by Josan
The bespectacled man dressed in brown tweed paused in the act of unlocking his
office door. "Yes?"
A large man entered the hallway from the secretary's office. The Professor took
one quick look at him and thought, American. Not another one.
He sighed, opened the door and entered his office, turning on a light as he did
so. He placed his briefcase on his desk, went and took his seat. Ever since
he'd published that paper, "Chaos in Pure Mathematics", he'd received several
calls from American universities who wanted him to pull up his roots, move
across the sea and, of course, wanted all that to happen yesterday. They didn't
seem to comprehend that he had no desire to move to America, that he was more
than content with his position at the University of Leeds, that he had all that
he wanted here in Yorkshire.
Unfortunately, they didn't seem to be able to take "no" for an answer. He
looked at the big man dressed rather casually even for an American academic
headhunter, in dark slacks, shirt, sweater topped with one of those well-worn
leather bomber jackets. Mind you, there was no doubting the intelligence, nor
the personality. He would have to be on his toes with this one.
His visitor remained standing just inside the door. Good manners forced him to
stand in turn, looking around the small office for a chair that the man could
sit on. He found that the larger of the two was the more piled with books.
With a shrug, he cleared it off, carefully stacking the books on top of those in
the other chair.
"Thank you," said the man, smiling at him, as if something had pleased him
inordinately. No, not pleased. More amused.
He took his place behind his desk and waited for the American to begin. Got
another of those smiles.
"My name, " the American finally said, "is Walter Skinner. I doubt that means
anything to you, Professor Tarquinn. I used to be Assistant Director with the
FBI. I'm retired now."
Professor Tarquinn settled back in his chair. "Well, that's a different
approach. I wonder, which of your universities would be using a retired member
of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, with your rank, as their recruitment
officer?"
Walter Skinner shook his head. "I don't represent any university. Are they
after you?"
That sounded to the Professor as more of a question to put him at ease than real
curiosity on the part of the American.
"I am, of late, discovering that you Americans don't like to hear the word 'no'
when you expect to hear an enthusiastic 'yes'."
"Ah," said Skinner, also settling back into his chair. "That paper you wrote
and presented in Munich. I understand that it's made ripples in many a Math
Department. That it is, in fact, very controversial?"
Professor Tarquinn shrugged. "Have you read it?"
Skinner chuckled. "No. Sorry, Professor. I can do the books for my business,
but theoretical mathematics is not my strong point. No, a friend of mine read
it. He was very impressed by the paper. And by your presentation. I
understand that it was the first Internet conferencing Math symposium."
Tarquinn winced. "Not my idea. I believe that the problems with the
transmission were caused by some satellite glitch." He leaned forward and
rested his elbows on the desk top. "Excuse me if I sound rude, Mr. Skinner, but
I have a student coming for a tutorial and I need some time to prepare myself
for it. What is it that you want with me?"
"Sorry. I'll get to the point." Skinner pulled the briefcase he had with him
onto his lap and opened it. He looked at the Professor, as if making a
decision, and then pulled out a folder. He closed the briefcase and placed it
back on the floor by his chair.
"I'd like your opinion on this." From the folder, he handed the Professor a
transparency with some blurs on it.
The Professor held it in his hand, frowned. "I am a mathematician, Mr. Skinner,
not a biologist."
"True. But you're scientist enough to know what that is."
Professor Tarquinn held the transparency up to the light, squinted. "I might be
able to say that this seems to be someone's DNA profile."
"Yes." Skinner smiled at him as he did when a student picked up a particular
tricky concept. "It belongs to a man named Alex Krycek."
The AK on the label, noted the Professor. "Yes, well, you'll have to forgive me
but I don't understand just why this Mr. Krycek's DNA should interest me?"
Skinner handed him another of the transparencies. The Professor put down the
one he had in his hand, accepted the second. He held it up in turn. "Yes,
well, at first glance I say again Mr. Krycek." He handed it back. Skinner
didn't take it back.
"That's not Alex Krycek's DNA, Professor. That's yours."
The Professor grew very still for a moment. He glanced at the notation on the
label: ST. He picked up the first transparency, placed it on top of the
second, held them up to the light. They matched perfectly.
The Professor laughed. "All right, Mr. Skinner. Good joke. Now then..."
But Skinner interrupted him. "No joke, Professor." The expression on his face
certainly supported that.
The Professor held up the two transparencies to the light again. "This is
impossible. There can be similar DNA profiles, but these two are identical."
"Not impossible, I assure you, Professor. Uncommon, but not impossible."
"But... Only identical twins are thought to have identical DNA profiles. This is
some sort of mistake at best. At worst, a trick. For this to be true, I would
have to be..."
"To be?" encouraged Skinner.
Professor Tarquinn looked at the man sitting so calmly in his office. "To be,"
his voice monotone, "an identical twin." He cleared his throat with a soft
cough, allowed some of his scepticism show in his voice. "Believe me, Mr.
Skinner, if I had been one of twins, my mother would certainly have known."
He lifted the transparencies off the desk to hand them back but they slipped out
of his hands, dropped onto the floor.
"Oh!" The Professor bent to pick them up, came up with a revolver in his hand.
Which he pointed in a very steady hand at the man seated in front of him.
And got a reaction unlike any that he could have imagined.
Skinner laughed, kept on laughing though it was obvious he was trying very hard
to get the laughter under control.
"Oh, my. I'm sorry, Professor." He raised his glasses and wiped his eyes with
the back of his hand. "The switch from ivory- towered academic to killer was
just a bit too much. I mean, you look exactly like Alex... apart from the
superficial external differences... but I really didn't think you had much of him
in you. Until that thing with the gun."
"I'm so very pleased that you're getting such enjoyment out of this, Mr.
Skinner. Permit me to inform you that I don't see the situation in the same
light."
