by Tarlan
I close my eyes, 'Any Dream Will Do' An eerie silence permeated the apartment as the water was shut off, only
broken by the sound of the rain still beating against the windows. Skinner
turned at the lightest slap of bare feet upon the kitchen tiles, swallowing
hard and quickly forcing away the lust that raced through his entire being
as he beheld this beautiful man wrapped in a thick towel. Droplets were
still clinging to the long strands of water-darkened hair, dripping gently
onto the broad shoulders. Alex was angled away from him; deliberately trying
to conceal the assumed ugliness of the cruelly truncated left arm.
"Shower's free."
"Thanks."
Skinner bit into his lower lip as Alex turned away, watching muscles ripple
under silky flesh as the well-defined figure wandered back up the stairs to
the room Alex had occupied since being released from the Free Clinic. He
pulled his own towel tighter around his chilled frame and moved towards the
bathroom. They had both been drenched after the stupid argument that had
seen Alex walking out in the middle of this terrible rainstorm but,
fortunately, both of them had come to their senses. Skinner had managed to
persuade Alex to come back inside but he knew they would have to talk out
their differences, see if they could reach some compromise that would leave
both of them content.
Until the moment Alex had walked out that door, Skinner had not realised
exactly how important the younger man had become to him, how much he had
enjoyed the simple pleasure of coming home to find someone waiting for him.
No. Not someone... Alex.
Skinner stepped beneath the spray, giving one last shudder as the warm water
falling against his skin swept the chill from his body. He showered quickly,
avoiding the alluring call of images of another body that had been in this
same enclosure only a few minutes before.
When he came back downstairs he found Alex dressed in loose fitting sweats
and a long sleeved T-shirt, lounging on the chair he had taken as his
personal space since moving into the apartment. Skinner gave a wry grin and
flopped down onto the couch, his own frame similarly clothed. The pungent
aroma of thick, dark-roasted coffee filtered into the lounge and Skinner
smiled at the conciliatory gesture Alex had made by setting the coffee
percolating. He knew Alex's preference was for tea, even though he did drink
coffee on occasion.
The room was heavy with an unnatural silence, broken only when Alex pushed
himself up and went to fetch two mugs, stacking them on a tray so he only
had to make the one trip. Alex grimaced as he sipped at his coffee but he
made no attempt to get back up even though it was obvious he had not added
enough sugar for his liking. Without a word, Skinner placed his mug back
down and strode into the kitchen, returning moments later and placing the
sugar bowl and spoon down beside Alex. Still no words passed between them
with Skinner receiving only a nod of thanks for his effort. He watched as
Alex spooned in more sugar and then take another sip, enjoying the slight
curve of a smile that told him the coffee had become far more palatable.
"We need to talk, Alex."
"There's not really much to talk about. I like watching the ice hockey, you
prefer football. I like 'West Wing', you'd rather see re-runs of 'I like
Lucy'..."
"I love Lucy."
Alex snorted softly, shaking his head as if Skinner's words had merely
served to confirm the differences.
"You see?" He indicated towards Skinner's now empty mug compared to his own
full one. "You like coffee, I like tea. You drink whiskey, I want vodka. You
love Wagner... and I love Depeche Mode. We can't even agree on what to cook
each night. We're worlds apart, Walter." Alex's voice softened. "Perhaps
it's for the best if I left... while we're still friends."
Skinner sighed. Somewhere in there was some common ground, something they
could build upon but he was so damned tired that he couldn't think straight.
He held up a hand, halting any more words.
"Can we give ourselves a few days... or at least sleep on it?"
Alex pursed his lips in a way that told Skinner he was willing to accept
this adjournment, but only for today.
"Okay. We'll talk on it tomorrow."
It seemed to Skinner that Alex struggled a little more than usual as he
regained his feet, and he noted the tension that deepened the fine lines
around the large green eyes. Alex moved far slower as he made his way up the
stairs, his steps a little heavier than normal. Moments later he was out of
sight, the soft clicking of a door closing marking the retreat to his
bedroom and Skinner rubbed a hand over his bald head, his eyes fastening on
the bottle of Glenfiddich. He padded across the room and slopped some,
carelessly, into a tumbler, swallowing half the contents of his glass in one
go and shuddering as the smooth but fiery liquid burned into his gut.
