had given him, "... Krycek commit myself exclusively to Walter Sergei Skinner." He took a deep breath. "Because I love him."

He turned in the shelter of his lover's arms, mouth ready for his kiss. Wrapped himself around Walter and held on tight.

In the morning, while they were still in bed, Walter announced, "After we dump most of this stuff at the cabin, we're going to DC. I'm taking their offer for retirement."

Alex rolled over, rested his chin on Walter's chest. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He stroked Alex's back. "Maybe I could fight them, but it's not worth the effort it would take."

Alex looked thoughtful. "You going in to Headquarters to do it?"

"I'll call Kim, have her prepare the papers. But, yes, I want to go in and sign them there."

"Why, Walter, nice to see that in-your-face attitude of yours back in full swing. But you have to do it with flare."

"Flare, eh? Have you got an idea?"

Alex grinned evilly.

They stayed just overnight at the cabin. Walter figured they would be back within the week. Before they left the next morning there was one more thing he wanted to do to convince Alex that this was a serious relationship, that he wasn't going to find himself pitched out, away from the fire.

And, if he were being honest, he had to admit this was not just for Alex: he knew he was much older, was insecure in that knowledge. He needed this gesture too.

"Okay. That's it. All the stuff is in the car."

Only Walter's car was there: they'd paid the kid at the gas station a hundred bucks and a bus ticket back to deliver Alex's car back to Mulder while they were in Boston.

Walter was sitting on the arm of the couch, looking at Alex with an odd little smile on his face. A bit uncertain.

Alex leaned against the wall, shoved his hand into his leather jacket pocket. "What?"

"I have something for you. But I'm not quite sure how you'll react."

Alex shrugged. "I won't know till you give it to me."

Walter held out a small black jewelry box. Alex slowly straightened, came over to Walter. He took the box in his hand, and flipped open the lid with his thumb.

Inside there were two plain gold bands, one larger than the other.

"They're inscribed," said Walter, carefully watching Alex.

He held out his hand for the box. Watched as Alex picked the bands up, first one then the other. The inside of the smaller band read: "Mine. Walter". The larger one: "Mine. Alex".

Walter cleared his throat. "That way you can look all you want. And they can look all they want. But that's all."

He took Alex's hand, waited for permission—a very slight nod—and slipped the smaller band on the ring finger. Held out his right hand.

Alex looked up from his hand, eyes incredibly green, for once totally unshadowed. Holding Walter's eyes, he slipped the band on.

Walter stood into Alex's embrace. And held onto him for dear life.

Alex was very quiet on the trip to the city. He sat sideways in his seat, eyes on Walter. Just watching him, a small smile on his face. Thumb playing with the band on his finger.

Every now and then Walter would turn and look at him, and both of them would grin. Once, at a red light, Alex leaned over and tried hard to devour Walter in the time it took for the light to turn green. The cars behind them honked before Walter had the breath to drive on.

###

Part Four

Scully was in Headquarters to attend a meeting of Section heads. Not that officially she was one, but in her capacity as assistant to the Head of Forensics, she was representing him.

They'd taken a break for coffee. She was in the hallway, listening to the on-going conversations when the hall gradually became silent.

"Oh, my!" said the woman nearest her, one of the new intake of agents, "I'm just getting used to the Armani, and here comes Herrara For Men."

Scully turned into the direction of the on-coming silence. Two men were striding down the hall: one, stone-faced as usual; the other, devilment personified.

Both were dressed all in black. It was the first time Scully had ever seen Skinner in Headquarters not wearing a suit and tie.

Skinner wore slacks and one of those crew-necked silk knit tops that clung to the musculature of his chest. An open loose linen jacket. The only colour was the narrow silver buckle of his black leather belt, which drew a great many eyes to the narrowness of his waist and hips.

Krycek wore his usual jeans, except these hadn't come from any bargain basement. The fit was just this side of decent. The loose t-shirt tucked into the jeans, the leather jacket all added to the bad-boy image.

As the men walked past her, Skinner nodded. "Agent Scully."

"Assistant Director Skinner," she acknowledged.

Krycek just grinned at her, one of those angelic grins that forecasts trouble of some kind.

She watched the two men get into the elevator that would take them to Skinner's old office. Heard the cell phones being dialled as the news made its way around the building.

The woman next to her gasped, "That's AD Skinner? And who was the other stud?"

Scully debated using her cell phone to call Mulder, decided against it. "What?"

"Who was with AD Skinner? The guy in the jeans."

"Oh, that's Alex Krycek. Excuse me, I just remembered a message I forgot to deliver." And went for the next available elevator going up.

