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Welcome Home
by Lorelei Alex was home.
Walter started down the stairs, his excitement tempered with worry.
Alex hadn't picked the lock since...
He remembered those green eyes, so often dark with pain, shining
like the new key Walter had pressed into his hand. Remembered the
slightly parted lips, the pale throat working as Alex struggled to
find the words to say what the small and simple gesture meant to
him. Remembered the way his own voice sounded, rough with emotion,
as he held Alex and whispered to him, his hands caressing the taut
muscles through the black leather. "This is your home now," Walter
had said, feeling Alex sigh and move closer, resting his head on
Walter's chest. "You don't ever have to break in again. Not here.
Never here. Where you belong."
The light was on in the kitchen. Walter moved quickly toward it.
Alex frequently returned from one of Spender's jobs battered and
bruised, and Walter would be there, waiting, glad Alex now had
someone to come home to. Glad he wouldn't be nursing his wounds
alone in some dank bolthole, some anonymous motel room. It was easy
enough to clean the cuts, bandage the ribs, massage the sore
muscles. But it was harder, every time, it seemed, to heal Alex's
invisible wounds.
Alex would be tense and edgy for days after an assignment. The fear
that Walter had worked so hard to ease was always back, stronger
than ever. Alex was well-trained in the art of masking his
emotions. It was an essential skill in his line of work. But those
eyes, shuttered as they often were, could never hide the fear that
always lingered close to the surface. Walter knew that look, knew
that fear. That Walter would see him again as he had before, as an
assassin, a thief, a traitor. That Walter would leave him. Alex
would speak little, barely able to meet Walter's eyes. It would
take days for Walter to bring him back, to reassure him, to undo the
damage that Spender's hold over him had done. Walter took a deep
breath as he reached the kitchen, worried about what he might find.
Alex had been gone nearly three weeks this time. He was bound to be
hurting, inside and out.
The refrigerator door was open, black boots visible underneath it.
"Alex?" Walter said.
There was a muffled gasp. A dark head popped up over the opened
door. A carton of orange juice hit the kitchen floor, its contents
quickly spreading over the tiles in a sticky pool.
Walter's next words froze in his throat.
The person standing in his kitchen at three in the morning,
rummaging through his refrigerator, was not Alex.
For a split second, they stared at one another across the growing
orange puddle. Walter glimpsed a shock of dark hair, a flash of
white teeth bared. Suddenly, the intruder reached for something
lying on the floor beside him and brought it up, swinging it wildly
at Walter's head. Walter raised his arm defensively, grunting as
the battered knapsack crashed into his forearm. Damn! Walter
thought. What the hell's he got in there, bricks?
The intruder dashed toward the living room, making for the front
door. Walter cursed and gave chase, his bare feet whispering over
the thick carpet. He felt a grudging admiration at the speed and
agility with which his quarry moved, gracefully dodging the
furniture as he tried to escape. The intruder was nearly at the
door when Walter took him down with a rugby tackle, careful even as
he did not to land on him with his full weight. He wanted to
contain the situation, not inflict unnecessary damage. The intruder
was much smaller than he, and justice was a matter for the
authorities. Besides, with the way the world was these days, he'd
likely end up on an assault charge and the mystery B & E artist
would end up with a fat out-of-court settlement.
The intruder cried out as Walter rolled on top of him, attempting to
hold the struggling man down.
"Stop it!" Walter growled, gripping the intruder's shoulders,
surprised at how narrow they were. "You're caught, just give it
up!"
"Tvoju mat!" The intruder spat, fighting desperately. He bucked
and twisted, trying fruitlessly to dislodge Walter, undaunted by the
greater bulk pressing down on him.
Walter heard the curse and understood it. So, his uninvited guest
was Russian. Alarm bells went off in his mind. If the intruder was
Russian, it might have something to do with Alex. Someone looking
for Alex. He growled a little in the back of his throat, surprising
himself with the animal sound of his anger. If this man had broken
in here intent on harming Alex, then assault charges were the least
of Walter's worries. Walter swore as a fist glanced off the side of
his face, nearly knocking his glasses off.
Walter kept a tight grip on the intruder with one hand, ran the
other hand blindly across the surface of the coffee table. His hand
closed around the remote control and he hit the button that
controlled the lights. The lamps came on, flooding the room in warm
light. Walter looked down into the face of his captive.
"Shit!"
Walter's eyes widened. The stranger who lay struggling beneath him
was little more than a boy. The face that looked up at him,
contorted with rage and terror, was that of a young teenager. The
boy pummeled Walter with small, rock-hard fists, his voice rising as
he cursed and fought.
"Sukin syn! Svoloch!"
Walter grabbed the boy's slender wrists and pinned them to the floor
beside his head. He straddled the boy, the carpet rough against his
knees, and held him immobile. The boy continued to fight even as
his strength ebbed, his struggles growing weaker as he continued to
rail at Walter.
The boy seemed to panic as he began to realize the impossibility of
escape. His eyes were huge, his breathing ragged and uneven.
Walter felt a grudging admiration for this kid who was so reluctant
to give up, even against a man more than twice his size. The boy
attempted to prize his wrists out of Walter's firm grip, chafing the
skin.
"Nyet! Idi na khuy!" The boy yelled, trying unsuccessfully to
headbutt Walter. "Pusti! Otpusti!"
Walter tightened his hold on the boy's wrists, feeling the kid's
pulse beating triple-time. He leaned down until he was just inches
away from the pale, terrified face. The boy's eyes were a
bottomless bottle-green, locked on Walter like a rabbit in
headlights. His breathing was shallow and frantic, his chest
heaving as he took in huge, panicky gulps of air.
Walter waited until he was sure he had the kid's undivided
attention. He spoke softly, emphasizing every word with quiet
menace.
"Spokoyno," he said, biting off the word. The kid's eyes widened.
"A nu stoy!"
The boy's mouth dropped open in an almost comical expression of
surprise. He almost seemed to stop breathing. Walter couldn't hide
his smile. He remembered the look on Alex's face, how stunned he'd
been when he realized that he and Walter had both grown up speaking
the same language. That the desperate, hoarse shouts Alex gave as
he came, sweat-soaked and glistening, thighs clamped around Walter's
waist, were understood and cherished by his lover.
Walter was startled out of his reverie by a bony knee driving
upward, aimed directly at his vulnerable balls. He managed to dodge
it just in time, rolling slightly to the side without releasing his
hold on the boy. The kid just wouldn't quit!
"Spakoynee malchik!" Walter roared, giving the boy a firm shake.
The boy whimpered a little and stilled, green eyes filling with
tears of anger and fear. Walter felt him tremble. He looked down
and spoke into the upturned face. Fortunately, his AD voice worked
just as well in Russian as it did in English.
"Vy govorite po-Angliysky?"
The boy bit his lip, refusing to answer, defiant to the last.
Walter shook him again. The boy looked away, then back up at
Walter.
Walter stared him down. The kid shivered and swallowed hard.
"Yes," he said softly.
Adrenaline coursed through Walter's veins. He took a deep breath
and tried to get control of himself. Being forced to subdue an
attacker in his own home, while he was wearing nothing but a
bathrobe, tended to get his temper up. To say nothing of the looks
the guys at the FBI gym were going to give him when they got a load
of his carpet-burned knees. Calm down, Walt, he admonished himself.
He's just a kid. A scared kid.
"Who are you?" Walter asked, his eyes searching.
"Let me go."
"Not a chance. What's your name, boy?"
The boy shook his head stubbornly.
Walter shrugged and got to his feet, pulling the boy up by the
collar. As soon as his feet found the floor, the kid was poised to
run. Walter grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.
"Fine," he said between clenched teeth. "If you won't tell me you
can tell the police."
He reached for the phone.
"No!" The boy shouted, his eyes wide. "Please don't, mister.
Don't call the police."
Walter sought the boy's eyes, held them with his own for a long
moment. He had a proven track record of being unable to stand firm
against a pair of vulnerable green eyes. Man, was this kid going to
be a heartbreaker when he grew up. Walter decided to try one more
time.
"What's your name?" He said again.
The boy fidgeted and looked down. Skinner kept his arm in a tight
grip. The kid seemed to sag, the fight gone out of him. He looked
up, his lower lip beginning to tremble.
"N-Nicholas," he whispered.
"How old are you?"
The kid tilted his chin up in a manner that was oddly familiar.
"Eighteen."
Walter reached for the phone again.
"Sixteen!" The kid said hastily.
Walter arched an eyebrow, waited.
The boy dropped his gaze. "In two months."
Walter stood, perplexed, the boy's arm limp in his grasp. The kid
sniffled and the tears began to flow in earnest. He glared at
Skinner with all the fire he had left.
"Who are you?" He demanded, his voice trembling. "What are you
doing in my brother's house?"
Walter stood, flabbergasted.
"Your brother's house?"
"Nikita?"
Alex's voice was hoarse, slightly more than a whisper. He stood,
framed in the doorway, his key dangling forgotten from his good
hand. Walter had never seen Alex look so utterly shocked. The
careful Consortium schooling that had prepared him so well, had
taught him how to hide his reactions so flawlessly, had obviously
not prepared him for this. Alex looked as though he had been
slugged in the gut. Walter winced. He knew that look all too well.
He'd never wanted to see Alex look like that again. Alex took a
step forward, glanced briefly at Walter, love and surprise and pain
all warring in his eyes.
"Sasha!"
The boy twisted out of Skinner's grasp and ran to Alex, flinging his
arms around him. Alex gasped as though in pain. He wrapped his
good arm around the boy and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, burying
his face in the boy's dark hair.
Walter stood, the forgotten member of this tableau, shocked at what
he was seeing. He was curiously unsurprised that Alex had a
brother, that Alex had never mentioned him. Alex never talked about
his life in Russia, never spoke of his family. Walter's shock came
from seeing them together, just standing there in each other's arms.
He couldn't believe he hadn't seen the resemblance before, even in
the heat of battle, as it were. They were amazingly alike. The
same dark hair, the same green eyes. The kid was even wearing a
leather jacket, almost identical to Alex's. The same with the
boots. The boy was clinging to Alex like a limpet. Walter's lips
quirked in a secret smile. He had seen plenty of cases of
big-brother hero worship in his time, but this kid had it bad. Alex
opened his eyes, seeming to plead silently for understanding.
Walter looked at Alex, letting the love in his heart flow from his
eyes. Alex sighed a little and closed his eyes again, rested his
cheek on his brother's head.
Walter sat down heavily on the sofa, raising a hand to rub his
throbbing cheek. He was going to have one beauty of a bruise there
in a few hours. The kid had been terrified, fighting like fury.
Walter couldn't deny the twinge in his heart. Alex hadn't told him
about Nicholas. That he understood. But Alex had obviously not
told Nicholas about Walter, either, and as much as Walter hated to
admit it to himself, it stung.
Alex was rocking Nicholas gently, his one hand clutching the boy's
jacket. He was murmuring something in Russian, Walter couldn't
quite hear what, but the boy sniffled and burrowed deeper into
Alex's chest. Walter had seen Alex in agony before, more times than
he cared to remember. But never had he seen his lover's face more
anguished, caught in the grip of countless emotions.
Finally, Alex grasped the boy's shoulder and stood back, looking him
over carefully. His voice was husky and shaking with emotion.
Walter's heart pounded. Alex never let himself sound like that.
"Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
The boy poked his lower lip out in a classic pout that would have
put Mulder to shame. He turned and looked at Walter, fresh tears
springing to those accusing eyes, framed with their thick black
lashes.
"Who's that man, Sasha?" He said, his voice cracking. "He scared
me! He knocked me down!"
He dissolved into tears again, wrapping himself around Alex. Alex
looked at Walter and just for an instant, something flashed in
Alex's eyes, something that made Walter's blood run cold. Then it
was gone. Alex looked at Walter and gave a slight nod. Walter felt
himself breathe again.
Alex pried the boy's arms from around him and looked him in the eye.
His voice was firm and flat.
"We'll deal with that in a moment, Nikita. First, I want to hear
you tell me how you got in here."
The kid stopped sniffling immediately. He bit his lip and scuffed
his boot on the carpet.
"But, Sasha," he whispered, his green eyes swimming with tears.
"Aren't you glad to see me? Haven't you missed me?" His chin
trembled. Alex looked stricken. From the sofa, Walter crossed his
arms and watched, thinking what a loss to the world it was for
Disney not to have this kid under contract.
Alex gripped the boy's shoulder. His eyes blazed.
"You know I do, Nikita," he said roughly. "You know it kills me to
be away from you."
The boy pouted some more.
"I missed you so much, Sasha"
"How, Nikita?" Alex's voice was taut.
The boy looked down. He barely spoke above a whisper.
"I...I picked the lock, Sasha."
Alex stiffened.
"Blyaha-muha!" he growled. "Where did you learn that? Who taught
you?"
The boy's eyes were huge. He took a step back.
"Nikita!"
Nicholas jumped. He swallowed and began to talk rapidly.
"It...it was Pyotr, from town. He fixes the cars at school. He
knows how to do all kinds of things." The boy paused and looked
down, uncomfortably. "I asked him if he'd show me how."
Alex's eyes had gone deadly and flat. His one hand curled into a
fist, seemingly without his knowledge. As Walter watched, Alex
looked down and carefully forced himself to loosen it. Walter felt
a twinge of sympathy for the man who had taught Alex's little
brother this criminal skill. Wherever Pyotr was, his days were
numbered.
Alex looked bone-weary, his eyes ringed with purplish shadows. The
last three weeks had obviously been hard on him. He looked at the
boy standing nervously in front of him, pinning him with his clear
green gaze. Alex seemed to be making an attempt to keep his voice
level and calm, but his tone brooked no argument.
"You are supposed to be in Russia, Nikita, safe at school. Instead
I find you here in Washington, in the middle of the night."
Nicholas squirmed, slender fingers twisting nervously behind his
back.
"Look at me, little brother."
Nicholas looked up, his eyes bright with tears. His lip trembled.
"Please don't be mad at me, Sasha. You don't understand"
"Tell me everything, Nikita," Alex said, pointing a finger at his
brother. Walter noticed it was shaking slightly. "Start by telling
me why you left school, and how. Then tell me how you got here.
Tell me how a fifteen year-old boy leaves school and flies halfway
around the world and no one" Alex paused, trying to get himself
under control, "NO ONE contacts me to tell me!"
Alex began to pace, his jaw clenched.
"I'm going back to that school with you, Nikita. I'm going to tear
the place apart brick by brick if that's what it takes!"
Nicholas ran to Alex's side, grabbing his arm.
"No, Sasha, please! Please don't be mad at Father Rastislav!"
Alex turned, his face red with fury.
"They were supposed to keep you safe! How long have you been gone?
A day? Two? Do those idiots even know you're gone?"
"Please, Sasha," Nicholas sobbed. "Please don't be mad at them! It
was all my fault, I made sure they wouldn't know! I planned it, I
sneaked away, they would have stopped me if they knew!"
Alex stopped. He bent down, cupping the boy's face in his hand.
His voice was ragged.
"Tell me."
The boy took a deep breath.
"I was careful, Sasha. I told the brothers I was sick, and I went
to my room. I had my bag packed and some money put away."
Alex's eyes narrowed.
"Where did the money come from? Someone helped you do this?"
"I saved the allowance you sent me, every bit of it, for months. I
saved my Christmas money and birthday money, too. I didn't buy
candy or go to the cinema with the other boys or anything."
Alex closed his eyes. He'd been generous with his little brother,
too generous, he knew, but it still wouldn't have been enough for a
plane ticket from Russia to the United States.
"Where'd you get the rest of the money, Nikita? There's no way you
would have had enough."
Nicholas hung his head miserably. He was in so much trouble. There
was no point in hiding anything now. As if he ever could hide
anything from Sasha.
"I...I borrowed it," he said softly.
Alex knelt down stiffly, looked into his little brother's eyes. He
put his hand on the boy's shoulder, his expression deadly serious.
"Who did you borrow it from? Nikita, this is important. Very
important. Tell me how you got the money."
