by Maddie and Haven
lex Krycek sat at a table at the job training center, taking a
break after a long day. Since Bruce, his boss, was busy on this
particular Saturday, his soon-to-be (at least in Alex's opinion)
fiancé, Zoe Harris, was filling in for him and had spent the day
answering questions about employment law. Not that she looked
very lawyerly at the moment, in jeans and a sweatshirt, her long
brunette hair in a ponytail. She sat beside Alex, drinking
coffee and fighting the urge to go out for a cigarette. She saw
Alex watching her.
"Nothing worse than a junkie needing a fix, huh?" Zoe asked with a grimace.
Alex laughed. "It'll get easier. You seem to be handling it well."
"Ha! Bruce wouldn't say that. He probably thinks I have terminal PMS. But we made a deal. He's giving up those nasty cigars of his and I'm giving up my cigarettes. Neither you nor Walter smoke, do you?"
Thinking of Spender, Alex shuddered. "No," he answered emphatically.
Jack Rivers, a permanent Saturday fixture at the center, walked up then. Alex sat up straighter when he saw the look on Jack's face.
"Jack, what's wrong?" Alex asked, concerned.
"Alex, do you know Chris Chandler from the shelter?"
"Sure. Late forties, long hair and beard, always wearing a green army field jacket."
"That's the guy." Jack paused for a moment, obviously trying to control his emotions. "He was killed, hit by a car this morning. Chris was in a bad way when I met him. One of those guys who fell through the cracks after he came back from Vietnam—couldn't stop drinking and couldn't keep a job. He was drunk this morning and walked out in front of a car."
"Damn, I'm sorry, Jack. Is there something I can do?" Alex asked.
"Yes," Zoe added. "What can we do?"
"I don't know yet. He had family, a son and daughter, ex-wife. Let's see what happens with them. You know, that could've been me, I'd given up, too."
"Jack!" Zoe exclaimed. "Don't say that. Sit down."
Zoe got up and got Jack some coffee. "You guys, has Bruce mentioned our Memorial Day plans?" They shook their heads. "We're going to the Vietnam Memorial. Bruce is planning to ask everyone to go."
"See, that's the thing about Chris," Jack said. "His name will never be on the Wall, but if it weren't for what he went through in 'Nam, we wouldn't be sitting here talking about his funeral."
Bruce walked in then, going straight to Zoe and kissing her, then saying hi to the guys. He looked around the table.
"What's wrong?"
They filled him in.
"Dammit. I wish we could've gotten to him in time." Bruce had quite a few former shelter residents working for him, several of them vets.
"I know, Bruce, but he wasn't to the point where we could do much for him."
"Bruce," Zoe said. "I told Alex and Jack we're going to the Wall on Memorial Day."
"Yeah, I was planning tell you. Everyone's invited."
"I'll be there," Jack said.
"Me, too," Alex added. "Let me talk to Walter, but I'm sure he'll want to go."
Bruce gave Zoe an appraising look. "You ready to take off?"
"Yes, it's been a long day. Productive, though," she added with a quick smile. Turning back to face Alex, she asked, "Do you need a ride?"
"Please. There's no telling when Walter will be home. He's been working late for weeks. Personally, I think he should stop putting in twelve hours days, but *he* thinks the solution is for us to get a second car."
"Well, if you're not expecting Walter any time soon, come to dinner with us," Bruce offered.
"Thanks, but I thought I'd go home and make dinner for Walter. He hasn't had a home-cooked meal since he started working on that case."
"Okay. Jack? You want to join us?"
"No, I have some more to do here."
"You take it easy. And if we can do anything about Chris, let us know."
"Thanks."
When Walter got home, Alex was in the kitchen.
"What smells so good?" he asked as he walked over to give Alex a kiss.
"Just baked chicken and vegetables. We'll be eating soon."
"I'm glad you did this, Alex. I'm so sick of deli sandwiches and fast food."
"I figured as much. Why don't you go get comfortable while I get this on the table?"
Walter gave Alex another kiss and headed upstairs.
Alex had it ready when Walter, now dressed in comfortable sweats and a t-shirt, came back down. They ate quietly, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Alex sent Walter to the living room to relax as he cleaned up. Walter was lying on the couch when Alex came in. He lifted Walter's feet to sit, then started to rub them. Walter grunted his pleasure.
"Walter, you're working too hard again. You need time off."
Walter smiled at the concern in his lover's voice. "I'll be fine. The case from hell is nearly wrapped up. And Memorial Day will be here soon, we both get that off."
"Oh, that reminds me. A guy Jack and I knew from the shelter, a vet, was killed in a car accident."
"How's Jack doing?"
"You know Jack. He feels responsible for all the lost ones. He's pretty down. Also, Walter, Bruce and Zoe are going to the Wall on Memorial Day and they asked everyone to come. What do you think?"
Alex felt Walter's muscles tense and slowly relax as he continued to work his thumb in firm circles on the arch of Walter's left foot.
After a moment, Walter replied, "I was hoping we'd go away over the long weekend."
With a look of surprise on his face, Alex said, "I didn't know we had plans. I told Bruce I'd go." Alex paused, expecting Walter to agree to the change in itinerary.
Walter remained silent.
Alex continued his massage, switching to Walter's right foot. When the silence continued, Alex asked, "You won't go to the Wall with me?"
"I'm sorry, Alex. But we are not going."
"Walter?" Alex asked, perplexed. "Do we have nonrefundable plane tickets or something?"
"No, that isn't it. But we aren't going."
"But Walter," Alex said, his confusion growing, "I told Bruce I *would.* What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Walter said, swinging his feet out of Alex's lap, "I'm just tired." He stood up. "Turn off the lights before you come up, okay?"
Alex sat there, stunned. It was hours before Walter normally went to bed and he *never* went to bed without giving him a kiss first. Was Walter mad at him for wanting to go to the Wall rather than go on a weekend jaunt? Did Walter feel he was playing second fiddle to Bruce and Jack? When he was embroiled in the Consortium, friendships were a liability; didn't Walter know how much it meant to him to have friends now that he was free of that mess? Then again, maybe Walter was simply coming down with something. He'd been pushing himself at work and whatever reserve of energy he went into that damn case with had been consumed weeks ago. Obsessively, these thoughts churned repeatedly through Alex's mind.
He considered following Walter up to bed, but Alex knew that if he did, his tossing and turning would prevent Walter from getting much needed rest. Attempting to set his thoughts aside, Alex reached for the television remote control. He found True Lies on one of the movie stations, but when even that couldn't hold his interest, he went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Looking around for something to munch he noticed a loaf of French bread and decided to put his excess energy to good use. A little while later, having placed a pan of the makings for baked French toast in the refrigerator, Alex felt a little calmer. Taking a second cup of tea and a chocolate biscotti with him, he returned to watch the end of the movie.
Light was streaming into the bedroom when Walter opened his eyes. He rolled over, intending to give his lover a good morning kiss, however Alex's side of the bed was not only empty, but cool to the touch. Apparently Alex had been up for some time.
Walter rolled out bed, glancing at the alarm clock on his way to the bathroom. He kept his alarm set for 5:30, but most mornings he woke up before it went off. To his surprise, the clock read 10:13. He smiled, silently thanking the universe for sending him a lover wonderful enough to allow him to sleep in.
Twenty minutes later, freshly showered and shaved, Walter appeared in the kitchen. Alex sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the Sunday paper. Walter leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "Thanks for letting me sleep in. I guess you were right about me working too hard."
Alex reached up to pull Walter down for a kiss. "Want to laze the rest of the day away with me?"
"Always."
"All ways?" Alex replied with a grin.
Walter grinned back. "Yes—but only after I've read the sports section!"
Alex laughed.
While pouring himself a cup of coffee, Walter noticed the scent of vanilla and cinnamon in the air. "Mmm, something smells good. What do you have in there?" he asked, indicating the oven with a wave of his coffee mug.
"Baked French toast. It should be ready in about fifteen minutes."
"You're going to spoil me, Alex."
Handing Walter the sports section, Alex replied, "I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."
After their carbohydrate-laden breakfast, Walter said he'd handle cleanup and made shooing motions at Alex. Alex laughed, gave Walter a quick kiss and went out to the living room where he turned on the television. He sunk into his favorite corner of the couch and scrolled through the on-line guide, stopping when he came across a show on cliff diving.
When Walter saw what Alex was watching he couldn't resist teasing Alex. "Indulging in a little eye candy, Alex?"
"Hey!," Alex replied, feigning insult. "This is a serious sport! Did you know the divers risk death every time they dive?"
"By hitting the rocks?"
"No, by entering the water at the wrong angle. They're moving at 60 miles per hour by the time they hit the water; at that speed it doesn't take much for something to go wrong."
They watched as another diver approached the cliff edge, made his final preparations, and then launched himself into the abyss. After a lightning fast series of somersaults and twists, the diver disappeared into the turquoise water. Time seemed to stand still as they waited for the diver to reappear; when he did, with a triumphant yell to the crowds watching from sailboats near the dive site, they grinned at each other.
"Okay, it's a real sport," said Walter.
"And the contestants are bad to look at either," Alex added. "Look at the muscles on that guy." The contestant under discussion was preparing for his dive, loosening his shoulder muscles as he stood at the edge of the cliff.
Walter admired the well defined musculature, then tipped his head back, looking up at Alex. "Reminds me of someone I know," he said.
"You think?" Alex asked. "I'm always afraid my muscles will become lopsided."
"So far whatever you're doing seems to be working. I'll let you know if that changes."
"Thanks," Alex said sincerely.
Walter snuggled up close to Alex. Lethargy, aided by their large breakfast, soon overtook them and they lay cuddled together, half watching the remainder of the competition and half dozing.
It was 3:00 before either felt compelled to move and if it hadn't been for the insistent ringing of the telephone they mightn't have moved even then.
Walter answered with his typical "Skinner."
"Oh, hi Walter. This is Jack. Is Alex around somewhere?"
"Sure, let me put him on." Walter passed the telephone receiver to Alex. "It's Jack."
"Hi Jack. What's up?"
"I just got off the phone with Chris Chandler's ex-wife."
"You didn't have to break the news to her, did you?"
"Thank God, no. The police took care of that yesterday. I called to ask about the funeral arrangements and to offer help with the wake."
"Mhmmm. And?"
"There isn't going to be a funeral."
"What do you mean there isn't going to be one? They have to do *something* with Chris' body."
Taking consolation from the the outrage in Alex's voice, Jack continued, "He's being cremated tomorrow morning at 11:30. I asked if there would be a wake and she said she saw no reason why she should throw good money after bad hosting a party for Chris' low-life friends."
"What a bitch!," Alex replied, causing Walter to raise an expressive eyebrow. "Tell you later," Alex mouthed to Walter.
