by Josan
Burnt. Most beyond recognition. Some into seared ashes.
Because of Mulder's involvement, Cassandra Spender's disappearance
yet again, the role the X-Files had played, Walter
Skinner found his department assigned clean-up.
Stone-faced, voice brisk, expressionless, he supervised the tagging
of bodies, such as some were, for future identification.
Some had no discernable body part to be tagged and so numbered cards
were placed near for photo identification.
And all the time he examined the site, answered his agents' few
questions, conferred with the forensic specialists, he kept
his eyes open for a body with no left arm.
Once his heart stopped when he found a body that seemed to qualify,
but the pile of cinders next to it held no plastic
smell.
By the end of the thirty-hour period it took to carefully bag the
forty-seven bodies and anything remotely near them,
Skinner was numb.
He had memorized several of the tag numbers that might prove to be
the man he sought.
Dana Scully had been put in charge of forensic identification at his
request. Not only did he feel that she was the best
qualified of his people for the job, but this way all identification
reports would come across his desk.
Weeks later, nineteen of the bodies still hadn't been identified. DNA
records, dental records, blood type had to be matched
and all this took time.
Skinner grew more and more silent with each report passing over his
desk. Most of his staff never noticed. They were all
trying hard to deal with the enormity of the problems, the revelations
of those involved, men of influence, men of status,
men many of them had respected.
Before the deaths, he had sold the condo and bought a house in
Arlington. The condo had never felt like home and the
house had a yard, room to spread out in, space for an office. Wood and
brick were more solid than an apartment on the
seventeenth floor of some cement and metal construction. Then he had
needed grounding.
He moved in, barely unpacked. His days began too early and finished
too late.
His neighbours, after initial attempts to introduce themselves were
coldly rebuffed, left him alone. Some of them knew he
was with the FBI. None of them had any idea of his involvement with the
strange deaths of the "cult" that had made the
news only scantly: an airplane crash had wiped it off the TV screens.
Slowly he forced himself to take on a semblance of life. He hired a
lawn maintenance crew so his neighbours on the street
wouldn't freak out at the condition of his yard. He tried to keep his
hours at the office to his normal ones, still long but no
longer twenty-hour days.
By summer's end, all but seven of the bodies had been identified. And
Scully felt that they might never be.
The Smoker aka CGB Spender and several of his associates had been
arrested for their involvement with the Consortium.
The war between the rebel aliens and the aliens had moved on to other
places.
In all that time, Skinner had kept to the belief that if he were
alive, Krycek would somehow contact him. Six months after
the burnt bodies had been found, he gave up that hope. He had asked
Mulder if he had any kind of lead on Krycek, who,
it turned out, had supplied Mulder with a great deal of information. But
none since the burning.
The night of his forty-ninth birthday, he spent alone in his darkened
living room, drunk, finally forcing himself to accept
that Krycek was probably one of those bodies that was ash.
He became more taciturn, colder at work. People became very wary of
approaching him, afraid of being cut to ribbons by
his tongue. He suffered fools even less gladly than he had ever done.
He lost weight, had trouble sleeping. Brought work home with him so
he would have something to do besides drink.
Dreamt far too much of a one-armed man whom he couldn't even mourn
publicly.
The doorbell rang.
Even though it was Hallowe'en, and the neighbourhood was filled with
kids of all ages, only the stalwart ones, or the ones
dared by their friends, had rung his doorbell. He hadn't prepared for
the evening, hadn't really been aware of what this was
other than another Saturday night.
He answered the door anyway. Why not? It would only add to his
reputation as the bete-noire of the neighbourhood.
There were two little girls on his stoop. He recognized them as the
one who lived next door and her friend from down the
street. They had to be best friends as he had never seen one without the
other.
He said nothing. Just waited. His neighbour with the glasses was
dressed as some bespectacled witch, her friend as a
vampire.
They looked at him with trepidation.
"The man asked us to give you this note." The witch handed him a
chocolate bar wrapper.
"The writing's on the inside," said the vampire.
And they ran around the dividing fence to the witch's house.
Skinner held the piece of paper in his hand, opened it to the inside.