"Well, you even sound like him there. In spite of the British accent." The
hand on the handle tightened and Skinner stopped grinning. "Please, Professor.
If you will allow me to explain? I don't think we need the gun."
"On the contrary, Mr. Skinner, I think we do." Professor Tarquinn reached for
the telephone on his desk.
"I can explain," Skinner spoke convincingly.
"I'm certain that you think you can. Miss Beasley, would you be so kind as to
cancel my tutorial with young Maugham. I shall be meeting with my American
visitor for some time. No, no need to bother the Dean. He's not a headhunter.
No, we shan't be needing tea. It's not that kind of meeting. Thank you, Miss
Beasley."
He sat back in his chair, gun still pointing at the chest of his visitor. "I
believe you said you have an explanation."
And Professor Sebastian Tarquinn, holder of the Chair in Pure Mathematics at the
University of Leeds, holder of two doctorates, one in Theoretical Mathematics
and the other in Philosophy, listened as his American visitor, Walter Skinner,
told him a story about a man who some forty years ago cloned himself into four.
In the two years since he had learnt the truth about Alex Krycek's origins,
Walter Skinner had had to make several changes in his life.
The first was the realization that Dana Scully and her Circus, as she called her
family, composed of her four cloned daughters and their three surrogate uncles,
the Lone Gunmen, would be more involved in their life, his and Alex's. That
meant that they needed more room than what they had above the bar Skinner owned
in Newport.
And also, though they were close, and becoming closer all the time, both he and
Alex were independent men who were used to having space around them. They loved
each other but, now and then, Alex, like Lissa, needed a place just to himself,
away from everything and everyone. And that wasn't possible in the apartment.
So, after that first Christmas, Walter set about looking for a property to buy.
Finally found one that satisfied his particular requirements. It was near town,
on Lake Menphremagog, with a waterfront that, with some work, would be suitable
for four little girls to go swimming.
The house had been built in the twenties by some wood baron as a hunting
"cabin". It was two stories high, with a huge, screened- in wrap-around porch,
large rooms. The living room had a good- sized fireplace; the kitchen, a wood
stove.
The price was pretty fair, considering the amount of property and the repairs
the place needed. Alex hadn't been too certain until he'd seen the master
bedroom, with its own balcony overlooking the lake. And the fireplace.
They haggled over who was going to pay what. Nearly had their first fight.
Alex, it seemed, had money he'd hidden in accounts all over the world. Walter
wasn't certain he wanted to know the source but realized Alex needed to
contribute his share to make this his home more than Walter's conscience needed
to feel righteous.
And then Walter had been contacted by an old friend who now taught at Tufts
University in Boston, asking if he'd be interested in dropping by occasionally
to lecture on a point or two in their Law Department. Charlie Fables was one of
the few people who knew the real reasons for Walter's "retirement" from the FBI.
Who neither cared about, nor disbelieved Walter's version of the abduction, but
who knew that enough time had passed so that Walter's acceptance to do the
occasional lecture would not raise eyebrows.
So Walter went to Boston once a month—he and Charlie had differing ideas as
to the meaning of "occasional"—while Alex took over the day-to-day running of
the bar.
Their second Christmas was spent in their new home with Dana's Circus in
attendance.
Without a second thought, Dana dumped the responsibility for the girls onto
Alex's lap, sat back and enjoyed herself. Now five and starting school, the
girls were thrilled with the amount of snow, outdoor games and were more than
Alex could handle by himself. Walter and the Gunmen sometimes took pity on him
and would come to his rescue.
Walter grew to expect finding his lover in bed, sound asleep, almost every night
of the week the Circus spent with them.
While they were there, unknown to Alex, Walter had asked the Gunmen to do their
best to find Alex's brothers. The documentation on them in the Consortium data
banks was fairly sketchy. After they had turned three, the data concentrated on
Alex and his reactions, his responses to the experimentation that was done on
him. Not that they referred to Alex by name. In the documentation the code
used was Clone 4. And it was not easy reading.
The others, one by one, had disappeared from the references. Over a twelve month
period, they had all been placed in homes of people who worked for the
Consortium, but, one by one, these people too disappeared.
The Gunmen were enthralled by the challenge. And they had come through.
Langley had been monitoring the Internet, enjoying the comical aspects of static
filled, stop/go video transmission when he'd come across the one out of Munich,
just as a certain Professor Sebastian Tarquinn was presenting his paper.
Within a week, Walter had a package in his hand, all about the good professor.
Except that there seemed to have been a lapse of some kind. There was nothing in
the background he'd been given to explain the steady hand holding the gun
pointed at his chest, the cool assessment of those cat-green eyes behind the
nerdy glasses.
"So there are four of us," said Professor Tarquinn, in a calm voice, as if he
were making a comment in one of his lectures.
"Yes. If I may?" Skinner pointed to the briefcase at his feet.
"On the desk, where I can see it."
Skinner carefully placed the briefcase, opened it so that the armed man could
see the inside. Equally carefully he took out another folder, placed it in
front of the Professor and flipped it open to the photo.
"Alex Krycek."
Tarquinn glanced down. Grew very still again. Skinner didn't underestimate the
man. He knew that the stillness would vanish in an instant if he moved in any
way.
Sebastian Tarquinn looked at the face of the man called Alex Krycek; who, apart
from the hair shorter than his own, the lack of glasses, had the same face he
saw in his mirror every morning when he shaved.
He set the gun down, picked up the documentation in the folder and read.
Skinner had purposefully kept the data on Alex as ambiguous as he could while
still giving enough background on the man for the reader to know something about
him.
Tarquinn read through without making a comment. Skinner found that he could no
more figure out the man's reaction to the information than he could Alex's when
he wore a similar expression on his face.
When Tarquinn reached the final page, he replaced the papers in the folder,
Alex's picture on top. "This man is an assassin."
"Was," agreed Skinner.
