by Ursula
His perspiration soaked through the sweatband on his head after the first five
minutes. The acrid, salty liquid ran into his eyes, but he didn't pause to wipe
it away. His eyes, so often described as warm and beautiful, narrowed to keep
the sweat out. He stepped back and put all his rage into the blows. The heavy
bag jumped under each hit. The coach had held it, but tied it off to the floor
when he felt the rage streaming from Walter's fists.
The sting of the impact hurt even through the gloves his boxing coach made him
wear. It didn't matter to Walter. He wanted the pain.
At last, his strength failed. He was nearly dizzy with exertion. His thoughts
moved toward the towel and the bottle of water waiting for him on the bench.
The coach freed his hands from the gloves and asked, "Feel better now?"
A grim smile decorated Walter Skinner's face and he answered, "Somewhat..."
Before he reached the bench, Walter paused to strip off the sweat-soaked band
of terry that had so completely failed to protect his eyes. So much for
promises...great and small. You couldn't trust a damn thing.
As he opened his eyes again, Walter confronted a pale white hand with liver
spots holding a towel out to him. Unnaturally clean fingernails curled into the
bleached cotton.
"So, Mr. Skinner, that was impressive," a cultured voice said.
"Who the hell are you?" Walter demanded.
"A friend of yours or, at least, the enemy of an enemy," the man said. He was
British, upper class, with that born to order servants about inflection in his
phrasing. He sounded haughty and amused. He couldn't be more out of place in
this gym, which Walter had selected because it catered to serious boxers, pros
and amateur competitors.
"I don't know you," Walter snarled. He was instantly suspicious. Smoky had been
sniffing around constantly. The bastard was up to something.
"But I know you. I've followed your career with considerable interest," the man
replied.
"Get the hell away from me," Walter snarled.
"Your Agent Mulder is still in trouble, as is the lovely Agent Scully," the man
said. "Such a pity for such promising young people to lose their careers.
Wouldn't you agree, AD Skinner?"
A sigh rippled through the strong body. They had him by the balls and Walter
knew that his words were merely formal protests. Whatever they wanted, he would
do it unless it crossed the careful lines with which Walter demarcated his
honor.
"Feel free to meet me outside. I'll be in the limousine," the man said, drawing
on gloves. His carriage was straight, graceful, and assured. He was at the top
of the feeding chain and he very well knew it.
Walter took his time showering. He took small delight in showing them what he
really thought of them. He didn't know this one with his expensive clothing and
his green eyes. What did he mean that he was the enemy of Walter's enemy?
Spender came immediately to mind. There was nothing that Walter would like more
than to get out from under that bastard's thumb.
Dressed in his business suit, Walter peered into the limousine. He saw nothing
through the tinted windows. They were totally opaque to him, although he
guessed that the occupant could see out.
The uniformed chauffeur let him into the passenger area. The man was drinking
from a small glass. Walter noticed an armband around his charcoal gray clad
arm.
"You're in mourning?" Walter asked.
"My personal physician died. In fact, she was murdered at the bequest of our
mutual enemy. I found that distressing on more than one level," the man
said.
"Who are you?" Walter asked.
"You may call me Mr. Mannerly," the gentleman said. "Now, Mr. Skinner, I have a
project for you."
"I don't do your dirty work," Walter said, wishing that were truer than it was.
"This is more like a mission of mercy. Quite some time ago, our mutual enemy
took something from me, an object of value that I did not even know that I
owned," Mannerly said. "I should like it back."
Fine. Just what Walter wanted to hear! He was not only a pawn, but also one
played by two chess masters.
"As I understand it, my worth to the organization for which you work is based
on my continued employment as an AD," Walter said. He felt his lips stretch
thin as he held back a snarl. "If I take to gadding about like Agent Mulder,
how long do you expect that to last?'
"I have a fondness for Agent Mulder," Mannerly said. "But don't be concerned.
Here are your temporary assignment papers."
Taking the papers, Walter glanced through them. "Russia? I'm to go on a fact
finding trip to our embassy in Moscow?"