The boy chewed his lip and roughly scrubbed away a tear with the
back of his hand.
"A friend of Pyotr's," he said, almost too softly to hear.
"Valentin. Pyotr told me he could help me. He said his friend
could loan me the money to come to America. He took me to meet him
at the park near school. He was really nice."
Walter took all of this in, fascinated. He shook his head in silent
wonder. If anybody on earth had a kid brother that could pull off a
stunt like this, it was Alex. Walter's heart skipped a beat as he
listened to Nicholas tell Alex how he'd gotten the money. The boy's
innocence was at once heartwrenching and frustrating. The look on
Alex's face told Walter what was going through his mind. At best,
the boy had borrowed money from a local loan shark. At worst, he
owed his debt to the Russian Mafia itself.
Alex kept his grip on the boy's shoulder.
"Tell me the rest, Nikita. Tell me everything that happened."
The boy hesitated, then began to speak again, softly.
"Valentin lent me the money I needed and promised not to tell. I
told him I would pay him back. He clapped me on the back and said I
was a good kid. He said he'd heard of you, that he knew I was your
brother, and if he treated me right, maybe one day you'd do him a
favor."
Alex's lips were pressed together in a tight line of fury. Walter
had a feeling Valentin could indeed expect a visit from the elder
Krycek and that favors would not be involved. Nicholas looked at
his big brother and smiled innocently.
"Don't worry, Sasha. It's only twenty-five percent interest. He
cut me a special deal 'cause I'm your brother and because Pyotr
vouched for me. I'm going to save up my allowance and pay him
back."
Alex made a small sound in the back of his throat. He stared at his
little brother for a long time. Finally he spoke, his voice rough
and sad.
"The rest, Nikita. All of it."
The boy looked like he was about to cry again. He swallowed hard
and began to tell the rest of the story.
"I told the brothers I was sick," he said again. "I told them my
stomach hurt and I wanted to go to my room and lie down. Once it
was dark, I put my pillows under the blankets, to make it look like
I was in bed, and I slipped out. I asked one of my friends to tell
the brothers I was sleeping if they came around."
"Who is this friend?" Alex asked.
"Will...will he get in trouble?"
"Who, Nikita?"
Nicholas looked down.
"Stefan. He only did it 'cause I asked him to. He didn't know what
I was doing. Honest."
Alex nodded at Nicholas to continue.
"Pyotr waited for me at the end of the drive. He drove me to the
airport in Ekaterinburg. I borrowed enough money from Valentin to
pay him a few hundred dollars. He even waited with me til the plane
came, Sasha."
Alex put his head in his hand. He got up and walked to the chair,
moving stiffly. Walter could tell he was hurting. Alex looked at
Nicholas.
"Where did you get papers, Nikita?"
"Papers?"
The boy avoided his older brother's gaze.
"Papers! A visa!" Alex snapped. "You can't enter the United States
without a visa, without your papers in order. You're fifteen years
old, you couldn't get them on your own. Where did you get them?"
Nicholas flushed bright red. He shifted nervously from foot to
foot.
"Valentin," he said finally. "He...he brought his friend to meet me
at the park, when he lent me the money." The boy paused. "I...I
forgot to mention that part before."
"You forgot?" Alex asked pointedly.
Nicholas glanced away, then back at his brother.
"No, Sasha," he said softly. "I didn't forget."
Alex held the boy's gaze, unable to hide the hurt in his eyes.
"So you lie to me now?"
Nicholas sniffled.
"I'm sorry, Sasha," he whispered, shamefaced. "I didn't mean to."
Alex held out his hand.
"Let me see them."
The boy didn't move.
"NOW, Nikita!" Alex roared. Even Walter's spine straightened. He
realized with a start that he had never heard Alex shout until that
moment.
Nicholas reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled
envelope. He handed it to Alex.
Alex reached into the envelope and examined the contents with a
practiced eye. They were good, he had to give the
soon-to-be-departed document forger that. But not good enough to
fool anyone who was looking closely. He looked at Nicholas
incredulously. His face was as white as chalk.
"You...flew into this country with false papers?" He shook his head
as though trying to clear it. "Nikita. Do you have any idea how
lucky you are not to have been caught?" His voice began to rise.
"Do you have any idea what would have happened if you'd been found
entering the United States with forged documents?"
Nicholas, bright spots of anger rising on his pale cheeks, yelled
back at Alex.
"I didn't get caught, Sasha! I was careful! Valentin's friend
Roman said the papers were guaranteed, that there's no way they'd
know!"
The look on Alex's face was thermonuclear. Walter pitied the
Russians when Alex Krycek next hit town. It was going to make
Napoleon's Army look like a tea party.
Alex sank back into the chair. He looked at Nicholas for a long
time. Finally he spoke wearily.
"Why?" He said simply.
Nicholas bit his lip and said nothing.
Alex leaned forward.
"Tell me, little brother. Tell me why. Why did you leave school
and endanger yourself like this?"
Nicholas looked up sharply, opened his mouth to speak. Alex cut him
off.
"Do you have ANY idea what could have happened?" He snapped. "Any
idea at all? What if you'd gotten hurt? Or worse? How would I
ever have known what happened to you? You leave school in the
middle of the night and fly halfway around the world without a word
to ANYBODY...what were you thinking?"
Nicholas began to sniffle again. He looked at Alex beseechingly.
"I miss you, Sasha! I want to be with you!"
Alex sucked in his breath, his face white with pain.
"Nikita"
The boy began to sob pitifully.
"I miss you! I want to live here with you!"
Alex swallowed, trying to keep his emotions in check. His own eyes
shone with tears.
"Nikita," he said gently. "Why didn't you say something? You know
how to get in touch with me. I would have come as soon as I could,
you know I would have."
Nicholas nodded, tears coursing down his cheeks.
"I know," he said softly. "You always come when you can. But it's
not enough, Sasha. You're all I have. And you're so far away.
It's not fair. I want to be with you."
"Don't you like school?" Alex asked softly.
Nicholas scuffed his boot on the carpet.
"I guess so," he said. "I like my friends. The brothers are okay
and Father Rastislav," he paused, fixing his big eyes on his
brother, "but they're not family. They're not you."
Alex kept control with difficulty. It was a moment before he could
speak. He looked at Nicholas, obviously bracing himself for what he
had to say.
"You have to go back, Nikita."
"No!"
"There will be no discussion, Nikita. You have to go back. I'm
taking you back as soon as I can make the arrangements."
Nicholas sobbed with frustration and anger.
"You don't want me! You don't love me! That's why you want to keep
me in Russia, far away from you! You don't want me around!"
Alex flinched as though he had been slapped. He stood and pulled
the boy into his embrace. Nicholas resisted for a moment before
sagging in Alex's arms. He buried his face in Alex's shirt and
bawled.
"You know that's not true," Alex whispered, his voice like a raw and
open wound. "You know it's not. I love you, Nikita. With every
last breath in my body, I love you. That's why I keep you safe at
school. It's not safe for you here. Look at me, bratishka."
The boy snuffled and looked up, his cheeks wet with tears. Alex
looked deeply into his eyes.
"My work...is very dangerous, little brother. That's why you must
go back to Russia. I can't tell you any more than that. It would,"
Alex paused, made a choked sound, "it would kill me if anything
happened to you. I love you. I have to know you're safe."
"Please, Sasha," the boy said, begging with those incredible eyes,
"please don't take me back. Please let me stay. I promise I'll be
good, I won't be any trouble"
"No."
"Please, Sasha!"
"No."
Alex released the boy and turned away. Walter could see him working
to get his emotions under control. He turned back to his brother.
"You're going back to school and you're going to stay there."
"I won't! I'll run away again! I swear it!"
"Nikita..."
The boy dropped his gaze. Alex ruffled his hair, ignoring the
slight pulling away. The boy was well into a major sulk.
"It's because I love you," Alex said gently. "I know you're angry
right now and you think I'm an ogre. I know you want to believe
that I don't want to be with you and that's why I'm taking you back
to St. Seraphim. But it's because you're all the family I have.
It's what's best for you, bratishka. I'll die before I let anything
happen to you."
Nicholas glared at the far wall, refusing to acknowledge what Alex
had said. Alex looked at Walter.
"Is it all right...?"
Walter stood quickly.
"Of course," he said. "I'll get the guest room ready for him."
Walter discreetly scooped Nikita's rucksack up from where it had
fallen. Alex watched as he ascended the stairs and then turned back
to his little brother.
"You did a very reckless and foolish thing, Nikita," he said softly,
his eyes full of regret. "You could have been hurt. You could have
been killed. You've involved yourself with dangerous people, the
kind of people I told you to stay away from."
Walter went into the guest bedroom, their voices carrying up the
stairs after him, and placed Nikita's rucksack on the bureau. He
turned on the light in the en suite bathroom and made sure there was
a new toothbrush in the holder and that there were clean towels. He
was turning back the bedcovers when he heard an outraged howl from
downstairs.
"Sasha, no!"
Walter paused and listened. He heard Alex's voice, low and
insistent, followed by a wail of misery from Nicholas.
"No, Sasha! You can't! I'm too big now! Please Sasha!"
Walter tried to busy himself, plumping the pillows and turning on
the bedside lamp, but couldn't ignore the obvious sounds coming from
downstairs. The loud smacks of hand against bare skin carried up
the stairwell, accompanied by the boy's heartbreaking cries. Walter
shook his head sympathetically. The kid was going to be eating
breakfast standing up, that was for sure. Walter remembered the
anguished look on Alex's face a few moments before. He knew Alex
felt every single swat perhaps more keenly his little brother did.
He sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to go downstairs and
intrude on them.
The boy's voice rose above a fresh volley of crisp whacks.
"Sasha, please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I ran away from school! I
swear I'll be good, Sasha, please!"
Alex's voice again, murmuring quietly.
Nicholas began to bawl as the spanking continued.
"Oww, Sasha! I know it was dangerous! I shouldn't have done it! I
promise I'll never do it again! Please, Sasha, please!"
Finally there was no sound except for the boy's muffled sobs.
Walter cautiously went downstairs, ready to retreat if his presence
were unwelcome. Nicholas sat cradled in his brother's lap, his face
against Alex's shoulder, crying steadily. Alex looked up as Walter
came into the room. Walter saw the wetness on his cheeks. Alex
colored and looked down, holding Nicholas tightly, as though he were
the most precious thing on earth. He rubbed the boy's back through
his shirt, whispering to him.
"I had to do that, Nikita. Love you, you know I love you. Love you
so much. Ya liublia tebia, bratishka."
Nicholas whimpered and clung to Alex, snuffling into his T-shirt.
"I'm sorry, Sasha, I'm sorry. I love you. I didn't mean those
things I said before. I just w-wanted" he broke into fresh sobs,
unable to speak.
Alex winced in pain and kissed his brother's dark hair.
"I know, little one. I know."
Walter went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. He
stood beside the chair and waited until Nicholas, with a gentle
nudge from Alex, raised his head. Walter held the glass of water
out and smiled at the boy. Nicholas looked at him warily for a
moment, and then shyly reached for it. He sniffled and took a sip.
"Thank you," he whispered. Walter smiled again, encouraged. Alex
gave Walter a longing look and nodded his thanks. He whispered
something into the boy's ear. Nicholas fidgeted and buried his face
in Alex's shirt again. Alex gave him a gentle shake. Slowly,
Nicholas raised his head and looked at Alex beseechingly.
"Do I have to?"
Alex nodded, taking the glass of water from him. Nicholas looked up
at Walter, scrubbing away a few remaining tears with the back of his
hand. He slowly got off of Alex's lap, gritting his teeth a little.
He buttoned up his jeans and looked at Walter, then down at the
floor. He bit his lip.
"Go on, Nikita," Alex said softly.
Nicholas looked up at Walter.
"I'm sorry I broke into your house. I'm sorry I cursed at you and
hit you and fought with you." His chin trembled. "I didn't know
anyone was here. You scared me."
Walter grinned.
"I think we both scared each other," he said, holding out his hand.
"Friends?"
Nicholas looked at him for a moment, as if wondering whether Walter
was playing a game with him. Then at last, with a shy smile, he
took Walter's hand and shook it.
"Friends," he said softly.
"Come on," Walter said, with a glance at Alex. Alex nodded and
closed his eyes, exhausted. "Let's get you something to eat and
then upstairs to bed. You must be exhausted after such a long
trip."
Walter mopped up the spilled juice while Nicholas wolfed down two
ham sandwiches and drank a tall glass of milk, standing at the
counter. He'd eschewed the barstool with an embarrassed look.
Walter had nodded his understanding. Alex stood in the doorway,
watching the two of them with a strange, inscrutable look on his
face.
The sky was beginning to lighten by the time they got Nicholas
settled in the guest room. He was out almost before his head hit
the pillow. Walter passed by and stopped in the doorway, watching
him for a moment. The boy looked like an angel in repose, his sooty
lashes so dark against his pale skin, his hair falling into his
eyes. Walter thought of his lover, downstairs. Was this how Alex
had looked too, once? Fifteen years and many broken promises ago?
Had he looked this innocent before the world made what it made of
him? Walter pulled the door gently shut and went downstairs.
Alex was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with his head in his
hand. He had the bottle of vodka from the freezer. He hadn't
bothered with a glass. Walter stood behind him, leaned down and
wrapped his arms around him.
"I've been waiting three weeks to do that," he murmured into Alex's
hair. Alex leaned back into the embrace with a sigh.
"I missed you."
Walter poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him.
"I called Nikita's school and let them know he's all right. Then I
made the reservations," Alex said, without looking up. "Our flight
leaves Monday afternoon."
Walter nodded, took a sip of his coffee.
"I know it's hard for you," he said quietly.
Alex shuddered and took a swig from the frosted bottle.
"I still can't believe...I never thought he'd ever do anything like
this." He shuddered involuntarily and looked at Walter, his
expression anguished. "When I think about what could have happened
to him..."
Walter placed his hand over Alex's.
"It didn't," he said quietly. "That's what matters. He's safe."
Alex let out a long, hitching breath. His eyes sought Walter's,
seeming to find solace there.
"I hated to do that, you know. I had to do it."
Walter nodded.
"Yes, you did. It was the right thing, Alex. If he were my kid
brother, I'd have tanned his butt too."
Alex rubbed his hand over his bloodshot eyes and gave a low, rueful
chuckle.
"Six figure tuition and they can't keep one fifteen year-old boy
safe in school where he belongs."
He stared at the tabletop, anger darkening his eyes. His hand made
a fist again. Walter reached over and gently pried it open, raised
it to his lips, kissed Alex's fingers.
"Alex, he's safe."
Alex nodded slowly. He spoke without meeting Walter's eyes.
"It's the best private boys'school in Russia. It costs me a fortune
to have him there. But I only want the best for him, nothing but
the best for Nikita. I thought he was safe there. Protected."
Alex's fist clenched again.
"There are three dead men in Russia right now. They just don't know
it yet. I'll kill them for what they've done."
He took another drink and slammed the bottle down on the table. He
spoke in a low, venomous hiss.
"I'll kill them for coming near him. I've tried to shelter him,
protect him, give him a good life. Shield him from the ugliness and
the crime and all the bad things, and this...Pyotr teaches my
brother how to pick a lock? Takes him from school, to meet loan
sharks and black-market document dealers? He's fucking dead,
Walter. And so are the others when I catch up with them."
Alex's hand shook. He swallowed convulsively.
"He thought they were his friends, Walter. Nice guys. Pals.
Jesus, what could have happened..."
Walter got up and knelt beside Alex's chair. He drew Alex into his
arms, feeling the tension thrumming in his lover's body.
"It's all right, Alex," Walter said softly. "You take good care of
him. He's a good kid, I can tell. He worships you. He just didn't
think about the danger. He just wanted to be where you are."
Alex drew in a ragged breath. Walter could feel him trying not to
let his emotions get the better of him.
"I have to take him back, Walter. I have to. He can't stay here.
It's not safe."
Walter stroked Alex's hair.