"What do you want of me?" Tarquinn's hand was not far from the gun.
"I would like you to think about meeting him."
"Meet an assassin? Why would I want to do that, Mr. Skinner?"
"Because he's your brother."
Tarquinn's eyebrows were more expressive than Alex's. "Now it makes me wonder
just what an Assistant Director of the FBI..."
"Retired," interrupted Skinner.
"Retired or otherwise... what you have to do with a man who... was... an
assassin?"
To Tarquinn's surprise, Skinner's face softened. "Alex and I are lovers."
Not, thought Skinner, what the good professor was expecting. He took advantage
of the man's astonishment to sit back in his chair.
With Alex's eyes staring at him, Skinner fleshed out some of the information
that Tarquinn had read in the file. Provided more about Alex's early training,
about his stint with the Consortium. Tarquinn's mouth tightened, his lips
thinning in what Skinner could interpret as disapproval.
Other than a twitch of that mouth, a slight lift of an eyebrow, Tarquinn barely
reacted to the part about Alex's encounters with the Olians and the Rebels.
So Skinner told him, without mentioning names, about Lissa and what had nearly
happened to her.
Throughout it all, Tarquinn listened, not interrupting him once. When he was
done, Skinner waited.
"Does this Krycek know about me?" Tarquinn picked up the gun, examined it as
though seeing it for the first time.
"No."
The green eyes left the gun to examine Skinner's face. "Why not?"
"Alex has had enough pain in his life. Enough rejection because of what he was
made out to be."
"Which was?" Tarquinn's interruption was sharp.
"A clone. Yes," Skinner raised his hand, forestalling Tarquinn, "genetically,
you are clones. But you are also human beings. Alex was trained to think of
himself as a thing. A scientific experiment. Non-human. He's finally come to
accept that what he was told was wrong. That, though his responses as a child
had a lot to do with his being a Fourth One and still do, he is as much a human
being as any person.
"Look, Professor Tarquinn, I know this is a surprise. And I know that you need
time to think about this."
"No." Tarquinn spoke with quiet conviction.
Skinner looked at him. "No? No, what, Professor?"
"No, it is not a surprise. Not a complete surprise. I knew there was something
about me that was different, just not what it was. My mother and I left her
husband when I was seven. We were spirited away into the American government's
witness protection program when she gave testimony against him. I never knew
what the matter was, only that it was classified as secret. We came to England
because she was British. The Americans worked out some deal with MI5 so that we
were given new identities but that she could continue with her work in Physics.
She taught at a small Public School with ties to Leeds. When I was nine, she
married Godfrey Tarquinn who taught Literature and Philosophy in the same
School. He adopted me.
"But," Tarquinn waved a hand negligently, "I'm certain none of this is new to
you." He paused then continued. "Before they married, I overheard them talking
one night. About me. Not much, but just enough for me to understand that
someone might come looking for me one day because of this difference."
Tarquinn placed the gun in the top, side drawer. "My mother preferred me to
fade into the woodwork. My father had been with Military Intelligence. He
taught me to use a revolver, to defend myself. Just in case someone would ever
decide to come for me.
"As to the second no. No. I do not need time to think about this. I want
nothing to do with this man, whoever, whatever he is. And I must ask you never
to mention me, my existence, to him. Yes, you are right. He has been hurt
enough. I don't want to add to that."
Tarquinn stood up in what was obviously a sign of dismissal.
Skinner gathered the files, put them back into his briefcase.
He had to try again, if only for Alex's sake. "He's worth knowing, you know."
"I'm sure he is. I would just rather not. I hope you will respect my wishes in
this."
Skinner felt an overwhelming urge to shake the man and then sighed. Alex needed
a brother who actually wanted to meet him. And this man didn't. He nodded,
reluctantly.
He was at the door, hand on the knob when Tarquinn spoke, hesitantly. "There is
one thing I would like to know."
Skinner looked at him over his shoulder.
"Does he have something wrong with an arm?" He gestured awkwardly to his left
arm.
The documentation in the file had nothing about the loss of Alex's arm. Skinner
cocked an eyebrow. "Why do you want to know?"
"About ten years ago?"
"Again, why do you want to know, Professor Tarquinn?"
Tarquinn bit his lower lip the same way Alex did when he was making a decision.
He looked up at him, and Skinner saw the confusion in the man's eyes. "I... I had
dreams around that time. About my arm. About losing it. Did he lose it in a
fire?"
"In a way. They cut it off with a white-hot knife. Good day, Professor. I
won't be bothering you again."
And had the pleasure of closing the door upon a stunned Sebastian Tarquinn.
"I still find it hard to drive on the left side of the road," Walter muttered as
they came through the door of the hotel suite in York.
"I can't get over how small the cars are." Alex stretched, his t-shirt riding
out of his jeans. He gave a last twist, removed his jacket and tossed it onto
the armchair that sat in front of a window. "Beautiful country. Strange to
think that houses here are hundreds of years old. Back home our place is
considered to be one of the historical ones."
Walter picked up Alex's jacket on the way to the bedroom and hung it up in the
closet besides his own. They'd spent the day touring the country between Leeds
and York, after he'd finished his business with "the pal of Charlie's" he'd
arranged to meet at the University while Alex had checked out the main part of
town.
The trip to England was, Walter had convinced Alex, something he had always
wanted to do. May was slack time at the bar. Tufts didn't need him again until
September. He had been to London, he'd told Alex, but he wanted to see more of
the North. Why not go for a couple of weeks?
Alex had thought about the money he had secreted away in a London bank, agreed
on the condition that they'd land in London and have a couple of nights there.
He quickly emptied the safety deposit box of its contents, hidden most of it in
the false bottom of his knapsack and contentedly left the sights of London for
the beauties of Northern England.
They were scheduled to spent one more night in York before leaving for Scotland.