Perhaps Alex was right. Despite the desire he felt for the younger man,
there were so many obstacles in their path. Differences in taste, the age
gap, and in their lifestyles. The most obvious was the fact that he was an
Assistant Director of the FBI, a department not noted for its open policy
towards same-sex relationships, and Alex... Alex was an FBI agent who had
gone AWOL; a man wanted for questioning in connection with several crimes
even though there was no evidence to link him to the crimes directly. Even
if they could resolve the personal issues on what to eat, drink or watch on
television, what could they do about the rest?
Skinner walked over to the window and stared out. The rain was still lashing
against the window pane, the wind still howling around the corners of the
building. It seemed a reflection of the tempestuous relationship he had with
Alex and he wished there were some way he could drive away those dark
clouds. Even the slightest hint of blue within the storm clouds would have
given him some hope, a tiny glint of the proverbial silver lining.
He grimaced as the final sip of whiskey blazed a trail of fire from throat
to belly, and then he set the glass down. Skinner turned off the downstairs
lights and he climbed the stairs, his heart as heavy as his dragging
footsteps.
Any Dream Will Do
draw back the curtain
Just to see for certain
What I
thought I knew
Far far away,
someone was weeping,
But the world was sleeping
Any dream will do.
by Andrew Lloyd-Webber/Tim Rice
alter Skinner could hear the soft fall of water in the shower as it bounced
off the tiled floor and walls; and off the silky skin of a man who was both
enemy and friend. It did not take much effort to imagine Alexei Krycek's
naked form luxuriating beneath the cascade of warm water. He could visualise
the droplets clinging to the long dark lashes. He could almost see the path
of more droplets as they trickled down the smooth chest, poising for an
instant on the tip of a puckered, light brown nipple before plunging to the
floor. Perhaps driven to this suicidal leap due to the forces of nature that
tore them from that most precious body.
He was back in the cabin in the woods, eyes taking in the brown stains of dried blood on the carpet where Alex had been abused so badly. There was a knock on the door and he moved towards it, reaching for the handle with a smoothness that could only come in dreams.
Mulder and Scully were standing before him, a maniacal gleam in their eyes, insane grins stretching across their faces.
"We brought you a gift."
The slight hysteria in the usual monotone caught him by surprise but he followed the lowering of their eyes to their feet, breath catching as he met the scared, liquid green eyes of a tightly bound and naked Krycek.
Mulder and Scully faded away, like apparitions, their bodies becoming insubstantial and formless, leaving him alone with the frightened captive. He dropped to his haunches, the palm of one hand stroking along the silky flesh from shoulder to thigh, feeling the trembling stop as Alex was comforted by his touch.
He lowered the naked man onto his bed, unsurprised that the bonds had fallen away, and not even confused that they were no longer in the cabin but back in his apartment. His own clothes were gone, his naked body glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration as he lowered himself into the welcoming embrace. Two arms wrapped around him, drawing their bodies together, head thrown back as the hardened masses at their groins rubbed against each other. He pressed urgent kisses against the sweat-slicked, vulnerable throat, sucking and biting until he had raised a livid welt of possession on the ivory flesh. They rocked together, movements slow and languid, taking turns to give pleasure, leaving each feeling content and complete.
He buried his head against the well-muscled, beautifully defined body as his senses overloaded, sending him spinning into a world of pleasure, feeling the heat of his seed spilling between their close-pressed bodies.
A moan of satisfied desire turned to a cry of agony, and he pulled back, horrified as his lover's arm withered and died.
He was back in Vietnam. It was humid and dark, the dampness of the earth seeping through his sweat-soaked clothing. Around him lay the bodies of his patrol, cut down in an ambush. Those few seconds of screams and mayhem, of blazing gunfire lighting up the darkness, was indelibly printed on his mind. He could hear soft pitiful cries coming from close by. Mikey? Or was it Hank?
Alex.