"She's one bitter lady, that's for sure," Jack commented. He paused, gathering his thoughts. "The coroner is releasing Jack's body tomorrow morning and it's being transported directly to the crematorium. The funeral package Mrs. Chandler purchased permits a half hour for viewing and sets a limit on the number of witnesses. In addition to her and her two children, she's invited her boss and his secretary. Five seats remain and she offered them to me. Bruce and Zoe are taking two of them and I wanted to know if you and Walter would like the remaining two."
"I'll come, but I don't know if Walter will. Let me check with him and get back with you."
"Okay, I'll talk to you later then."
"Later," Alex said, and disconnected the call. He returned the phone to Walter and watched him set in on the cradle. "That was Jack," he said unnecessarily. "He wants to know if we'll go with him to Chris' funeral tomorrow morning."
"What time?"
"11:00 or 11:30, I'm not sure which."
"Alex, I can't do it. I've got a conference call with the Ohio attorney general's office from 9:00 to 11:00, then a meeting from 11:00 to noon. Plus a luncheon with Doggett. He asked to meet with me off premises."
Alex tilted his head, looking at Walter quizzically.
"Maybe he's worried my office has been bugged," he concluded dryly.
"You don't think it is, do you?" Alex asked.
"No, I don't think it's likely."
Walter didn't sound worried, but Alex had no intention of taking any risks where Walter was concerned. "Maybe I should borrow some gear from work so you can check."
Walter nodded thoughtfully. "That might not be a bad idea. But Alex, we don't know what Doggett wants to discuss. It might not have anything to do with the Consortium. For all I know, he discovered albino alligators really do live in the sewers of New York."
Alex thought about this and wondered out loud, "What would they eat? Rats?"
"I don't know. And I must admit I'm more concerned about *we're* going to eat. Have you looked in our refrigerator lately? It's nearly bare."
"We are running low on supplies," Alex agreed. "Do you feel like driving to the grocery store?"
"Not really, but we should go."
Trying not to sound reproachful, Alex said, "We won't need much if you keep working late and missing dinner. If the only meal you're going to eat at home is breakfast, all we need is a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk."
"I don't want to believe it, but you're right. I probably won't make it home for dinner."
"You aren't a machine, Walter. You need to stop working as if you were one."
"You're right. And after this case ends, I will."
"Promises, promises."
Walter grinned at his lover. "Speaking of promises, didn't I promise to take you out to that Thai restaurant you like?" Walter glanced out the window. "It's only a few blocks—we could walk. And stop at the corner grocery on the way back."
"Okay, but you get to carry the milk. I can't just switch it to my other hand when it starts to feel heavy."
When the men returned to their apartment, the phone was ringing. Inserting his key into the lock, Walter asked, "You called Jack, didn't you?"
"Right before we left for dinner."
Walter pushed the door open and they listened for the answering machine. It whirled and clicked as it played the outgoing message and in the few moments of silence that followed Walter put the milk and eggs into the refrigerator. Having shucked himself of his leather jacket, Alex held his hand out for the one Walter was wearing as Bruce's voice came through the answering machine.
"Walter," the voice said, "I hear you aren't coming to the funeral tomorrow. I know you didn't know Chris, but I was hoping to see you there. I want to talk to you about our plans for Memorial Day. Give me a call when you have a minute."
Walter spun about, facing Alex. Sounding enraged, he demanded, "Didn't you tell him I'm not going?"
"Of course I did. I'm sure he's hoping to change your mind."
"Well, it isn't going to be changed!"
"So I see," Alex replied with some asperity. "I don't see what the big deal is, but if you don't want to go, you don't have to."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Fine," Alex snapped back. He left the kitchen and walked toward the hall door. Alex went as far as the hall closet and hung up Walter's jacket. He then stood there for a moment as if he were deciding something and the thought flashed through Walter's mind that Alex was going to walk out.
Before Walter could think of something to say to convince Alex to stay, Alex had returned to his side. "Are you sure you aren't coming down with something? You've gone completely pale. Was the walk too much?"
"I'm just tired," Walter said. And he did sound tired, like a man who has borne the weight of the world on his shoulders for far too long.
"Go on up to bed. I'll be right behind you."
Walter nodded and headed up the stairs.
Alex locked up the apartment and turned on the alarm. Before following Walter to bed, he stopped at the foot of the stairs and glanced around the first floor of the apartment. Everything he saw—the furniture, the art on the wall, the CD collection, every single thing his eyes fell upon—belonged to Walter. And yet whenever he thought of home, this was exactly what he pictured. "I'm damn lucky," Alex thought, "and it's time I showed Walter how much I appreciate him. Especially after falling asleep on the couch last night."
Alex returned to the kitchen and put a cup of water into the microwave. When it reached a boil, he removed the cup and poured the water into the stoneware massage oil warmer Walter had found on one of his on-line shopping forays. Carrying the warmer, Alex climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. Walter was brushing his teeth when Alex reached around him to remove the bottle of massage oil from the cabinet.
"Who's that for," Walter mumbled around his toothbrush, "you or me?"
Alex poured a portion of the oil into depression on the warmer. "You."
The single word growled in Alex's whiskey rough voice was enough to harden Walter's cock. He nodded and then rinsed his mouth. "Lucky me," he said and pulled Alex in for a kiss.
After a long and delightful minute, Alex pushed Walter away. "I want to brush my teeth while the oil warms up. When I'm done, I'll give you a full body massage."
Helpfully, Walter volunteered, "I'll go turn down the covers."
When Alex walked into the bedroom, the sight of Walter laying on his stomach spread out the large bed literally made Alex's hand itch. Eager to touch the muscular body stretched out before him, he set the massage oil warmer on the night stand and then quickly pulled off his clothing and removed his prosthesis. Joining Walter on the bed, Alex knelt over the prone body and used the ladle to drizzle warm oil over Walter's broad back. Using the the palm of his hand, he rubbed the scented oil into the golden flesh. Walter sighed in appreciation as Alex worked. The warm oil felt wonderful and Alex's hand smoothly gliding over his skin felt even better.
Alex spent time loosening Walter's shoulders. It was inevitable that he would mourn the loss of his arm and he did, but an encounter with a Buddhist monk during his exile in Hong Kong had exposed Alex to the zen concept of mindfulness. With the monk's help, Alex had learned to direct his attention to the present moment. Completely engaged, Alex paid no attention to the passage of time, nor did thoughts of the past or future intrude. Alex's focus became the texture of Walter's skin, the warm slipperiness of the oil, the interplay between Walter's muscles and his own, the pleasure that touching this strong male body brought.
Utterly relaxed by the thorough massage, thoughts slowly drifted through Walter's mind until he fell into a deep slumber and they stopped completely. When Alex quietly requested he turn over, Walter's only response was a sleepy grumble. Alex gently nudged him, again trying to get him to turn, but Walter's refusal to move was not negotiable.
Admitting his plan to bring Walter to a slow sexual boil had met with resounding defeat, Alex looked down at his half hard cock and shook his head ruefully. "Tomorrow," he promised, then snuggled in close to his sleeping lover and pulled up the covers.
Seemingly moments later, the alarm clocked blared its wake up call. Walter silenced the offending device and rose to his feet.
Following his usual morning routine, Alex stayed in bed for an extra few minutes, stretching his long limbs while mentally reviewing the day's agenda. Although not the critical step it had once been, the habit was deeply ingrained and had not changed during the time he'd been living with Walter. When he finished his review, Alex rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom to empty his bladder.
"Hey there, Lazybones," Walter said with a lecherous grin, "you going to shower with me now that you're out of bed?"
Although not a morning person, Alex couldn't help but smile as he moved in for his morning kiss.
When they broke for air, Walter glanced at the clock and mumbled something about needing to get up earlier.
"Earlier?" Alex protested. "What do you think you are? A rooster?"
Walter grinned. "Can you think of anything sexier?"
Alex stared at him incredulously. "Sexier than a chicken?"
"Than a nice big cock," Walter corrected, reaching for Alex's.
"It's too damn early for word games," Alex grumbled. But he thrust his hips, enjoying the friction of Walter's hand on his growing erection.
"How about too early to jack off?"
In response, Alex thrust again.
"Guess not," Walter said with a laugh and using Alex's cock as a leash, pulled him toward the shower. A split second before Walter's hand touched the shower door he heard the telephone. It was highly unusual to hear it ring this early in the morning and, when it did, it inevitably served as a portend of bad news.
Walter looked into Alex's eyes and saw resignation. But all he said was "You better answer that."
Walter dutifully trotted to the telephone in the bedroom and picked it up. Meanwhile, Alex turned on the shower and stepped inside. He would know soon enough what gone wrong.
Alex was rinsing the soap out of his hair when Walter returned to the bathroom and announced "That was the Director's secretary. The Stuyvesant case has blown up in our faces."
"What happened?"
"Yesterday afternoon the Attorney General told the Director that in his legal opinion the drug evidence will be ruled inadmissible. And last night the two most important witnesses disappeared from protective custody. The Director wants to know what I'm doing about it and demands a full report be on his desk by 9:00 this morning."
"Shit."
"Exactly," Walter said and Alex thought he could hear the muscles in Walter's jaw clenching with pent up fury and disbelief.
"Want me to catch a cab to Jack's place?"
"You don't mind?"
"Nah, I can manage," Alex said and he turned off the water. "Is it okay with you if I borrow your garment bag?" He stepped out of the shower and reached for his towel, adding "My first class this morning is rape-prevention. I won't want to put on my suit until afterwards."
"Sure, that's fine.
Alex gave Walter a quick buss on the lips. "Thanks," he said, and exited the room.
Jack was waiting on the sidewalk when the cab driver pulled up to the curbside. Alex told the driver to wait a moment, and rolled down the window. He greeted his friend with "I didn't expect to find you out here. I'm not late, am I?"
Jack gave him a forlorn smile and shook his head. "I was thinking about Chris. Needed to get out of my apartment and into the fresh air."
Alex nodded, understanding where Jack was coming from. Noticing the carry-on bag near Jack's feet, Alex asked "Want to walk or to take the cab to Mosely?" They typically walked the two short miles to work, but then they didn't normally have luggage to contend with.
"It's here, we might as well use it."
Respecting Jack's somber mood, Alex was quiet during the drive to Mosely Security. When they arrived, Jack used his keys to unlock the building and punched his code into the security system. "You still up for a run?" Alex asked.
Jack turned the latch on the door, locking them inside the building. "Not really, but I know me. If I start excusing myself because I'm not in the mood, I may never run again."
There was wisdom in that, Alex thought. He too was familiar with slippery slopes and had lost his own footing more times than he cared to remember.