"An excellent cover and the head of security has been asking for periodic
outside security analysis, so he will be pleased," Mannerly said.
"And what am I really going to be accomplishing?" Walter asked.
"Mulder may have mentioned that he abandoned Alex Krycek in the forest of
Tunguska," Mannerly said.
"The man jumped out of the truck rather than face possible apprehension,"
Walter said evenly. "That was certainly not Mulder's fault."
"Be that as it may," Mannerly replied, "He has been seriously injured and has
lost the will to recover."
Pushing his glasses back up on his nose, Walter laughed shortly. "And I am
supposed to regret that?"
"You will regret it if you can't change his mind, Mr. Skinner. I am aware that
you have a hold on pretty, young Alex. I was not pleased when I learned of your
relationship, especially as that was the time when my colleague chose to reveal
to me the truth about Alex Krycek."
As Walter glared at the man in a fashion that would have left a junior agent
scrambling for clean shorts, his astute mind put together some salient factors.
Those green eyes pouched in deep wrinkled sockets and the fine bone structure
with hints of former beauty seemed oddly familiar. Walter said, "You're his
father!"
"Correct," Mannerly said. "When I was sent to Russia, it was impossible for my
wife and young family to follow. There was a young woman, very beautiful. Her
name was Aleksandrova Kraichev. I was very fond of her and, although I could
not marry her, I meant to support her child when he was born. I was dismayed
when my checks were returned after a time. Of course, I inquired. She had
disappeared and with her the child. I continued to look, but there was no
trace."
"Maybe she was intelligent enough to know she should get away from you," Walter
stated.
"Perhaps that would have been best, but that was not what occurred," Mannerly
said.
Walter had been an excellent agent, a good cop briefly albeit a part time one
when attending college. He had no trouble following a trail of clues. He said,
"Krycek was the child?"
"Yes, I had been extremely unwilling to sacrifice any of my offspring to the
project. My family is not cannon fodder. I thought my colleagues had agreed,
but I was incorrect. They took the son that I could not protect, the mistress
that I thought safely hidden," Mannerly said.
Despite his resentment, Walter heard the grief in the cultured voice. It didn't
persuade him that Mannerly was any better than the Smoking Man but, at least,
he tried to protect his family.
"Look, why not get your own people to deal with Krycek? Or go to him yourself.
You're his father. It would be natural for him to respond to you," Walter said.
He shifted on the comfortable leather seat.
The long fingered hand moved restlessly, tapping the armrest on the door. His
polished nails and the grace of the movements distracted Walter. So that was
where Alex had inherited the lovely hands and characteristic gestures.
"I have not as yet revealed my relationship to Alex. I wanted to have a chance
to observe him before I did so. Growing up in the tender loving care of my
colleagues, Alex Krycek would not have had a normal chance to develop
emotionally. I'm responsible for him, but that does not mean that I would be
such an old fool as to welcome a sociopath into my family," Mannerly said.
"What makes you think that Krycek wants to see me? Whatever happened in the
past, there's nothing left but hate and violence," Walter said.
"In that case, you had best be a very good actor," Mannerly said, frostily. "I
was not pleased with my son's sexual proclivities, but I am a realist. He was
and is obsessed with you, Mr. Skinner. If he thought that you loved him, he
would have a reason to live."
"I'm not going to do it," Walter said. "In fact, I'm getting out of this car
immediately."
It was a surprise to be allowed to leave. Walter resisted the urge to look back
even when he felt as if the barrel of a gun was drawing a bull's-eye on his
back. He stiffly walked back into the gym. The meeting had blanched him.
Murphy, his coach, asked him what was wrong.
"I just heard bad news about someone I used to know," claimed Walter. "I'm just
going to sit and watch for a while."
An hour later, Walter cautiously sidled out the door. The limousine was gone.
No one followed him. It still took hours to stop flinching at the sounds of
people in the hall.