Alex sprawled on the couch while Walter stretched out with his feet on the
ottoman by the armchair, reviewing the things they'd seen, making lazy
conversation.
The unexpected knock on the door took them both by surprise. Alex sat up, his
hand going for the back of his belt and the small gun holstered there. One of
those things he had gotten out of the box at the bank.
Walter signalled him to stay seated and went to answer the knock.
"Yes?"
"Message for Mr. Skinner."
Walter cracked the door, opened his mouth to ask for the message.
Nothing came out.
"Please," said the man at the door, "may I come in?"
Walter looked him over as though expecting him to pull out some weapon at any
moment. "If you hurt him..." he whispered.
The man nodded, accepting the threat as the promise it was.
Walter opened the door wide and Sebastian Tarquinn entered the room.
Walter leaned against the door and watched as Alex finally understood who this
man was.
Neither of them moved. Nor spoke.
They just stared at each other.
Alex saw a man the same height as himself, though thinner and less muscular.
His skin was pale but the hair colour was the same. The hair was longer, swept
back off the face, cut to collar length. He had the same mouth, the same nose,
the same slight elf-shape to the ears that Alex saw ever day in the mirror.
He realized that he was being watched through dark rimmed glasses with eyes the
same green as his, the same shape. With the same intensity.
He knew what the other was seeing. Himself dressed in jeans, navy long sleeved
t-shirt. Hair parted to one side, the bangs drooping over his forehead—Walter liked his hair this way, the same it had been when he had been an agent
for the FBI.
He also knew that the other had to be aware of the gun pointed at him, but
wasn't paying it any attention.
"Alex. Alex!"
Without taking his eyes off the man who looked like him, Alex nodded to show he
had heard his lover.
"Put the gun away. Then I'll introduce you two."
Alex didn't move. Walter was going to speak again when the gun was hesitantly
returned to its holster.
Alex's hand dropped to his side as Walter came to stand between the two men, but
closer to Alex. "Alex Krycek, Sebastian Tarquinn."
And waited for something to happen.
And waited.
Walter frowned. What now? He had expected to see nothing more of the Professor
after the end of this morning's meeting. He had fully accepted the Professor's
refusal to even consider meeting Alex.
Yet, here he was.
One look at Alex and Walter knew his walls were up thick and strong. Mind you,
Tarquinn wore a similar expression so his walls, whatever they were, must also
be up and in place.
Walter sighed. This meeting was in no way proceeding in any manner he had
allowed himself to imagine. But he took a step back and decided to leave the
rest of this to the two men who were barely breathing.
"You really do look like me." Tarquinn finally broke the silence that had held
the two men.
"Yeah." Alex replied in the same soft tone. Apart from the Britishness of
Tarquinn's accent, they sounded much alike. "You, too."
Walter pressed his lips together to keep from interfering. This was between the
two of them, he reminded himself. Yeah, right. Who'd started all this? he
chastised himself.
"I didn't believe it. When your Mr. Skinner showed me the picture..."
"My Mr. Skinner?" Alex spared a glance for his lover who glared at Tarquinn.
"Yes, this morning at the University. I hold the Chair of Pure Mathematics
there. Yes, I know, you didn't know. I asked him not to tell you."
Alex's defences went up stronger than before. "I see." His raised his chin in
that way he had when he expected to be hit and could only accept.
Walter felt his stomach clench.
"No," Tarquinn shook his head. "You don't see. I know you think it has
something to do with you. It doesn't. It has something to do with me."
Alex's smile was cold and not pretty. "Yeah. Sure. That's what people say
when they break up. 'Nothing to do with you, it's all me.'"
"It has to do with the dreams," Tarquinn ploughed on.
"The dreams?" Alex's chin dropped just the slightest.
Good, thought Walter. At least he was listening. And what the hell did
Tarquinn's dreams have to do with this?
"I know about your arm because of the dreams."
Alex's right hand went to cover the place where his stump and prosthesis met.
As if to protect.
"About ten years ago, wasn't it? Mr. Skinner said it was a knife. A white-hot
knife?"
Alex winced. Nodded his head.
Tarquinn also nodded his head. "In my dreams it was fire. I'm sorry. I
shouldn't have come. But I needed to know."
Tarquinn turned for the door. Walter saw the look in Alex's eyes before he
covered it with that blank expression Walter so hated: longing quickly stifled.
In his mind, Walter began cursing Tarquinn with every foul oath he could think
of.
Tarquinn took a couple of steps then stopped, turned and, as if moving before he
could stop himself, he came to stand before Alex. Within arm's reach. This
time, he didn't bother hiding the pain, the hunger on his own face. He raised
his hands, as if to touch Alex. Stopped himself.
"I..." He coughed to clear his throat. "I had other dreams. As a child. Of
darkness. And pain. And incredible fear."
Walter watched as a crack appeared in Alex's defences.
"That was you, wasn't it. What they did to you. The documents Mr. Skinner
showed me only said that they had kept you, that they had performed certain
experiments on you. Because you were different. They did that to you because
you weren't like us. They didn't bother with us. They bothered with you. They
hurt you. They hurt you badly. I felt that in my dreams."
Again, Tarquinn's hands came up and again he forced himself not to touch the man
in front of him.
"Alex. The worst thing that I can remember being done to me was when I was
eleven and my father made me apologize to Piggy Fitzroy for bloodying his nose."
Tarquinn's voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you understand?" he begged.
Walter bit his lips as the mask slipped off Alex's face.
Alex nodded. It took a couple of tries before he found his voice. "Piggy
Fitzroy," he said, voice rough.
Tarquinn nodded.
"Did... did he deserve getting his nose bloodied?"
Tarquinn smiled, not a particularly strong smile; it wobbled a bit. "Yes. He
was a bully. Liked going around pinching the smaller boys."
"Did you enjoy doing it?" Alex tried hard to keep his voice even.