Please, may I come in?
Skinner shook his head to clear it, read the paper again. Realized
that he knew the handwriting: had seen it once before on
another note that had accompanied a tape.
He looked up. In his front yard was an old black walnut tree. The
trunk seemed to separate and a shadow moved away
from it.
He stopped breathing as a ghost approached the stoop and stood just
within the circle of light from the open door.
He was thinner, his face more feral, his eyes almost black in the
scant light. He wore that ubiquitous black leather jacket of
his. His hair was pulled back. There was a new scar just under his right
eye. He limped slightly.
Skinner stared, not really believing his eyes.
"You're dead," he whispered.
"Not yet." Alex Krycek was surprised by the changes he saw in the man
in front of him. What the hell was wrong with
Skinner? He looked like a man who had been seriously ill.
Skinner backed in. Krycek followed him.
Krycek closed the door, went into what had to be the living room.
Skinner was pouring himself a stiff drink. Gulped a
good portion of it down. Turned to face the man who stood in the
doorway.
What does one say to a ghost?
So he hit him, hard, with the flat of his hand, across the face.
Krycek was taken totally by surprise. The force of the blow knocked
him to the floor. Before he had time to protect
himself, Skinner had him by the front of his jacket, hauled him up, and
slammed him against the nearest wall.
"You fucking bastard!" Skinner was white, his voice quivering with
anger. So angry that all he could say, over and over,
was "You fucking bastard!" as he slammed Krycek against the wall yet
again.
Krycek got his hand up, tried to push Skinner away from him. This
wasn't the welcome he had so anticipated.
He raised his knee sharply to groin the man, hard.
Skinner turned to catch the knee on his thigh. Released him enough so
that Krycek could twist out of the hold he had on
him. He tried to make for the door, but Skinner dropped his weight onto
his back and they both went down.
Krycek landed hard on a leg that was still recovering from a bullet.
Skinner landed hard on him, knocking the breath out
of both of them. For a moment the world spun out of control.
Skinner had heard the grunt of pain that had preceded the sharp
exhalation of air. In spite of everything, he felt concern
begin to override his shock. He rolled off Krycek, but kept him confined
on the floor, prosthesis under his chest, right
wrist clamped to the ground, one leg over Krycek's to keep him pinned
down.
Waited for Krycek to catch his breath.
"All you had to do was tell me no," the man gasped.
"I thought you were dead. I thought that if you were alive you would
contact me somehow, let me know." Skinner took a
deep breath. With all the pain, the loss he had felt over the months,
"Why didn't you contact me?"
Krycek looked into a face that was etched with pain. He stopped
struggling. "I never thought of it," he whispered.
"You never...Jesus! Alex! What did you think it would do to me,
looking at those piles of ashes week in week out, and not
knowing which one was you? I thought we...God knows what I
thought...Christ! I am such a fucking fool."
He rolled off Krycek, releasing him. Lay on his stomach, head buried
in crossed arms. Disgusted with himself, for
believing they actually had something.
Krycek sat up carefully, looking at the man lying next to him, in
obvious pain.
He reached out his hand and gingerly rested it on Skinner's shoulder.
Skinner flinched. He pulled it back.
"Walter. Are you saying it mattered? That you..." He got no response
from the other. He tried again, not sure where he
was going, suddenly only knowing that he was on the verge of losing
something he wanted badly.
"Walter. No one's ever cared enough about me to...I mean, why would
you...Ah, shit! I didn't know..." He hugged his legs
up close to his chest, hurting and not knowing what to do about it.
He'd had dreams about the time they had spent together. They'd gotten
him through some tight times in the last months.
But he'd been smart enough to know that's all they were: dreams. And yet
now...
"There are seven bodies that Scully thinks will never be identified.
Mulder knew some of the ones we did identify. Knew
that you worked with them. It made sense that you'd be there."
Skinner paused to control the trembling in his voice. "Mulder says he
hasn't had any contact with you since the burnings.
It was as if you'd disappeared off the face of the earth. What else was
I supposed to think?"