His eyes opened wide, trying to see through the darkness, and Skinner realised he was lying in his bed in his own apartment, the sheets soaked through with the cold sweat of this nightmare and fantasy combined. He listened, trying to discover what had brought him out of a deep sleep - and then he heard the soft whimpers. Climbing out of bed, Skinner padded across the room and stood for a moment on the threshold, eyes trained towards the guestroom where Alex slept. More sobs drifted along the short corridor, spurring Skinner on. He opened the door slowly, peering inside, just about making out the man bundled beneath the covers, and he called out softly.
"Alex?"
The quiet sobs stopped abruptly, the shaking figure on the bed growing deadly still.
"I know you're awake."
Skinner moved into the room and drew closer to the bed. He switched on the low wattage bedside lamp, casting a dim light over the bundled form and then he dropped down beside the bed.
"Are you okay, Alex?"
"I'm fine."
The muffled reply did nothing to reassure Skinner. He had heard pain in those whimpers, certain of this even though his mind was still gripped by the cries of agony that ended his nightmare. With growing suspicion, Skinner recalled the lines of tension radiating out from those green eyes and the unusually slow movements when Alex retired for the night. He cursed himself for the stupid argument that had sent Alex charging out into the rainstorm, afraid that he might have caught a chill after all, or was hurting in some other way. His mind travelled back, remembering the small scuffle he had with Alex outside the apartment building, just before Alex was drenched from head to toe with water sprayed up by a passing vehicle. Skinner was well aware of the damage caused by Spender's men; the beating and the rape Alex had suffered at their hands. He knew it had been a close call for Alex, that he would have died in that cabin had it not been for two courageous backpackers who had happened to be in the right place at the right time.
Could the fight have reopened some of those internal wounds? Had he landed badly, perhaps jarred the stump of his ruined arm?
"Are you in pain?"
Skinner reached out and touched Alex on his shoulder, pulling back sharply when Alex bit back a cry.
"I'm calling Gordy."
He moved from the room swiftly, grabbing the handset from his bedroom and punching in the number Gordon Maine had given him to use in an emergency. No answer. Skinner tried the number for the Free Clinic.
"Yes. Hello. I'm trying to get in contact with Doctor Maine... Surgery..? How long..? I see... No. No message. No wait. Tell him Walter called."
Chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip as he replaced the handset, he glanced back along the corridor towards the guestroom. Aspects of his dream still haunted him but they also provided him with another solution. Making his decision, he snatched up the phone once more.
"Agent Scully? Yes. I'm sorry for disturbing you but I need your medical assistance. Yes. I'm at my apartment... Oh, and Agent Scully, there's no need to contact Agent Mulder."
Skinner replaced the handset and then strode back up to the guestroom, dropping down beside Alex and trying, once more, to get him to talk to him but Alex burrowed deeper into the covers. He could see the outline of Alex's fist jammed into his mouth, and his own lips tightened in concern. Without conscious thought, he reached out to stroke the sweat-soaked, dark head, wanting to offer some reassurance and was relieved when the tense man began to relax beneath his ministrations, just as he had in his dream.
The sound of the doorbell brought Skinner's head up and he stood quickly, grimacing at the stiffness in his muscles from being seated by Alex in such an uncomfortable position for so long. He moved through the apartment quickly, checking through the spyhole before opening the door to Dana Scully.
"Come on in." He started to close the door behind her and turned back when he realised there was an obstruction; a six foot obstruction. "Agent Mulder. I wasn't expecting you... but maybe I should have."
Skinner glanced towards Scully and she had the decency to blush.
"Scully and I were up late going over some case notes when you called."
"I see."
Skinner had long suspected that there might be more than a professional relationship blossoming between this pair of agents, but they had always been discreet and so he had ignored it. He pushed aside any further consideration, too concerned with the well being of Alex Krycek to care about what they did together outside of the Bureau. "Are you the patient?"
"No. He's upstairs... in the guestroom. Perhaps you could wait down here, Agent Mulder."
Skinner saw a look pass between the two partners and grimaced, seeing the suspicion raised in their eyes, and wondered whether calling Scully was such a good idea after all. He led the way up the stairs with Scully following on close behind but paused just outside the room, turning to face her.