"Have you thought about it? There are plenty of good schools"
"No!" Alex said harshly, pulling away. His eyes had that flat cast
they took on when he was trying to stamp out some feeling, keep some
pain at bay. Trying to push it away before he could feel it.
"I...I can't, Walter. It's selfish. I can't let myself think about
him staying, about," he swallowed hard, "about him being here, with
me. If Spender ever got a chance to get his claws into him..."
Alex looked into Walter's eyes with naked pain.
"It kills me, Walter. Do you know what that's like? It kills me
every single day to be away from him. To know he's thousands and
thousands of miles away from me, to know he's growing up at school,
without me. To know he misses me like I miss him. To not be able
to tell him why. That because of the mistakes I've made and the
people I've trusted, I've become a pawn to some of the most
dangerous and powerful men in the world. That if he came here, he'd
never be safe. That it's my fault we must stay apart."
Alex looked down.
"I have to do it, Walter. I have to take him back and leave him,
and it's going to hurt just like it does every time I have to do it.
Every time I have to walk away and leave him there, alone. If
anything ever happened to him, because of me..." He paused,
helpless in his grief. "I'd die. It would kill me. I'm all he has
in the world, Walter, and I have a responsibility to make sure that
he's never tainted by the ugliness of what I've done, what I have to
do."
Alex reached for the bottle again. Walter's warm brown eyes sought
his and he smiled a little, then pushed the bottle away.
"I guess this isn't helping," he said with a wan smile.
Walter leaned in for a long, slow kiss.
"I've been wanting to do that for the last three weeks, too," he
said. Alex sighed and lay his head on Walter's shoulder.
"Was it bad this time?" Walter asked with concern. Alex moved his
head slightly, rubbed his cheek against the fabric of Walter's robe.
"There was some macho posturing, but nobody died. I'm sore and
tired. Tired of Spender, tired of it all. I'm going to get out,
Walter. Somehow, I'm going to get out."
"I know," Walter whispered, rubbing Alex's back. "I know."
They stayed silent for a moment, their arms around each other, the
early morning sun streaming through the window. Alex spoke,
sounding unlike himself, more like the boy sleeping upstairs.
"Tell me again, Walter, please," he said softly. "Tell me how it's
going to be."
Walter was familiar with the ritual, knew how it soothed Alex, gave
them both something to hold onto.
Walter kissed Alex's hair and began to speak, his voice quiet and
soothing.
"A big old house by the sea, Alex. White, with shutters, and a big
front porch. Wood worn from the sand and the salt air, smooth under
our feet. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore,
seagulls overhead, the wind in the long grass. You and me. A
chocolate Lab."
Alex moved his head a little on Walter's shoulder again.
"He was an Irish Setter last time," he said dreamily.
Walter chuckled.
"Yeah, well, I've been thinking," he said. "Who's telling this
story, anyway?"
"You are," Alex murmured.
"Good. All right. You and me and an as yet undetermined breed of
dog, in a house by the sea. We'll run on the beach with him, throw
sticks for him to bring back, watch him swim in the shallows. He'll
curl up in front of the fireplace at night. I'll cook pancakes and
sausage for you, you'll cook chicken paprikash for me. We'll argue
about who takes the trash out and who let the milk expire and who
left the cap off the toothpaste." Walter paused and nipped at
Alex's ear, relished the low husky laugh that followed. "We'll stay
in bed some days, all day. We'll ravish each other again and again,
and you'll come for me, my beautiful Alex, naked and sweaty and that
glorious shout of yours ringing off those old walls, and we'll lick
each other clean and start all over again."
Alex raised his head, a smirk playing about his lips.
"I don't remember that part of the story before, either."
Walter teased that lush bottom lip, pulling it in for a nibble and
suck.
"Like I said, I've been thinking."
He cupped Alex's face gently, looking deep into his eyes, suddenly
serious.
"A big old house by the sea, Alex. Far away from here. Where no
one can ever touch us again."
Alex closed his eyes, tears sparkling in his lashes. His expression
mirrored Walter's. Pain, love, longing. Fear that this beautiful
dream would never be theirs to keep.
"I never told him about you," he whispered.
Walter nodded.
"I know," he said simply.
Alex bit his lip, looked away.
"I wanted to," he said, frowning slightly as he tried to find the
right words. "I wanted to tell him about you. I wanted to tell you
about him. It just hurt too much...I had to keep those parts of my
life separate. He'd have wanted to meet you, would have asked
questions. He was already so curious about my life here. I never
dreamed he'd"
"It's all right, Alex," Walter said quietly. "You don't have to
explain. I understand. It's been hard for you, I know."
Alex nodded. He looked at Walter with trust in his eyes. He looked
down as he spoke.
"I was fifteen when Nikita was born. Mama called him her little
"podarok s neba," her gift from heaven. I remember when Mama and
Papa brought him home. He was squalling at the top of his lungs and
his face was so red." Alex paused and grinned at the memory. "He
was so tiny, like a doll. I put out my finger to touch him and he
wrapped his hand around it and held on. He stopped crying and just
stared up at me with the most serious expression. I loved him
fiercely from the minute I saw him. Mama made me promise to always
take care of him, always be a good brother and protect him. And I
always have, the best I could."
Alex stopped for a moment, blinking back tears.
"Our...our parents were killed in a car accident when Nikita was
two. We went to live with our babushka in Moscow." Alex sighed,
thinking of his grandmother, her tired smiling face. He hadn't let
himself think of Babi in a long time. "She loved us both, but
Nikita was her heart. He never slept in a bed the entire first year
we lived with her. He slept every night in her arms."
Walter waited for Alex to continue.
"Babi loved us, but she was old and on a pension, and didn't have
enough money to support herself, let alone two boys. I was
seventeen and almost a man. I knew I had to find a way to make
money, to take care of them. I decided to join the Army, figured I
could earn enough as a soldier to send home to Babi and Nikita."
Alex traced a pattern on the tabletop with his fingertip as he
spoke, his voice rough with the pain of remembering.
"I wasn't old enough, but I knew they wouldn't ask questions. I
didn't want to spend money on the bus so I hitched a ride downtown.
I was about to go into the recruiting office when a man stopped me.
He said his name was Peskow. Vassily Peskow. Would I stop and talk
with him for a minute, before I went in? He was well-dressed,
well-fed. I could tell he had money. He said he was looking for
bright young men, that he might have a job for me. He said he could
tell just from talking to me that I was smart and capable, that I
shouldn't waste my talents in the Army. He asked if I would come to
his hotel and meet a man, the man with the work. I hesitated, and
he promised me it would be worth my while if I went with him."
Alex contemplated the bottle of vodka, no longer cold, and
continued. Walter listened, his heart breaking for the seventeen
year-old Alex, for the boy he had been and the man he was forced to
become too soon.
"I went with him to his hotel, one of the fanciest in Moscow. I was
embarrassed to be in such a grand place, with the red velvet and the
gilt, and me in my threadbare clothes. Peskow laughed and said my
eyes were as big as plates. I guess they probably were. I'd never
had a reason to be in such a place before. We went up to his suite.
There was a man there, waiting."
Alex swallowed.
"It was Spender. I could smell the cigarette smoke even before
Peskow opened the door. Spender looked me over, talked to me for a
while. He seemed impressed with my English. I told him how my
father had taught me before he died. Spender told me I was to come
to work for him, that he would pay me well. He said I had to be
trained but that he could tell I was a fast learner. He said he
would send me to school, pay for university. He asked me if I would
come to America with him. I hesitated. I couldn't bear the
thought of leaving Nikita and Babi. Spender reached into his pocket
and handed me a thick envelope and told me to open it. I did. It
was more money than I had ever seen before, more than three months'
worth of Babi's pension. I looked at him with my mouth hanging
open. He said that was just to 'sweeten the deal'. He said if I
was good and obeyed him, learned all that he had to teach me, if I
worked hard, then there would be plenty more where that came from."
Alex bit his lip. He had wanted to tell Walter about his past so
many times, but the words never seemed to make it past his throat.
It was a relief now, to share this with Walter, to find the words
tumbling out at last, over the dam he'd built against them.
"He told me to be back at the hotel in a week. We would leave for
New York then. I put the money in my pocket and walked home, didn't
even hitch a ride. I walked as if I were in a dream. All I could
think of was the money in my pocket and the things I could buy them
with it."
He looked Walter in the eye.
"Somehow I...I knew Spender was a bad man. I knew the things I
would be learning to do would not be things Babi would be proud of.
I knew that wasn't what my parents had wanted for me. It wasn't
what I wanted to be for Nikita. But Nikita needed milk. Babi had
holes in her shoes. She cried when she saw the money. She knew
what kind of job paid money like that. I begged her to take it, and
all that I would send after. I told her I would do whatever I had
to do to take care of her and my brother. A week later, I left. I
still remember Nikita crying when I walked out the door, holding his
arms out to me. Babi had to hold him so he wouldn't run after me."
Alex made a choked sound and hid his face. Walter gently tilted it
up again.
"It's okay, Alex," he said. "You don't have to."
Alex steeled himself, fought back the tears.
"I want to, Walter. Let me."
Walter nodded.
"Spender sent me to university, had me trained, as he said he would.
I learned fast and I worked hard. I was a good soldier, after all.
I sent as much money home as I could. I was able to get Babi and
Nikita into a good apartment in a better part of town. I made sure
they had plenty of food, warm clothes. Nikita had toys, books.
Babi had a new television. Everything was for them. I had made a
deal with the devil. I knew what I was becoming, but I obeyed
Spender in everything. I had to. He was the reason my little
brother had meat and milk, a new coat and good shoes. He was the
reason Babi could take a taxi instead of standing up on a crowded
bus. I sold my soul, I guess you could say. And I'm still trying
to figure out a way to get it back."
Alex's throat worked. Walter got up, brought him a cup of coffee.
Alex took a sip, thanked Walter with his eyes. He took a deep
breath.
"Babi died five years ago. Nikita was ten. She died in her sleep.
He...he found her."
Alex stared into his coffee cup.
"I went home to Russia. Nikita wrapped himself around me as soon as
he saw me, just like he did the first time we ever saw each other.
He was like a little shadow, wouldn't let me go. He wanted me to
take him back to America with me. I had to tell him I couldn't,
that it was dangerous there. That I had to keep him safe. I had
some money saved, stashed in a Swiss bank. I looked for a good
school for him, someplace he'd be safe. I found St. Seraphim. It
was expensive, it took almost all of my savings to pay that first
year's tuition, but I did it. It's tucked away in the mountains,
run by an order of Russian Orthodox monks. He's been there ever
since. I send him money, e-mail him and call him when I can. When
I can get away, I go to see him. He's a good kid. I wish we could
be together but we can't. I've kept him away from...from what I am,
what I do. I don't want him to"
Alex sucked in his breath, looked down. He looked up at Walter,
years of loss in his eyes.
"I don't want him to be like me."
Walter took Alex's hand, waited until sad green eyes met his. He
held Alex's gaze and spoke from his heart, fierce love in his voice.
"You know what I see when I look at you, Alex?"
Alex quickly turned away.
"Don't"
"No, Alex. You're going to listen to me." Walter waited, unwilling
to tolerate any argument. Alex finally looked at him again.
"I see a kid who lost his parents before he was old enough to drive.
I see a seventeen year-old boy, scared shitless, leaving the only
family he has and going halfway around the world to keep the promise
he made to take care of his little brother. I see that same kid,
now a man, still keeping that promise. Still sacrificing himself to
make sure his brother has a better life than he had. Doing things
that give him nightmares, make him wake up screaming. Doing
whatever he has to do to protect that little boy from people like
Spender. I see a beautiful young man who sleeps in my arms. Who
trusts me. Who loves me." Walter paused, lifted his hand to caress
Alex's cheek. "I think Nicholas could do a lot worse than to be
like you."
Alex closed his eyes, turned his face into Walter's hand, kissed his
palm.
Walter stood and held out his hand.
"Let's go to bed, Alex."
Alex awoke to the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee. He smiled
and sighed a little, congratulating himself for having had the
foresight to fall in love with an inveterate coffee snob. He used
to tease Walter about his weekly trips to the coffee shop, his
gourmet hazelnut roast and his coffee grinder. It didn't take too
many mornings like this before the teasing stopped. Walter sat on
the edge of the bed, slowly passing the steaming mug under Alex's
nose, enjoying the groan of pleasure it aroused from his barely
conscious lover.
Alex opened one sleepy green eye.
"Mmmm, morning."
Walter grinned, ruffled Alex's already sleep-tousled hair.
"Just barely," he said. "It's after eleven."
Alex sat up, wincing a little as he propped himself up on the
pillows. He scratched at his ribs, picking at the tape that Walter
had insisted on wrapping around them before they had gone to bed.
"Leave it alone, Alex," Walter mock-scolded.
Alex pouted, looking more like his little brother than Walter was
willing to tell him. Walter suppressed a grin.
"It itches," Alex grumbled. "I still don't think they needed
taping." Walter playfully smacked Alex's hand as he reached for the
tape again.
"Ow!"
Alex started to say more but was silenced by Walter's mouth covering
his. Walter let his tongue tease the pout into a smirk. Then he
went to work on coaxing the smirk into a grin. Pleased with his
success, he sat back, handing Alex the coffee mug and watching his
rapturous expression as he took the first sip. He looked at Alex
with concern.
"I hope we didn't get too carried away last night."
Alex grinned wolfishly.
"Let's just say I'm sore in all the right places."
Walter managed to laugh and look stern at the same time. He shook a
warning finger at Alex.
"Well, I saw the bruises when you got undressed last night. I
wouldn't be a bit surprised if you have a cracked rib. The tape
stays on."
Alex rested against the pillows, allowing himself to bask in the
feeling of being cared for. The grumbling was just a show and they
both knew it.
"Yessir," he said, around the rim of his mug. He blinked and took a
good look at Walter's face, hissing at the sight of the bruise
decorating his cheekbone.
"Oh, no. I'm sorry, Walter," Alex said. "He really got you good."
Walter laughed, sneaking a sip from Alex's mug before returning it
to him. "Yes, he sure did. He's a Krycek all right. A born
fighter."
Alex smiled and then winced apologetically. "But Monday...the
office."
Walter shrugged. "It'll just give them something to talk about in
the bullpen. Walter's wild weekend. Who knows what farfetched
stories they'll come up with to explain it. After all, I'm in love
with such a," he paused and took Alex's mouth again, tasting hot and
sweet like coffee and cream, "...dangerous..."
"...unpredictable..."
"...passionate man."
"You forgot sexy and well-endowed," Alex murmured as Walter licked
along his jawline. Walter laughed and bit Alex's neck gently.
"All that and modest too."
Alex snorted.
"Come on, rise and shine," Walter said, collecting the nearly empty
coffee mug. "Let's eat breakfast before it turns into dinner."
Alex pushed back the covers and stood. He looked at Walter with
concern.
"How is he?"
Walter paused and smiled, enjoying the sight of Alex, naked except
for half a roll of surgical tape, shrugging into his bathrobe.
"Let's just say, if sleeping was an Olympic sport, your kid brother
would have the gold medal locked up. He's jetlagged and worn out.
I doubt he'll wake up on his own anytime soon, but maybe the smell
of bacon and eggs cooking will help bring him to life."
Walter headed downstairs while Alex wandered into the bathroom. He
cast a longing look toward the shower, then regarded his well-taped
ribs with a frown. He looked down, traced the carefully applied
strips with a finger, an odd smile on his face. He reached for a
facecloth and turned on the hot water.
The smells of breakfast cooking were already starting to waft
tantalizingly upstairs by the time Alex stepped into the hallway,
dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, one sleeve hanging loose and empty.
Alex almost never wore the prosthetic at home, and Nikita was long
aware of his brother's injury, if not the true cause of it.
Alex paused in the doorway of the guest room. The sun streamed
through the thin curtains, bathing the room in pale light. Nikita
lay on his back, his mouth slightly open, his deep and even
breathing loud in the quiet room. One leg hung over the side of the
bed, a very rumpled white sock barely clinging to his foot. Alex
drank in the sight of him, made himself accept it for what it was,
for how long it would last. Three days, Alex, he thought. Three
days with him here. That's all. Don't wish for more, you know it's
not possible. Don't make it harder than it has to be. Don't ever
forget that he is what matters most.