Tarquinn nodded. "Yes."
"And that was the worst thing that happened to you?"
Tarquinn had lots of trouble getting out this "Yes."
Alex nodded.
Jesus, thought Walter, will one of you do something?
Tarquinn brought up his hand again, nearly made it to Alex's face. He left it
hovering there. "They hurt you so much."
Alex swayed a little, almost into the hand his brother held by his face. "You
can't be sure that the dreams were of me," he offered. "They had you for three,
four years before they let you go. Those dreams could have been what they did
to you."
Even though Walter had his eyes on them, he never knew who moved first. One
moment the two men were devouring each other with hungry eyes, the next they
were in each other's arms, silent, holding tight as for dear life.
Walter closed his eyes and whispered, "Thank you, God."
Tactfully, Walter left them alone. From the bedroom, he could hear them
talking, awkwardly. Once he was certain he could leave them alone, he put his
jacket on. "I'll go find something for supper," he said on his way out. The
two of them were sitting on the couch, one at each end. Alex smiled at him.
He discovered a market area where he could have sandwiches made, placed an order
and was told they'd be ready in an hour. He walked around, found a store
selling wine, spirits; he picked up a couple of bottles of red and a small
bottle of brandy. He found some good coffee that he could use in the coffee
maker that came with the suite. He bought Ian Rankin's latest mystery and
picked up the sandwiches.
Back at the hotel, he found the professor in his shirt sleeves, shoes off,
sitting cross-legged on the couch, with Alex in the same position at his end.
Walter placed the sandwiches on the low table by the couch. opened the wine,
poured them each a glass.
Sebastian—no longer Tarquinn in Walter's mind—was telling Alex about a
trip he'd taken into northern Scotland to go fly- fishing.
"Walter does that, too," Alex grinned.
Sebastian smiled at Walter, but Walter knew he wasn't really part of this
conversation. He stayed long enough to finish his sandwich, refilled his glass
with wine and, book in hand, took himself off to the bedroom. He left the door
partially open, not to listen in, but in case something went wrong with the
meeting and he was needed.
Once in a while something one of them was saying would catch his attention, such
as Alex explaining the methodology how he used to decrypt the DAT tape. His
answers to Sebastian's questions revealed that Sebastian was not the only
mathematician in the room.
Or how Alex had felt when the Oilian had been in him, feelings that somehow
Sebastian had shared, if only remotely in his dreams.
When Walter stuck his head out to say goodnight—it was after one in the
morning—they were sitting on the floor, face to face, legs stretched out over
the other's hips.
Walter was alone in the bed when he woke up the next morning. He lay still,
listening for the sound of the voices that had been in the background all the
time he slept. He got up, used the bathroom, brushed his teeth. Wearing only
the sweat pants he slept in, Walter went into the other room to find Alex in
Sebastian's arms, back to chest, sound asleep on the couch. Alex's prosthesis
lay on the table, next to Sebastian's glasses.
Walter sat in the armchair and looked at the picture his lover and his brother
made. Sebastian's chin rested on the top of Alex's head, his arms loosely
wrapped around Alex, Alex's arm relaxed, lying on top of the other's.
Walter wondered if he should feel jealous of the peace on Alex's face.
As if he sensed Walter's thoughts, Alex's eyes opened. He and Walter looked at
each other for a few moments, both hiding their feelings. With a glance over
his shoulder, Alex slipped out of Sebastian's arms, allowed his body to slide to
the floor. There, face serious, he made his way on hand and knees in that
feline way of his. He stopped by Walter's knees, sat back on his haunches,
rested his head on Walter's thigh.
Without looking at him, Walter knew Sebastian was watching. He reached down and
caressed Alex's face.
"Walter." Alex's voice was thick with sleep, rough from all the talking he had
done since he and Sebastian had touched each other.
"Yes, Alex."
Alex propped his chin up on Walter's thigh. He smiled. "Thank you."
Walter smoothed back the hair from Alex's face. Alex turned into his touch,
sighed.
"What are you thanking me for, love?"
Alex looked over his shoulder at Sebastian and smiled. He turned that smile
back on his lover, deepened it to show his love.
"For giving me my brother."
Sebastian got up, came to kneel at Walter other's side. "Yes. Thank you,
Walter."
Walter smiled at the two faces looking up at him. Identical but not the same.
"Would you like another?" he asked.
"Would you like another?" Walter had asked.
But that was all he would tell them. He asked them to be patient, said that
there were a couple of hurdles left to overcome but that, as soon as he could,
he would inform them of their brother's name and his whereabouts.
Sebastian wasn't too pleased, but he accepted. Especially when he saw the time.
"Damn! I have a lecture to give in an hour." He dressed, took a hesitant leave
of Alex, "You two are staying?"
"Yes," said Walter, "we are staying. Shall we meet for supper?"
Sebastian grinned Alex's grin, shrugged into his jacket. "Dinner, I think you
mean. Shall we say my place? Around seven? I'm certain that you," he addressed
Walter, "have the address in that briefcase of yours." With a tentative hug for
Alex and a nod for Walter, he rushed out.
"I wonder," Alex came to sit on Walter's lap, dropped his hand onto Walter's
shoulder, began a gentle massage of the muscles that joined with the neck, "what
other bits of information you have in 'that briefcase of yours'?"
Walter grinned. Alex already did a good imitation of Sebastian's accent. "You
can go through the file I have on him. Though, I doubt, that after last night,
you'll find anything new."
Alex shrugged.
Yes, Alex thought as he showered, he and Sebastian had shared a great deal of
information about themselves. Maybe too much.
Walter noted as the day went on that Alex seemed distracted. He had taken Alex
to the University, so they could walk around Sebastian's world.