OooOooO
Mulder's voice sounded thin, brittle with stress. "Sir, the director's
secretary called us. Scully and I are supposed to meet with him in an hour. My
office has been searched. I had some private files. They're gone."
"Fuck," Walter exclaimed. "Mulder, you...okay, don't worry. I'll take care of
it." He found a cell phone number on a message pad when he walked into his
office. Walter picked his own cell phone up and dialed it.
A cultured voice said, "You can still protect them."
"I know. I'll do it. Call off your dogs," Walter said wearily.
The meeting still occurred, but it was nothing like Mulder had feared. He and
Scully had a new case. A senator's daughter was missing and the director wanted
to make a personal presentation. Said senator was on the Ways And Means
committee...
As Walter listened, he wondered. It could have been a trick. The Brit might
have known about this meeting and used it to his advantage. Walter could read
nothing in the director's face. He couldn't take the chance. He would go to
Russia. If nothing else, he could rejoice in Krycek's misery.
OooOooO
Getting a little drunk on the airplane was an indulgence that Walter was not
alone in enjoying. If he had a balalaika, they all could have sung sentimental
Russian folk songs.
The snow seemed to fall in curved streamers, odd and graceful as the plane sped
through the darkness. It was like streaks of light, like angel's wings. Flights
of fancy ill suited to a pragmatist. He must have been infected by Mulder's
mysticism after all.
Walter leaned back in the airplane seat, trying not to think. He was
comfortable for once. Maybe he should have switched sides. The Englishman had
purchased first class seating for him. The current director felt it was good
for morale for his assistant directors to fly business along with the agents.
He, of course, needed the working room in first class when he flew...right.
Waving away, the dinner menu, Walter brooded. So the green-eyed bastard was
Russian...well, Russian and English. Hmm, Walter assumed Mulder was jumping to
conclusions when he claimed that Alex Krycek was a Russian spy. He should have
known Mulder was right. Mulder had his intuitions about things.
The small bottle of vodka was empty. Walter set it on the tray in disgust and
leaned back. He couldn't figure what Krycek's scheme was. He knew there had to
be one. In love with him indeed! The vision of the cold rage in the man's face
had chilled him even through the pain of the beating. Every blow had gone to
Walter's heart.
The defiance he gave the Smoking Man after the incident hadn't been entirely
based upon believing the Navajo storyteller would be enough of a threat to stop
Cancerman from hurting him. The memory of Alex's expression had destroyed him.
God damn it, it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did!
The traitor Alex Krycek...Walter used to drown in his eyes, his hand caressing
the stubble on the exquisite lines of his cheeks. Walter remembered thinking
that Alex's jaw was made to fit in his hand. He would reach up with his thumb
and trace Alex's lips over and over. When they would lie in bed, facing each
other, even as they fell asleep they painted messages of love on each other's
bodies. Walter loved to touch Alex and loved to be touched by him. The language
of their hearts was written by Braille message of sensation. Walter knew the
hollows and rises of Alex's body even better than he knew Sharon's after all
those years of marriage. Hard to believe that those silent declarations were
all lies.
OooOooO
The wind blew sleet into Walter's face in the brief exposure between the
terminal and the plane. Customs waived him through and a large, silent man in a
chauffeur's outfit claimed him. A heavy brow shadowed blue eyes. Cauliflower
ears framed a lump of a nose, slabs of cheeks, and a broad mouth, shark-like in
width and in the glimpses of jagged teeth within. The man towered over Walter.
He was like an ice giant come to life.
"Where are we going?" Walter asked.
A grunt was his only answer.
"Do you speak English?" Walter asked.
"Yes," the man said.
"Who employs you?" Walter prodded.
Silence.
"Talkative, aren't you?" Walter complained.
An exasperated sound greeted that. Walter gave up and glanced at the dirty
streets, the gray falling of the snow, and the huddled bundles of heavy
clothing struggling through it. There were fewer cars than he was used to
seeing. Not as much variety in stores and businesses. In the distance, he could
see some fanciful towers, St. Basil's Basilica and as they turned a corner, a
McDonald's with golden arches albeit with unfamiliar letters in the sign.