Nikita's rucksack lay on the bureau, its contents scattered across
the polished wood surface. His clothes lay in a pile on the floor,
bracketed by two sneakers that lay where he had kicked them off. A
Discman CD player lay on the bedside table, a pile of CDs next to
it. Alex chuckled despite himself. The kid had only been in the
room for a few hours, and already it looked like a hurricane had
blown through. Alex watched Nikita for another few moments, feeling
his heart swell almost painfully at the sight of his brother's face,
so innocent and trusting as he slept. He carefully stored the
memory away, to carry with him when Nikita was gone.
Alex sat on the edge of the bed. He gently shook Nikita's shoulder,
reached up to brush the dark brown hair out of his eyes. Nikita
yawned and stretched before opening his eyes and regarding Alex
sleepily.
"Good morning," Alex said.
"Morning, Sasha. What time is it?"
Alex playfully ruffled Nikita's hair.
"Time for you to get up, sleepyhead. Walter is cooking us a big
American breakfast."
Nikita sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Smells good," he said with a grin.
Alex looked at him seriously.
"How are you feeling, bratishka? Did you sleep enough?"
Nikita put on an injured expression, peeping up at Alex through his
long lashes.
"It was hard to sleep with my butt so sore."
Alex laughed and pulled Nikita into a bear hug. He kissed the top
of Nikita's head and released him.
"Nice try, pipsqueak. I happen to know that you were out like a
light the minute you went to bed. And the spanking you got last
night was nothing compared to what I'll do if you ever pull another
stunt like this again."
Nikita pouted but couldn't resist returning Alex's grin.
"Okay, okay," he said, pushing back the covers. "Is breakfast
ready? I'm starving."
Alex got up and went to the door.
"Walter said about five more minutes. Get dressed and come down so
you can eat while it's hot. You can shower after."
"Okay," Nikita answered, rummaging through his rucksack for clean
clothes. "Sasha?"
Alex paused in the doorway.
"Yes?"
Nikita hesitated, then walked over to Alex and stood before him, a
worried look on his face.
"I'm sorry for being so much trouble. Are...are you mad at me?"
Alex cupped Nikita's chin in his hand and looked into his eyes.
"I'm not angry at you, bratishka. You did a very dangerous thing
and that upsets me. But if I'm angry at anyone, I'm angry at
myself, for not realizing how just unhappy you've been, for not
being there for you when you needed me. I'm angry at the men who
helped you do this reckless thing. I'm angry at the situation. But
not you, little brother. Never you."
Alex pulled Nikita into a hug, relishing the feeling of his
brother's wiry arms encircling him. Regretted bitterly at that
moment that he could not encircle Nikita, could only wrap his one
arm around the boy's thin body and hold on tight.
"Listen to me, Nikita. You did something wrong and I had to punish
you. But it's over now. You know now that you must go back to
school and stay there, where it's safe, and that you must never do
anything like this again. Don't you?"
Nikita looked down, finally nodding reluctantly. Alex couldn't
resist ruffling his hair again. Nikita looked back up at Alex,
fidgeting nervously.
"When I get back to school...is Father Rastislav going to punish me
too?"
Alex regarded the boy seriously.
"What do you think, bratishka?"
Nikita looked down again. His unhappy expression answered Alex's
question.
"Yes, I'm afraid you will have to face the consequences at school,
too. You and I and Father Rastislav are going to have a very long
talk. I think you can expect to be confined to school grounds for
quite some time."
The heartbroken look on Nikita's face sent a pang of sympathy
through Alex.
Nikita sighed.
"Father Rastislav is going to make me write lines, I just know it.
He always makes me write lines. I'll be writing until I'm forty!"
Alex threw back his head and laughed. He kissed the top of Nikita's
head soundly.
"I want you safe, bratishka. And if writing lines helps you learn
this lesson and never forget it, then I hope he gives you plenty."
"But, Sasha"
"No buts, pipsqueak," Alex admonished from the doorway. "Now hurry
and get dressed. Walter went to a lot of trouble for us and he
hates it when his cooking gets cold."
"Yes, Sasha," Nikita answered. He slipped into a fresh T-shirt and
rummaged through the clothes piled haphazardly on the bureau. "I'll
be down in a minute."
Walter set the basket of sweet rolls on the table just as Nikita
quietly padded into the kitchen and slid into the chair beside Alex.
Walter couldn't hide his smile at the sight of the two of them,
both hungrily eyeing the plump pastries, which were covered in
slowly melting buttercream icing. He raised a cautionary eyebrow at
Alex, whose pert nose had been twitching in anticipation since
Walter had slid the tray into the oven. Alex loved sweet things for
breakfast, especially Walter's homemade sweet rolls, and he looked
like he was considering making a grab for one. Alex caught Walter's
warning look, grinned and obediently put his hand in his lap.
Walter brought the carafe of freshly-squeezed orange juice to the
table and sat down. He smiled at Nikita, who was once again attired
almost identically to Alex, in a white T-shirt and jeans. Nikita
watched Walter through his lashes as Walter filled his glass with
juice.
"Good morning, Nicholas," Walter said, placing the glass in front of
the boy. "I sure hope you're hungry."
Nikita's eyes widened appreciatively at the sight of the steaming
platter piled high with crisp bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs.
There were also pancakes and fresh fruit as well as those tempting
sweet rolls.
"Yes, sir," he answered with a shy smile. "It looks delicious.
Thank you, Mr. Skinner."
"Hey," Walter said with a grin. "I thought we decided to be
friends. Please, call me Walter."
"Thank you, Walter," Nikita said. He looked at Alex and smiled,
then looked back at Walter. "Sasha said I should call you Mr.
Skinner until you told me different. He said I had to have good
manners."
Alex laughed and pulled Nikita close, tickling him and making him
giggle.
"That's right," he said with a smile. "Manners are important and
you have to respect your elders, just like I do." He aimed a
particularly mischievous grin at Walter. "May I have a sweet roll
now, Mr. Skinner?"
Walter playfully snatched the basket away.
"I don't know," he said, studying the basket thoughtfully. "I'm so
old and feeble, I might have made a mistake while I was making them.
Us old folks do that, you know. I don't know if you boys should
eat any of these. Maybe I should just throw them out."
"Waaaaaaalter..." Alex mock-whined, pouting adorably. Walter sighed
and put the basket back in reach of Alex's eager hand. If the
trademark green eyes and the Krycek Pout weren't evidence of
genetics in action, he didn't know what was.
Nikita giggled as he and Alex both dove for the basket, vying to see
who could grab the biggest rolls with the most icing. They each
took two. Nikita bit into one of his with a sigh of pleasure. Alex
followed suit, making that little moan in the back of his throat
that made Walter squirm a little in his chair. Nikita munched
contentedly on the delicacy, oblivious to the way Alex was
seductively licking the icing from his fingers and winking at
Walter. Walter felt his body temperature rising and took a big gulp
of the ice-cold orange juice. He jokingly shook a finger at Alex
and helped himself to some of the bacon and eggs.
"All right, you two," he said with a half-hearted attempt at a stern
look. "Let's not let the rest of this good food go to waste." He
passed the platter to Alex. "You need more than sweet rolls for
breakfast."
Alex sighed as he put down his half-eaten sweet roll and picked up
the serving spoon, taking a generous helping of eggs. He took
several slices of bacon, unable to resist nibbling a crisp piece
even before it reached his plate. He closed his eyes rapturously.
"Mmmm, Walter, I don't know how you do it. Everything you cook is
heavenly, even just bacon and eggs."
Walter grinned and watched as Alex passed the platter to Nikita, who
quickly filled his plate. The bowl of sliced melon and berries made
the rounds as well as the plate of pancakes. Walter and Alex each
took three of the large, golden brown pancakes and dotted them with
butter, while Nikita looked on curiously.
"Latkes?" he asked Alex.
"No," answered Alex, reaching for the small pitcher of warm maple
syrup. "They're called pancakes, made from flour. Try them, you'll
like them."
Nikita watched as Alex drizzled the syrup over the stack of pancakes
before passing the pitcher to Walter. Walter held the plate of
pancakes up so that Nikita could take it, but the boy hesitated,
looking at Alex's plate doubtfully. Walter caught the boy's eye.
"You've never had pancakes and syrup before?" he asked.
Nikita shook his head. Alex and Walter both sported matching grins.
"Well," Walter said, placing the small pitcher in front of Nikita.
"You're in for a treat. This is the real stuff, straight from
Vermont, not that mass-produced sugar water they sell in the
supermarkets."
Nikita eyed the sticky brown stuff warily. Alex smiled, catching
Walter's eye.
"Here," he said, picking up the carafe and pouring a small amount on
Nikita's plate. "It's sweet, really good. Just try a little."
Wrinkling up his nose, Nikita took a drop of syrup on the end of his
finger and tasted it. Green eyes lit up, he grinned, and soon there
was a stack of pancakes on his plate, swimming in the sticky amber
syrup.
Once their plates were full, the three set to work, clearing them
industriously. Walter passed on the sweet rolls in favor of the
bacon, eggs and pancakes. He didn't much care for sweets and only
made the sweet rolls because Alex loved them so, for the joy of
watching him eat them, seeing his sometimes dark, often haunted
lover become, for those few minutes at least, a little boy again.
Walter took a bite of melon and watched them, Alex and Nikita. He
smiled as he watched them eat, unconsciously leaning close together,
occasionally murmuring quietly to one another.
Alex ate with the same intensity he brought to any activity, however
mundane. He was extraordinarily ordered, preferring to eat in
courses. Walter saw that he had finished his pancakes and bacon,
and was now starting on his eggs in earnest. Nikita ate with gusto,
spearing a bite of this or that, the food mingling on his plate and
on his fork. He took a healthy gulp of orange juice and then a huge
forkful of pancakes, dripping with butter and syrup. He ate with
the unaffected enthusiasm only a teenaged boy can, and Walter was
glad he'd gone to the supermarket not long before their unexpected
guest had arrived. He smiled to himself, remembering his own days
as a gawky growing teenager, the way his mother had sworn he was
carrying the groceries out the back door just as fast as she brought
them in the front.
Walter nibbled a piece of bacon, watching as Alex, finished with his
eggs, took a few bites of fruit and then put his fork down. Nikita
happily started on his second sweet roll, his own small dish of
fruit untouched. Alex smiled sort of a wistful half-smile, rested
his chin on his hand and just watched Nikita eat, his eyes faraway.
Walter watched Alex watching Nikita, and couldn't help but feel
moved by Alex's single-minded devotion to his brother. How many
times had he gotten to do this? Walter wondered. How many times
had Alex gotten to experience the simple pleasure of sharing a meal
with his brother?
Walter smiled a little. This was a new experience for him as well.
Alex rarely, if ever, spoke about the time he spent in Russia, about
his past...and never about his family. Walter had respected Alex's
privacy and had never tried to force the issue. He had merely
accepted it as one of the many facets of the mysterious and
mercurial man he loved. But to see him now, gazing fondly at his
little brother, watching with a smile as the boy finished his sweet
roll and took another helping of eggs, made Walter's heart swell at
Alex's obvious happiness. But it ached too, at the loss already in
Alex's eyes, at the knowledge that their time together was fleeting
and this would soon be just another memory to hold onto when the boy
was back in Russia. He could see it in the tense lines of Alex's
shoulders, the way his solemn green eyes measured every moment with
Nikita, the way he looked at the boy as though he wished he could
freeze this moment in time, keep him there forever.
Walter found himself watching one and then the other, marveling at
how alike they were. Nikita was very much like his older brother in
many ways. The same sable hair, the same green eyes, the same
stubborn lift of the chin. And Walter had already had a taste of
the little spitfire's temper. He grinned. So much like Alex. He
had often wondered what his lover had been like as a young boy,
before he had lost his innocence, his arm, and on many occasions,
nearly lost his life. What had Alex been like before he had ever
heard of Spender? Walter thought he might have been very like
Nikita. His eyes still held their innocence, his smile was ready
and trusting. Alex had made sure that his little brother never had
to endure the hardships he himself had suffered.
Walter listened as Nikita murmured something to Alex in Russian that
made Alex smile and murmur back. Even their voices were alike, the
boy's voice a younger, slightly higher version of his brother's.
Nikita hadn't lived long or hard enough for his voice to have the
same husky timbre as Alex's, and the Russian accent that Alex only
displayed in moments of extremity was more pronounced in Nikita, but
there was a quality in it that made Walter smile to hear it. He was
surprised at how quickly he was becoming fond of the boy, and how
his heart grew heavy at the thought of how quickly Monday would
come.
At last, Nikita put down his fork with a sigh and wiped his mouth,
folding his napkin carefully and putting it beside his plate.
"That was so good, Walter," he said with a smile. "Especially the
sweet rolls!"
Walter laughed. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Nicholas. I'll wrap up
the rest of the rolls so you can have some more later."
The look on Nikita's face told Walter that was the right thing to
say. Alex beamed and ruffled Nikita's hair.
"Yes, everything was wonderful," he said. "Thank you, Walter." His
eyes met Walter's, full of love and gratitude. He glanced down and
saw the small bowl of fruit the boy had not eaten. He placed it on
Nikita's plate with a flourish.
"Eat your fruit, bratishka."
Nikita looked at Alex pleadingly.
"But I'm full, Sasha," he whined.
Alex tapped his finger on the rim of the bowl sternly.
"Yes, you are," he firmly. "Full of sweet rolls and maple syrup.
Come on now," he said, a little more softly. "It's good for you.
Eat at least half."
Walter hid a smile as the boy seemed prepared to argue, but then
quietly picked up his fork.
"Yes, Sasha," he said quietly, spearing a chunk of melon and
nibbling it. Alex watched as Nikita ate the fruit, looking more
settled and content than Walter had seen him in a long time.
After Nikita had eaten exactly half the fruit in the bowl, he put
down his fork and rubbed his stomach exaggeratedly.
"I'm stuffed!" he exclaimed. "I can't eat another bite!"
Alex laughed.
"He'll be ready for a snack in an hour," he marveled. "What an
appetite!" He grinned and kissed Nikita on top of the head. "My
brother, future Olympic athlete," he said happily. Walter watched
them, almost unaware that he was grinning too. He was seeing a
whole side of his lover that he had never seen before.
They sat for a little while, sipping the last of the orange juice
contentedly, unconcerned with the plates and bowls scattered about
the table. Nikita drained his glass and looked at Alex, nervously
fingering the edge of the tablecloth.
"Sasha?"
"Hmm?" Alex answered. Nikita was quiet for a moment, then asked the
question that had been on his mind all through breakfast.
"When...when do I have to go back?"
Alex looked at him. "Monday afternoon. We have to be at the
airport by three o'clock. I'm going Monday morning to get your
papers, your real papers, in order." Nikita ducked his head,
biting his lip guiltily at the mention of the papers. Alex had made
his displeasure well known on that point during the spanking.
Nikita winced at the memory. He took a small, worried glance at
Walter, but saw no judgment, no disdain in those kind brown eyes.
Nikita swallowed hard and looked at Alex again.
"Sasha?"
Alex looked up from his scrutiny of the syrup bottle.
"Yes, Nikita?"
Nikita looked at Alex hopefully.
"You...you said my punishment is over, right?"
Alex nodded.
"Yes. We talked about what's going to happen when you get back to
school. Father Rastislav and I will decide on appropriate
consequences for what you did there. But, as far as I'm concerned,
you and I have dealt with the matter here and it's closed.
Although," he added sternly, "I think you and I need to have a long
talk about a few things, including the difference between the truth
and a lie, and how criminal skills like picking locks are not
something you need to learn."
Nikita bit his lip.
"Yes, Sasha," he whispered. He looked up, his green eyes eager.
"Sasha," he said again. "I know what I did was wrong and I deserved
to be punished. But if the punishment is over, and I'm going to be
here for three days anyway..."