"You want to tell me what's wrong, Alex?" They were back at the hotel. Alex
had tossed his jacket to the chair, missed it completely, ignoring its falling
to the floor. Not usual treatment for the jacket that Walter often thought was
part of Alex's defences against the world. He stooped, picked it up. Alex was
sitting on the edge of the couch, slightly hunched over, eyes on his hands, the
real one fidgeting with the fake.
"Alex?"
Alex sighed, looked up, worried. "Last night with Sebastian, I talked a lot."
Walter waited for him to continue. Then pushed a little. "Yes, you did."
"Maybe too much."
"Too much? How too much?" Walter tossed his and Alex's jackets onto the
armchair, went to sit next to his lover.
Alex gnawed on his lower lip. He took a deep breath, looked at Walter. "Too
much about some of the things I've done."
Walter's nod was questioning.
"About... things."
"I see. And now that you've had time to think about it, you're worried that you
might have put yourself into jeopardy. That maybe Sebastian is going to go to
the authorities, that he's going to turn you in for having been an assassin?"
Alex shrugged, concentrated on rubbing his thumb against a small spot on his
fake hand.
"That he might decide that knowing one Alex Krycek might not be a good thing for
his career?"
Alex's left shoulder twitched in answer.
"That he might not like the fact that there is someone around to remind him that
he too is a clone, and that he might hate the man that made him aware of that?"
Alex took his time before nodding. Walter moved his hand to the back of Alex's
neck, worked to smooth the hard tension he found there.
"Alex. What makes you think that Sebastian isn't feeling the same way about you
right now?"
Alex's hand stopped its repetitious rubbing.
"That he too isn't regretting the things he's told you in the first rush of
pleasure at finding a brother? I mean, it's not like he was a choirboy. He's
told you more than a few things that he may not want to become common knowledge.
I know that the British are more open about certain kinds of relationships than
we are. But the fact that he's bisexual may not be something that everyone who
works with him knows."
Alex sat up. "It's not like he screws around. He's had two long-term
relationships. One with a woman, one with a man. He's alone right now, but
he's not cruising the bars looking for his next bed-mate."
Walter raised a eyebrow at Alex's immediate defence of Sebastian's lifestyle.
It warmed him that after so little time, Alex seemed to have formed a bond with
his brother. He decided to push a little more.
"Then there's the thing with the gun. This is England. They have strict gun
laws in this country. You know what the consequences would be if someone
caught that thing you carry on your belt. What do you think they would be for
Sebastian if someone reported he kept a loaded revolver in his office? In his
home?"
"He's only doing it for his own security. His father showed him how to use
guns, how to defend himself in case anyone from the Consortium ever showed up.
I mean, hell!" Alex stood up, turned to glare at Walter. "It's not like he's
going around taking pot shots at anything that moves! Why are you smiling like
that?"
Walter slouched back in the corner of the couch, smiling growing into grin. "Do
you hear yourself, Alex?" With a wider grin, he reached up, pulled Alex down
next to him. Alex rested the back of his head against the top of the couch and
sighed.
"It's going to be all right, Alex. We'll go have dinner with your brother.
You two will probably pussyfoot your way around all sorts of topics you both
wish you hadn't broached last night. You'll learn a bit more about each other.
You'll decide if you both want to further this acquaintance. Whether you want
to go from knowing the other is alive, to wanting more contact.
"Alex, we're in no rush to go home. That's why the tickets I bought are open
ended. There's no great time limit on our staying here. 'Bout the only thing
on my schedule is that I'd like to try a little fishing in Scotland, but even
that is not a priority. Right now, you're the priority, Alex. You and
Sebastian."
"Is that why you won't tell us anything about this other... brother you've
found?" Alex let his head rest against Walter's shoulder. Walter pulled him
closer, wrapped a comforting arm around him.
"One thing at a time, Alex. Take a few days, spend as much or as little of them
as you care to with this brother. Really see if there's anything there. For
both of you. He also needs to make a few decisions about you."
Alex got that stillness that Walter so disliked, as though he were bracing
himself. He jumped in before Alex had time to say anything. "You know how
upset he was at the differences in your backgrounds. You know, if you'll admit
it to yourself, that he feels guilty that his was so much smoother than your
own." Less abusive, thought Walter.
"Piggy Fitzroy," said Alex.
"Yes."
"And he's had those dreams." Alex made himself comfortable against Walter's
chest, head resting on the far shoulder of the man who was supporting him in so
many ways. "You know," his tone turned thoughtful, "I thought I only had a
connection with other Fourth Ones. Do you think he really can feel some of what
I feel?"
Walter's eyebrow raised again as he contemplated the euphemisms they were using.
"Why not? I mean we hear all the time about identical twins who know when the
other is in trouble, in pain. Why shouldn't Sebastian have some sort of link
with you?"
There was a long pause as Alex thought about that. "Because, " he finally said,
almost whispering, "I don't want him to know about those times."
Not knowing what to say, Walter kissed the head on his shoulder.
Dinner was strained.
As Walter had told Alex, Sebastian too felt the nervous embarrassment of having
said more than he was comfortable with when he had had time to think about it.
He wasn't ashamed of anything he had done, just wary of having spilt so much of
himself to someone he had just met.
Walter watched the way the men avoid meeting each other's eyes over the meal,
addressing their comments to him, speaking over each other's shoulders.
They were sitting down to coffee and brandy when Walter decided to put them out
of their misery. "Gentlemen," he held up his brandy snifter to make a toast.
He waited until the two had followed his example. "To the biggest pains in the
ass, to the best and the worst parts of one's self. To brothers."
While Walter sipped his brandy, the two others stared at the glasses in their
hands. It was then that Walter realized how alike they were, more than just
physically, even though they had just met. The way they held their heads, the
way they positioned their bodies. The way the slow smiles grew on their faces.
Sebastian pushed his glasses up his nose with a fingertip, cocked his head. He
raised his glass towards Alex. "To brothers."