Mulder came out of his office muttering to himself over the papers in his hand. "Kim, I can't seem... " He looked up and saw Alex Krycek leaning against the outer office doorway, looking like sin. "Alex."

Krycek cocked his head, just smiled.

"It's been a while," Mulder was wondering how the hell he was going to get Krycek out of the office before anyone knew he was here.

"He's with me." The voice was icy, possessive.

Mulder turned to see Walter Skinner, a Walter Skinner he wasn't sure he recognized, sitting at Kim's desk, signing wherever it was Kim was indicating.

"Sir."

Skinner raised a sardonic eyebrow at the neutral tone of address. Watched as Mulder straightened, his usual reaction to that look.

"Assistant Director Skinner is here to sign his retirement forms," explained Kim, obviously unhappy with the whole situation.

"Oh." Mulder shuffled his feet, unsure of what his reaction should be. He knew how the Upper Levels felt about Skinner. Didn't know how Skinner himself felt. They'd been out of touch too long for him to know whether commiseration or felicitations were called for.

Krycek seemed to be expecting something from him, so he cleared his throat, uncomfortable, wanted to say something, anything. "You're looking well, sir." Fucking sexy, he thought, now having had a good look at the man. Skinner had stood, was recapping his pen before slipping it into the jacket's inside pocket.

"Thanks, Kim. For handling all this paperwork. I appreciate it. And for everything else." He took her hand, began to shake it. Leaned over and kissed her instead.

Krycek straightened quickly, made a growling sound. Mulder's attention swung from Skinner to Krycek. Correctly interpreted the growl. Looked back to Skinner, his surprise written on his face.

Skinner stopped in front of Mulder, quirked an eyebrow at Mulder's reaction. "My desk for Krycek." He spoke softly, so only Mulder would hear. "I got the better of the trade."

At the door, he turned once more to Kim. "Thanks again." Krycek followed him out.

In the hallway to the elevator, there were suddenly groups of very involved conversations going on. Whereas the hall had been almost empty on their way in, now, it was as though offices had all spontaneously emptied. Skinner even recognized some of the people from the top floor.

He stopped half-way down the hall. Alex nearly bumped into him. "What's wrong?" He wanted Walter out of this place as soon as possible. He was used to these kinds of over-the-shoulder, barely-contained sneers; Walter wasn't. These people had been his colleagues before they had turned on him, abandoned him. Walter ignored the looks, found Alex's eyes on him, worried.

"I've just realized how much I hate this place." Astonished.

Alex grinned. "About bloody time."

Walter grinned back, a wide, evil grin. He reached out and grabbed Alex by the back of the head. Pulled him in for the type of kiss he usually kept for initiating sex.

Alex stepped closer, mouth devouring and devoured. Knew he was adding fuel to the fire, that they had a disapproving - on the whole—audience. Controlled himself, with difficulty, from rubbing his hips against Walter.

Had some trouble with his breath when they finally pulled apart. Walter's grin had become laughter, delighted, happy, raunchy. He grabbed Alex's wrist and pulled him along to the elevator where someone had a finger on the "open" button.

He slapped the finger down as they got in and the door closed behind a jubilant Alex.

Standing by Mulder's door, Scully turned and looked at her former partner. She couldn't resist. "Tell me, Mulder, did either of them ever kiss you like that?"

Mulder grunted, went back into his office.

Kim and Scully exchanged raised eyebrows, knowing grins.

"He never looked that hot when he was working here." Kim said. "Otherwise I would have made a play for him after his divorce." She sighed over lost opportunities. "And I think I'm not the only female," she looked around at the people still milling about, "or male, who's thinking that way."

###

That evening, after buzzing Scully up, Walter was waiting at the door to let her in.

She shook her head ruefully at the now dressed down, now retired AD.

"Well, sir... "

"Walter. I don't carry the ID any more, Dana." He offered to take her coat.

"You may not want me to stay once you know why I'm here."

Alex slouched against the door to the kitchen.

Scully handed Walter a thick envelope. "Your retirement papers, sir. All signed and approved."

Walter took them from her. Weighed the packet in his hand. "That was quick." He explained to Alex, "Usually takes weeks, three or four, to process retirement papers."

Alex swore under his breath, straightened up and came over to stand by Walter.

"Scully, there's a pot on the stove. Could you go and stir it, please. It shouldn't be boiling."

Scully slipped off her coat and went into the kitchen. There was a wooden spoon by the stove and she picked it up and stirred what had to be borscht. She tasted it, closed her eyes in appreciation.