"Agent Scully. You have to know that I called you as a last resort. Not because I have any doubts as to your competence but because of who the patient is."
"If you're concerned I'll allow personal feelings to conflict with my..."
"No. But I wanted you to be aware that there will be a personal conflict here. The patient is Alex Krycek."
Skinner watched as her eyes hardened to chips of blue ice for one moment but then she brought herself under control, nodding her head sharply. She pushed aside the door and strode into the room, turning on the light without a second thought. Alex burrowed deeper beneath the covers, a soft moan of pain barely audible as Scully dropped down beside the bed. Her voice held the indifference of a professional, revealing none of the dark emotions that had to be simmering just below the surface.
"Krycek?"
"Go away."
There was a tinge of anger but no force behind the muffled response and, with a quick glance at Skinner, Scully dragged back the bed covers to reveal Alex curled up in the foetal position, with knees drawn close to his chest. His one arm was wrapped around his legs to hold them close to his body, his head tucked down, the sweat-dampened hair clinging to a face that was as white as the sheets, a sheen of perspiration covering him. Skinner saw Scully's face scrunch up in a frown before she started to dig through her medical bag. She drew out an ear thermometer and Skinner saw Alex flinch when she inserted it, withdrawing it to check the reading.
"He's got a slight temperature."
"So who's the patient?"
Skinner turned swiftly as Mulder bounded into the room like a puppy, a smug grin on his handsome face, and he cursed himself for trusting Mulder to stay put downstairs.
"Fucking rat bastard..."
Skinner stepped forward as Mulder's grin morphed into a snarl, spinning him before grabbing him around the chest and neck, dragging him back when Mulder continued to surge towards the sick, defenceless man on the bed. He applied more pressure on Mulder's windpipe as Mulder shouted more obscenities, cutting off any further name-calling, and he whispered menacingly.
"Lay one finger on him and I'll wipe the floor with your ass, Agent Mulder."
Every muscle in Mulder's body was tense with rage and Skinner wasn't fooled when that body suddenly relaxed, well aware that Mulder was astute enough to use that trick as a means of escaping Skinner's secure grip on him. He kept his choke hold a few moments longer, until he had some assurance that Mulder was not going to attack Alex, and then he released him, forcing Mulder to one side and then planting himself between them. Skinner had never seen so much anger in Mulder's eyes, not even when they fought at FBI Headquarters after Mulder had been fed drugs through his water supply.
"You'd best leave this room."
"I need to know why?"
Skinner gave a quick glance towards Scully and she nodded, her expression telling him that she would honour his trust in her not to do anything malicious to hurt Alex. Skinner motioned towards the bedroom door, and then he followed Mulder out and down the stairs to the lounge. As soon as his feet hit the lounge carpeting, Mulder rounded on him, eyes hard, filled with anger and accusation.
"Why?"
"You want to know why? Then start acting like an adult. Sit down... No. Not there."
"Why? That Krycek's favourite seat?"
Skinner barely kept the startlement off his face when he realised Mulder was right, too surprised to take note of the enmity in the usually placid voice. It was Alex's favourite seat and, subconsciously, Skinner had not wanted anyone else to sit in it. He mumbled to Mulder that he would get some coffee but waited until Mulder had settled in a seat on the far end of the couch before entering the kitchen and pouring out two mugs. Skinner used the time to cool his own temper, and to consider the possessiveness he felt about Alex, and the fact that he did not want anyone usurping Alex's place in his home, not even through sitting in the comfortable chair Alex had taken for his own personal space.
He was relieved to find Mulder was still seated on the couch when he returned a few moments later with the coffee, and he placed the mug before him. Skinner sat down opposite, quietly assessing his subordinate, noting that though the dangerous glint had gone from the hazel eyes, they were still filled with anger.
"Before I answer your questions, I want you to answer some of mine." Skinner watched the full lips purse in disapproval but Mulder was no fool. Mulder knew he would get nothing out of him until he had agreed. A tight nod was all Mulder allowed. "Why do you hate him so much?"