Krycek was still working his way around the fact that he had meant
something to Skinner. That he had probably
destroyed whatever that something was.
Desolate, he moved slowly to his feet, hurting more than he thought
he could bear. He had to get out of here, before he
dropped to his knees and begged Skinner to give him another chance. He'd
blown it, and hadn't even known until it was
too late.
"Alex. Where were you?" Skinner raised his head, looked up into a
face as ravaged as his own.
"Tying up loose ends." He owed Skinner that much at least. "The
Consortium had cells in other places. The rebels needed
a human front to deal with them, and they decided I was it."
He made it to his feet. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I never meant to."
"Alex, I can't take this coming and going. It rips my guts out."
Krycek absorbed pain like a body-blow. He rested his forehead on the
door, put his hand on the latch. "You won't see me
again. I promise."
"Where are you going now?" Skinner sat up.
"Does it matter?"
"Alex, why did you come here tonight?"
Krycek made a sound that could have been a laugh. "Would you believe
it, I was coming to ask you to let me stay for a
while. Until you got bored with me."
Skinner got to his feet. Went to stand behind his lover. "That might
be a long way down the line. Are you sure you can
stay that long? Because, Alex, that's the only way you can stay. If it's
for the long run."
Alex turned around. Walter saw the hunger in Alex's face, reached out
and pulled him into his arms.
They stood by the door, just holding onto each other for dear life.
Tightly, almost painfully.
"You ever leave again," Walter rubbed his face against Alex's hair,
"I'll track you down and pound the shit out of you. You
got that?"
"Yeah." Whispered, but with hope.
There were things they had to talk about, to clear the air. The past
had to be dealt with before they could try for a future.
It was late and they were both exhausted before they found their way
upstairs to the bedroom. They barely had the energy
to undress, slip between the sheets and wrap themselves around the
other.
And it was late when Walter woke to find a pair of green eyes
watching him. "You been awake long?"
Alex shook his head. "No. Not really." Then, because he was still
insecure about all this, "Walter, are you sure about this?
About me staying? Here, I mean. In this house."
Walter tilted his head back, the better to see Alex's face. "Bored
already?"
Alex tried again. "No. But, shit, Walter, you're an assistant
director. Living openly with a man isn't going to do your career
much good. And living with me..."
Walter placed his hands on either side of Alex's face, pulled him
down for a heart-felt kiss. Held him close. "Life in the
suburbs won't be so bad, Alex. Of course, you will have to give up
killing, extortion, all that stuff you're so good at."
"Walt, I'm serious."
"I know. I know. But we live in 'Don't ask. Don't tell.' And I'm sure
we won't be the first male couple in this neck of the
woods. As for my career, well, I was never meant for the top floor. And
I rather like keeping my hand in the field." He
smiled. "Stop worrying about that."
But Alex was uneasy. "Walter..."
"If you have to worry, Alex, worry instead about what I'm going to do
to you."
Alex thought a moment. "That sounds rather like a threat."
Walter rolled over so that Alex lay flat on the bed. He stroked his
foot over the leg closest to him, ending up with his foot
anchoring Alex's ankle. At the same time, his right hand slipped up the
length of his arm, pulling it up so that he could
imprison it against the headboard.
He took his time checking out the body now spread out for his
inspection. There were a few new scars. Some not too
important. A couple that made him happy he hadn't been around when they
had been added to Alex's collection.
Alex lay passive, waiting for Walter's next move. He felt
anticipation mingled with a little wariness. He wasn't used to
letting himself be examined this way.
Walter's eyes finally came to find his.
"Not a threat. A promise.
"I promise that, after we've showered, after we've had breakfast, I'm
going to drag you back to this bed. I'm going to taste
every inch of your body with my mouth. Lick it. Bite it."
Alex's eyes opened wide, a hint of pleasure already appearing in
them.
"I'll find all your pulse points and suck my mark on you. Shape your
collar bone with my teeth. Bite the soft skin of your
underarms, the inside of your elbow, the back of your knees."
Alex made a soft groan, ran his tongue over his lips, his mind
already reacting to the images that Walter was providing.
Even his cock was appreciative.