Alex caught her. "Care to stay for supper, or are we too dangerous to your career to associate with?"

Scully ignored his snide remark, knowing that Alex was upset because Walter had been once more badly treated by the Bureau.

"This needs more pepper," she said. "Apart from that, it is the very best borscht I've ever tasted."

Alex dropped into the chair by the table. Scully went back to stirring. After a minute Alex said, more calmly, "It does not need more pepper at this stage. Later, just before serving."

"Is he all right?" She was very interested in the pattern the spoon made in the thick liquid.

Alex rubbed his face. "Yeah. I think he was expecting it, but it's still a bit of a shock. He's not used to being discarded so easily."

"Well, if it's any consolation, it's going to be a long time before the... manner of his leaving stops being a subject of discussion." That got a bit of a smile from Alex. "It is the general consensus, at least among the female members of the Bureau, that the kiss rated beyond a ten. That, if there is a God, you are both bisexual. And that your jeans... Oh, and Skinner's sweater... should be bronzed."

"Certainly the jeans," Walter came and sat next to Alex. Shared a smile with him.

"She thinks it needs pepper." Alex reached his hand out to rub Walter's shoulder.

"Make her wash the dishes after supper. That'll teach her to criticize the chef."

"You just want to get out of doing them."

Scully listened to the exchange, marvelling at the comfort and facility between the two men. Two men she would never have associated with comfort and facility. And certainly never with each other.

The evening provided a few more surprises, the matching bands being the first. Then there was the fact that they never seemed to be more than an arm's length away from each other. She wasn't surprised to see Alex touching Walter as much as he did: he had always struck her as being a tactile person.

But Walter Skinner? Unapproachable old Stone Face, the man who went by the book, the AD voted most likely to have a steel rod up his ass? Whose hand reached out, casually, to rub a shoulder, touch a leg, tug at hair. Who smiled readily. Who laughed, easily.

Scully sat in an armchair, her feet up on the coffee table, brandied coffee in her hand, stomach filled with borscht and sour cream and black bread, watched Alex Krycek pull himself into a cross-legged position at the feet of Walter Skinner who sat, back against the arm rest, at the other end of the couch. In no time at all, Walter slouched, made himself comfortable with his feet on Alex's lap. The conversation never went near the events of the day of the day, instead ranging over a variety of casual topics like politics, books, movies. Lightly, ironically, with wit and humour. She was surprised when she realized it was nearly midnight.

"By the way, if you're not doing anything for Easter, my mother said to tell you you're both welcomed to join us."

And got yet another surprise when Walter thanked her, "But we're spending Easter with Alex's folks."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "Alex has folks? Somehow, I always thought you had been hatched, Alex."

Alex looked uncomfortable. "They're not... They're... "

Walter's hand rubbed the back of Alex's neck. "Alex is still having a bit of trouble with the concept of biology versus fostering. They're Alex's foster parents. But please thank your mother for the invitation."

He accompanied her down to her car, held the door open for her.

Because of the lines of friendship that had been drawn over the evening, she chanced "When he went down last November, just how bad were you?"

He rested a hip against the side of the car, folded his arms and looked at her for a moment before answering. "If he'd arrived an hour later, he would have found my brains splattered throughout the place."

Then regretted telling her when he saw the hurt and guilt on her face. "Scully... Dana, of all the people who could have come to the cabin that day, he was the only one who could actually have understood where I was then. The only one. And you helped in other ways. Without your pushing, OPC would have probably found a reason for shelving their investigation."

"Mulder pushed too."

"Yes. But you pushed him too."

She examined the face and body of the man before her. "You're slouching. I didn't think ex-Marines ever slouched."

Walter laughed. "Alex slouches everywhere. I seem to be picking it up from him." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Drive carefully."

###

They were working their way through the morning papers when the phone rang. Walter seemed a bit surprised at the identity of the caller, listened, finally covered the phone with his hand.

"It's Senator McCuen. He would like us to join him for dinner tonight at his place. Around eight."

Alex frowned. "Which one is he?"

"Finance Committee. Republican. One of the central southern states... I can't remember which one. Looks a bit like Sam Erwing."

"He say why we're being so graced?"

"Says he wants to discuss a proposal with both of us."

Alex shrugged. "Your decision."

Walter picked up the phone again. "Yes, thank you. We'll see you at eight."

Dinner was roast beef and all the fixings. Alex was well behaved, though Walter knew he wanted to challenge the Senator as to why they were here. The Senator and his wife were charming throughout the meal.

"Well, gentlemen, I'll leave you to your brandy." Mrs. McCuen smiled at the men as she rose from the table. "Besides, Haines wishes to discuss business with you and there's a movie on the television that I want to see."