It was a long drive. The small house was not in Moscow proper. It was
surrounded by a garden, currently buried in snow. The cheerful yellow paint and
red tiled roof didn't seem to fit the rat that Krycek was. The driver took
Walter's bags and nudged him toward the door.
A cheerful foyer greeted Walter. Paneled walls with a few pictures and ivy drew
the eyes. A cabinet held a collection of Russian nesting dolls and another held
Easter eggs with etched handmade shells and a trio of Faberge eggs that must
have cost a fortune.
"I'm Mariiya Nazarova Gubin," the black clad woman said. She was Asiatic in
appearance, raisin eyes in a golden moon of a face. She conveyed some feeling
of age, although her hair in the tight black braided bun was without a hint of
white and her smooth face bore only the smallest trace of wrinkles around the
almond-shaped eyes.
Despite her Asian look, Mariiya Gubin was tall and strongly built. She moved
with ponderous grace like an elk through snow. She winced as curses rang out
from up the stairs followed by the clang of a metal pan.
"We may as well as go up and see Alexei," Gubin said.
"Are you his mother?" Walter asked. It seemed possible. Alex had an exotic cast
of features.
"His mother was my cousin. She was murdered when he was seven. I was his
nurse," Gubin said. She shot Walter a scornful look and added, "Until those
beasts took him."
Following the stiff back up the stairs, Walter wondered what the Englishman had
been smoking to send him here. He knew that Krycek would be furious to see him.
For more than one reason, he dreaded seeing his fallen lover.
The room smelled of sickness. The regular bed had been replaced with a hospital
model. Krycek's bloodless face was yellow amber. Beneath his eyes, the flesh
was a delicate violet, like a bruise. Alex's forehead bore a crease of pain;
his mouth, that Walter had found so sweet to kiss, was open as he panted with
pain. A bundle of bandage covered what remained of his left arm. His left hand
was bunched in the blanket. Thin when Walter had seen him last, Alex was now
emaciated. His short hair was matted to his scalp and sweat ran from his
face.
As Walter entered, Alex hoarsely said, "I need the fucking shot now! Give me
the fucking shot!"
There was a stink of urine in the air. A bedpan tossed some distance from the
bed told that tale. The air was heavy in the room with the smell of human pain
and fear. Instinct made Walter want to run out of the room. Warring instinct
tugged at his heart. How easy to forget the traitor and only remember the
beloved.
The male nurse was as thick as ancient oak. His burly forearms were corded with
muscles. His blunt features creased with annoyance as he growled, "It's not
time, stupid."
That made Walter frown. Alex wasn't stupid...rash at times, but hardly stupid.
Alex caught sight of him and his face blanched. "No, get out! Who sent you
here? Spender?"
"Your father," Walter said.
"Who?" Alex asked. His eyes glittered and his eyebrows lowered. "What the hell
are you talking about?"
"The Englishman collected me. I'm to take care of you. Make sure you stay
alive. He's your father."
"Yeah, right. Luke, I'm your father. I have a natural advantage for playing
the role now," Alex snarled at me, jerking the stub of his arm. The sharp
movement must have made something rub against the raw flesh. He uttered a low
despairing sound of pain.
"Just fucking kill me!" Alex screamed.
"Give him the shot," Walter said. "From what I've read, there's no harm in him
determining when he needs medication."
Looking around him, Walter said, "Get someone to clean up that stench."
Walking across the room, Walter opened the heavy drapes. On impulse, he opened
the window long enough to let the crisp outside air cleanse the smell.
Gubin scurried out and came back with a thin-faced boy. He carried a load of
house cleaning supplies.
Soon, the urine smell was replaced with crisp pine scent. Apparently that was a
universal choice for cleaning supplies.
Looking away until the shot was administered, Walter put aside his feelings. He
had been sent here on a mission and he would accomplish it.
"Has he been eating?" Walter asked. There wasn't an IV pole so he assumed that
Alex was on table food.
"Not much," Gubin said, "He's not hungry, he says."