He swallowed hard again, worried he was treading on dangerous
ground. He tried to look appropriately ashamed even as he pressed
his brother to indulge him.
"Could we do some things together?" he asked. "Will you take me
sightseeing, please, Sasha?"
Walter saw the look in Alex's eyes and knew what the answer would
be. Saw him bracing himself for the pain of saying no to Nikita yet
again.
Nikita was too excited to notice the tightening around Alex's mouth,
the way his eyes reflected the internal struggle between making
Nikita happy and keeping Nikita safe.
"I want to see your city, Sasha, the capital of America!" he
exclaimed. "I want to see the White House and the Washington
Monument and Ford's Theatre!"
Walter's eyes widened in surprise.
"Ford's Theatre?" he asked.
Nikita turned to Walter, his eyes dancing.
"Yes, where President Lincoln was shot, in 1865."
Walter grinned, settling back in his chair a little and regarding
the boy with new interest.
"You're interested in the Civil War?" he asked in amazement. Nikita
nodded vigorously.
"Yes, we learned about it in school and I wrote a paper on it and I
got an A!" he said, smiling proudly. "I learned all about the North
and the South and the Fall of Richmond and Lee and Lincoln and
everything."
Walter smiled, getting caught up in the conversation and forgetting
for the moment that Alex would not be able to allow Nikita to go
sightseeing.
"You know," he said, "Richmond is only about an hour and a half from
here. You can still see the White House of the Confederacy, and
there's a cemetery there where JEB Stuart and Jefferson Davis and
many many Confederate soldiers are buried. There's a street there
called Monument Avenue, with huge statues of Lee and Jackson and
Stuart on their horses."
Nikita's eyes were wide.
"You've been there?" he asked wistfully. "Oh, I wish I could see it
too."
Walter caught himself and glanced apologetically at Alex. He had
been so pleased to discover that the he and the boy unexpectedly
shared this common passion that he had allowed himself to get caught
up in the moment. He felt badly for getting the kid's hopes up. He
looked at Nikita, at his eager young face, and wished, as he knew
Alex did, that things were different, that they could take him out
and spend the day being tourists. But he knew Alex was right to be
worried. Walter gestured toward his study.
"I have some books about it," he offered. "With lots of pictures.
I'll show them to you later, okay?"
Nikita nodded and smiled, a little less shyly than he had that
morning, Walter noted. Nikita looked at Alex.
"I know we can't go to Richmond, Sasha, but will you take me out to
see Washington?" he pleaded. "I want to see Capitol Hill and the
Russian Embassy and the Potomac and a real baseball game, and"
At last, he saw the look on Alex's face and stopped. His eyes
filled with tears.
"Please, Sasha?" he whispered. He looked down at his empty plate,
miserably.
Alex leaned forward and placed his hand over Nikita's. Walter could
see the pain his words were causing his lover even before he said
them.
"Nikita," Alex began gently. "I...it's just not possible. I'm
sorry. Please believe me, I want nothing more than to give you your
day out, take you to see everything you want to see. I want you to
have fun, I want you to see all the things you've read about. But,"
he faltered and swallowed hard, "I can't. It's not safe here, I've
told you. I can't have you running around Washington, not even with
me."
Nikita looked up, tears sparkling in his eyelashes. He wasn't
pouting yet but it seemed to Walter a distinct possibility.
"But why, Sasha?" he asked, his frustration obvious. "Why? You
always tell me it's not safe, not safe to live with you, not safe to
do this, not safe to do that, but you never tell me why." He
toyed with his fork, biting his lip against saying more.
Alex squeezed his brother's hand briefly and let it go. He opened
his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell
phone. Nikita scowled as Alex rose and went to the living room. He
picked up the cell phone from the mantelpiece and went into Walter's
study, closing the door behind him.
Walter was silent, unsure of what to say as Nikita rested his chin
on his hand, his pout blossoming at last. He looked up at Walter,
his expression morose.
"Why won't he tell me, Walter? He always says it's not safe here.
But when I ask why, he only says it's his work."
Walter started to speak and paused, choosing his words with care.
He smiled at the boy, who was glumly pushing cold fragments of egg
around on his plate.
"It's...it's very complicated, Nicholas," he said quietly. "Alex
will have to decide when and how to discuss it with you. But," he
added, waiting until Nikita's green eyes rose to meet his, "I can
tell you this. Your brother loves you more than anything in the
world. He hates to disappoint you, but he wants to keep you safe,
so he does what must be done. I'm sorry you can't go sightseeing
and I know he is, too."
Nikita watched him solemnly for a moment. He seemed to be thinking
hard about something. Suddenly, he spoke.
"Sasha and I talked last night. He told me about you," he said
simply. Walter nodded carefully, waiting to hear what the boy would
say next. Nikita studied Walter briefly, his expression faintly
curious, then continued.
"He said that he loves you very much, and that you love him, and
that you make him happy," he said softly. His eyes met Walter's and
held them, the force of his gaze in that instant nearly like his
brother's. "Do you?" he asked. "Do you love him? More than
anything?"
Walter nodded seriously. "Yes," he answered. "I love him more than
my life."
Nikita considered this, looking down at the tablecloth before
raising his eyes again to Walter's. His eyes were piercing green
and suddenly seemed to radiate a seriousness and determination
beyond his years.
"And you'll never let anything happen to him? You'll take care of
him?" Nikita paused and looked away. He looked at Walter, his eyes
those of a little boy again. "Sasha takes care of me always. But
he never...never had anyone to take care of him." He blinked back
tears, looked down at his hands in his lap.
Walter put a hand on the boy's shoulder. Nikita looked up again,
searching, hoping. Walter spoke quietly but with more conviction,
more feeling than he could ever remember.
"Nicholas," he began, giving the boy the respect he would give an
adult, seeing the recognition of this in the boy's eyes. "I love
your brother. With everything I have. He's a brilliant and
extraordinary person and I'm lucky, incredibly lucky, to have him in
my life. I make this promise to you," he said solemnly, seeing the
boy's eyes grow larger. "I will draw my last breath loving him. I
will lay down my life to protect him. I promise you that."
Nikita thought for a moment, and then Walter was rewarded with a
brilliant smile. The boy almost seemed to sag with relief. He
looked at Walter with new trust, new respect.
"Thank you," he said at last. "Sasha works so hard to take care of
me. It makes me happy to know he has someone to take care of him.
To love him. And you," he paused, looking away. "You are lucky.
You get to be with Sasha."
Walter smiled at the boy again and nodded, squeezing his shoulder
and then getting up to clear the dishes. He stacked the plates, the
boy's soft wistful words ringing in his ears. The longing and pain
was evident on his young face. There was no sign of the petulance
or jealousy another teenager might have harbored for the lover who
got to share his brother's life while he himself was forced to live
far away. There was only genuine happiness that his beloved Sasha
had someone to love and care for him. Only a few softly spoken
words to express the sadness and longing in that young heart, the
faraway dream of being able to live together with the only family he
had.
Alex came out of the study, flipping his cell phone closed. He
slipped it into his pocket and sat down again beside Nikita. He put
his arm around the boy and kissed him on the cheek.
"Everything all right out here?" he asked, glancing worriedly at
Walter. Walter nodded, giving him a meaningful look. He began
rinsing the plates and putting them in the dishwasher, thinking all
the while. Alex looked apologetically at Nikita.
"I have to go out for a while."
"No, Sasha!" Nikita pouted. "Don't go. I don't want you to."
Alex sighed and pulled Nikita close, resting his cheek on top of the
boy's head.
"I know, I know, bratishka," he said softly. "I don't want to go
either, but I have to. It's work."
Nikita opened his mouth to protest but was quickly shushed by Alex.
"Come now, bratishka. Don't be that way. I do have to go out but
it's only for a few hours. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He got up and went to the closet in the foyer, returning to the
kitchen with his jacket in his hand. He leaned down for a brief
hug, Nikita pausing for a moment, so that Alex could see the depth
of his unhappiness with the situation, before succumbing and
wrapping his arms around Alex's neck. Alex squeezed him back and
then straightened. He went over to Walter, looking at him
quizzically. Walter nodded and said, "We talked." Alex grinned as
Walter held him tightly, ignoring the giggle that Nikita couldn't
suppress. He and Walter shared a chaste kiss and then Alex gestured
to Nikita, still seated at the table.
"Is it all right?..." he asked. Walter grinned and nodded.
"Of course! We'll have a great time, maybe there's a ball game on."
As Alex turned to go, a thought suddenly struck Walter. He wiped
his hands on the dishtowel and called after him.
"Alex? Wait a minute!"
Alex turned, his hand on the doorknob.
"Yes?"
Walter walked to the door of the study, gesturing at Alex.
"Can I talk to you alone for a minute?"
Alex followed him into the study, his expression curious. Walter
closed the door and sat on the edge of his desk, folding his arms
casually.
"I didn't want to say anything in front of him, but I just had an
idea. What if you let me take him on a tour of the city in my car?"
Alex sighed, biting his lip.
"I don't know..."
Walter stood and put his arms around Alex.
"Just think about it for a minute," he said gently. "He's pretty
disappointed, and sitting around the condo for three days is going
to make him stir-crazy. I know you're worried about his safety
while he's here and you have a right to be. But if I promise you
that under no circumstances will he leave my car at any time, that
we'll just drive around DC and see the sights, then would you say
yes? Just a car tour?"
Alex still hesitated.
Walter looked at Alex seriously. "Are they watching me?"
Alex swallowed and looked away for a moment. He looked back at
Walter.
"No," he said simply. "Not for a long time. I'd know."
Walter smiled, one hand cupping Alex's face gently.
"Then say yes," he said. "Let me take Nicholas out while you're
gone. We'll be back in a couple of hours. Then when you get back,
I can talk you into us taking him out to dinner."
Alex groaned.
"Walter..."
Walter held up his hands.
"I know, I know," he said. "But I've been thinking. What about
that little place we went to that time, out in the middle of
nowhere? You know, the place that had that incredible filet mignon
you could cut with a fork?"
Alex thought for a moment. He remembered the vine-covered cottage
in the middle of a stand of trees, remembered a moonlit Spring night
with Walter, red wine and soft music.
"The Spotswood Ordinary," he answered. "A few miles outside of
Manassas."
"It's perfect," Walter said excitedly. "Great food, terrific
atmosphere. We haven't been there in ages and he'll love the place.
What do you think?"
Alex hesitated. He truly wanted to go, to have dinner at a nice
place with Walter and Nikita, but he worried about making an
impetuous, selfish decision and endangering his little brother.
Walter saw the worry in Alex's eyes, drew him close again. He
kissed him slowly, deeply, feeling Alex relax in his arms. Walter
gazed lovingly into Alex's eyes.
"It's your decision, Alex," he said softly. "Whatever that decision
is, I'll respect it. I just know how much you love him, and that
these three days are all the time you have together. I just want
you to enjoy it as much as possible."
Alex looked down, thinking hard.
"Well," he said at last, "it is pretty far off the beaten path. I
guess, if we just go and come straight back, then it would be all
right."
Walter grinned.
"That's great," he said delightedly. "And Alex, I promise you, I'll
take every precaution when I take Nikita out to see the city. He'll
be safe with me."
Alex smiled and kissed Walter softly, letting his hand linger on
Walter's cheek.
"I know," he whispered.
Nikita looked up as Alex and Walter came back into the kitchen, both
grinning happily.
"What's going on?" he asked suspiciously. Alex noted with pride
that Nikita had finished clearing and rinsing the dishes without
being asked.
Alex nodded at Walter, and they both sat down. Walter looked at
Nikita.
"How would you like to go out with me while Alex is working?" he
asked. Nikita's eyes widened. He gaped at Alex.
"Can I?" he asked incredulously. Alex's heart leapt to see the joy
on Nikita's formerly crestfallen face. He nodded again but held up
a finger.
"Yes," he said, "but there are some ground rules."
Nikita nodded dutifully. Alex continued.
"First, this is just a driving tour. Walter has generously offered
to take you out in his car and show you the city. You are
absolutely positively not to leave the car under any circumstances.
Is that clear?"
Nikita nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes, Sasha," he exclaimed. "I promise! Thank you, Walter!"
Walter smiled, already planning the route in his head.
"You're welcome, Nicholas," he said warmly. "I'm looking forward to
it."
Alex waved his hand to get Nikita's attention again.
"Rule number two," he said firmly, waiting until Nikita's joyful
green eyes were obediently fixed on his. "You will treat Walter as
you do me when you're with him. You will obey him, and when he says
the tour is over and you're coming back here, there will be no
arguments. Understood?"
Nikita nodded again. "Yes, Sasha."
Alex smiled, but his eyes were sad.
"I know it's not what you wanted, bratishka," he said softly. "I
know you want to see things up close, go inside. I'm...I'm sorry I
can't give you that."
Nikita stood and threw his arms around his brother, holding on
tight. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and held him, treasuring the
soft warm weight of him. Nikita looked at Alex, his eyes full of
love.
"It's all right, Sasha," he said, wanting to reassure Alex. "It
sounds like fun. We can see way more stuff in the time we have if
we drive in the car, instead of walking around." He glanced at
Walter, who nodded approvingly. "I just wish you could go, too."
Alex kissed Nikita's hair and stood, his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I wish I could too, pipsqueak," he said. "But I have to go to a
meeting. You have a good time with Walter and remember what I
said."
"I will, Sasha, I promise."
"Good boy," Alex said. "Now, go upstairs and take your shower.
I'll see you when I get back. And when I do," he added playfully,
"Walter and I are taking you to dinner, at a very special place."
Nikita's eyes lit up.
"You are?" he said excitedly. "Where? What is it?"
Alex propelled him toward the stairs, still asking question after
question, with a gentle swat on the seat of his jeans.
"A place we went once, and liked very much. A place we think is
safe, and that you will like very much too. Now go upstairs and get
ready, don't make Walter wait."
"Yes, Sasha!" Nikita shouted as he ran upstairs.
Alex laughed as he shrugged into his jacket. Walter walked him to
the front door and kissed him again.
"What does Spender want with you?" he asked quietly. Alex picked up
his keys from the hall table and slipped them into his pocket.
"Just a meeting," he said, his eyes promising Walter that it was the
truth. "A roomful of boring old men seeing whose cigar is the
biggest." He shrugged scornfully. "Strictly
stand-around-and-look-threatening stuff. Spender likes to show me
off, his tame animal. Makes him feel like a big man," he said,
unable to hide his disgust. He looked at Walter, then looked away,
not meeting his eyes as he spoke. "They...they all know about the
one time I...about the tape and the" he swallowed hard, "the silo.
He likes to show off that he's brought me to heel. Likes me to
stand behind his chair and look obedient." Alex gazed up at Walter.
"It's nothing, Walter. Just two or three hours and I'll be back."
Walter suddenly pulled Alex to him, holding him close. He buried
his face in Alex's hair, feeling Alex's strong heartbeat against his
chest.
"I love you," he said roughly. "I want you away from him, from all
of it. We have to get you out."
Alex sighed and rested his head on Walter's shoulder, just for a
moment, then moved away and opened the front door. He looked back
at Walter as he stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting Walter's,
trust, hope, love and sorrow all mingling in the sea-green depths.
"One day," he whispered, and was gone.
Alex closed the door behind him, immediately taking off his jacket,
his lip curled in distaste. Spender's foul smoke clung to his
clothes, repulsing him. He tossed his jacket on a nearby chair as
he strode into the living room, deftly unbuttoning his shirt with
his one hand.
"Walter? Nikita?"
Only silence greeted him. Frowning, he checked his watch. Walter
and Nikita had to have been gone at least three hours. Trying to
ignore his unease, Alex walked into the kitchen. There was enough
vodka left in the bottle for a good belt. After Spender, he needed
it.
He tipped the bottle up, the cold already making his hand ache, and
felt the near-freezing liquid trickle down his throat. He moved to
sit down at the table, bringing his nearly empty bottle with him,
and saw the slip of paper neatly tucked under the salt shaker. He
sat down and picked it up.