The Senator suggested brandy in the library. When he had served them each, he sat in what was obviously his chair, made himself comfortable, took a sip of brandy.

"Actually, this is a proposal in two parts. I'll begin with Mr. Skinner if I may.

"As you know I am a member of the Committee investigating financial responsibility in some of our more secretive organizations. Of which the FBI is next on our schedule."

He kept his eyes on Skinner as he carefully approached his offer. "You have not been well treated by the FBI, Mr. Skinner. When they should have supported you in the face of an obvious set-up, they floundered. Their defense of you was more of an attack. And their subsequent treatment of you was more than shoddy."

He held up a hand, forestalling Walter's reply. "I understand your training, your integrity will preclude your desire for revenge. I ask you only to consider the following notion: if they did it to you, whose loyalty to the organization was never in doubt, what will stop them from doing it to someone else?

"The actual grounds for their investigation of your career were non-existent. What they were on was a witch-hunt. Your personal life is just that, Mr. Skinner. Personal. We live in a time of 'Don't ask. Don't tell.' Still rather repressive, but the beginning of an acknowledgement that people are different.

"Before I continue, I will tell you that I have a personal interest in all this. My grandson is gay. He was recently badly beaten up by several members of his campus OTP because he dared to try and sign up. All the male members of this family have served their country. My grandson wished to do so as well. His sexual preferences should not have been at issue. But not everyone sees it that way.

"I am not asking you to betray confidential Bureau information. Though I believe my security clearance is as high as yours. I do however believe that in a general way you could be of help in determining what is bullshit and what is not.

"If that involvement is still too close for your personal sense of honour, I think that your mere presence next to me on the panel, as an informed consultant, which will be perfectly legal as, by the start of the hearings, you will be officially retired from the Bureau... "

Alex snorted.

Senator McCuen stopped. Looked from Alex to Walter, bushy eyebrows raised in question.

"My retirement became official last evening. All paperwork done and passed."

"Ah. I see. May I continue with my proposal?"

Walter held the Senator's eyes, did some careful thinking. Did he want revenge? If so, to what extent was he willing to go for it?

Slowly he nodded his permission.

"The Director's appointment was a compromise. He is a political outsider. He seems to think that the Bureau exists as an employment agency for his family and friends. You have personally had some experience of that.

"It has come to my attention that he feels that the panel is there to logroll his budget through. I would like to dissuade him of that notion.

"If in helping me do so, you can get a sense of getting your own back for the legal support that was given you, so much the better. Personally, I would like to see that embarrassment be withdrawn from the legal department of the Bureau. And, though I am only a country lawyer, I find his presence in my profession offensive."

He got up, poured more brandy in all their glasses. Krycek seemed well pleased with his proposal: an ally in that camp was a welcomed surprise.

Their discussion over the next twenty minutes convinced the Senator that even if all Walter Skinner did was look over his questions for the Director, he would be more than well served. The man had the intelligence, the perceptions, the drive to have risen much higher in the Bureau than he had. Someone, besides Spender, had certainly been made very uncomfortable by this man.

They were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. "Ah, here comes the second part of my proposal."

A man, probably in his early forties, well-dressed in an executive type suit and tie, came into the room.

"Thank you for inviting me, Senator."

Walter had stood for an introduction when he heard a hiss from Alex. He turned and saw Alex become the killer he had once so hated.

"Krycek." The new guest nodded, reacting much the same way as Alex.

"Nash." Almost a snarl.

The tension in the library rose dramatically. Walter went on alert. He didn't know who this Nash was, but it was obvious Alex did. And didn't like him.

Senator McCuen filled a glass with brandy, went to stand between the two men. Offered the glass to Nash, who accepted it, never taking his eyes off Alex.

"I would," he said, in a very quiet voice, his accent suddenly very pronounced, "like to remind the two of you that you have both retired from the field. So cut out the bobcat dance, both of you, and sit down."

He waited till the two men had complied with his wishes, smiled at Walter, who also sat down, very slowly. He remained standing.

"Thomas Nash and Alex Krycek have a bit of a history," he explained to Walter. "I believe that each has tried several times to... eliminate... the other. Obviously with little success."

He waited till Walter responded with a raised eyebrow. "Mr. Nash decided some time ago to count his blessings and stop pushing his luck. He, and several other ex... What do you call yourselves, Nash? Ex-agents?"

"Operatives. Ex-operatives." He took a sip of brandy, still holding Alex's eyes.