"He'll eat for me," Walter said.
A throaty chuckle told Walter that the heroin was kicking in nicely. Alex said,
"Always would eat for you...anywhere right? Bureau car...your garage...floor
was always so fucking cold, executive washroom that one time. You just come
over here and I'll take care of you."
Part Two
Trying to ignore the sudden rush of heat to his cheeks, Walter avoided Gubin's
eyes and approached Alex's bed. He clamped his hand over Alex's forehead. Hot,
ferociously hot.
"He has a fever," Walter said. "This bed stinks."
"He doesn't like being moved about so we were waiting," the nurse said.
"Time enough, "Walter said. "Go get clean linen." Glancing at the nurse, Walter
asked, "Can I sit him in a chair for a few minutes?"
"Yes," the man said, "Be careful. He bites."
Walter snorted at that. He saw the fearful expression on Alex's face. "Hurts
that bad?"
"Yeah," Alex snapped defiantly. "Bet you just love that."
"I wouldn't wish this on you, boy. Oh, there were times I could have killed you
with my bare hands, but not...I wouldn't have mutilated you," Walter said.
Alex looked away. A sharp whine sounded as Walter gathered him up and sat him
in a chair. "You need a bath and a change of gowns."
Alex's right hand dug into Walter's arm; his nails had been allowed to grow too
long.
Walter said, "I'm not going to hurt you. It looks as if you've done a fine job
of that on your own."
"I wanted to get Spender," Alex muttered. "Use his precious Fox against him. It
should have worked! If Mulder hadn't screwed it up. He should have trusted
me."
"As if you had earned that trust in any way," Walter summarized.
Alex dropped his eyes, pursed his lips in that characteristic way and then
nodded. "Yeah, okay, maybe I didn't deserve his trust, but he should have
waited. I'd have gotten him out. Sometimes, he pisses me off, but I don't hate
him. It's like having an older brother who is always the best at everything. I
hate being second."
"You weren't second with me," Walter said. Regretting his words, Walter said,
"Try not to fall off that chair. I'm going to sponge you down."
Naked, in the chair, Alex shivered as Walter trickled water down his thin,
overheated body. Walter fought the arousal that clawed at him. It was
ridiculous to feel this way. He hated Krycek. If anything, he should be feeling
repulsion or perhaps pity. Pity was acceptable...after all no one could
begrudge compassion for this terribly wounded creature. Gingerly, he washed the
left side, careful not to jostle the bandaged arm.
"How did it happen?" Walter asked. Mulder had said something about Russian
woodsmen and tests, but Walter hadn't been listening too closely. He tuned out
a certain percentage of Mulder's comments, hoping to keep the remaining hair on
his head.
"I was running away from the camp. I thought I would get a gun and then go back
to look for Mulder. I was tired of being hit. I hurt all over from him pounding
on me. I still wanted to help him get out with information, but damned if I was
going to let him punch me anymore. I ran into some strange Russian men who
offered to help me. I lay down by the fire. When I woke, they were holding me
down and the knife...the knife..."
Alex drew deep breaths that shuddered from his chest. He rubbed at his eyes and
then fiercely commented, "I hope the camp gets them all and beats them to
death."
"Poor bastards were just trying to help you from what Mulder said," Walter
replied.
"Great. Someone finally wants to help me and I end up like this," Alex said. He
moved his bandaged arm and then jerked with pain. "Oh, god, this hurts."
There was nothing to say. Walter knelt, holding one of Alex's feet in his hand
as he washed the long, delicate foot. Alex's eyes softened as he gazed down at
Walter. "I dreamed about you down on your knees in front of me like this.
Leaning over, Alex traced Walter's cheek with trembling fingers.
Without thought, if he had thought, he hardly would have done it; Walter
captured the hand and kissed the fingers, rue and woe that he would never do
the same with the other.
"Oh, God, Walter, I want out," Alex said. "Much as I hated Spender, I always
accepted what he said, that the end justified the means. But it doesn't,
Walter, not always. I ran once and the old man punished me. Now...well, what
will I have to do to show them that I can still be useful?"