We are off to see the city! I hope you don't have to work too hard.
See you when we get back!
Alex smiled, Nikita's eager penciled scrawl splintering before his
eyes, his vision suddenly clouded with tears. He clutched the paper
to him, remembering the first letters he had ever received from his
little brother, so proud of his newfound ability to write. How he
had treasured those letters, traced the five year old's awkward
printing with a shaking finger, how he had tenderly kissed each
folded page before burning it. How he had stood in his tiny
kitchen, watching Nikita's childish loving gifts to him blacken and
curl in the empty pie tin. Watching the small pieces of a life he
could never have turn to ashes. Unable to claim even that from
Spender, knowing the danger that awaited his brother should the
letters fall into the wrong hands.
Alex smoothed the lined paper out on the tabletop. He wouldn't have
to burn this one. This one he could keep, here with Walter, could
look at it whenever he wanted. Could hold it in his hand and read
his brother's words again and again. Alex swallowed hard, gratitude
and pain battling in his heart. He had so much more than he
deserved, here with Walter. More than he had ever dreamed of. For
the first time since he left Russia, he had a home. In the lonely
years before Walter, there were only bars, seedy motel rooms, his
small barren apartment. Long nights spent nursing the injuries that
were an unavoidable part of his profession, drinking to dull the
pain. The raw burn of the vodka never quite able to chase away the
smell of smoke, the sound of Spender's oily belittling voice,
ordering him to lie, to steal, to kill.
Mornings that began with the hope that one of his mail drops would
bring a letter from home. The words were over a week old by the
time he read them, but he savored each one, memorized the words,
fingered the thin paper until the pencil was smudged. Nikita's
letters were laboriously block printed, the pencil dark where he
bore down hard, concentrating on "writing good for Sasha". Alex
would smile, traveling in his mind to the new apartment in Moscow,
with the balcony that faced the sun, where Babi loved to grow her
flowers and herbs. Nikita would be sitting at the table by the
window, the tip of his tongue between his teeth, the fat pencil
clutched in his tiny hand, frowning slightly as he tried to make his
letters perfectly, so that his big brother would see how much he had
learned. The tutor Alex had insisted on came every afternoon, and
the little boy was soon proficient in simple English.
Alex smiled now, tears standing bright in his eyes, remembering the
first letter Nikita wrote entirely in English, his excitement
shining through in every carefully printed word. So proud to be
able to write to his big brother in the language of that far away,
exotic place called America, the place where his Sasha lived. The
boy's love of drawing blossomed along with his newfound second
language, and his letters to Alex were peppered with tiny dogs,
people, trees and houses, the margins full of miniature adventures,
as though the little boy hated to leave any part of the page blank,
wanting to fill it as his heart was filled with love for the older
brother he seldom saw.
Even now, so many years later, Alex remembered them by heart, those
innocent treasures crafted by his brother's small hands. He closed
his eyes, his lips moving, murmuring softly as he repeated the
words, comforting himself with them as he had long ago.
I miss you Sasha. Babi says my teacher is going to take me to the
zoo and she is going to go too! I hope I get to see a lion. A real
one! And a monkey! Can I have a monkey, Sasha? I love you Sasha.
When are you coming home?
Alex groaned softly, his heart aching now as it had then. So much
hope, so much faith in those few words. The words of a child for
whom happy endings still existed. A child who still thought his big
brother was a hero. Just as he did now. Alex winced and bit his
lip. Alex knew he was no hero. Knew he didn't deserve the
adoration that shone from his brother's eyes. He had no desire to
take that from him, for him to see what Alex truly was. He had lost
enough in his young life. He wanted to be that hero for Nikita, be
worthy of that little boy's faith. Alex drained the last of the
vodka and buried his head in his hand, Mulder's words coming back to
haunt him.
Liar. Thief. Killer.
Babi had written letters home too, often tucked into the same
envelope as Nikita's, her spidery handwriting telling him of
Nikita's progress in his studies, and the goings on in the
neighborhood. She often thanked him for the "gifts", her way of
letting him know the latest deposit had posted to her bank account.
She chose her words carefully, the paranoia of one who spent the
majority of her years under Soviet rule always close to the surface.
He had never been able to convince her that the letters wouldn't be
read by the secret police, and so had become adept at deciphering
her own homemade form of code. Babi's letters were as dear to him
as Nikita's. They even smelled of her, of home, of the rain that
spattered the lead glass windows of the old building, of the herbs
she hung upside down to dry in the kitchen.
Babi never asked when he was coming home. She knew.
Nikita's note lay on the table. Alex picked it up and folded it
carefully, making a small neat square. He tucked into his pocket,
giving it a tiny absent pat. Nikita had to be protected, nothing
else mattered. Protected from the truth and what it could do to
him.
Alex glanced at his watch again and swore. He got up and began to
pace, trying to outrun the panic that was beginning to swell. They
should have been back by now. Where could they be? Finally, after
a few moments, he forced himself to stand still, to take a few deep
breaths. Calm down, Alex, he admonished himself. He's with Walter.
Walter won't let anything happen. Unless... Alex's mouth went
dry. His heart began to pound. Unless Spender knew, somehow, had
known all along...the false papers at the airport...the Consortium
had operatives everywhere...how long would it have taken them to...
Alex squeezed his eyes shut, leaned against the table for support.
No. Not the both of them. Please, God, no. He knew he was losing
control but was helpless to quell the rising panic. His breathing
became ragged as his fear became a palpable thing, an entity there
with him, in the sunlit room where he'd squabbled with his little
brother over sweet rolls, where Walter had held him, given him that
sweetly chaste kiss in deference to Nikita. Nikita. His innocent
little brother. Alex's stomach twisted sickeningly as he thought
about Nikita in the hands of Spender, of the monsters he employed.
He thought of Walter, his love, his hope, imagined Spender's glee as
he held all that Alex lived for in the palm of his hand.
Alex was halfway across the living room, his hand in the pocket of
his hastily thrown on jacket, gripping the butt of his Glock like a
talisman, when he heard the key in the lock.
"Sasha!"
Nikita burst in, cheeks ruddy from the late autumn chill, and hurled
himself into Alex's embrace. Alex buried his face in Nikita's soft,
sweet-smelling hair, held on tight with his one arm, hoping the boy
couldn't feel the skittish terrified beating of his heart.
Nikita looked up at Alex, oblivious to his older brother's tension,
and began talking excitedly.
"Oh, Sasha, Walter took me all over the city and I saw the White
House and the Capitol and the Washington Monument and Ford's Theatre
and he even knew where the gallows used to be, where they hanged
the Lincoln conspirators, and I saw the alley where Booth's horse
was and he showed me where the Union soldiers camped before they
marched on the South..."
Alex grinned, closed his eyes tightly, tried to stop shaking.
Nikita chattered on, and Alex lost himself in his brother's voice,
his heartbeat still high and frightened, so convinced had he been
that he might never hear that voice again.
"It was great, Sasha! Walter knows everything! He drove me all
over the place and he took me for ice cream and we didn't have to
get out of the car 'cause the man saw Walter's money and came right
over and Walter bought me an American flag and a T-shirt that says
Washington and a book about the White House!"
Alex laughed shakily, gave his squirming brother another squeeze.
"That's great, bratishka," he said, the words rasping slightly as
they came from a dry throat. "I'm glad you had a good time. Be
sure to thank Walter, okay?"
Nikita turned and Walter found himself the recipient of a heartfelt
bear hug.
"Thank you, Walter! I had fun!"
Walter grinned and handed Nikita his bag of treasures,
congratulating himself on his ability to strip the souvenir vendors
on Pennsylvania Avenue of a good portion of their wares while still
keeping his promise to Alex. It was amazing how eager the vendors
were to provide curb service once they saw the wad of bills in his
hand.
"You're welcome, Nicholas, " he said, ruffling the boy's hair. "So
did I. Now," he added, giving Alex a worried glance, "why don't you
go on upstairs and put your things away, and get ready for dinner?
I need to talk to your brother for a minute."
"Okay, Walter," Nikita chirped, bounding up the stairs. "I hope the
restaurant has chocolate cake!"
"The biggest piece they have, bratishka," Alex whispered. "The
whole cake if you want it..." he trailed off and stared down at the
carpet, trembling with relief, with the effort to hold back the
tears of gratitude. They were back. They were safe. He took a
deep shuddering breath, raised his eyes to Walter's. Found them
dark with concern.
"Alex?" Walter said quietly.
He crossed the room quickly. Alex's pallor had not escaped his
attention, nor the way he had clutched Nikita to him like a precious
thing. Walter had seen the look on Alex's face when the door had
swung open. He had been going out, his hand in his pocket. His gun
hand. The look in his eyes had been almost feral...overwhelming
fear mixed with something else, something dark and desperate. There
had been murder in Alex's eyes.
Alex attempted a smile.
"You really gave him something special, Walter," he said, trying to
keep his voice steady. "He had a wonderful time. Thank you."
Walter stepped closer, held out his arms to draw Alex close. Alex
looked at him with need in his eyes, but still stood motionless. He
bit his lip, swallowed hard.
"I...I haven't showered yet. I haven't been back that long. Just
let me..."
"Bullshit," Walter growled, pulling Alex close, wrapping him in his
strong arms. Felt him trembling, felt the rapid beat of his heart.
"I smell like that bastard," Alex mumbled against Walter's chest.
"Like his fucking smoke. I...don't want it to get on you, too."
Walter kissed Alex's hair, his eyelids, settled finally on his
mouth, lingered there, kissing away the tension, the fear.
"We'll just have to shower together, then, won't we?"
Alex looked up, Walter's warm smile melting the last of the icy fear
that had gripped him.
"I'd like that," he whispered, resting his head on Walter's
shoulder.
Walter held him, rubbed circles on his back, warming the cool
leather, knowing the motion comforted him.
"You were worried," he said quietly. "More than that. Terrified."
Alex was silent for a long moment.
"I just thought you'd be back earlier, that's all...and when you
weren't, I guess I let my imagination run away with me. I've just
been so tense, since he's been here, worrying about him..."
Alex paused, his one hand gripping Walter's jacket, flexing,
unflexing. He looked down, unable to meet Walter's eyes.
"I...trust you, Walter. I do. Please don't think...I just can't
stand the thought of something happening to you, to him.
Spender..."
"Shhh," Walter said softly, holding Alex even more closely. "It's
all right, Alex. I understand. I know you trust me or you never
would have let me take him out in the first place. It's my fault,
we did take a little longer than I expected. I should have called,
Alex. I'm sorry I worried you."
"It's okay," Alex said, nuzzling his head against Walter's neck.
"It's okay. Thank you for what you did for him today, for us both.
Thank you for giving him that. And for keeping him safe with you."
"It was my pleasure," Walter said, his smile widening as Alex slowly
returned it. "Now, I've built up quite an appetite and I can taste
that filet mignon already. What do you say we get going on that
shower?"
Alex grinned.
The master bath was already prepared, as Alex knew it would be.
Walter would have made sure of it before he left to take Nikita
sightseeing. The shower door stood open, revealing the cobalt blue
tiles of the shower stall, the small shelf with its assorted bottles
of shower gels and oils, all with flip-top caps, easy to open
one-handed. The small brass tray sat on the vanity, the chunky
handmade candles waiting to be lit. An old fashioned cut-glass
lighter sat beside it. Walter had banished boxes of matches,
slowly, over time, replacing them with a growing collection of
antique lighters. Alex smiled, wondering if Walter knew he noticed
these things, noticed how hard Walter worked to make things easier
for him, how he tried never to let Alex see the adjustments, large
and small, that he made for Alex's handicap. He watched Walter
light the candles through eyes shining with love and gratitude.
Walter knew how much he loved candles. Had seen him that day,
cursing, his hair hanging in his face as he bent to pick up the
dropped box of matches, tried with his one hand to retrieve the
hundreds of wooden matchsticks from the rug, his cheeks burning with
frustration and humiliation. He had only wanted to light the damned
candles for dinner, found this ordinary task, like so many others
since his loss, tauntingly impossible to accomplish. Walter had
said nothing, merely busied himself in the kitchen, knowing better
than to try and help, not wanting to make Alex feel any more
helpless than he already did. But the next day, Alex had awoken to
find a new box of handmade candles on the nightstand, with a heavy
chrome lighter tucked beneath the ribbon that held the box closed.
He had sat on the edge of the bed, hefting one of the waxy blue
candles in his hand, before lighting it and settling back against
the pillows. The candle smelled like the ocean, like the place he
dreamed of living when it was over, when he was free. He had closed
his eyes and smiled, savoring the scent of hope.
Alex shrugged out of his jacket and clothes, grimacing at the smell
of Spender's stale smoke as he did. Walter took the jacket and hung
it on the doorknob in the bedroom. It would need airing out. Alex
stuffed his clothes into the laundry hamper with its tight fitting
lid. He wouldn't see them again until they were returned to him
crisply folded, all traces of Alex's hated vocation washed away.
Alex's bathrobe hung neatly on one of the two hooks on the back of
the bathroom door, the CD player sat on the small shelf over the
toilet, already loaded with Alex's favorite music. Razor, shaving
cream and aftershave were neatly lined up beside the sink. Alex
smiled. As always, Walter had thought of everything. He knew how
Alex hated his Consortium work, how he always returned feeling
filthy, unworthy, inside and out. How he hated Walter to touch him
until he had had the chance to shower and wash away the taint of
Spender's hold on him. Alex always came home now from the meetings,
from the hated jobs, to find the bathroom readied for him. A brief
and loving note atop the folded towels if Walter was not there, but
as often as possible, Walter himself awaited him, his robe falling
open as he moved to take Alex into his arms, a tantalizing glimpse
of smooth muscled torso, the beautiful cock in its nest of dark
hair. Walter's voice like distant thunder rumbling as he shushed
Alex's protests, as he insisted that the damned shower could wait,
that Alex was good enough and clean enough just as he was, that
Walter had waited long enough to touch his lover.
Walter came back into the bathroom and placed a second dark blue
bathsheet on top of the one already in the rack. Alex stepped close
to him, took his mouth in a deep, gentle kiss. Walter smiled.
"What was that for?"
Alex looked around the room, their small sybaritic paradise.
"This," he said simply. "Everything. You." He wrapped his arm
around Walter, rested his cheek against the firm smooth skin. "I
love you."
"Love you too," Walter whispered. "Ready for the shower now?"
Alex nodded, then looked down, fingering the tape that bound his
ribs.
"Help me with this?"
Walter took the end of the tape and tugged at it gently, keeping the
other hand pressed flat against Alex's body, careful to minimize the
pulling. He took his time, took infinite care as he got down to the
last layer, making sure not to rip out the fine golden hairs
scattered across Alex's torso. He dropped the tape into the trash
can, then reached into the medicine cabinet and held up the round
tin of surgical tape.
"This goes right back on, after," he said, wagging a finger sternly.
"Okay, okay," Alex grumbled good-naturedly as he stepped into the
shower.
Walter dimmed the lights, allowing the candles to bathe the room in
an ethereal glow, reflected warmly from the brass tray on which they
sat. He pressed the button on the CD player, stepped in behind Alex
and closed the glass door behind him. The softly playing jazz
mingled with the sibilant sounds of the splashing water, while Alex
and Walter's sighs and moans of pleasure formed a symphony all their
own.
The drive back from Manassas was quiet. Walter drove, casting an
occasional glance at Alex, who sat deep in thought, gazing out at
the heavy golden moon that seemed to race along beside them.
Nikita dozed in the back seat, despite his best efforts to stay
awake and not miss one second of the outing. Without his steady
stream of excited chatter, broken only by Walter's knowledgeable
commentary on the history of the area, the car was enveloped in a
comfortable silence.