"Ah, very good. Descriptive, yet neutral. As I was saying, Mr. Nash has set up an organization that trains bodyguards, provides business executives with the survival skills necessary for going into parts of the world that are inhospitable, but relevant for some of their business concerns. Quite above board, Mr. Skinner. And very successful."

He turned to Nash. "Perhaps you would like to continue, Nash." And he sat down.

Nash finally released Alex's eyes, looked down into his drink.

"I'm expanding. I understand from Senator McCuen that there is a possibility that Skinner will be accepting a temporary position with his office. I was wondering if a position as a sort of consultant with my organization would interest you."

Alex bit out, "Shit, Nash. Just what would you expect me to consult on?"

"Staying alive. For one thing. Self-defense for another. Especially when handicapped. Strategy. Conning your captors. Mental tricks to surviving torture."

He paused, dropped the "operative" persona, became the executive. "The staff I have is small, but each is an expert in his or her field. We all have two things in common. We're over thirty. And we're still alive."

"And that qualifies me?"

"Shit, Krycek, you've been in the business for what, ten, twelve years? You've got fucking Ph.D qualifications. Not to mention you survived the last four years with only one arm. Bets were that you wouldn't last two months when people realized the state you were in after Tunguska.

"There are conditions if you decide to come out and look over the place. You'll probably recognize one or two faces. Just remember everyone's retired, you included. No scores need to be settled. No physical attacks. No eliminations. On both sides.

"The pay's good. And it'll give you something to do with your time if Skinner's busy. Besides, you may discover you like the work. It's a hell of a lot safer than what you're used to, and you get to go home at the end of the day."

Alex shared a look with Walter.

"I think we need some time to think about these offers, Senator." Walter spoke for the two of them.

Nash finished his drink, stood up, He pulled out a case from his inside pocket—Alex had tensed when his hand had gone under his lapel—and handed Alex a card. "Come check us out anytime you want. Pleasure to have met you, Skinner. Thank you, Senator."

"I think we'll take our leave as well, Senator." Walter shook hands with McCuen. "I will seriously consider your offer, Senator. Please thank your wife for the lovely dinner. Alex."

In the car, Alex slouched against the door, watching Walter's face in the passing lights. He waited till they were home. "So how much help are you going to give him?"

Walter sighed, rubbed his face with his hands. "McCuen wants at least three maybe four months of my time."

Alex frowned. "I thought he was talking five to six weeks."

"The hearings begin in three weeks. The Bureau usually slots two to three more. That's if all goes well. They only sit three days a week. What McCuen is asking for will drag things out far longer than that."

"Are you going to give him what he's asking for?"

Walter yawned, suddenly tired. The last two days had been a roller-coaster for him. "He's right in that I would love to get some of my own back, especially for the Director's god-son. But I also know that budget cut-backs put the lives of field agents more at risk all the time."

Alex slouched low on his spine, toed his boots off and propped his feet on the table. "Seems to me that I heard Scully complaining about a redecorating spree in the upper levels. And," he continued after thinking a bit, "wasn't there some squawking about someone's promotion, just about the time Spender got you."

"The Director's new son-in-law." Walter rested his head on the back of his chair. "You going to be able to work with Nash?"

Alex grinned, knew both of them were going to be "gainfully employed" for the next little while. "It'll be interesting. I wonder who those 'familiar faces' will turn out to be."

"We'll have to go and close up the cabin. And you can break the news to Anton and Mina that you have an nine- to-five job." Suddenly Walter laughed. "And that you've joined the legion of tax-payers."

###

The Director was quite pleased with the way things were going. Already in the second day of hearings he felt that this would be over in no time at all.

Then on the second day, things changed. The consultant sitting just behind Senator McCuen was absent. The proceedings had started when the chair was filled. By a large balding man wearing glasses. A man the Director had never expected to see again in his life.

The Senator smiled at the reaction the Director couldn't hide. The hunt was on and his own personal bloodhound, even if all he did was sit and look barely interested, was going to make the Director look over his shoulder for the entire length of these hearings.

Into the second week, Walter came home one day to find several messages waiting in his computer. Anonymous reports of internal improper budgetary expenditures. There were more of them by the end of the week. Most of them related to personnel appointed by the Director. Some mere rumours and innuendo. Others accompanied by scanned copies of actual billing, other documented support.

"Looks like some people have decided that you're their white knight." Alex, fresh out of the shower, wearing only jeans, curled up in a chair in Walter's home office.

Walter made a grunting noise, neither positive nor negative in meaning. He looked Alex over. "You're sporting a couple of new bruises. I thought this was a desk job."