Alex's head moved to the same degree. "To brothers," he agreed.
Sebastian hadn't been joking about fly-fishing. A couple of phone calls and he
had made arrangements of the three of them to stay at a friend's cottage in
Scotland for the weekend.
The water was icy cold, even with waders on. Alex refused to join them,
preferring to sit on the bank, watching Walter and Sebastian up to their hips in
snow-melt water, freezing their balls off as he was not reluctant to inform them
Neither Sebastian or Walter seemed to be minding that fact. They were both
hugely enjoying themselves. They gestured instructions back and forth over the
quiet sound of the water, pointedly ignoring Alex who called out comments to
them, thereby committing a major mortal sin in the catechism of any serious
fisherman.
Alex laughed at them. He was nice and dry, he reminded them—often—better
yet, warm, in his spot under a tree. His balls weren't shrivelling up,
turning blue. Wouldn't, he tossed out at Walter, be useless.
He really shouldn't have been so surprised when his lover and his brother ganged
up on him and together managed to drag him, laughing and then yowling, into the
water.
"So now," smirked Sebastian, "we're back to being identical, even to the state
of our balls."
"Not fair," groused Alex, staggering out of the water.
"Perfectly fair," countered Sebastian. "I understand that's what younger
brothers are for, ganging up on them and making their life miserable. You have
brothers, Walter. Am I not right?" Sebastian turned a beautifully innocent look
on Alex.
"Absolutely," smiled Walter.
"Fuck you," snarled Alex.
They moved out of the hotel and in with Sebastian. He owned a small grey stone
townhouse about a mile from the campus, that had been built in the 1830's. He
biked to and from the University, biked everywhere in town, the only exercise he
admitted taking. He watched in fascination as Alex went through what he called
his morning exercises, a self-invented combination of Tai Chi moves mixed in
with judo, karate to keep him limber. He signed Walter up at the University
fitness centre so he could work out on the machines there.
They'd stayed with Sebastian for about five days when Alex had the nightmare.
It began the usual way, with his twitching and making spasmodic movements.
Walter, subliminally aware of these after two years of sharing a bed with Alex,
woke. He had learnt not to rouse Alex, but to take his time and talk him out of
the claws that gripped him in his sleep.
Carefully, he took the now shuddering, softly moaning man into his arms, held
him close, quietly reciting the rhyme that Alex had taught Lissa to chase the
nightmares away.
A noise caught his attention. Sebastian had pushed open the door. Eyes stark
in a whitened face, he hung onto the doorframe as if it were the only thing
keeping him up. The green silk pyjamas he wore were darkly stained with sweat.
"Please," his raw whisper was forced out of a clenched throat, "wake him up. Get
him out of there."
Walter nodded, kept up the rhyme. Sebastian stared at Alex, his breathing
roughened until it was in sync with his brother's. Walter noted what was
happening, but concentrated on Alex. Gradually, far too slowly for Sebastian,
Alex worked his way out of the dream. His voice joined in with Walter's,
repeating fragments of the rhyme until finally he was saying it along with him.
"Walter?"
"Yes, love."
"'Sokay."
"I know." Walter kept repeating the rhyme, eyes now on Sebastian, as Alex
slipped back into sleep. He held up a hand, showing five fingers then pointed
to the stairs. Sebastian nodded, forced himself up and away from the frame.
Walter heard him make his way downstairs.
It was closer to ten minutes before Walter felt he could leave Alex. He
tenderly tucked the blankets around his lover and then went to deal with his
lover's brother.
He found Sebastian sitting at the kitchen table, drink in hand. The man was
still white-faced, hands slightly trembling as he brought the glass to his
mouth. He took more than a sip.
Walter sighed, pulled out one of the chairs and sat facing Sebastian.
"You felt that dream, did you?" He tried to make it sound like an everyday
occurrence.
Sebastian nodded. He forced his gaze from the glass to Walter's face. "More
than felt, actually. I think I shared it."
Walter had a general idea as to the contents of the nightmares. It had taken him
months to get Alex to talk about them. He was forever claiming that he really
didn't remember them. Walter thought it was more that he didn't want to, once
he'd awakened.
"Bad?" Walter's voice was softly probing.
Sebastian took another drink. He sat staring at the glass between his hands.
"It's dark. Pitch black. We... because I feel him... I'm in him... we're one. I
really can't explain it better than that." He looked at Walter, almost pleading
for his understanding. Walter nodded. Sebastian continued.
"We can't see anything. But we can feel. There's something that's come into
where ever it is we are that frightens us. I can feel our heart pounding. Our
body sweating. Then suddenly there are hands touching us. We freeze.
They... they're hurting, the hands, they're hurting us. I want to scream, but
Alex won't. He's holding it back."
Sebastian's voice hoarsened, his face grew shiny with sweaty. Walter stayed very
quiet.
"The pain, it's growing worse. Harder to bear. I think we're being severed
into two, the pain is that much. We can hear the person's gasps and moans. I
know that it's a man. And then I know what he's doing to us. He's raping us.
I want to scream, Walter, but Alex... he won't let me. Tells me it... the
pain... will be worse if I do. I don't see how. I think we're going to lose
consciousness. Maybe we do."
Sebastian, hands trembling, gulped down the last of his drink. He visibly forced
himself to continue.
"Suddenly there's light. I realize that we were blindfolded. The light hurts
our eyes. As it clears I realize two things. That we're a child, a young child.
And that the face of the man who's hurt us is coming into focus.
"Oh, God, Walter! It's our face! The man who's raped us is us. Is me. Walter,
I would never do that to Alex. Believe me, please. How can he think that I
would rape him?"
Walter's heart hurt at the anguish in Sebastian's plea. He reached out, took
the man's hands in his. "Sebastian. That's not you. Think about it. If you
and Alex are the child, you can't be the man. Yes, there was a man with your
face. But it's not you. It's not you, Sebastian."