Mulder exploded, half-raising from his seat.
"Sit down, Agent Mulder."
He froze, lips almost white with disbelief, but sat down abruptly at the implacable command.
"He's a liar, and a murderer..."
"We all lie, Agent Mulder. But let's talk about murder."
"He killed my father... and you cannot deny that. Forensics showed..."
"There is no forensic evidence to say he had ever been in that bathroom. However, Forensics did show that the bullet, which killed your father, came from beyond the bathroom window, and that it came from the same gun that was used to kill Melissa Scully. We both know that Luis Cardinal was the shooter in both cases and, had he lived, I'm certain he would have admitted to your father's murder."
"But Krycek was there. I know it. I don't know how or why but I know it."
Skinner shook his head, feeling a certain amount of pity. At the time of his father's death Mulder had been heavily drugged with hallucinogens in his water supply. He admitted that he had been startled awake by a gunshot, had gone into the bathroom and found his father on the floor, fatally wounded. Until Forensics had shown that the shot came from beyond the bathroom window, Mulder had been convinced that the murderer, that Krycek, had been waiting behind the shower screen. However, there had been no evidence of anyone else having been in the bathroom: no stray hair, no marks on the window or door... and no footprints on the damp base of the shower cubicle. If Mulder had reached his father as quickly as he had stated in his witness report then the assailant would not have had time to wash away that damming evidence and make his escape through the window.
"And what about the missing cable car operator on Skyland Mountain?"
"No one knows what happened to him, Mulder. Not even Alex." Skinner saw renewed disbelief in Mulder's eyes. "Yes. He told me he knocked the man unconscious, but the man had disappeared by the time law enforcement officers reached the scene."
"And you believe him?"
"Yes."
Skinner wished he could tell Mulder all he knew. Through various sources he had discovered that Spender had sent in a clean up crew to get rid of any potential witnesses to Scully's abduction; the cable car operator, Duane Barry. The crew had been disguised as paramedics, blending into the background, ignored by everyone but then, no one had realised the depths of the conspiracy, how it had bled into every corner of the globe. A simple intercepted call to the paramedics was barely even an inconvenience to the Consortium when so much more was at stake. Skinner pursed his lips, suddenly aware that, for all of Mulder's long years of searching, he was privy to far more of the so-called truth than Mulder.
"What about the nanocytes? Or have you conveniently forgotten what he did to you?"
"I haven't forgotten."
Mulder seemed to collapse back against the couch, mouth slack, brows drawn together in a frown.
"You said you didn't recognise the man in the hospital surveillance photo, but you knew it was him all along."
"Yes."
"And you... forgive him?"
"I know why he did it... and I know the price he paid for destroying the palm pilot, for freeing me from its control."
A slow mocking grin spread across the handsome face. "So you haven't forgiven him. Not yet. But you want to." The hazel eyes narrowed once more and Skinner could feel the blade of the sharp intellect slipping into him. "You actually care about him, despite everything he's done to you."
Mulder's eyes swept around the room, head tilting as he catalogued everything with his razor-sharp profiler mind. Skinner followed that gaze, seeing the little things with fresh eyes; the battered science fiction paperback lying forgotten on the small table beside the chair where Alex liked to curl up; the partially used bottle of Stoli standing side-by-side with a bottle of Glenfiddich. There were other signs of two people cohabiting; two sets of table mats slightly stained from their nightly ritual of having a hot drink before retiring for the night; the newspaper split into sections, some lying beside Alex's seat, the rest folded out on the coffee table where Skinner sat. Skinner had no doubt that he would find other signs of domesticity scattered around the apartment; favourite mugs set out in the kitchen, tooth brushes in the bathroom and, until this moment, it had not occurred to him how quickly Alex had settled into his home after that initial unease.
Any further thoughts were halted as Scully made a reappearance. She slumped onto the couch next to Mulder, pushing back a strand of red hair that had fallen across her face.
"How is he?"
"Uncooperative." She sighed. "He has a slight fever which could just be the start of a cold, and he must have taken a blow to his severed arm. There's bruising around the stump. With the bone so close to the surface it must be hurting. I've given him some pain meds and I've advised him to keep warm and drink plenty of non- alcoholic fluids. I'll check back on him later today.