Alex smiled. "Was too nice a day to stay inside. We had ... what do you call it? Oh, yeah. A field trip."

"So how did you end up with the bruises? Or should I ask what does the other guy look like?"

"Fergus was out with a couple of her crew. We sort of gave them a bit of a demonstration."

Fergus was one of those familiar faces Nash had spoken about. A tall, elegant woman, who knew as much about killing as Alex did. Their occasional clashes were always for the benefit of their students. At least, that was always the explanation.

He assumed that Fergus would also be sporting a new set of bruises.

Alex had adjusted to regular work, if training people in assault techniques could be consider "regular". He had gone with the notion of just hanging around the estate Nash used as his compound, so that Walter would take the position McCuen had offered him.

But he found that, not only was he good at passing on instruction, he actually liked the work. The ex-operatives were for the most part people like him, who were tired of the game, surprised to find that they were still alive, and needed a job where their skills would actually be appreciated.

There had been a few personality clashes, but Nash had been up front when he'd said there were conditions imposed on everyone who worked for him. If necessary, he was quite willing to put an end to confrontations himself, with his fists.

They both had made it a condition of employment that they would not be expected to be around come Easter. The visit to Anton and Mina had gone off pretty much as Walter had forecasted.

Except that when they got to Alex's room, the double bed had been replaced with a king-sized one. Mina had expressed surprise at their surprise. "Alexei, you yourself barely fit in that bed. Where did you expect Walter Sergei to sleep, on the floor?"

And there was a bit of tension at the hockey game. Alex had just bought the tickets, not checking to see whom Boston was playing that night. Unfortunately, it turned out to be Washington. After the first period intermission, Alex and Mina sat between the two hockey fans, trying hard to ignore the squabbling between Anton and Walter. Which continued into supper, until Mina put her foot down, hard, on both their necks. The subject of hockey was henceforth banned in her presence. Alex snickered.

For Easter services, Walter had brought a suit, but the best he could get on Alex was dress pants, a shirt and tie, and the ubiquitous black leather jacket.

"This thing lasts three hours," complained Alex as Walter was fixing his tie for him.

"Music is wonderful. All bass and baritone. Just think of it as a concert with lots of standing and sitting. You'll live."

Mina hugged them both tightly when they left, sent them home with enough food to feed themselves for a week. They'd eaten cold perogies on the drive back.

"So what are you going to do with all that information that keeps popping up on the screen?" Alex knew that Walter was trying to walk a thin line between his idea of loyalty and his anger at the re-routing of federal funds by the Director. Nothing overtly illegal, just all sorts of "perks" that added up to decreased budgets in the lower levels.

Years of being told to tighten their demands offset by overboard spending at the top. Had the Director really needed to lease a private jet to get him and his two PAs to the West Coast? Especially since the FBI had a plane-load of people going to the same conference. On regular flights. Squeezing into those too-small spaces the airlines allotted for human beings.

At the hearings, Walter was beginning to slip the occasional piece of substantiated information over to the Senator. Who did not question the change of heart. The Director found he sweated every time Skinner began writing on the pad the Senator kept by his side.

The Senator appreciated the information, used it judiciously. Found that all it took to draw the Director's attention to his end of the panel was for Skinner to shift in his chair. Old Stone Face, as one of his researchers had called Skinner, never reacted to the Director's glares, the occasional pointed barbs that were aimed at Skinner. He made a mental note to himself never to invite Skinner to participate in one of his monthly poker games.

"Excuse me, Mr. Skinner." Walter looked up from the papers whose information he was verifying. "There's a Mr. Nash on the phone for you. He says it's important."

Skinner thanked the assistant the Senator had assigned to him, waited till she had left the office, and picked up the phone, heart in throat. If anything had happened to Alex...

"Skinner here."

"I'll tell you first off that Alex is fine. But we've had some trouble here."

Walter felt relief then "What kind of trouble?"

"Alex nearly took out one of the students this morning. Don't freak out on me, Skinner. It was provoked. The rest of the class is behind him all the way. And it turns out the guy was an FBI plant."

"Cops getting involved?"

"No way. We get all candidates to the program to sign a waver of responsibility should they happen to get injured. The guy is just badly bruised. Though it'll be some time, if ever, before he gets to raise his voice."

"Okay. What happened?"

According to Nash, the new intake that came in that week was the usual except that one of the men seemed to react negatively to Alex's presence. Made more than a few cracks about cripples, gays, traitors. Alex had ignored the whole thing. Nash had found out about it when one of the other students had come to him to lodge a complaint about the idiot.