Together, they walked to the employee's locker room. Alex hung Walter's garment bag from one of the empty lockers and then changed into his running clothes. Jack unpacked the slacks and dark grey tweed jacket— what Alex suspected was Jack's best clothing—and carefully hung them inside another locker.
Jack and Alex were in agreement that they should vary where they ran, although for completely different reasons. Jack simply liked variety and didn't want to become bored. Alex, aware that he made enemies both in and out of the Consortium, refused to put himself at risk of assault, kidnapping, and murder by allowing himself to fall into a predictable pattern when he could easily avoid doing so.
After a friendly debate, the men decided that they would run the Mall. Jack had good memories of visiting the Lincoln Memorial with his children and, although not much interested in architecture, Alex always found himself drawn to clean lines of the Washington Monument. Running from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol Building would give them a run of about three miles, a distance that would push Jack's limits but not exceed his ability.
Alex pulled off his aptly named sweatshirt. "It's a good thing we have a showers here. I don't think any of my students would appreciate having to work closely with me today if we didn't."
Jack sat on the bench, peeling off his socks. "You can say that again."
"Are you saying I stink?" Alex asked with a wicked grin.
"Hey, if the shoe fits...," Jack replied, laughing.
Alex laughed with him, enjoying the lighter mood. Jack's speed and endurance increased weekly and they had made excellent time during their run. Jack was looking forward to his first 5K race, Damien's Race for Recovery. During today's run, Jack asked Alex if we would consider racing with him, and Alex agreed to think about it. Truthfully, Alex found the idea of participating in an organized race off-putting, but he knew the race raised money for charities involved with fighting addictions and that as such it held a special appeal for Jack.
The morning classes passed without incident and before long Alex found himself back in the locker room, taking another quick shower and getting dressed for the funeral. It felt odd to be wearing a suit, but looking at himself in the full length mirror, he had to admit that Walter had been right when he picked it out. He did look good.
Bruce stuck his head around the corner and caught Alex admiring himself in the mirror. "Alex," he teased, "stop preening and get your buns out here. We're about to leave."
"Aye aye, boss," Alex replied. It had taken him a long time to get to this point, to be comfortable bantering with Bruce. Alex found the whole civilian world took some adjustment, but having an employer one respected rather than feared was in a class by itself. He liked Bruce a great deal, enjoyed the man's company and his friendship, and held great respect for his business acumen and forthright manner. But the mixture of admiration, respect, and friendship he felt sometimes made it difficult to know how to respond. Blind obedience, no matter how hated the master, was so much simpler.
Jack was still at his desk when Alex left the locker room but Bruce was nowhere to be seen. Alex walked toward Jack's desk in time to hear him comment on the string of pearls around Zoe's long, elegant neck.
"These old things?" Zoe asked, disrespectfully flipping the long strand of pearls. Jack looked at her with surprise but Alex noticed that she was struggling to hold off a grin. The twinkle in her eyes grew as she continued, "Confidentially, I bought them with my first paycheck. I spent the rest of the month praying I wouldn't run out of gas or groceries before the next payday, but I've never regretted the purchase."
Bruce's Hummer pulled up by the front door. "Time to go," Alex commented, indicating the large pewter-colored vehicle.
Jack sighed. "Let's get this over with."
Alex slouched in his favorite corner of the couch, bracing a saucer against his chest with his prosthetic hand. With his good hand, he lifted a cup of tea to his lips and took a sip. He'd tried to call Walter when he'd returned from the funeral, but Walter wasn't answering his cell. He tried calling Walter's secretary, but all she would say was that AD Skinner was in a meeting and could not be disturbed. When she asked if she could take a message, Alex politely declined. Although he had a feeling Walter's secretary knew Walter had someone in his life now, and probably suspected that person was another man, he felt no need to confirm the suspicion. Homophobia was alive and well in the FBI and there was no reason to give Walter's political rivals ammunition to use against him.
He'd tried the cell phone again, after teaching his two afternoon classes. Walter still wasn't answering but this time he'd left a message, simply stating that Bruce would be giving him a ride home.
He'd half expected to find a message from Walter on the answering machine when he reached the apartment, but the only recording was someone claiming he'd won a free three-day trip to Florida. Alex erased the message before it had time to finish playing.
As he relaxed on the couch, Alex thought about the events of the day. His day had turned out to have been much better than he expected, and he wondered if Walter would be able to say the same.
The funeral had been interesting for a variety of reasons. First, the former Mrs. Chandler was nothing like he pictured. She looked tired, almost subdued, but showed very few signs of grief. She was carefully dressed, as were her children, whom were younger than Alex expected. The girl was in her early teens and the boy a few years younger. They, unlike their mother, showed signs of recent tears.
For someone who had once been in the business of taking lives, Alex had been to remarkably few funerals and he found the cremation fascinating. It was like something out of a movie, the coffin moving on a conveyor to a furnace hidden behind velvet drapes. Alex recalled seeing flames wicking as the coffin entered the chamber and watching the curtain fall closed when the passed beyond it. The witnesses had then been ushered out of the building and Mrs. Chandler informed that the cremains would be ready for pickup in another four or five hours.
Perhaps the biggest surprise had been that Zoe was well acquainted with Mrs. Chandler's boss. He could still hear Zoe's voice ringing with delight when she squealed "Reggie! What are you doing here?!" Alex laughed, remembering the variety of reactions her greeting provoked. Bruce stiffened and looked like he wanted to tear the guy's throat out. Reggie either didn't notice the threat emanating from Bruce or dismissed it as inconsequential; he merely extended his hand and said in a deep and droll voice, "The same as you, I imagine." Zoe laughed, Bruce relaxed, and Mrs. Chandler looked from one face to the next in confusion as her children, in turn, looked to her for clues as to how they should behave.
At that point, Jack had stepped forward, and with his usual easy grace, announced that introductions were in order. He introduced himself to Mrs. Chandler and extended his condolences to her and the children. Zoe followed his lead, introducing herself and Bruce, and then introducing Bruce to Reginald Davenport and his mousy secretary, Miss Brown. Davenport, she explained, had been her mentor when she joined her first law firm. He'd left to form his own practice and tried to convince her to join him as a partner in the new firm. She had declined the offer and now they were friendly rivals, meeting occasionally to do battle in court.
Mrs. Chandler, as it developed, worked for Davenport as a paralegal, a career she'd fallen into by accident. When Chris' drinking had lead to a drunk driving arrest, she knew they couldn't afford the legal bills, so she'd volunteered to work for his lawyer free of charge for six months if he'd take the case. One day a client had come in needed a form filled out while Davenport was out of the office. By that time she'd done the form enough times to feel comfortable with the task and gone ahead and filled everything out. When Davenport returned from court, she showed him the completed form, ready for him to file. Impressed, he began letting her work independently, coming to him when she had questions or ran into a situations she didn't know how to handle. Before long she was conducting legal research and eventually they struck a deal, in exchange for working for him after graduation, he'd provide a no-interest loan for tuition in the paralegal program at George Washington University.
So oddly, even though they were at the funeral of a Vietnam-era vet, what drew the two sets of mourners together was the legal profession. Bruce, wanting to make his claim on Zoe clear to Davenport, invited the group to lunch after the funeral.
Conversation during lunch was surprisingly easy. Zoe asked how Mrs. Chandler—Anita—had met Chris. After his release from the army, Chris had come to Washington to join the protests against the war. He felt that as someone who had been there, who had not fled to Canada but who had answered his country's call, his opinion would be heard and respected by those in congress. It wasn't, of course. But he'd met Anita during one of the vigils and they'd begun living together.
Zoe and Bruce spoke of their friendship with Chris, as did Jack and Alex. Mrs. Chandler's boy, Jeff, wanted to know how Bruce lost his leg, so Bruce told him a somewhat sanitized version of the story. That lead to Davenport and Bruce trading war stories. Mrs. Chandler relayed the few stories Chris had told her about Vietnam and went on to describe how his life had been changed by his experiences there.
After the troops were called home, Chris had settled down and gotten a job working for a bottling plant. Things were good between them, so after a few years went by they decided it was time to get married and to have kids of their own. Although Chris had not stopped drinking completely, he was a good father, sitting up with the babies, holding them all night when the were sick or teething. Things were going reasonably well until the economy went south. The bottling plant began laying people off and Chris, who had issues with authority figures, was one of the first to go. He had no trouble getting a new job at a rival plant though, as he was known as a hard worker when he wasn't bickering with management. But before long, management problems and a poor economy lead to another bout of unemployment. Chris' drinking increased as the longevity of his jobs decreased. Anita asked him to get help, and suggested he seek alcohol treatment at the VA. Under protest, he'd gone, only to discover that the VA was run just like the army—by pencil-pushers who delighted in enforcing rigid and archaic rules. They demanded proof that Chris' alcoholism was a service-related problem and questioned his veracity when they learned his drinking had not grown out of control until nearly twenty years after he'd left the service. Angered, Chris stomped out of the VA vowing never to return. When Chris' drinking and chronic unemployment began to affect the children, Anita felt she had no choice but to ask for a divorce. Unable to stop drinking or to find an alternative, Chris agreed.
When Alex's thoughts turned to his own alcoholic father, he decided it was time to think about something else. He took his now empty cup of tea to the kitchen and put it in the dishwasher, then returned to the living room and pulled a book called _Dangerous Men_ off the shelf. He started reading.
He was still at it when a very tired Walter Skinner opened the apartment door. Placing his book on the end table, Alex stood to greet his lover. "I missed you," he said, helping Walter remove his overcoat and placing it on a coat-hanger.
Clearly exhausted, Walter smiled back at him. "Me too," he said. When Alex turned back from hanging the coat in the hall closet, Walter put a hand on Alex's shoulder and just looked at him.
Alex tilted his head. "What?" he asked quizzically.
"You," was all Walter said, and reeled him in for a kiss. After a short sweet kiss, Walter pulled his head back. "Did you eat?"
"I wasn't hungry. How about you?"
"I hit McDonald's on the way home. I worked through lunch and I was starving."
"You look like you had a rough day," Alex observed. "Want to tell me about it?"
"It was about what you'd expect. The Director read me the riot act about the Stuyvesant case. I spent all morning listening to excuses from the agents then had to write a report outlining the history of the case, actions the bureau has taken, and possible avenues of future investigation.
"No sooner was the report on the director's desk when another agent came in with critical information. It seems inter-agency rivalries are getting in the way again. A local law enforcement group has been butting heads with our people regarding jurisdiction. And if that weren't enough, one of our agents has a family connection to one suspects, and we suspect he's been leaking information."
"Lovely," Alex said sarcastically.
"You've got it," Walter responded. "That was my whole day, interviewing agents and writing reports for the director."
"You ever think of leaving the bureau?"
"All the time," Walter chuckled. "I'm not ready to quit yet. But give me a few more days like this one and I may change my mind!"