Scully narrowed her eyes, staring hard at Skinner but he did not flinch.
"If he has some hold over you..." Her voice trailed off, but the tilt of her head and the widening of her eyes conveyed the rest of the thoughts.
"No, Dana."
At least not the kind she should be worried about, he added silently, but a glance at Mulder made him realise that they would find his infatuation with Alex even more of a concern than merely harbouring a sick and possibly dangerous man. He could already read some of that in Mulder's expressive eyes, could see the concern mixed in with a certain amount of fear and loathing. Mulder was a man who was open to extreme possibilities so it was unlikely he felt any repugnance at the homosexual nature of Skinner's attraction, just the fact that the other man was Alex Krycek.
After Skinner had closed the door behind the two, he leaned his head against it, then, after a while, he pulled himself upright and walked back up the stairs to Krycek's room. The lamp had been switched off but there was sufficient light bleeding through from the hallway to make out the sleeping features. The room was silent except for the slow and even breathing as Alex succumbed to fatigue, his pain lessened by the strong analgesics that Scully had given to him. Skinner drank in the sight of this beautiful man, his fingers itching to reach out and touch him, his arms to reach out and hold him. Instead, he pulled the door to and padded back down to the lounge, pouring a fresh glass of Glenfiddich and taking a seat near the plate-glass balcony door.
Outside the storm was abating, and the tempest within his thoughts began to subside with it. He thought back to the strange dream, analysing the images that had cascaded through his mind, hoping to make sense of them.
In his dream, Alex had been brought to him naked and bound by the very same people who had come here to the apartment tonight. Could that represent the chains of the past?
Alex had been frightened, and yet the hand that touched him so gently had comforted him. Skinner felt a strange warmth fill him when he realised Alex had accepted reassurance from him this very night, willingly placing his trust into his hands. But that love and trust had been there since the very beginning, only he had never recognised it for what it was - until now.
"You love me... and you trust me. Why can't that be enough, Alex?"
Skinner recalled the comfort they found in each other's arms, giving and receiving pleasure in equal measure. It was easy to decipher this. They had to learn to give and take, had to learn to share all aspects of their lives if they were to find peace and contentment... and they could always buy a second television to avoid any clashes there.
The rest of the nightmare was just his subconscious reaction to the whimpers of pain drifting through the apartment from Alex, just his mind's way of finding an explanation for something that had not quite made its presence known at the conscious level.
There was still the problem of an Assistant Director of the FBI being involved with a male who was wanted for questioning in connection with several suspicious deaths. However, his earlier debate with Mulder had proved to him that Alex had no criminal charges to answer to, that any accusations made by Mulder were groundless. In addition, it was highly unlikely that Spender would have left any evidence that could link Alex back to himself. The man was a consummate professional and he would never have let Alex go if there had been any doubts on that score.
The only true obstacle to a relationship, apart from Alex himself, was the culture of the FBI and, specifically, its intolerance towards same-sex pairings.
"As if I ever really cared about toeing the party line."
He still had quite a few years to go before he might be considered for early retirement from the FBI, but that did not preclude him from leaving of his own volition and taking a lucrative job as a security consultant. The more he thought about, the more merit it had. He could resign, take a job in some small town, hopefully far away from the clutches of the Consortium and, together, he and Alex could make a new life for themselves.
"Sounds more like a goddamn fairy tale."
Skinner swallowed the last of the Glenfiddich and stared up the stairs towards the guestroom where the man he loved was sleeping soundly. All he had to do was convince Alex that they could make it work.
He grinned, suddenly, imagining himself as a knight of a white charger battling with Alex's demons. It would be quite a battle, but he was well versed in the art of war and he had never yet backed down when something truly mattered.
With new resolve, he padded back up the stairs to his own room, already planning the strategy he would use. He was aware that he would be engaging Alex in a battle of wills and words within the space of a few short hours, but he was determined to win that coveted prize: the permanence of Alex Krycek in his life, and in his bed too.