Alex had shrugged it off when Nash had asked him about the situation. He was used to it. Was nothing new. The guy wanted a rise out of him, and he wasn't going to get it.

But this morning, the guy had finally said something that had made Alex flip.

"What did he say?" Walter rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

Nash sighed. "The asshole made a crack about you. Something about you being dirty, about traitors betraying traitors and landing in some cushy job sitting behind some senator. It took four of us to get Alex off the guy.

"When we did, the guy was trying to tell us that we would all go to jail, for letting Krycek attack an FBI agent.

"I just got off the phone with the president of the company the guy was supposed to be working for. Seems the Bureau came to see him, gave him a story of checking up to see that we were not some cover for some subversive operation. Told him it would be his patriotic duty to his country to give this agent a legit cover for his investigations.

"I've told him to take his business somewhere else.

"The other three in the class have given me hand-written reports on what occurred. All of them back Alex. One even says that if Alex had really wanted to kill the jerk, the guy would be dead. That he was just teaching him a lesson."

"Where's Alex now?"

"Fergus has got him demonstrating the move that he used to disable the jerk to her class and his. Christ! They'll all have sore throats by the end of the day."

"You're sure he's all right?"

"Yeah, he seems to be. Skinner, the student was right: if Alex had wanted to kill the guy, he'd have been dead before any of us could have done anything. And I've placed a call in to the Director of the Bureau to tell him that next time he wants to check us out, he should send someone who actually knows what he's doing. And I will lodge a formal complaint. More than that, I don't know what I can do."

Skinner growled, "You can tighten up your intake verifications."

"Goes without saying. I put my PA on verifying the rest of the intake right away. Everyone pans out." His tone changed. "Skinner, whatever you're doing at the hearings, you sure managed to piss someone off, big time. Be careful."

The Senator had been warned that a call had come for Skinner that had upset him. When Skinner sat next to him at the meeting, he made certain his mike was off before leaning over to talk to Skinner.

"What happened?"

"The Bureau slipped someone in at Nash's who's been riding Alex all week. This morning the jerk changed tactics and attacked me."

"And?"

"And the Bureau is going to find that they probably have an agent on permanent disability. And I'm going to give you much more than you want."

Walter moved the pad to in front of him. And began writing a line of questioning for McCuen to follow.

At first, McCuen just watched Skinner, finally realized that the man was dangerously angry. Another mental note: never attack the man's lover. By the third page of notes, McCuen had seen the Director go from smug to nervous to downright anxious.

By the time the hearings were over, it was just a matter of time before the Director would announce his retirement.

###

"Skinner. You would have to pick today to drop in." Nash passed a harried hand through already ruffled hair.

Skinner smiled. "You did tell me any time. Is Alex up to something? I didn't find him in his office. Or in the classroom."

Nash moaned, dropped his head on his cluttered desk. "My assistant is off taking care of her mother who's just had a hip replacement. I can't find anything. Her replacement didn't come back the second day because she's sure someone's going to kill her.

"Fergus thinks she may be pregnant. Christ! She's forty if she's a day. What the hell is she doing with a biological clock?

"And Krycek decided that a game of tag with weapons is the perfect activity for a lovely autumn day. The only good thing that's happened today is that I convinced him to use paint-guns instead of live ammunition."

Skinner grinned "And now me. Would you like me to come back some other day?"

Nash sighed, thought about it for maybe five seconds. "No. Maybe this is for the best. I can play on your sympathy."

He got up, poured two coffees. "It's times like this that I wish I hadn't banned alcohol from the premises."

He sipped the coffee he had made several hours ago, nearly spat it up. "God, that is awful!"

Skinner laughed. "Reminds me of the crap you drink on a stake out."

Nash watched Skinner walk around his office, looking at the stuff he had on his walls to impress prospective clients. He sat on the edge of his desk. "How do you want it, smooth and slick or to the point?"

Skinner slouched against an elegant wooden filing cabinet in the corner. "To the point."

"Krycek tells me you're bored with the hearings. That basically you've given the Senator more than he needs to hang the Director and his cronies out to dry."

"You need something new to keep you busy. Because if you continue being bored, you're probably going to want to leave DC and I'm going to lose one of my top staff."

"Tell me," Skinner ignored most of Nash's comments, "when you offered Alex the job did you expect him to be good at it?"

"Yeah, I did. It wasn't a charity thing so that the Senator could keep you around. What surprises me the most is that the students like him. Respect him."

Skinner smiled. "He gets a real kick when they call him sir."

"Another thing that surprised me was the way you tamed him. He was pretty wild. I never expected to see the Alex Krycek I knew set down roots."

"Nash. Get to the point."