"So," Alex asked, "what do you want to do right now?"
Walter pulled Alex to him. "More of this," and gave him a kiss.
Together, they moved up the stairs to the master bedroom, loosening their clothing as they went. Walter said "Let me brush my teeth. Once I lay down nothing's going to get me out of bed until morning."
Green fire burned in Alex's eyes as he moved to the bedroom and began pulling off his clothing.
Walter walked into the bedroom, holding his toothbrush in one hand and squeezing toothpaste on to it with the other. "I nearly forgot to ask, how was the funeral?"
"It was fine."
"Did Chris receive Military Funeral Honors?"
"Yes, but if looks could kill, the nation would have lost two soldiers today.
"Why's that?"
"It seems that Mrs. Chandler objected to the recording of taps—said it just figured that an country that refused to help her husband while he was alive would send two soldiers and a recording to his funeral."
"No wonder you called her a bitch the other day."
"She isn't though, not really. She had a hard life, coping with her alcoholic husband. And other than the initial glare, she was polite to the officers who gave her the flag. I think she was just caught unaware. Besides, who can blame her for being angry? Chris had a tough life but he's beyond suffering now. She still has to cope with everything that happened directly to Chris and to her by proxy."
"How's Jack handling it?"
"Better, now that he knows Mrs. Chandler will be okay. Jack told me that he took her aside at lunch and asked if she'd need financial assistance. Jack said she seemed somewhat surprised by the question. She thanked him for his consideration but pointed out that she' s been functioning as a single mother for nearly a decade and that financially speaking the family is better off with Chris dead. He was paying only $50/month in child support, but now that he's dead the government will pay death benefits that add up to more than $900/month."
Walter walked back into the bathroom and resumed brushing his teeth. When he came back to the bedroom, Alex was sitting up against the pillows, still thinking about Vietnam.
"Bruce told the story of how he lost his leg at lunch today. I don't think I'd ever heard his version of the story before."
"Is it that much different than mine?" Walter tried to joke.
Alex shook his head. "Just from a different perspective. You really went through some hard times over there, didn't you?"
Silently, Walter agreed he had. Aloud, he said, "You look good enough to eat." And put action to words.
The first rasp of Walter's tongue up Alex's thick cock brought forth a long sexy moan followed by an incomprehensible stream of Russian. Although Walter was unable to understand the words, the language of Alex's body told him everything he need to know and Alex was soon on the brink of orgasm.
Wildly, Alex thrust backwards, pulling his cock from Walter's hot mouth. "No," he cried, "not yet. Not until you're in me."
Walter moved to his hands and knees and moved down the bed. Grabbing Alex's knees, he pulled Alex until his ass was in the middle of the bed. Then, nearly pouncing on the strong sexy body laying beneath him panting, Walter worked his way from Alex's belly-button to his tight little nipples. Alex writhed beneath him, demanding that Walter fuck him, hard and fast and right now.
Walter lifted his head and looked at the debauched sight before him. "You're so damn sexy, Alex," he growled.
Alex stretched his hand toward the night-stand, frantically reaching for the condoms and lube stored there as his mouth was relentlessly plundered and his cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat. After minutes of blind groping, Alex made contact with the condoms and pulled one into bed with him pushed it into Walter's hand. "On you," he pleaded. "Now."
Walter tore open the package and began to roll it over the head of his cock. To his dismay, his erection began to flag as did. He'd barely gotten the thin membrane over his cockhead when he went completely soft. "Oh shit," he murmured.
"What?" Alex asked, abandoning the kiss he had been about to place and opening his eyes. He saw Walter's flaccid cock. "Shit no," he softly echoed, and moved to suck Walter back to hardness.
But Walter's sex organs were not in a playful mood and no matter what Alex did, Walter remained soft. After a while, Walter sadly stated the truth. "This isn't working. I'm sorry Alex, but I don't think I'll be able to get hard again tonight." He wondered if his inability to perform would change Alex's feelings about him. He'd never had a sexual problem before. And what if this became a regular occurrence? Would Alex still love him if he became impotent? Would Alex leave him or start looking to other men for sexual satisfaction? "I'm sorry," he repeated.
Feeling helpless, Alex lost his own hard-on. It was obvious that Walter was distraught over the loss of his erection, and maybe a little embarrassed. Alex thought about how he'd feel if it were him and concluded that the worst thing would be having his partner make a big deal out of it. "You know what they say about stress, and erectile dysfunction, let's get you rested and we'll be back to fucking like weasels in no time."
"Weasels, Alex?" Walter asked, reassured by Alex's willingness to overlook his failure.
"Beats gerbils, doesn't it?," he asked.
Walter laughed. "That it does, that it does," and pulled Alex up against his chest. "Love you," he said, and before he knew it, he was asleep.
When the alarm went off at the usual time the next morning, Walter seemed his normal self. Alex, on the other hand, was groggy. He hadn't been able to fall asleep and had laid on Walter's chest, listening to his heartbeat and thinking about life and death. He had fallen back into sleep as soon as Walter shut off the alarm and didn't hear Walter's calling him to come take a shower with him.
When Walter returned to the bedroom to dress, he discovered Alex still unconscious on the bed. He gently shook Alex's shoulder, "Come on, sleepy-head, it's time to get up."
Alex raised his head and tried to clear this thoughts by giving his head a good shake. "Huh? What?" He tried to focus his bleary eyes on Walter and saw the wet hair on his chest. Deducing that Walter had already taken his shower, he asked, "What time is it? Why didn't you wake me?"
"Ten to six. Because I thought you'd heard the alarm."
"Oh," Alex said and shook his head again. He yawned hugely, blinked his eyes a few times, and tried to sit up. "I'm really out of it this morning." He yawned once more.
Walter held out his hand, "Come on, a shower will help wake you up." Alex put his hand in Walter's, accepting the upward pull that helped propel him out of bed and towards the bathroom. "I'll have tea ready for you when you're done," Walter called after him, admiring Alex's shapely behind as it moved away.
Alex accepted the large mug of tea gratefully. With his still wet hair falling over his forehead, he looked extremely kissable but only marginally more awake. Walter told him as much and got a cute little pout in response. Which Walter then felt obliged to kiss away.
Walter held out a plate containing two pieces of strawberry jam covered toast. "I know you aren't hungry in the morning, but eat this anyway."
Alex nodded and lifted one of the two pieces. He nibbled a corner. "Sugar and caffeine," he said, "nature's two finest foods."
"Those aren't food, they're ingredients," contradicted Walter. "Nature's finest food, he continued, is Scotch."
"That's not food either, that's a drink." He thought for a "moment. Chocolate. That's nature's finest food."
Walter objected, "That can be a drink too."
"More proof it's nature's finest food. Perfect in solid and liquid form!"
"Okay, Mister Chocolate Fiend, eat your breakfast and let's get a move-on."
Alex swallowed another bite of toast. "Anything I should know about today?"
"I don't think so. I had to skip having lunch with Doggett yesterday so I'll probably have lunch with him today if he's not out on assignment somewhere. It may be another late night though. If it looks like it will, I'll try to give you a call."
"Okay," Alex said and popped the remaining piece of toast into his mouth. He got up and placed the dish in the dishwasher, then rinsed his fingers. "As soon as I grab my jacket, I'll be ready to roll."
Walter met him at the door, punched in the alarm code and locked the door behind them. As they walked to the elevator Walter asked, "Have you given any more consideration to getting your own car?"
"You getting tired of giving me rides?"
"No, it isn't that. But don't you get tired of waiting for me when you don't know when I'll be free to come get you? Or of having to ask your friends for a ride when you get tired of waiting?"
"I don't mind waiting, at least not most of the time. And I try not to ask for rides too often. I don't want to become a burden to you or to anyone else."
"You aren't a burden, I just wanted to know if you'd thought about it."
When Alex remained silent, Walter concluded he hadn't, but Alex had given the idea of getting a second car some thought. On the one hand, having one would give him more freedom, but on the other, he wasn't sure he wanted to be that free. He enjoyed the time he spent with Walter, even when it was just a few minutes in the car going from point A to point B. And he was a wondered whether Walter would be even less inclined to leave work at a reasonable hour if Alex weren't waiting for him. Would buying a car enable Walter's work-a-holic tendencies?
Before he could reach a conclusion, Walter pulled into the parking lot at Mosely. Alex glanced around and not seeing anyone, gave Walter a quick kiss. "See you later," he said, climbing out of the car.
Walter watched him gain entrance to the building before pulling away.
Walter worked late again that night, and the next. Both nights he came home just a few minutes shy of midnight. The first night he found Alex reading downstairs on the couch. The second night Alex was upstairs, propped up on the pillows. He put _Dangerous Men_ on the table and smiled at Walter. "Welcome home."
Walter muttered "Glad to be here," and looked like he was ready to fall over. He yawned and reached down to ruffle Alex's soft brown hair. "I wanted to have dinner with you tonight."
"Did you have some?" Alex asked, concerned.
"Yeah, Kim ordered something for me before she left the office. She's going to make someone a good wife and mother one of these days."
"As long as it isn't you," Alex said, suddenly jealous. "You're mine."
"Yours," Walter agreed happily. He straightened up and wandered to the bathroom, tossing his clothes into the laundry hamper as he went. Alex heard the sound of running water and teeth being brushed.
When Walter joined him in bed, Alex rolled on his side to reach the bedside lamp and turn it off. Walter moved closer so that when Alex relaxed his body, he was spooned closely behind. Walter wrapped his arms around Alex, murmured, "Love you," kissed his neck, and fell asleep.
Once again, Alex stayed awake, wondering when and if he'd ever get his lover back. He threw in a few curses at inept FBI agents, congressional funding, and the director for good measure.
Friday morning found both men tired and grumpy. Alex had dark circles under his eyes and moved with much less grace than typical. Walter was too tired to engage in verbal banter and kept conversation to simple requests and statements of fact. When he dropped Alex off at Jack's for his morning run, Walter would have felt relief if he had the energy to feel anything at all.
Jack and Alex ran a course new to them. The change suited both men, Alex because Jack was too engrosed in the scenery to make conversation and Jack because it meant he was a step closer to running the race. As the exercise began to release the endorphins, Alex's mood improved and he began to enjoy the Inauguration Run. They began near the White House, running down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol Building. Entering the road through the grounds at the point where Pennsylvania Avenue dead-ends, they followed a gentle arc up Capitol Hill to the back side. When they reached the intersection with Second Street, they took it past the the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress. Circling the Capitol Building, the came back down the road through the grounds on the other side of the building, returned to Pennsylvania Avenue and ran back towards the White House.
From the White House, the men walked back to Mosely Security, using the time to cool down and people watch. Summer was on its way and the people working in, or visiting, the nation's capitol were beginning to wear their more revealing summer clothes.