"Let's get you dry and dressed," Walter said, noticing a shiver.
"You didn't use to be so much in a hurry to get my clothes on," Alex accused.
"We weren't in the middle of Russia in winter," Walter said.
The bed had been remade and Gubin had brought soup. Alex glanced at the bowl
and said, "I'm not hungry."
Walter leaned close as if to adjust the bedding and growled, "I was sent here
to take care of you and told Mulder and Scully's lives depend on my ability to
get you well. You will fucking well eat if I have to shove it up your
asshole."
Alex's widened eyes showed he believed Walter. He ate most of the soup with a
demeanor as mild as milquetoast. By the time, Walter turned back around from
handing off the bowl; Alex was asleep, lips open, pink and glazed as if kissed
with great passion until his lips had bruised. His cheeks had fever spots that
gave a false appearance of health to the wan face. Alex had an unsettling
resemblance to one of those sentimental postcards of beautiful Victorian
children.
Shaking his head, Walter turned away. It was all illusion, as if Alex was a
beautiful rose that harbored poison at the heart of it.
"I'll need a place to sleep," Walter said to Gubin.
The woman nodded. She said, "You knew just how to handle Alexei. Mister
Mannerly was right, although I doubted his judgment."
"Just don't have any illusions. I don't care about your nephew. I'm here
because the bastard's father coerced me," Walter said.
"You blame him...but he was a child. How was he to stand up to that cold-eyed
monster that killed my sister and took him?" Gubin said.
"As a law enforcement agent, I never accepted that I should excuse offenders
because of their child hood. A poor upbringing is a reasonable excuse for
bedwetting, but not for murder," Walter said.
"I understood that you were a soldier? You never did anything you regret when
you were at war?" Gubin asked.
"That was different," Walter said.
The woman shrugged and opened the door next to Alex's bedroom. She said,
"There's a monitor so you can hear if he needs you."
The room was small, unlike Alex's, but Walter had been in worse places. There
was a thick comforter on the queen-sized bed that took up most of the room. A
highboy made out of dark wood occupied the opposite wall and, next to it, there
was a small desk. A closet the size of a parcel post dotted one corner. Walter
took his clothing out of the one suitcase he had packed and hung his suit bag
in the closet. He wasn't hungry enough to face the formidable Ms. Gubin again
before he had to do so. He lay down instead after undressing and putting on an
old pair of sweats. He wasn't sure if his jet lag would let him sleep, but
almost immediately he was drawn deep into slumber.
Alex's cries not only woke Walter; they galvanized him out of bed. He was
searching for his gun before he realized that he not been able to bring one
into Russia. He ran down the hall with bare feet and ran into Mariiya Gubin. He
pushed past her to where Alex sat screaming, upright, mouth painfully stretched
in utter horror.
Despite the lack of a limb and his weakened state, Alex managed to land a
couple blows. Walter could taste blood from his newly split lip and his
collarbone ached from a hard strike. He pinned Alex to the bed with one arm
across his chest until Alex stopped fighting.
"I thought you were them," Alex said, and didn't need to explain whom
he feared.
"I know," Walter said. He filled a glass with ice water from the dispenser on
the bed table. Holding this to Alex's lips, he said, "Drink some water."
Alex obeyed and then said, "I need the bedpan too."
Without embarrassment, Walter helped Alex urinate and tucked him back in the
hospital gown in which they had clad him.
Gubin had fetched the male nurse who sleepily gave Alex a shot and checked his
vitals.
"Go back to sleep now," Walter said.
"I don't want to," Alex replied.
"I didn't ask you what you wanted," Walter said. He looked into Alex's eyes and
sighed. "Move over," he directed.
Alex looked uncertain and Walter said again in even deeper tones, "Move over."
"What?" Alex said, nervous tension creating a break in his voice.
"I'll sleep with you," Walter said. He slid under the covers on Alex's right
side, carefully arranging himself to avoid the wounded arm.