"I'm going to play with your nipples till they're so tender that when
I blow on them you're going to scream. I'm going to
tease your skin with my mouth, my fingertips, my nails so that you can't
think."
Alex moaned, tried, but more as a token, to pull out of Walter's
grasp. His cock was hardening from the mere thought of
what Walter was promising. God! It had been so long! No one since their
last time together.
"Then when I finally get around to your cock..."
"Jesus, Walter. Touch me!"
Walter grinned. His own cock was also reacting to his scenario, but
he wanted to wait, to see what would happen. "When
I finally get around to your cock, all I'm going to do is take the tip,
just the tip, Alex, into my mouth. Just to get a taste of
pre-come. I'll play with it, dip the tip on my tongue into the slit,
suck. See if I can make you come just like that."
Alex's breathing had deepened, his eyes closed. He was biting his
lower lip. His hips arched in invitation. Walter's voice
had hoarsened: he was catching himself in his own web.
"I'm going to take your balls, one then the other, into my mouth,
warm them up, play my tongue on them. I'll lube my
hand, stroke my finger up from your balls to your asshole. Tease it with
my finger tip. In a bit, out, around and again and
again till it twitches. Till you open up for me. My finger will go in so
slowly you'll want to thrust back, so I'll have to hold
you down somehow. Because I'm the one who's deciding how deep I'm in.
And when I go in further. And if it's one
finger. Or two. Maybe even three.
"How hard that will be, only you know. How long since you've been
stretched out that way? Will it burn? Will it feel so
good that you'll beg me to fuck you with my cock?"
Alex's erection was deepening in colour, his hips writhing for
contact of some kind. Walter knew that Alex could have, at
any time, pulled out of his grasp, if he had really wanted to. Knew that
he would have allowed him to. But he lay there,
enjoying his passivity. Revelling in having his mind fucked, having his
body respond.
Walter's own erection was demanding attention. He ignored it,
watching Alex's body flush, feeling his own heat up.
"Then, maybe, if you ask nicely enough, I'll fuck you. I'll pull your
legs up over my shoulders. I'll position myself against
that lovely asshole of yours and slowly, so slowly it'll make you crazy,
I'll push in, till my balls are squeezed against your
ass. In so tight that there'll be no room between us for even a breath
of air.
"Would you like that, Alex, if I took you that way?"
Alex had enough of the teasing. He twisted suddenly, taking Walter a
bit by surprise. He pulled away, jerking his body so
that he sat up over his now recumbent lover.
"You fucking cock teaser!" he snarled. He dropped his mouth to
Walter's cock, taking it into his mouth. Unlike Walter's
scenario, he sucked on it hard, taking as much of it into his mouth into
his throat as he could.
Walter grunted, raised his hips to allow Alex easier access. Caught
by the images he had used to arouse Alex, he found
himself as ready as his "victim".
Unfortunately, there was nothing in the room by way of necessities.
He was no longer expecting Alex, so there were no
condoms, no lube in the drawer by the bed.
That didn't deter Alex. When he was sure that Walter's cock was well
slicked with his saliva, he positioned himself over
his lover's erection and dropped his ass to absorb it.
Walter moaned aloud. Alex gasped at the initial pain: he had gone too
quickly and it had been some time. They both took
a moment to adjust. Walter raised his left knee so Alex could use it as
support as the man began riding.
Now that Alex had what he wanted, Walter's cock in him, he took his
time. Clenching his muscles, milking the feeling of
being filled.
Walter's hand, wet with his spit, with pre-come, worked Alex's cock
in the same rhythm. He kept his eyes open,
wondering at the beauty of the man above him, head thrown back, throat
exposed, eyes closed in appreciation and
concentration.
Walter's orgasm threw Alex into his own completion.
They lay, still joined, listening to each other's heartbeats return
to normal. Arms wrapped around each other.
Walter moved just enough to slip out of Alex who grunted a bit at the
feeling.
He kissed the side of his lover's head. Against his temple, he
whispered, "Welcome home, Alex."
This Being the Fifth
he top ranks of the Consortium lay clustered in the disused hangar.