After cooling down with the walk back and a hot shower, Alex was starting to feel like himself. He taught his first class without incident and was getting prepared for his second class of the day when Jack called him out of the classroom. "Walter's on the phone and wants to know if you have a minute."
"For Walter," Alex grinned, "I'd make time."
It didn't take long for Alex to lose the smile from his face. Seconds after Alex spoke his greeting into the handset, Walter said "Alex, I'm taking a flight to Dallas this evening. I'm taking charge of the Stuyvesant case and will be staying there until it's been resolved."
Alex choked back his emotions. In a very good imitation of his normal speaking voice he asked, "Any idea of how long you'll be gone?"
"A week, maybe two."
"Anything you want me to do?"
"Yes, have dinner with me tonight and then drive me to the airport."
Using old skills, Alex concentrated on his work. He taught his classes as calmly and efficiently as he always did and his students were none the wiser that their instructor was feeling unaccustomed emotions that he had no real idea of how to handle.
The day progressed and to all appearances, Alex was his normal self. He chatted with Zoe when she came in to visit with Bruce and to talk him into going to a movie with her that night, he helped Jack clean out the office refrigerator and dispose of the moldy leftovers that were threatening to take over. Walter met Alex in the parking lot shortly after he'd made a trip to dumpster with a highly odoriferous trash bag. Rolling down the window he tried to smile and asked if Alex was ready.
"Let me go wash my hands and say good night to Jack."
Alex walked back inside the building, wondering why he felt nervous, almost as if he were a virgin going on his first date. He hadn't yet formulated an answer when he joined Walter in his car.
"Any place in particular you'd like to go?" Walter asked.
"Anywhere you like. You're the one who's leaving town."
'And you're the one I'm leaving behind,' Walter thought, but he didn't say it. Nor did he say, 'I wish I didn't have to go,' but he thought it all the same.
"Ruth Chris Steakhouse?" Walter asked.
"Pulling out the big guns, huh?" Alex replied.
Walter glanced at his lover, the street lights shining on his glasses preventing Alex from seeing the longing in his eyes. "You deserve a good meal before I have to leave. Since the FBI is making me go, the least it can do is buy us a good dinner first."
"They do have excellent steak," is all he said.
Skinner trusted Alex with the details of the case, but he knew that being overheard discussing it would lead to immediate dismissal from the FBI and the loss of his pension. And Alex, too, knew the rules regarding such disclosure. He didn't ask. Looking for something to discuss, Walter thought of his lunch with Doggett, which had finally occurred earlier that day.
"I had lunch with Doggett," he began.
Alex cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked.
"You were right, Mulder put him up to it."
Alex began to lose his appetite. "What did he say?" he asked, needing to know the worst.
"That Mulder had asked him to talk to me. He said in that direct way of his that Mulder told him I was living with a dangerous, evil man, and that he was concerned about it."
"Shit."
"Yes. Doggett also said that he respects me, and while he doesn't know you, he trusts my judgment. He doesn't care that I'm gay, just wants me to be happy. And he'll be glad to help, whether it's to fight you, if you're blackmailing me, or if it's Mulder causing trouble."
Alex sat there, food forgotten. The stress of the last few weeks, combined with the idea of Walter going away caused him to totally misinterpret what Walter was trying to tell him. All he could hear was Doggett didn't know him, was on Mulder's side, and wanted to protect Walter. Alex felt anger and hopelessness. How long before they succeeded?
Walter noticed Alex had grown quiet, and was ignoring his food. But, hell, he was, too. He was so tired, and now he had to go to Dallas. The food was excellent, but his heart just wasn't in it. He ate a little, then pushed the plate aside.
The ride home was equally silent, each man deep in his own thoughts. As Walter packed, Alex helped him, but was unable to tell him what he desperately wanted to. That he would miss Walter, and that he was scared, and please, don't let them convince you.
Walter also had things he needed to say, but wouldn't. That he would miss Alex, that their lives would be normal again, and please, don't give up on me.
In the end, they said very little, And when they got to the airport, Walter insisted that Alex not come in with him.
"You need to get some rest. Go home and relax. I'll be home as soon as I can. And I'll keep in touch."
"Take care of yourself, Walter."
Walter gave Alex a quick kiss and was gone.
Alex parked Walter's car in the apartment's garage, and took the elevator up to the 17th floor. Taking Walter's advice, he tried to relax and started to get ready for bed. It was odd, he thought, how the apartment didn't feel this empty on nights Walter worked late. Maybe knowing Walter would soon be on his way home was what made the difference.
He moved around the big bed, trying to get comfortable. It didn't feel right, sleeping without Walter. Eventually he found himself stretched out on his stomach with his face buried in Walter's pillow. He was glad they hadn't had time to change the sheets that morning; at least Walter's scent would be with him while they were apart. Feeling like a complete dork, Alex kissed the pillow and said aloud, "Good night, Walter. I love you where ever you are."
He'd forgotten to turn off the alarm, so Alex woke up when the alarm went off at 5:30 Saturday morning. He thought about going back to sleep but the more he thought about it, the more awake he became. Alex got up and used the toilet, then wandered out to the kitchen. He looked in the refrigerator and was reminded of how low he and Walter had run on supplies during the previous few weeks. Well, he had Walter's car, he could make a trip to the grocery store. Alex moved around the kitchen, looking into the cupboards and trying to remember what sorts of things Walter liked to keep on hand. He put some water on to boil and started writing out a shopping list.
The trip to the grocery store was uneventful, albeit expensive. And Alex cheered himself up by buying some frozen foods he thought he'd enjoy having while Walter was out of town. Walter had a low opinion of frozen and pre-packaged foods.
Discovering that re-stocking the cupboards had made him feel better, Alex decided to continue with this streak of domesticity. Excepting Walter's pillow, he stripped off the sheets and remade the bed. He put the sheets in the washing machine, added soap and turned it on, then went off in search of more things to wash. He gathered up the dirty towels from the master bath, the half bath on the first floor, and the kitchen, and tossed them on the floor in front of the washing machine. That would be his next load. He went back upstairs and brought the entire hamper down, sorting the dry cleaning from the wash. While the washer completed its cycle, he bundled Walter's suits together and drove to the dry-cleaners to drop them off. Returning to the apartment, he put the now clean sheets into the dryer and started his next load of laundry. He ran the vacuum around the apartment and, for want of something better to do, dusted the shelves in the living room. Returning to the kitchen, he noticed the counters and stove top could stand a good cleaning and gave them a thorough scrubbing.
Before the afternoon was over, the apartment was sparkling clean and Alex was exhausted. Although he was in great physical shape between the workouts he received teaching self-defense classes and the running he did with Jack, cleaning had used muscles that didn't normally receive much exercise. Alex twisted his shoulders, back, and neck until the muscles loosened, then lay down on the carpeted floor and repeated the motions. As the muscles lost their tension, Alex too relaxed and he fell into a deep sleep.
When the telephone awakened him, hours later, Alex was unaccustomedly disoriented. He had been blessed with the type of mind that, instantaneous with waking, knew the answer to three important questions: his identity, his location, and the situation he would find himself in. During his entire life, only twice before had it failed to inform him of these things immediately upon regaining consciousness. Once was during his ill-fated trip to Tunguska, and the other was while he'd been working for the Consortium, hopping from one city to the next so quickly that he'd lost track of where he was. It took him a moment to remember that he was laying on the living room floor and that the cause of his stiff and sore muscles was nothing more ominous than housework.
The answering machine's outgoing message was still playing as he as he struggled to pull his thoughts together. He stood and approached the answering machine. Only if the caller were Walter (or Jack, Bruce, or Zoe) would he pick up the phone.
Walter's voice came through the speaker loud and clear. "Alex, you there?"
Snatching up the receiver, Alex responded, "I'm here."
"Good, I wanted to give you my room number and the number of the hotel. If something urgent comes up, you can leave a message with the desk clerk. I've got my cell phone here too, but the area we're working suffers frequent signal loss."
Alex wrote down the information Walter provided. He tried to think of something to say, but he really hadn't done anything all day other than clean. And he didn't want to mention that for fear that he'd sound like he was fishing for praise or, worse, like a lonely housewife. He settled on, "I hope the case goes well and that you'll be home soon."
Walter, no more willing to admit the intensity with which he missed his lover, said, "I'll try to call you at least once a day to let you know how it's going. You take care, okay?"
"You too, Walter," Alex replied and ended the call.
The constant ache of missing Walter grew more painful as a long and empty Sunday stretched in front of Alex. With Alex volunteering at the homeless shelter on alternating Saturdays, and Walter often needing additional time to catch up on the reports he was unable to write, read, or review during the work week, Sunday had become sacrosanct as the day they set everything else aside and spent time together.
Alex paced around the apartment. Had his life become so entwined with Walter's that he couldn't think of anything to do on his own? Nothing he could think of sounded fun without Walter there to share it with.
Alex, vilifying himself as weak and needy, cursed the emptiness of the apartment and then began to worry how he'd be able to survive when Walter came to his senses and asked him to leave. He wondered which would hurt less, moving out now or waiting for Walter to ask him to go. Do it now and the pain would end sooner. If it ended at all, Alex amended bitterly.
Realizing his thoughts were getting him nowhere, Alex set them aside. He needed something to do that would take him outside his own head. Getting into a fight would certainly accomplish that task, but he didn't want to cause trouble for an innocent, or even not-so-innocent, bystander. Nor did he want to risk arrest. It wasn't that he feared prison; after everything he'd endured working for the Consortium, even worst the prison system could throw at him would be a walk in the park. Alex knew that falling into old self-destructive patterns wouldn't do him any good. The type of life he wanted to lead with Walter required new methods of coping.
He thought about the few friends he'd made since he stopped living in the shadows. Of everyone he knew, Jack had to come the closest to being able to truly understand the precariousness of Alex's new life. Jack had been there himself, having to leave old habits and behaviors behind, to find a new way of living. Alex picked up the phone.
When Alex explained he was at loose ends, Jack invited him over, saying that he was in the mood to use his grandmother's recipes and would need help eating the resulting food. Jack's grandmother was famous within the family for making enough to feed an army whenever she cooked dinner, so Jack wasn't entirely kidding.
"This one of her secret recipes?" Alex asked. "Or one you can teach to me?"
"I don't think she'd mind my teaching it to you," Jack said. "Come on over and we'll see if you can be taught."
Alex, delighted by the challenge, laughed. "I'm on my way."
"I can't believe I ate so much," Alex remarked, looking at the dishes still littering the table.
"I know what you mean," Jack agreed, patting his stomach. "It's a good thing you talked me into running with you, or I'd be as big as a house. But my sainted grandmother, she sure could cook, couldn't she?"