Alex leaned back against the car seat as Walter merged onto I-66,
his hand resting on Alex's thigh. Alex could see Nikita's
reflection in the rearview mirror, his face, serene as he slept,
illuminated by the streetlights overhead and the headlights of the
occasional passing car. He looked so young, so innocent, his ebony
lashes fanning his pale cheeks, his lips slightly parted. Like an
angel come to earth, Alex thought. He felt the fierce flame of love
in his heart for this boy, this child, for whom he had sacrificed
everything. It was all worth it. Every drop of blood spilled,
every moment of fear and pain and self-loathing. Everything he'd
had to do since he left home at seventeen, a scared boy determined
to be a man. Everything he'd done to keep his precious baby brother
safe, he'd do it all again. Alex swallowed hard and glanced at
Walter, remembering that many of those things had been done to the
man he now loved. Hard and painful things. The stairwell. Alex's
fist driving into Walter's vulnerable solar plexus. The nanocytes.
Walter writhing in pain as Alex held the agonized man's life in his
hand.
Alex's searching green eyes were met by Walter's calm brown ones.
Walter glanced into the rearview mirror, then back at Alex. He
smiled and reached for Alex's real hand, gave it a brief squeeze
before turning his attention back to the road. Alex looked down,
then back out at the moonlit streets, nearly deserted at this hour.
He smiled. Amazing how Walter always seemed to know just what he
was thinking. How Alex never saw anything in Walter's eyes except
love. Understanding. Forgiveness. He looked at Nikita's
reflection again as the boy stirred and murmured in his sleep. His
brother was smiling, clutching the stationery Alex had bought him in
the Ordinary's small, tasteful gift shop. Nikita had explored the
shop, his curiosity a fire needing constant fuel, delighted with
everything he saw. Alex would have bought him everything in the
shop had he wanted it, but all he had asked for was the packet of
stationery with a pen and ink sketch of the Spotswood Ordinary at
the top of each page.
"To write to you on, Sasha," Nikita had explained with a brilliant
smile. "That way every time I write a letter to you and every time
you read it, we'll remember this night."
Alex had bent down and kissed his brother's dark hair, squeezed him
until he yelped and poked Alex in the ribs.
"Ow, Sasha, I can't breathe! You hug as tight as Walter!"
Laughing, they had walked to the car, the red and yellow leaves
fluttering down around them, the smoky scent of the fire still
burning in the Ordinary's massive fireplace drifting around them as
if from a censer.
Alex smiled at the memory, remembered Nikita's soft "oh!" as they
drove up the winding path to the inn. How his big green eyes lit up
when he saw the place in all its antebellum splendor. How he had
gazed at the meadow, listening raptly as Walter told him of the
encampment here, how Confederate soldiers had slept in that very
field, how the officers had established a command post in the very
building they were about to enter, before the first major clash of
the Civil War.
He and Walter had found the Spotswood Ordinary to be just as they
remembered it, perhaps even more charming in Autumn than it had been
in Spring. The leaves of the trees that hung low over the cottage
were fiery even in the moonlight, and the soft whickering of the
horses in the nearby meadow drifted to them on the crisp night air.
They were seated at a table in an alcove beside the huge stone
fireplace. The soft spoken young woman serving as hostess filled
their water glasses and then paused to add a few pieces of hard
applewood to the roaring fire.
The Spotswood was an inn that encouraged, even invited its guests to
linger, and linger they did, for nearly three hours, over a truly
exquisite meal. Walter had closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure
as the last morsel of filet mignon fairly melted on his tongue.
Alex had sworn the salmon en croute was the best on four continents.
Nikita had been too curious and excited by the surroundings to pay
attention to the food, and peppered the hostess and waiters with
questions about the building, the horses, and if it was really true
that, before the first Battle of Bull Run, Confederate officers had
eaten their dinners in this very room. His big green eyes shone
as the staff patiently answered his questions, clearly enchanted by
this adorable boy so enamored of their city's history. Finally, at
Alex's gentle prompting, Nikita picked up his fork and ate a few
bites of steak and salad before embarking upon a spirited
interrogation of Walter, questioning him closely for several minutes
about battle lines and strategy.
Nikita effortlessly charmed the staff, much to Walter and Alex's
amusement, and happily devoured a truly enormous piece of chocolate
cake, delivered to him with a flourish on a silver plate. Alex
watched Nikita, listened to him talk, his eyes alight with
happiness, savoring this night, this time together. He caught
Walter watching him and smiled, squeezing his hand under the table
apologetically. The answering squeeze was firm, Walter's broad
thumb caressing the back of Alex's hand. Alex looked into Walter's
understanding brown eyes, a smile of love and gratitude illuminating
his face. He turned back to Nikita, who was happily licking rich
frosting from his fork, fluttering his lashes at the hostess in
hopes of more whipped cream.
"I love this place, Sasha," Nikita said, swirling his spoon in the
chilled bowl of whipped cream that appeared at his elbow. "I wish
we could come back here some day."
Alex swallowed and forced a smile, ruffled Nikita's hair.
"Finish your cake, bratishka," he said softly.
Nikita applied himself to the task at hand with gusto. Alex met
Walter's eyes, then looked away. Walter could see Alex working to
get himself under control, could see the pain he tried so hard to
hide from Nikita. Alex smiled bravely at Walter, determined not to
spoil this magical evening. They had a wonderful few hours in this
quaint and special place, and he wanted the memory to remain sweet
and pure for Nikita. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, for himself,
too. He looked at Nikita, whose green eyes sparkled as he laughed
at something Walter had said. Alex blinked back tears, busied
himself with the check, fishing in his pocket for his credit card.
He slipped it into the discreet leather binder and placed it on the
edge of the table, where it was promptly whisked away by the
omnipresent hostess. Stop it, he admonished himself. Don't let
him see how much it hurts, how it tears you up inside to think that
in two days he'll be gone again. Let him have this memory of a
happy night. Don't you dare take it from him.
Seeing the smile on his sleeping brother's face, Alex knew he'd
given Nikita that happy memory. Smiling a little himself, Alex
allowed himself to doze, until he was awakened by a gentle hand on
his cheek and Walter's soft voice.
"We're home."
Walter and Nikita were eating lunch when Alex walked into the
kitchen, laden with several bulging plastic bags. He grinned as he
dropped his burden onto the kitchen counter, pleased with his
success. The video store hadn't been too crowded for a Sunday
afternoon, and he'd managed to find all of the monster movies Nikita
had asked for. Nikita jumped up from his chair and tore into the
bag, whooping with joy as he rummaged through the videocassettes.
"Oh, boy, Sasha!" he exclaimed. "You got them all!" He turned to
Walter, his eyes dancing with delight. "Look, Walter! 'Invasion of
the Body Snatchers'! 'Attack of the Giant Leeches', 'The
Blob'...even 'Godzilla vs. Mothra'!"
Walter grinned.
"Sounds like our monster movie marathon is going to be something,"
he said, taking a bite of his cheeseburger.
"Thank you for renting these for me, Sasha," Nikita said.
"Bought, not rented," Alex said with a smile, giving his brother a
hug and a kiss. "They're yours. You can take them back to school
with you and I'll see that you have a VCR that plays American
tapes."
"Thank you, Sasha, thank you!" Nikita shouted. "My friends will
love these!"
"All right, bratishka," Alex murmured gently, collecting the
cassettes from Nikita's eager hands and putting them aside. "Finish
your lunch before it gets cold."
"Yes, Sasha," Nikita said obediently, sitting down next to Walter.
He took a big bite of his cheeseburger and munched it happily.
Alex smiled to himself as he began unpacking the rest of the bags,
trying not to think of what tomorrow would bring. He wanted
tonight, Nikita's last night with them, to be special. He
remembered the serious look on Nikita's face when they had told him
they would spend their last night in Washington together any way he
wanted. How his nose had crinkled up as he thought hard, wanting to
choose just the right thing. Alex had held his breath, hoping that
whatever his brother's wish, it would be something he could grant,
something that wouldn't endanger his safety. He had made a silent
vow to himself that whatever Nikita wanted on their last night
together, he would move heaven and earth to get it for him.
He had been surprised and deeply touched when, instead of begging
for another trip out to a restaraunt or tourist mecca, his brother
had made one simple request.
"I want us to stay in. I want to spend the whole night together,
here, the three of us. I want us to eat pizza and watch monster
movies."
Tears had formed in Alex's eyes, borne of fierce pride and love.
Nikita's request pleased him more than he could say.
"Of course, baby brother," he had whispered. "Anything you want."
He had felt Walter's big hand close around his and squeeze it
gently.
Walter's eyes had been shining too.
Alex reached into one of the bags and held a gaily colored box aloft
to Nikita's happy cheer.
"Popcorn with extra butter..."
He continued unpacking the bags, lining the counter with two
six-packs of soda, a carton of premium ice cream, chocolate syrup,
walnuts and whipped cream. Alex grinned as he fished the small
bottle of maraschino cherries out of the slippery plastic bag.
"Let's see...I believe the young Czar requested Coke, chocolate ice
cream sundaes and..." he flipped open the top of a flat white box,
revealing the pastries inside. "Piroshki, fresh from the Russian
bakery. With apples, your favorite."
Nikita beamed. Alex packed the food into the refrigerator. The
look on Nikita's face was worth the drive across town to Ananoff's.
Alex grinned at the thought of the evening's eclectic menu.
"All right. We'll call for the pizza around six."
"Can we get extra cheese?" Nikita asked, tucking into his second
cheeseburger.
"Of course, bratishka," Walter answered before Alex could, making
the three of them laugh.
Alex finished putting away the things he had bought and paused,
picking up an empty box from the counter beside the stove. He
peered at the box, which was adorned with a smiling soybean wearing
a chef's hat.
"Oh no, Walter," he said, grimacing theatrically, "don't tell me
you've got my brother eating these soyburgers of yours."
Nikita giggled from behind his burger. Walter was a veteran of
these conversations with Alex and knew his part well. He took a sip
of iced tea and tried to reason with his carnivorous lover.
"Alex, they're good for you. I swear, if I cooked one for you,
you'd never know the difference."
"Walter," Alex said, placing his hands on Nikita's shoulders.
"Nikita is a growing boy. He needs red meat so he can grow up big
and strong like his brother." He said this last with a grin and a
hearty growl, reaching down to ruffle Nikita's hair. "How's he
going to make it to the Olympics eating this hippie food of yours?"
"But I like them, Sasha," Nikita said, looking up. "Walter makes
them really good. And the nutritionist at school says soy is good
for our hearts."
Alex's eyebrows headed north and Walter concealed a smile. He had a
feeling that the nutritionist at St. Seraphim was going to get a
crash course from Prof. Krycek. Alex humphed as he walked back over
to the counter. He propped his hip against it and gave the
offending box one more disdainful look.
"Soyburgers," he groaned. "What's next, Walter? Turkey bacon?"
Nikita and Walter exchanged a look. Walter managed to look innocent
even as he avoided Alex's eye. Nikita held out as long as he could,
but one look at Alex's perplexed face was enough to make him
dissolve into giggles. Walter was suddenly very interested in his
plate.
Alex's eyes grew wide. He attempted to hide his growing smile and
affect an air of righteous indignation.
"WALTER!"
Walter tried not to laugh, holding up his hands placatingly.
"Alex...Alex..."
Alex turned and lifted the lid from the garbage can. He began to
rummage through the trash.
"Alex..." Walter tried again, convulsing with laughter.
"AHA!" Alex shouted. He waved a flattened box at Walter accusingly
before reading the cheerful yellow letters printed on it.
"Vital Valley Turkey Bacon," he read. "Walter! How could you?"
Nikita shook with laughter. Walter put his head in his hands.
"Alex, you've been eating it for a year and a half."
"What? Well...I...dammit Walter!"
Alex threw the box away and washed his hands, grumbling all the
while about those who would feed a man "fake bacon" in his own home.
He managed to work in a "what is the world coming to", voice
frantic concern for his bone density and was well onto the plight of
the American pork industry when Walter finally guided him to the
table and put a beer in his hand to shut him up. He brought Alex
his lunch from the warming oven, two perfectly grilled
cheeseburgers, which Alex sniffed suspiciously.
"100% ground chuck, I swear," Walter said, giving Alex a kiss on the
head. "I know better than to try and fool you."
Nikita giggled again.
It was after one in the morning when Alex snapped off the TV and
herded a sleepily protesting Nikita upstairs to bed. Walter rounded
up the empty pizza boxes, emptied the last of the popcorn into the
trash and stacked the videotapes on the counter so they could be
packed with Nikita's things. The new carry-on bag Alex had bought
to supplement Nikita's beloved rucksack sat empty in a kitchen
chair. Walter looked at it sadly, surprised again at how fond he
had become of the boy in so short a time. He chuckled ruefully as
he turned off the lights in the kitchen, remembering Nikita's
unorthodox arrival that Friday night. He remembered Nikita's fierce
struggles as they tussled on the living room floor, fury burning
bright in those green eyes. Remembered the complete and utter joy
he'd felt when he'd coaxed that first hesitant smile from the boy.
Remembered the first time he'd seen him throw his head back and
laugh, his eyes alight and happy. Walter's own eyes were bright as
he climbed the stairs in the semi-darkness.
Nikita was so much like Alex.
Walter awoke around three am. He groaned and wondered if the bottle
of antacid was still in the cupboard under the bathroom sink. You
should have known better, Walt, he chided himself. You're not
sixteen anymore. He should have stopped after the fourth piece of
pizza and definitely should not have let Nikita talk him into a
second chocolate sundae. He started to sit up, careful not to
jostle Alex. He needed his rest for the long flight ahead. He
turned on the bedside lamp and stared at the empty space in the bed
beside him.
Walter stood in the hallway outside the guest room, scarcely
breathing. The door to the room stood open, admitting the faint
glow from the nightlight in the hall. Nikita lay on his side,
clutching his pillow tightly, his deep, measured breaths the only
sound in the silent room. Alex sat in the chair by the foot of the
bed, motionless, his eyes fixed on his sleeping brother. As the
half-moon passed from behind a cloud, pale light streamed through
the thin curtains, making a path to Walter's feet. His hair and
eyelashes tinted silver, Alex was graceful in his sadness, a dark
angel sculpted by moonlight, watching over the boy as he slept.
Alex rested his head in his hand, the long lines of his body bowed
with grief. Walter felt a lump in his throat as his lover's pain
spoke plainly to him in the darkness. He looked at Alex for a
moment longer, then stepped back into the shadows, leaving them to
share every second of precious time together.
Alex stood, his back to the bedroom door, packing his bag with
practiced efficiency. Walter could see from the tense set of his
shoulders and his abrupt, economical motions that Alex was on
autopilot. The face that turned toward him was smooth, almost
devoid of emotion. Only the brightness in his eyes gave him away.
Walter stepped closer, not knowing what to say, helpless against
this vast and unknowable pain. He placed his hand on Alex's
shoulder, feeling the taut muscles flex as Alex hefted the bag.
"Alex..."
Alex put the bag down and turned to face Walter. Walter reached out
to take Alex in his arms, to offer what comfort he could. He felt
Alex relax slightly under his touch, trembling with the effort to
hold his emotions in check. Walter kissed Alex gently, silently
damning Spender all over again. Wishing he could go back in time
and save that seventeen year-old boy from all the years of pain that
lay ahead. Wishing he could give Alex and Nikita just one more day
together. He brushed a lock of dark hair from Alex's eyes, caressed
his cheek lightly.
"Alex, maybe if you just waited another day or two. Surely there
are other flights this week. What if"
"No, Walter!" Alex bit out harshly, pulling away. He swiped roughly
at the tears glittering in his eyes, closing them against the sting.
He bit his lip, controlling his breathing, fighting to get himself
under control.
"I know what you're going to say, Walter. But please don't. I
can't wait one more week or one more day. I can't let myself think
about that. He has to go back. I have to take him back."
Walter felt an ache in his chest at the sight of the naked pain on
Alex's face.
"Alex," he tried again, "surely there must be another way. There
are schools, private ones, with good security"
"No," whispered Alex raggedly, almost begging. He stepped slightly
further away, his mouth a thin white line.
Walter watched with horrified fascination as Alex, through sheer
power of will, seemed to transform himself into the cool,
dispassionate Consortium assassin. Walter's heart ached as all
emotion fled from those green eyes, leaving them flat and detached.