"I need a Director of Operations. Someone who understands where my staff has been, where they're coming from. Where they can go.

"The place needs expansion again. I'm thinking of taking on a couple more... "

"Ex-operatives," offered Skinner.

"Yeah. Look, my strong point is negotiations. I can sell the client on the product. Follow through on satisfaction studies. Trouble-shoot on location if and when it's needed. But that means that I have to be out of the place a fair amount.

"I need someone who can run the place for me. Deal with the day-to-day demands—and I'm not hiding the fact that these guys are heavy on demands—in a responsible way. Someone who won't panic when Krycek and Fergus use each other for 'demonstrations'. Or when O'Brien wants something the size of the Titanic for boarding practice.

"Someone I can work with when I'm here. And who can run the show when I'm out in the field. Someone with organizational skills who understands the working of this kind of set-up.

"The pay's not as good as what you're getting as a senatorial consultant, but it's fair. All I'm asking is that you think about it. Maybe spend a day in the place to get a feel for it."

"Find you an assistant?" Skinner put his untouched coffee down. "Get a decent coffee maker into the place?"

"All that and a tower office as well."

The main building on the grounds was an old mansion that some robber baron had built at the turn of the century. It came with a couple of towers and large rooms, beautiful wood floors and twelve foot high ceilings.

Nash had turned one of the towers into classrooms; the other, into an office—his—and a conference room at the top. There were five large windows bringing in the outside light into the rounded room.

"The fireplace works. Bathroom's through there. Includes a shower. Assistant can use the connecting hall as an office. If you want an assistant, you'll have to find one yourself."

Skinner walked over to one of the windows. There was a large open space around the building, an orchard of some kind to the west, a series of other buildings to the east. He saw Alex, with maybe one splotch of colour on his sweat suit, lead three others who were in various rainbow hues through the back yard and into the mansion, talking seriously, being listened to seriously.

Nash was right: he was bored. The only intellectual stimulation he was getting these days was their evening chess games.

"Does that work?" He pointed to the phone on the side table by the conference table. Nash nodded. Skinner dialled.

"Dana, it's Walter. What's the phone number of the PA in your department that the Director forced into retirement last month? Thanks. I'll explain at supper. Tomorrow night? Good."

He looked up at Nash who was grinning. "I'm not saying yes. A lot will depend on my discussion with Alex tonight. But I will consider it."

"Hello. Is this Catherine Bainbridge? This is Walter Skinner. Yes. Mrs. Bainbridge, I was wondering if the chance to work in a zoo would be of interest to you? No, the human kind. No, and it's not for the faint-hearted, believe me. Today. Actually, as soon as possible. I'll give you the address. Oh, and Mrs. Bainbridge, dress casually. Feeding time can be very messy."

He looked at Nash. "She'll be here in an hour. I'll explain the situation to her. While I'm waiting, let's see some of the paperwork."

###

"So," Alex stretched, rubbing himself against a sated Walter, "are you going to be the new boss?"

"I don't know." Walter stroked the arching back, kneaded the tight ass muscles of his lover. "How do you feel about the whole thing?"

Alex lay on top of Walter, stroking his foot up and down Walter's leg. "I have the funny feeling that my sleeping with you isn't going to help my budget in the least."

"Probably not," agreed Walter.

"And that in the sense of fair play, you're going to go over backwards to show me no favouritism."

"Maybe not backwards, but far enough so that there's no friction with the others. Wouldn't do for Fergus to think you've got one up on her, her being pregnant and all. All that anxiety wouldn't do the baby much good."

Alex laughed lazily, too filled with good humour to challenge Walter's assessment of Fergus: he'd learn soon enough what she was like.

"If I take it, there are a few things that need to be clear, Alex."

"Like?"

"Like there you're Krycek and I'm Skinner. Like there's no sex in the office, neither yours nor mine. That I will be your department head, and I will cut your demands or ignore them or toss them out if I feel they're unreasonable."

"You're not going back to old Stone Face, are you, Walter? Because I can put up with the rest of it, but not that."

"No. And if you ever feel uncomfortable with the situation, I want your promise to tell me. That's your territory. I'm the interloper. And I promise you I'll leave it to you."

"And do what?"

"Well, just so you know, Nash's wasn't the first offer I've had lately. Just the most interesting one." He licked some of the sweat that had gathered in the hollow by Alex's collar-bone. "So what are we feeding Dana tomorrow night?"

NIF

###

jmann@pobox.mondenet.com


home
[Stories by Author] [Stories by Title] [Mailing List] [Gallery] [Links] [Resources] [Home]