"She sure could." Alex leaned back in his chair and surveyed the dishes on the table and the pans and serving plates that lay on the stove and counter-tops. They'd spent the afternoon baking and cooking "Just the way Jack's Italian grandmother had learned to cook as a child growing up in the old country," or so Jack claimed. They'd made everything from their own bread, a delicious Rosemary Foccacia, to dishes that Alex had previously only had in four star restaurants or as inferior imitations garnered from the frozen foods section of the grocery store. The stuffed manicotti had been more work than Alex expected, but in retrospect was well worth the effort. And the Chicken Cacciatore, that had turned out better far better than any he'd ever eaten anywhere, top restaurants included. Even the artichoke and fennel salad was good, and Alex didn't even like fennel.
"You want to take some of this home with you?" Jack asked.
"How about we take it to work with us tomorrow and have it for lunch? We'll make the Wendy's brigade green with envy."
"You're evil," Jack accused. But the big grin on his face said otherwise.
Alex placed his leather jacket on its wooden hangar and hung the assemblage in the hall closet. Walking over to the answering machine, he checked for new messages. There weren't any. He looked at his watch and subtracted the hour time difference—it was only 9:30 in Dallas. Knowing Walter, he'd been up to his eyeballs in reports all day and was only now getting around to ordering dinner.
As he went about locking up the apartment and getting ready for bed, Alex thought about the dinner he had, and Walter's weakness for Italian food. He would enjoy showing Walter that he wasn't the only one in their relationship capable of creating magnificent multi-course meals. Even barring the competitive aspects, Alex thought, he wanted to be able to treat Walter to the sort of meal Walter so often prepared for him. Trading the hard work that went into Walter's gourmet meals for simple fare Alex normally prepared simply didn't equal a fair exchange of labor. And, Alex reminded himself, his days of exploiting people were over.
But still, he could hardly wait to see the look on Walter's face when he sat him down to feast on the dishes he'd learned to prepare tonight.
Alex had just begun to fall asleep when the phone rang. Sure it was Walter, he picked it up after the second ring. "Hello," Alex yawed into the phone.
"Did I wake you?" Walter asked.
"No," Alex prevaricated. "I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang."
"You have a good day?"
"Yeah, I did," Alex answered, realizing the truth of the statement. Except missing Walter, he'd had a great day. "How about you? How's it going?"
"I'm glad I'm here," Walter said. "Now that I'm down here, I've got a much better feel for the players. It won't be easy, but I think we'll be able to hand the prosecution everything it needs."
"That's great," Alex said, keeping the hurt out of his voice. What did Walter mean, he was glad to be in Dallas? Didn't the man miss him?
"Yeah, it is," Walter enthused, thinking that the sooner they had the evidence, the sooner he could fly home. "Anything there I should know about?"
"Nothing I can think of. No mail today, so nothing interesting there. Everything seems to be in fine working order."
"Okay then, I'll let you get some sleep," Walter said, wondering if he should take the line about "fine working order" personally. Alex wouldn't be out looking for a new lover so soon, would he? He'd only been gone two days. Well there was the episode... Uncomfortable with the memory, Walter stopped the thought abruptly. He barely heard Alex's voice saying, "You get some sleep too, Walter," and completely missed the love and concern in the words.
"Good night, Alex," Walter said and reached to hang up the telephone. He never heard the final word of Alex's response.
"Good night, Love."
Monday morning came as bright and early as Monday mornings are wont to do. Alex had slept fitfully, still not adjusted to sleeping alone and troubled by the conversation he'd had with Walter the night before. He put on his running clothes, gathered his wallet, work clothes, leather jacket, and the keys to Walter's car, and drove to Jack's apartment to pick him up.
A strong breeze blew cold air down from the north and the skies began to threaten rain, but after parking Walter's car in Mosely Security's parking lot, Alex and Jack began their morning run. The cold wind was unpleasant, but determined not to break training for the upcoming race, Jack pressed on. Although he too was not appreciative of the weather, Alex had survived much worse and didn't let it bother him. The men made poor time during the first half of the run—running into the strong wind slowed them down considerably—but with the wind at their backs, they made the return trip at record speed and returned from the run exhilarated.
Walter paged through the contents of the file folder the sheriff had given him one more time. He knew he was missing something, but whatever clue was buried in the paperwork continued to elude him.
He tried to focus on the investigation but thoughts of Alex began to intrude. He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was getting late. If he were home in DC, he'd be finishing up his work day and looking forward to picking up Alex. They'd go home and have dinner, and afterwards, they might not do anything more than sit on the couch, but whatever they did, doing it together made the experience infinitely more enjoyable.
Marshalling his thoughts, Walter picked up the stack of file folders and began sorting them by originating agency. If there was ever a case in which the investigators needed a scorecard to keep track of the players, this was it.
After work, Alex returned home to the apartment. He checked the answering machine and, finding no new messages, walked into the kitchen. He put a frozen pizza into the oven and set the timer, then found his book and settled down to do some light reading. Other than the title, Dangerous Men, he wasn't sure what had attracted him to the book when he'd spotted it on the bookshelf. He wasn't much of a movie buff, and knew hardly anything about old movies. But it was interesting, reading about Hollywood in the pre-Code years and the sort of movies that were made then. It seemed to Alex that underlying themes portrayed in movies during the pre-Code years bore some resemblance to his own life. Alex knew he was no hero, but he could identify with an outsider's understanding of life. And he, like the pre-Code heroes discussed, acknowledged that the world was jungle and did the best he could.
Alex set his book aside and let his thoughts wander.
Falling into melancholia, Walter's call when it came did nothing to improve Alex's mood. The witnesses were still missing, an agent had been shot, and Walter had no idea when he'd be able to return to Washington.
Talking with Alex brought Walter's longing for his lover into sharp relief. He missed Alex so much it hurt. He'd lived a solitary life for so long, he had thought a couple of weeks away wouldn't be a big deal. He had been wrong. It was a damn big deal.
Locking down his emotions, Walter transmuted his longing for Alex into renewed determination to crack the case. He resolved to use the all of the resources available to him to their fullest extent. He would push the investigators until they gave the case everything they had to give, and he would push himself the hardest of all.
Spender visited Alex in his dreams that night, taunting him with hateful words and plumes of cigarette smoke. Alex woke up in a cold sweat, still hearing echoes of the smoking man's derisive laughter when Alex protested that Walter was away on FBI business, not because he wanted to be.
Having no appetite, Alex skipped breakfast. He would have skipped lunch too, but one of his students said she needed to talk and asked if he'd join her for lunch. He wondered if he was being set up, or if she was coming on to him. But, intrigued and in need of a distraction from his own thoughts, Alex agreed to meet with her at the restaurant down the street.
Over lunch, his student, Maggie O'Neill, revealed that she had recently inherited a gun collection that she wanted to dispose of without opening a legal can of worms. Could Alex help?
Alex took a bite of his turkey sandwich and mulled over the situation. Assuming that this wasn't a set up of some sort, and Alex wasn't convinced it wasn't, what did Ms. O'Neill hope to gain? An estimate of the collection's worth? The name of a reputable gun dealer? Did she expect him to offer to buy the collection himself?
Further conversation revealed that she was concerned her father had obtained the guns illegally. Although there were pistols in the collection, the majority of the pieces appeared to be military in nature. If they had been stolen from the government, she wanted them returned anonymously. But how to do that?
Alex promised to give the matter some thought and arranged to meet with her again in a week's time.
Consistent with his determination to use every resource at his disposal, Walter called Fox Mulder to Dallas. Supervising Mulder had always been challenging, but the man's willingness to follow Walter's orders had decreased since he learned that Alex had begun living with him. And each of Mulder's attempts to "save" him from Alex has worsened the the tension between them. Still, Mulder was the FBI's best profiler and Walter knew that without his help, the investigation would continue to flounder.
After teaching his afternoon classes, Alex drove home to Viva Tower. Rush hour traffic seemed worse than usual and Alex wondered why that was. He was glad that he and Walter didn't live way out in the suburbs, he couldn't imagine adjusting to the long commute times some of his students reported having.
Upon arriving home, Alex checked the answering machine. There were no messages. He tried calling Walter's cell phone but the network was overloaded, probably from all those drivers stuck in rush hour telling their spouses they'd be home late for dinner, Alex thought sardonically. He'd try calling again later.
Alex looked around the apartment for something to do. It was still spotless from the weekend cleaning and he wasn't in the mood to read or to listen to music. He felt restless, missing Walter and yet feeling penned in by the man's absence. If this were his old life, he'd go out and either cause trouble or get laid. Maybe, he thought as a wolfish grin lit his features, both—if he were lucky. Picking the phone back up, he tried Walter's number once more. Still no signal. None too gently, he dropped the phone back into its cradle.
Alex thought about going out, but the view from the balcony convinced him that the roads were still a mess. He flipped on the television, aimlessly switching from channel to channel. Nothing held his attention for more than a few seconds and after making the circuit several times, Alex flipped the switch, once more throwing the apartment into silence.
He glanced at the telephone, willing it to ring. It didn't. He thought about trying to call Walter again, but envisioned the call failing and himself hurling the phone from the balcony in a fit of temper.
Considering his agitated state, Alex reached the conclusion that the only thing that permit him to settle down was physical exertion. Running came to mind, but Alex ruled that out as he and Jack would run in the morning. Alex recalled Walter mentioning that Viva Tower maintained a fitness center for the building's residents and that he'd said something about it being on the same floor as the other public facilities, such as the laundry room. As they had their own washer and dryer, and as Walter had no interest in the health club, preferring to box as his own club, Alex had never felt the need to investigate that part of the building. It was time for that to change. Alex changed into shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed his keys, and went exploring.
When Alex returned to the apartment a couple of hours later, he was feeling much calmer. Checking the answering machine, he found a brief message from Walter stating that he was personally overseeing a stake-out and would be incommunicado for the next twelve to twenty-four hours.
Wednesday morning, Alex picked up Jack and they drove to the Georgetown Waterfront. There, they ran the Glover Archbold Trail through a mostly wild stream valley. Afterwards, on the ride to Mosely Security, Jack couldn't stop talking about how much he enjoyed running in the deep green woods. Alex felt much the same way and began to envision future runs. Having his own car would allow them to explore more of the trails surrounding DC and its suburbs. And he was sure Walter would appreciate no longer having to worry about stranding Alex when he was caught in a meeting or otherwise delayed by FBI business.
Walter took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He expected Mulder soon, and he needed to fortify himself for the meeting. Even at the best of times, his agent tried his patience. And Walter was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He'd gotten so used to Alex greeting him with a kiss when he got home. He loved being able share a line from a book he was reading, or laughing at something on TV, and having Alex to cuddle up to on the couch. And their bed . . . Walter decided this was not the direction his thoughts should take. He picked up the telephone and called the hospital to request an update on the medical status of the agent who had been shot.