"Then who... Dear God! The man who created us? But..." Shocked, Sebatian was
finding it hard to put his thoughts into words. They sounded so obscene to him.
He tried again. "In the documentation you showed me, in the things Alex talked
about, there was no mention... I mean, you said experimentation. This wasn't
experimentation. This was rape. Of a child. A child that was his clone. Are
you telling me..."
Walter stood up, went around the table. He put his arms around Sebastian the
way he did with Alex when he was upset about something. He soothed him, softly
recited the rhyme to him until Sebastian was more in control. Still holding
him, Walter explained. "Yes, Alex was experimented upon. And, yes, the
experiments were directed by the man who cloned you all from himself. Yes, he
did rape Alex. He used him, trained him for what Alex called 'his particular
passions'. I think it was a huge turn on for him to have himself as a sexual
partner."
"He was a child," began Sebastian.
"Yes, he was. And yes, he does have nightmares about those days. But they're
less common these days. I think he's had another tonight because of the
situation."
"I don't understand," Sebastian spoke against Walter's shoulder. Walter caressed
the trembling head, let his hand drop to the shoulder and slowly, soothingly, he
rubbed Sebastian's back. He had too much practice at this, he thought.
"I think Alex is worried that one day you'll take a good look at him and see the
clone, the thing he was told he was, and that you'll reject him."
"No! I won't. How can he even think that? For something over which he had no
control?"
"No, Sebastian, I don't believe you would. If I did, I would have opposed our
staying with you. But Alex is slow to believe that he can be wanted. That he's
not a freak, not a thing. That he can be loved."
"That's bloody stupid," said Sebastian, pulling his head back to look up at
Walter. "You love him."
"Yes, I do. He knows that. But his acceptance of that didn't come overnight.
Once in a while he still has doubts. Like you do."
Sebastian tugged and Walter let him go. He got him a glass of water, allowed
the man time to blow his nose, wipe his face, get himself back under a semblance
of control. Sebastian thanked him with a wobbly smile.
"You're right, you know," he said when Walter had taken his seat again. "I do
doubt this relationship between the two of us. I mean, it was bad enough
before, but now to know that Alex was... so badly abused. I mean, how can he look
at me and not see the life he should have had? How can he not resent me? Hate
me," he whispered.
"Why should I hate you?"
The two men turned and found Alex, sitting on the bottom step, watching them.
"I mean, it's not your fault. It's not like you asked for me to be the one he
focused on."
Walter was pleased to hear that Alex seemed genuinely concerned for his
brother's attitude.
"No. But I am the one who got away."
Alex shrugged. "All three of you got away. Well, not got away. You were
given away. And I got the feeling from some of the things you've told me that
if your mother hadn't left her husband, it would have been different."
Sebastian nodded. "He hit her. Me, too, once. She left him after that. My
father... Godfrey Tarquinn never hit either of us. The angriest he would get was
to grow very still and then he would go for a walk. By the time he came home,
he would have calmed down. I do the same thing when I'm angry. I guess I
picked that up from him."
Alex stood up, came to crouch beside his brother's chair. "I'm sorry you were
pulled into my nightmare. I really don't remember much of them when I wake up.
Well, not since I wake up to Walter." He smiled at his lover.
"Sebastian, I'm not used to having a brother. But I like it. I know you feel
some sort of link to me. I would like that to be a good thing, not something
that will make you hate me."
Sebastian reached out, stroked a side of the face that was also his. "I worry
too, that you'll hate me. I don't want that. I was an only child, Alex. I
always wanted a brother. A brother to love. A brother who would love me.
Imperfections, foibles, peculiar habits and all."
Walter quietly got up, made his way back to bed.
There was one more reference to the events of that night. The next afternoon,
Sebastian waited until he and Walter were alone.
"This man who created us in his likeness," he spoke firmly, "where is he now?"
Walter shrugged. "Why do you want to know?"
"I want to kill him."
Sebastian held Walter's eyes. There was, realized Walter, more than one killer
in this family.
"You're too late. He's dead."
"Are you certain? Do you know this for a fact?" challenged Sebastian.
Walter nodded. "Yes."
"How can you be sure?"
"I killed him."
Sebastian thought about that. "Thank you."
Now Alex was pouting. In stereo.
They were in Sebastian's den. Alex was sprawled out on the couch, nose in book,
pointedly ignoring Walter who was sequestered in an armchair. Sebastian was
working on some papers at his desk, also pointedly ignoring Walter.
When Sebastian had a comment to make on what his students were forcing him to
read, he made it to Alex. When Alex found a passage that he thought worthy of
being shared, he shared it with Sebastian.
Pages were being turned over, whether in a book or of an essay, with expressive
snaps.
Walter kept on reading his book, eyes firmly planted on the printed pages,
fighting hard to control the grin that wanted to escape. Except for Sebastian's
glasses, his accent, they pouted—Walter covered up his laugh with a soft
throat clearing cough—in exactly the same manner.
They both looked up at the cough, both mouths thinned. Both exhaled loudly,
though Alex's was a little more expressive than Sebastian's. They exchanged a
terse glance, both with the left eyebrow slightly raised, and then went back to
their reading.
They were irritated with him. Two weeks after meeting for the very first time,
they had become a united front. Both were quietly determined to get the
information about this other brother Walter had promised them out of him.
Walter just shook his head, denying them any until he had confirmed all the
information the Gunmen had sent him. He didn't want any little surprises this
time, like the gun that had stared him in the face in a certain mathematician's
office.
Because this time, if it didn't work out, there were two of them that would be
hurt.
And Then there were Two
rofessor Tarquinn?"
They'd had lunch in Leeds, driven around until the sun started setting and,
right now, all Walter wanted was a chance to forget that this morning's meeting
hadn't produced the results he had wanted for Alex.