This was only one more hard and brutal thing Alex had to do because
of Spender, and he was retreating behind the walls which were his
only defense mechanism, his only way of surviving what must be done.
Walter wondered if he would be able to tear down those walls this
time when Alex returned. Would there be anything left of Alex to
drag out into the light?
Alex spoke, not looking Walter in the eye. A tiny, almost
unnoticable tremor in his voice was the only sign of the anguish he
was fighting desperately to control.
"Please, Walter. I can't. If I think about it I won't be able to
do it. I won't be able to let him go. And I have to. I have to
protect him. If Spender..." Alex swallowed hard, his hand clenched
at his side. "You know what Spender would do. You have to
understand. I can't let myself dream of Nikita being here with me."
He stepped away from Walter, his face a blank mask.
"It can never be."
He looked at Walter once more, wanting to bridge the distance
between them, to lose himself in those strong arms. He forced the
emotion down. He had to be strong now for Nikita.
"I'm sorry, Walter. I...I can't let myself feel right now. I
can't."
Walter nodded, despite the pain he felt at these soft, sad words.
"I'll be here when you come back, Alex," he said quietly. "Just
like always. I'll be waiting here for you."
Alex nodded, picked up his bag and carried it downstairs.
Walter prepared a light lunch, mindful of the long flight ahead for
Alex and Nikita. Alex declined to eat at all and Nikita only picked
at the bread, cheese and fruit. Walter finally coaxed him into
eating most of a bowl of chicken noodle soup, watching his solemn
eyes as he toyed listlessly with his spoon. Walter sat beside him,
his own appetite spare, peeling and quartering an apple, his hands
glad for something to do. Nikita put down his spoon and looked at
Walter guiltily.
"It's not that it's not good, Walter. I guess I'm just not very
hungry."
Walter gave him a reassuring smile, touched that the boy would
consider his feelings even as his own young face was troubled.
"It's all right, Nicholas. You don't have to eat the soup. But
you've got a long journey ahead of you. Try to eat a little fruit,
okay?"
Nikita nodded and nibbled at a peach, uncharacteristically quiet.
He and Walter finished their lunch in silence, neither one of them
up for conversation, yet glad of the other's company.
Alex walked into the kitchen, checking his watch.
"Nikita," he said softly. "It's almost time to leave. Go upstairs
and finish packing your things."
"Yes, Sasha," Nikita said, slipping out of his chair and padding
quietly upstairs.
"He's a strong kid," Walter said softly. "Like his brother."
The ghost of a smile touched Alex's face.
"Yeah," he said, "I wish he didn't have to be."
Alex swallowed hard and left the room. Walter followed him into the
living room, watched as he slid his Glock into the holster at the
small of his back, pulling his jacket down over it. Alex's eyes met
his and Walter nodded with wordless understanding. There was no
question of Alex escorting his brother back to Russia unarmed.
Walter knew better than to ask how Alex got his weapons through
airport security. Alex allowed himself to come close enough to
Walter for a brief touch, then headed for the stairs.
"I've got to get a few more things together. We'll be leaving in a
few minutes."
Walter nodded. He went back into the kitchen and quickly cleared
the few dishes from lunch. He was wrapping up the bread and cheese,
trying to find comfort in the completion of the mundane task, when
fury boiled up inside him and he slammed his hand down on the
counter.
"Fuck!" he hissed.
Goddamned Spender, that malignant old son of a bitch, who poisoned
everything he touched. Walter leaned against the counter, trying to
get himself under control. He swiped at his eyes. The least you
can do is be strong for him, Walt, he admonished himself. Don't
think about how much you're going to miss them until they're gone.
Let him lean on you, give him the strength to do this thing. Be
here for him when he gets back and try to help him find a way out,
for both of them.
Walter sighed and went upstairs, needing something to do in these
last empty minutes before they would be gone. He thought to tuck a
couple of the blue candles Alex loved into his shaving kit, along
with a lighter, to give him some small comfort in the days ahead.
He was passing the guest room when he heard a sob.
The door wasn't latched. Walter gently pushed it open. Nikita sat
on the side of the bed, his back to Walter, his rucksack open beside
him. His narrow shoulders shook as he cried, quietly, hoping no one
would hear.
"Nicholas?" Walter said gently, not wanting to intrude.
Nikita looked up, then hung his head again, weeping softly. Walter
sat down next to him on the bed. Tears streamed down the boy's face
as he gazed at the framed photograph clutched in his pale hands. He
looked up at Walter hesitantly, then held it out, offering it to
Walter. Walter took it, handling it gently, tears springing to his
own eyes. An impossibly young Alex sat cross-legged on a faded
carpet. His clear green eyes, not yet stripped of their innocence,
shone with love as he gazed at the tiny dark-haired boy in his arms.
The little boy wore a happy grin almost identical to his brother's,
beaming up at him in adoration, one chubby hand reaching up to touch
his brother's face.
"That's me and Sasha," Nikita whispered, his breath hitching. "Mama
and Papa died soon after."
Walter looked at the picture again, at the Alex he had never had the
chance to know, the boy poised on the brink of a life of pain and
loss. His eyes absently traced the long pale left arm tucked
protectively around the little boy's waist, thought of a cold
unforgiving night in the Tunguskan forest, a hot knife and howling
agony. Alex had spoken of it only once, describing the wet snap of
the bone, his long struggle to crawl across the tangled frozen
forest floor, half-mad from the pain. Walter had wondered how Alex
survived, what had driven him to fight when it would have been so
much easier to lay down and die. Now he knew.
He handed the photograph back to Nikita. The boy took it, wrapped
it in a heavy sweater, and tucked it almost reverently into his
rucksack, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He scrubbed them away
almost angrily with his shirtsleeve, fighting a losing battle
against his emotions.
"Nicholas, I know it's hard," Walter began, putting a hand on the
boy's arm. He was surprised when Nikita pulled away.
Nikita stood and backed away from Walter, busying himself with his
CDs, stacking them and putting them into his rucksack.
"Nicholas?" Walter asked with concern.
"I-I'm okay, Walter," Nikita said, his chin trembling. It was a
struggle for him to get the words out. "I'll be okay."
Walter stood helplessly, wanting to offer solace.
"It's okay to cry, you know that, don't you? I know how sad you are
to be leaving."
Nikita stood, staring at a point just beyond Walter, shaking with
the effort to staunch the flow of tears. His face was flushed and
damp from crying, his small hands bunched into fists at his sides.
"N-no, it's not, Walter," he whispered vehemently. "I...I have to
be strong."
"Nicholas, it's okay"
Nikita sank down on the bed, overcome by a fresh torrent of sobs.
Walter stepped closer, but froze at the sight of the boy's eyes. He
watched with a familiar sick sensation as Nikita took deep,
regulated breaths, using sheer force of will to make himself stop
crying. He sat utterly motionless, finally raising his eyes to
Walter. Those lively green eyes were flat now, dead in his pale
face. Walter had seen Alex do this many times, but in Nikita, the
effect was eerie. Walter stared in shock as the boy forcibly held
his emotions at bay, his young face blank. Nikita took a deep,
shuddering breath and spoke quietly, his eyes closed in resignation.
"I have to be strong like Sasha."
He stood, the teartracks still drying on his cheeks, picked up his
rucksack and went downstairs.
Walter stood in the now empty room, so barren now without Nikita's
cheerful mess, without the spirit that Walter felt he had just seen
wither before his eyes. He took a deep breath, then another. Then
he went to find Alex.
Alex was in the bedroom, his shaving kit in his hand, when Walter
stepped in and closed the door.
"Don't do this, Alex."
Alex growled in frustration.
"Please don't, Walter."
He moved to walk past Walter but was stopped by Walter's hand on his
arm. He lifted pleading green eyes, shadowed with exhaustion.
"Please," he said again. "It's hard enough already. Please just
let it go."
"No," Walter said fiercely. "You're going to listen to me, Alex."
Alex's eyes widened in surprise.
Walter folded his arms. His heart pounded wildly. There was no
time to stop and think, no time to wonder if this was the right
thing.
"Do you really think he's safe at school?"
"Walter"
"Alex," Walter said firmly. "How long before they knew he was gone?
What if he hadn't left on his own? What if he had been taken?"
Alex began to pace, running his hand roughly through his hair.
"I'm going to check it out when I get there, I'm going to make sure
he's safe."
Walter held out his hands placatingly.
"Alex. Think. These men who helped your brother pull this stunt,
teaching him how to pick a lock, supplying him with forged
documents... don't you wonder how they happened to be there? Why
they were so eager to help him?"
"They were just lowlifes from town, small-time hoods," Alex snapped.
"They'll be dead hoods when I get through with them."
Walter stood silently for a moment. Finally, he spoke, his voice
gentle.
"Do you really think Spender doesn't know about him?"
Alex stopped in his tracks. His breathing was becoming rapid.
"No! He doesn't know! He doesn't!" Alex yelled, slamming his hand
down on the dresser. "He doesn't know about him, Walter, I've been
careful. I've protected him."
"Yes," Walter said soothingly, stepping closer, pulling Alex into
his arms. "I know you have. I know you've always done everything
you could to keep him safe. But," he added, tilting Alex's chin up,
forcing him to meet his gaze, "ask yourself, Alex. Just ask
yourself if it's really possible that Spender doesn't know about
Nicholas. You've worked for him since you were seventeen years old.
Do you really think there's anything he doesn't know? Anything he
can't find out?"
Alex shook his head, pulling away.
"No..." he said again, less sure now. Walter cupped Alex's cheek
gently. He knew how much Alex needed to believe he had kept
Nikita's existence a secret, how it was the only thing that kept him
sane, the only way he was able to pick up the pieces after each
Consortium job, the thought of his brother safe from Spender's grasp
the talisman he clung to.
"Alex," he whispered. "Please just listen to me. That's all I ask.
I know you want to protect him, you want to wrap him up and keep
him hidden away so that the bad things in the world will never touch
him. So that Spender will never do to him what he's done to you."
Alex looked down, tears standing in his eyes. Walter took a deep
breath and continued.
"But he's already doing it to him, Alex. He's already destroying
him. I saw it just now. I saw him crying for you and I saw him
force himself to stop, to cut off his emotions and withdraw into
himself, just as I've seen you do more times than I can count. That
little boy downstairs still has his innocence, Alex, but every day
he's apart from you is one more victory for Spender. And when
there's nothing left of that beautiful, happy boy but a brittle
shell, when he's finally made himself dead inside so he won't have
to miss you anymore, Spender will have won. He'll have stolen his
soul and there'll be nothing you can do about it."
Alex was rigid, every muscle standing out in sharp relief. His eyes
were dark pools of pain.
"Why are you telling me this?" he whispered brokenly.
"Alex," Walter said gently, "I don't think there's any safer place
on earth for Nicholas than with you."
Alex was in agony.
"I can't, Walter," he almost begged. "You know I can't.
I...Spender could call me anytime, day or night, you know that. I
can't be with Nikita twenty-four hours a day. And there's no one
I'd trust with my brother."
Walter looked into Alex's eyes.
"Not even me?"
Alex sat on the edge of the bed, stunned. Walter smiled serenely.
"Wh-what?" Alex said, shaking his head. "You have a job, Walter,
remember? Lots of early morning meetings and late nights. What are
you going to do, take him to the Hoover with you and give him a
coloring book?"
Walter grinned and went to his chest of drawers. He opened the top
drawer and withdrew a single folded sheet of paper. He handed it to
Alex.
Alex unfolded it and read it with disbelief. He looked up at
Walter, his eyes huge and uncomprehending.
"Walter?" he croaked. "What is this?"
"Just what it says," Walter said, sitting down next to him and
putting his arm around him. "I'm retiring. I've had enough, Alex.
I figured I'd take the golden parachute, maybe spend some time
looking at beachfront property."
Alex sat, utterly poleaxed. Walter gave him a gentle tap on the
chin to remind him to close his mouth, marveling at just how
beautiful surprise looked on Alex. He decided he liked seeing that
look on Alex's face.
Alex continued to stare at Walter in silence. Walter leaned his
forehead against Alex's and stroked his dark hair.
"It's been in the pipeline for a while now," he said with a smile.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner but I didn't want to say
anything until I was sure."
Alex sat clutching the paper in his hand, his throat working.
"You're...you're really...Walter, I can't let you do this."
Walter laughed.
"It's already done, Alex. I've had enough. I'm tired of all the
bullshit. Let someone else kiss Kersh's fat ass, let someone else
clean up Mulder's messes. I've done my time."
Alex swallowed. Could they really...Nikita...stubborn hope flooded
him and he fought it, shrinking from the pain that always came
after. It won't work. It can't work. Think about Nikita and be
strong for him. Don't think of yourself now.
Walter caught Alex's face between his two hands, looked into his
eyes solemnly.
"I'll be with him, Alex," he whispered. "I pledge to you, with all
my heart, that every minute you have to be away, he'll be with me,
and I'll protect him with my life. He'll never be alone, Alex.
He'll never be in danger. I'll watch over him as though he were my
own."
Alex drew his breath in sharply, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Walter, he's...it's such a...I can't ask you to do this for me."
Walter kissed away the tears, smoothed their paths away with his
thumbs.
"You're not," he said softly. "And I'm not just doing it for you.
I'm also doing it for me. And most of all," he said, his voice
shaking with emotion, "I'm doing it for that little boy downstairs.
A little boy who still has his innocence, who deserves the chance to
keep it. Nicholas needs you, Alex. He needs a home, his family.
Let me give you that, let me give it to you both." He paused, a sob
escaping him. "To all of us."
Alex was numb. He stared at Walter helplessly, unable to express in
words what his lover had given him.
"I...I don't...how...what about school, his education"
"Shhh," Walter whispered, pressing a silencing finger to Alex's
lips. "We can work out details later. This is no time to sweat the
small stuff. Right now I think there's a traveler downstairs who
needs to know his flight has been cancelled."
Alex stared at Walter for a moment and then threw his arms around
him, finally succumbing to the emotions he had fought so hard to
keep at bay. He sobbed, his cries deep and guttural, torn from his
very heart. Walter let him cry, his arms tight around him, keeping
him anchored, keeping him close.
At last Alex looked up and smiled, wiping the tears from his face,
his face red with embarrassment.
"Sorry," he mumbled. Walter growled and kissed him, a slow and
lingering kiss. Both men were gasping for air when he finally
released him.
"Don't ever apologize for crying, Alex," Walter said. "It's nothing
to be ashamed of."
Alex looked down, smiling a little.
"I'm just...not...used to it," he said awkwardly. "I haven't cried
like that since I was little."
Walter squeezed Alex's hand.
"Go on," he said softly. "Go tell your brother he's home."
Alex stood, but didn't let go of Walter's hand.
"Not without you," he whispered.
The End
Tvoju mat...fuck
|
Title: Welcome Home
Author: Lorelei Pairing: Skinner/Krycek Rating: NC-17 for m/m interaction, language, very mild discipline of a minor Spoilers: please assume all Krycek eps Disclaimer: Walter Skinner, Alex Krycek and other X-Files characters are the property of Fox and 1013 Productions and no profit is being made from their use. The OC in this story is mine. Paws off! Warning: This story does involve mild discipline of a minor. If this is likely to squick you, please hit delete now. Status: New/Series. Yes, another series. Somebody stop me! Archive: Yes to SKSA, RatB and DITB. Anyone else please ask. Feedback: Yay! Lorelei633@aol.com Thanks: To my beta, HollyIlex. It's hard to believe it's been a year almost since you first agreed to take a new and eager writer on. Thank you for your guidance, heart and wisdom. Thank you to Jose, my surrogate Maman, mentor and friend, for the teaching, the nagging and the laughs. Thank you for looking after my little boy. Summary: An unexpected visitor brings a surprise Dedication: To Timmy, who whined incessantly and nibbled my elbow while I wrote this. To the girls at ST, you know who you are. To Peach, Emily, Sue, Ganymede, MJ and everyone who loves to write the Rat. Note: A glossary of Russian words and phrases appears at the end of the story |
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