Reviewing the case notes Mulder had prepared, Walter was again impressed with just how good Mulder was at what he did. Without a doubt, Mulder was best profiler the FBI had ever had. If only he would learn to concentrate his energy on his work rather than interfere with Walter's personal life...
That night, Alex stopped at the Jeep dealership on his way home. He was still going over the brochures and other product literature he'd picked up when Walter called.
Alex sounded cheerful when he picked up the phone and greeted his lover with a delighted "Walter!"
"You're in a good mood," Walter observed.
"I am," Alex agreed. "I've been thinking about your suggestion that we buy a second car and I stopped at the dealership after work."
Before leaving for Dallas, Walter would have been elated to learn Alex was considering the idea. But now, it gave him pause. Hadn't Alex claimed to enjoy spending time with him, even when it was just a few minutes on the way to or from work? And now, while he's away and Alex is driving his car, now he decides to go car shopping? Was this a sign Alex was pulling away? Would he go from wanting his own car to wanting a place of his own? Walter was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he missed Alex's question when it came.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"
"I asked how the case was going." Actually, he'd asked if Walter had any idea when he was coming home, but he'd be damned before he repeated that question. He hated sounding weak and needy, almost as much as he hated feeling that way.
"It's going better," Walter confided. "I had Mulder flown in this morning. His insights and theories are proving to be everything I hoped."
The casually stated words caused alarm bells to ring in Alex's mind. Walter had not only brought in Mulder, but he'd implied that Mulder's insights and theories were trustworthy. Should Alex assume that Mulder was would make his usual disparaging remarks concerning their relationship? And that this time Walter would not only hear but believe them?
Alex didn't know how to respond. He struggled to think of something to say, but his mind had gone completely blank. He was saved from the problem by the sound of loud pounding followed by a deep baritone voice.
"AD Skinner. I have information..."
"Just a minute, Sheriff," Alex heard Walter say, then "I'm sorry, I've got to go."
Alex nodded, realized Walter couldn't see him and choked out, "I'm sorry too. Take care, Walter." And hung up the phone.
Four long and exhausting hours later, Walter returned to his motel room. He had just started to undress when Mulder knocked at the door.
"Sir, I thought of something about the case that we need to discuss. Could I come in?"
That was actually the last thing Walter wanted, but he didn't anticipate getting much sleep anyway. He buttoned his shirt back up and let Mulder in.
Walter listened to Mulder's idea and they discussed it for a while. As Mulder got up to go, he said, "You know, I think this separation has been good for you, Sir."
"What's that, Mulder?"
"Being here, away from Krycek. It seems to have reawakened the character traits that lead you to making AD. Your tenacity, your ability to focus...
Walter felt his blood pressure soar. "You," he spluttered. "Mulder, you don't know shit about what makes me tick. And if you know what's good for you, you won't mention Alex again. Is that clear? Now get out!"
"Sir, I only—"
"Out, Mulder." Walter jerked the door open and Mulder walked reluctantly out. Walter resisted the urge to slam it.
The alarm clock sounded its warning for several minutes before Alex woke up enough to realize that Walter wasn't home. Alex knew that he had to turn the alarm clock off before it gave him a super-sized headache, but it was tempting to lay in bed a little while longer. He was warm and comfortable, which in itself was memorable after nights spent tossing and turning. He'd dreamt that Walter was laying asleep next to him, his warm body spooned against his own after a long night of love-making. He could still feel the warmth and pressure of Walter's body, the illusion furthered by the bedcovers which during the earlier part of the night had become untucked and now lay wadded up behind him.
Freeing himself from the tangle of sheets, Alex hit the off button on the clock and sat on the edge of the bed. He briefly considered going back to bed but knew the two likeliest outcomes were negative. Either he'd fall asleep and be late for work, or, more likely, he'd toss and turn and miss Walter all the more. Yawning, Alex forced himself to his feet and shuffled toward the shower. Looking in the mirror as he shaved, he noticed that he was starting to look as bad as he felt. He hoped the change wasn't as apparent to his students and coworkers as it was to himself.
Walter was consulting with one of his agents when he saw a familiar red head approaching. Dana Scully came up as Walter dismissed the other agent. She held up a folder.
"Here's the results Mulder wanted."
"Scully, what are doing here?"
"Sir?" she asked, confused. "Mulder—I . . . "
"I think I understand. Mulder asked you to come. He no longer feels the need to seek my approval once he's made up his mind that he knows what's best."
Scully sighed.
"It's all right, Scully. I'm sure your input will help."
Scully looked at him critically. "I was about to go get a little lunch. Would you like to join me?"
Walter was about to refuse, but realized he missing yet another meal wouldn't help him solve the case any faster. "Why not?"
They found a quiet restaurant near their hotel. When they were seated and their waitress had taken their drink order, Scully said, "Sir, I've been meaning to speak to you about Mulder. He's very concerned with this Krycek situation."
"That's a bit of an understatement, Agent Scully. He's obsessed. And it's not a 'situation'."
"I didn't mean it that way. Mulder's spoken to me about it. I told him that I saw no evidence indicating Krycek is exploiting you."
"I appreciate that, Scully."
"As long as you're sure this is what you want. There's no love lost between Krycek and myself, but I won't cause trouble or involve myself in a vendetta. I've tried to counsel Mulder to do the same, but you know how he is."
The waiter arrived with Scully's water and Walter's iced tea, and took their food order.
"Scully, I know only too well how he is. I've always respected Mulder. He's a good agent. He's always been dedicated to his quests, and I was fine with that until he crossed the line. My patience is nearing its end."
"I understand, Sir. Should I try and talk to him again?"
"No, Scully, this is my problem. But thank you."
They moved on to other topics until the food arrived, then abandoned conversation and concentrated on their meal. Scully dug into her salad, but she noticed Walter ate little of his sandwich.
"Sir, aren't you hungry? You look tired and a little pale. Are you coming down with something?"
Walter thought of the many times recently that Alex had asked him that very thing. He smiled weakly. "I am tired. I just don't have much appetite. I'll be fine after this case is over and things get back to normal."
"Just take care of yourself."
"Thank you for your concern, Scully."
They both declined dessert and headed back to the investigation's temporary headquarters.
"Get your eye and ear protection on and, keep the barrel pointed down range!" Alex ordered. His students, lined up in the shooting booths, rapidly obeyed. "Fire one round on each sound of the whistle, ready on the firing line - fire!" he continued, and blew his whistle. Alex walked behind his students, making certain that they obeyed the rules of the range, correcting grips and firing positions, and offering advice or encouragement as needed.
When the lesson ended, Alex stood by the door collecting equipment from the students who had borrowed rather than brought their own. He was inspecting one of the borrowed handguns, deciding whether or not it was overdue for a cleaning, when Bruce Mosely tapped him on the shoulder.
"Come have lunch," Bruce said without preamble.
Alex wasn't particularly hungry but he nodded agreeably. "Let me get these into the weapons locker first."
Bruce was waiting by the front door when Alex came out of the storage room. "Come on, man, I'm hungry," Bruce said, opening the glass door and moving quickly toward his vehicle.
Alex fell into step beside him. "Where are we going?"
"Austin Grill," Bruce said. "I'm in the mood for TexMex."
Alex laughed, "Reminds me of when a friend came in for a visit after he'd been living in Tucson. We went to our old stomping grounds to have dinner, only to find that all of the places we remembered had been replaced by Thai restaurants. Now I like Thai, but he refused to eat any of that 'foreign' food, said the only thing he wanted was 'good American food—burgers or Mexican.'"
Bruce grinned appreciatively. "Man after my own heart."
"I know you better than that," Alex contradicted. "I don't think you've ever met a food you didn't like. 'Specially Southern cooking."
"I do love grits 'n gravy and everything else my mama and grandmammy used to make, that's for sure. But when I got back from 'nam, it was a long time before I'd touch anything with rice. You know what we called what the natives ate while we were over there?"
"What?" Alex asked, though he had a good guess as to the answer.
"Rice and undefinables. And the smell of that stuff..." Bruce shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory.
Alex grinned, "It does have a rather unique odor."
By the time they reached the restaurant, Bruce had almost reduced Alex to a state of helpless laughter with a withering comparison of military and hospital cuisine.
As they waited for a table to open up, Bruce asked Alex if he knew when Walter would return to DC. When told there was no telling, Bruce swore under his breath. "Damn. I was hoping to talk him into going with us on Memorial Day."
"Even if Walter's home by then, I don't think you'll talk him into going." Bruce gave him an inquiring look and in response, Alex said, "Let's just say the last time the subject came up, Walter was adamant that he isn't going."
"You are though, right?"
Alex gave an abbreviated nod. "I'll be there."
"You ever been before?"
"I've walked by, sure. But I've never gone on Memorial Day or for any sort of official event."
"Memorial Day's a trip. Wouldn't surprise me if that's the busiest day of the year at the Wall. Paul Revere & The Raiders are doing their annual 'Ride To The Wall'..."
Interrupting, Alex asked, "Paul Revere and the Raiders, didn't they play at Woodstock?"
"You weren't even born then, were you?"
Alex looked sheepish and admitted he hadn't been.
"I believe you're thinking of Country Joe and Fish."
"Oh, that's right," Alex said, thinking of the movie. "I remember now."
"What about Rolling Thunder?"
"Wasn't that the name of a bombing campaign? Vietnam, March 1965 to October 1968, if I remember history class. What about it?"
"You ever see bikers with POW/MIA emblems on the back of their leathers?"
"Sure, I've seen groups of them. Usually riding on the highway or stopped at rest areas. I've never talked to any of them though."
"That's the other Rolling Thunder—they publicize the POW/MIA issue and are working to make sure that no one else ever gets left behind. Last year some 300,000 of them came to DC for Memorial Day."
"So what will we be doing?" Alex asked.
Bruce's reply was pre-emptied by the hostess, who guided the men to a table near the back of the restaurant. Once seated, they both looked around, re-acquainting themselves with the layout of the building and forming an impression of the other diners. Not feeling a threat from any quarter, they relaxed and resumed their conversation.
"You know how the Wall's arranged, right?" Bruce asked.
"By date, then alphabetically."
Bruce smiled in approval at the answer. "I figure we'll hang out near the dates when I was in-country. If any the men from my old unit show up, that's where they'll head. Families of the men I served with who died over there too."
"Do I need to bring anything?"
"Just yourself. Zoe and I'll bring a picnic lunch for the four of us, and folding chairs too. Can't think of anything else we'll need."
A few moments later, a young Hispanic man wearing blue jeans and a tee-shirt bearing the restaurant logo approached their table. He introduced himself as Ramon, their server, and handed each man a menu before asking if they would like to order drinks. Both Bruce and Alex stated that water would be fine and began examining the menu. The waiter excused himself, saying he would return in a few minutes for their order.
Alex hadn't been hungry when he'd agreed to accompany Bruce, but the food smelled delicious and he had developed quite an appetite during their wait for an open table. He read through the menu eagerly and had trouble deciding what sounded best. Eventually he settled on the Austin Special, two enchiladas, one cheese and one chicken, each striped with green chile, ancho, and white sulza sauce.
Bruce, meanwhile, zeroed in on his favorite, the Carne Combo. Accurately described as a meat lover's dream, it included a grilled steak taco, a beef barbacoa enchilada with ancho sauce, and barbecue carne asada.
The waiter returned to take their orders and Alex ordered his lunch using perfectly accented Spanish, earning a blinding smile and a flood of Spanish from the wiry young man. Alex responded in kind and the man laughed as a slight blush burnished his dark skin. Without another word he left to turn in their order.
Bruce looked at Alex with some surprise. "Just how many languages do you speak?"
"Fluently?" Bruce nodded and Alex continued, "Four: English, Russian, French, and Cantonese. I can also speak enough Mandarin Chinese, Spanish, Italian, German, and Dutch to get myself in—or out—of trouble."
"How'd you learn?"
Alex shrugged. "I grew up speaking Russian at home and English in school. My high school had a language requirement but Russian wasn't one of the choices, so I took French."
"What about Cantonese and Mandarin?"
"Oh, I spent some time in Hong Kong. Cantonese is the native tongue there, but Mandarin Chinese is also spoken. That's where I learned."
"Spanish?"
"Spent some time in the deserts in the Southwest, not to mention New York. It's surprising just how many languages are spoken there."
Bruce nodded, satisfied. "That brings up one of the reasons I asked you to have lunch with me today. I'm beginning to think you're under-utilized. Are you still enjoying teaching?"
"Yes, I am," Alex said. "But I wouldn't be adverse to hearing what you're thinking."
Bruce laughed. "I think Walter's wearing off on you. That was a very politic answer."
Alex gave him an obvious fake scowl in response, but he wondered how much truth there was to the words. He had changed during the time he and Walter had been living together.
Looking at the expression on Alex's face made Bruce laugh even harder. When he regained control over his laughter, he reached for his water glass and took a sip. "As I was saying," he said, and looked up just in time for Ramon to slide a platter in front of him.
Ramon gave Alex a flirtatious grin, then placed his platter in front of him with a flourish.
"Gracias," Alex said in response, and he meant it sincerely. The food looked and smelled wonderful. And Ramon's attention wasn't unwelcome; he was a very handsome man, sinewy and lean.
"De nada," Ramon murmured, and left to tend to another of his tables.
Bruce observed Alex flirting with the waiter, but said nothing. He himself had always appreciated lovely ladies and now that Zoe was in his life that hadn't changed. He still loved to look. The difference was, he was no longer interested in touching. Bruce thought there was a good chance Alex felt the same way about Walter. And if Alex's listlessness and general lack of appetite were any indication, he was powerfully missing the man.
Alex noticed Bruce looking at him. "What?" he asked.
"Just thinking about business," Bruce replied. He paused just long enough to make Alex wonder if that were the whole truth. "We've had some inquiries from museums interested in renting their facilities for business meetings, luncheons hosted by special interest groups, fund-raising dinners, that sort of thing. Naturally, they don't want to put their collections into jeopardy. And in some cases, the safety of the guests is also an issue, since the speakers may be controversial or have enemies. I've been approached to prepare a white paper outlining the risks and possible ways to overcome them. Some of the solutions entail hardware—anti-theft devices, alarms, motion sensors, cameras—but others will rely on more old-fashioned methods, namely observation and intervention. I was wondering if that would be of interest to you. To work more closely with me, finding weaknesses in existing security systems and developing new methodologies."
Alex looked intrigued. "Would I be doing that full time, or in addition to teaching?"
"In addition, at least at first." Bruce paused to take a bite out of his taco. When he finished swallowing he continued, "I've heard good things about your teaching. I'm also aware that several of the newer students signed up for our courses based on the knowledge that you would be the one teaching them."
The unadorned praise surprised Alex at the same time it warmed his soul. In general, Alex considered other people's emotions irrelevant. He had never given his student's feelings concerning himself or his teaching methods any consideration; when he had a job to do, his attention was on doing the job as accurately and efficiently as possible. In his own training, both punishment and negative conditioning had been utilized, but Alex found that positive reinforcement worked wonders with his students and he used it almost exclusively.
Not knowing how to respond, Alex speared a portion of enchilada with his fork and began to eat.
"So, you interested?" Bruce asked.
Alex nodded and when he'd swallowed his mouthful, said, "Yes. Very."
Satisfied, Bruce turned his attention to his lunch.
They ate quietly, each absorbed in the pleasure afforded by good food, until their stomachs began to protest that they had eaten more than enough. Alex gave up first, pushing the red rice that accompanied his enchiladas around the plate with his fork. He thought about what Bruce had said and the idea that he had somehow turned into a popular teacher. The thought was a little disquieting; he had hoped to maintain a low profile now that he was free of the consortium. Thinking about his students reminded him of Maggie O'Neill's request.
"I had an interesting conversation with one of my students," he began.
Bruce looked up from his plate and signaled him to continue.
"Maggie O'Neill. She asked me to lunch, told me that she'd inherited a gun collection and that she wants my advice about what to do with it."
"How to store it? Or finding a buyer?"
"Maybe," Alex said. He looked troubled and was obviously searching for the words that would explain the problem, so Bruce refrained from asking more questions. "It's just that I've got a weird feeling about it. I can't decide if it's a set-up, a trap of some sort, or if she's legit and she really did inherit her father's collection. She hinted that all of the pieces may not be legal and if that's the case, she wants them returned to their rightful owner."
"That'd be difficult if they were privately owned."
"U.S. Military."
"I see."
Alex nodded sagely. She's adamant that her name not be linked to the discovery. I assume that's to avoid legal entanglements, but it may go deeper than that. Reading between the lines, I think she's concerned that they'll fall into the wrong hands. But that assumes she's on the up-and-up and that the pieces are of questionable origin."
"You going to look at the collection?"
Alex nodded. "If everything checks out, yes. I started to run a background check; so far nothing seems out of whack. I'm also going to check out the storage place, make sure it isn't under surveillance."
"If you're concerned about electronics or counter-measures, talk to TJ. He's always looking for an excuse to field test his new toys."
"Thanks," Alex said. "I will."
As AD Skinner had not countermanded Mulder's instructions, once he'd been informed of them, Dana Scully found herself working with the Dallas Field Office's Evidence Response Team. Readily accepted by her colleagues as fellow scientist, she was soon processing evidence side by side with them in their well-equipped laboratory. Concentrating on the evidence underneath the lens of her microscope, Scully did not at first hear the question directed toward her.
"Agent Scully?"
Dana looked up to see who was calling her name. She saw a beautiful black woman looking at her inquisitively. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"
The woman smiled shyly, saying, "I asked if you'd worked with AD Skinner before."
"Yes, ever since I was assigned to work with Agent Mulder."
"Is the AD always this demanding? I mean," she said, her skin darkening as she blushed, "I've heard agents call him 'Old Stoneface' before, but the man is simply terrifying. He had Agent Blondell over there," she indicated a slight man working by the centrifuge, "so nervous he started to hyperventilate."
"He expects his agents to give their all to the job."
Looking at Scully with a thoughtful expression on her face, the other agent said, "There's doing the job, and then there's doing nothing but the job."
Scully thought of all times she'd witnessed Skinner burning the midnight oil. And realized there had been far fewer of them since Krycek had re-entered his life. With a fleeting smile she said, "Then let's find the evidence that will send him back to DC."
After teaching his last class of the day, Alex stopped by Jack's desk. Jack, holding the phone against his ear with his shoulder, was jotting notes onto a telephone message pad. Alex heard a series of "Mhmmms," followed by "Got it," and "I'll let him know."
Hanging up the phone, Jack asked, "Anything I can do for you, Alex?"
"Do you know if TJ checked out?"
"He's still here. Have you tried looking in the gym? Duke's been razzing him again."
Amused, Alex said, "Again? "Still is more like it."
Jack laughed, the phone rang, and Alex went off in search of TJ.
As predicted, Alex found Duke and TJ in the gym.
"Hang it up, Geek Boy. There's no way you can do ten reps."
"Can... too," TJ grunted, "you... muscle... bound... freak."
Alex stood back, enjoying the show. The two continued to exchange insults until TJ, with Duke spotting, finished the final repetition and lifted the bar back to the top of the weight bench.
Alex clapped, "Well done."
Duke turned, giving Alex a dead-eyed stare. "You want something?"
Alex nodded at Duke, but spoke to TJ. "Bruce said I should talk to you if I had questions about electronic surveillance."
Duke snorted. "Man, you ask him one tiny question about that and he'll talk your ear off."
TJ laughed. "Back off, Duke. What do you want to know?"
"One of my students asked for my advice regarding some weaponry she inherited. She wants my help determining whether the goods were stolen. There's a possibility that if they were, the collection is under surveillance. If it is, I want to steer clear. That's what I want to know, is there a way to determine whether or not the site is being electronically monitored? I've already done a drive-by and didn't see any sign of a surveillance unit."
"Would you know what to look for?" Duke asked.
Alex smirked.
"Meet me in my lab in a half hour," TJ said, "and I'll show you what I've got and what it can do."
"You've got a deal," Alex replied.
Shaking his head, Duke predicted, "You'll be sorry." He turned to face TJ. "You better skip the last exercise and get into the shower."
"You saying it'll take me more than 30 minutes to do three sets of fore arm curls?" TJ asked, incredulous.
"Three sets and shower," Duke amended.
"I can do it."
"No way."
"I'll show you," TJ insisted. And began adjusting the weight on the bar.
TJ's hair was still wet when he joined Alex in the electronics lab exactly thirty minutes later.
"You build all this yourself?" Alex asked in lieu of a greeting.
"Some, not all," TJ replied, and launched into a detailed description of the gear Alex had been examining and it's capabilities. True to Duke's warning, once started TJ was difficult to interrupt. But contrary to Duke's expectation, Alex had no trouble following along and was interested in both the equipment and TJ's explanations regarding the modifications he had made to what was once stock equipment.
Two hours later, Duke stepped through the lab door. "You guys still at it?"
"Yeah," TJ replied. "We're thinking of going out to get some dinner. You want to come along?"
"And listen to you jabber about electronics all night? No thanks!"
TJ grinned his unrepentant grin. "Suit yourself!"
Duke nodded, flashing a grin to TJ as he did. "See you tomorrow." His eyes once again serious, he nodded at Alex and was gone.