"This should be as bad a dream as those peasants are to me," Alex said, but he
ran his right hand up and down Walter's strong arm until the petting slowed
with the deepening breaths. Alex yawned and his head drooped until it was
partially pillowed on Walter's shoulder.
Hesitantly, Walter stroked his hand over the velvet cap of hair. "You shouldn't
have cut your hair," he whispered, "I always liked it longer."
There was no reply. Alex slept, safe and sound.
OooOooO
By the next morning, the fever had subsided. When Walter urged, Alex ate a good
breakfast and managed to play part of a game of chess before needing a shot and
then sleep.
Mannerly showed up in the afternoon with a square faced companion who had an
oddly inexpressive face. The blue eyes in the stolid features were almost
innocent, not as a child's would be, but as if he was devoid of the
complexities of human emotions.
The expression on Alex's face was a landmine of emotion. He snarled, "So you're
dear old dad? Maybe we can get on Jerry Springer together."
"Be quiet, Alex," the Englishman said. "I intend to help you, but I will not be
subjected to your boorish American manners in the process."
Walter wondered if the man was more upset about the use to which his son had
been put or that Alex had not gone to the correct schools?
The man with Mannerly walked toward Alex who scuttled away, launching himself
toward Walter.
"Get that thing away from me," Alex said. "I know what he is."
"Alex?" Walter said. His mind told him that his former lover was having
delusions, but all the remaining hair on Walter's skull was standing up. His
arms felt as if a wave of electricity was shivering over them.
"Take it easy," Walter cautioned as Alex stumbled out of bed.
"Don't let him touch me, Walter," Alex said.
"Why? Who is he? I thought he was the specialist that Gubin mentioned," Walter
said.
"He's an alien," Alex said.
"An alien healer, Mr. Krycek," the Englishman said. "It was not easy to find
him and persuade him to help you."
"This man can give Alex his arm back?" Walter asked.
"I don't trust aliens," Alex said. "You let them near you and next thing you
know they're walking around in your body." He staggered slightly.
Walter found himself catching Alex and angling him around so Walter was between
Alex and the alien...if the ordinary man was one.
Mannerly said, "He'll heal you. He won't take you over."
"What do I have to do to earn this?" Alex said. "I know nothing is for free."
"There is a great deal for you to learn, young man," Mannerly said. "I was not
pleased by what my colleague did with my son, but the past cannot be remedied.
It was not the life you should have had, Alex, but I am impressed that you
survived despite the adversity. I have my heirs to the life for which I was
bred. You would never have shared that life with my legitimate children, of
course, but I would have seen to you and to your mother."
Walter knew what Alex would do before he so much as twitched. He caught him and
held him firmly. "Alex, the man's a bastard, but you're smart enough to know
that we can't always choose the people for whom we work or our relatives. Hear
him out."
"I have something to show you," Mannerly said. He nodded to the thug who had
chauffeured Walter earlier.
The man walked to the door and came back with two more men. Walter said, "Oh my
God. It can't be." One of the men looked like Walter, was indistinguishable
from Walter. The other looked like Alex, right down to the bandages on his left
arm.
"What are they?" Alex said. "Are they shapeshifters or...""Clones," Mannerly
said. "Your clone is, unfortunately, one of many. Children donated to the
project are often used to produce these creatures. The man who resembles
Skinner is a natural duplicate...a doppelganger as they say everyone has. This
one had an unfortunate temperament, but I have overridden his memories and
personality with detailed replacements of your history. I'm rather please by
the results. I really should win a Nobel Prize for manufacturing a useful human
being out of the trash I found to match your appearance, Mr. Skinner."
If Walter had been horrified before, he was more so now. "What do you mean to
do with him?" Walter asked, jerking his chin at his mirror image, who was
staring at him in a hungry way.
"He'll replace you. Don't be alarmed. The conditioning will hold. He will think
he is you. He will conduct himself as you would. I'm sure of that. The clone
will take the place of my son. I plan to strike at your cigarette-smoking
friend, but should I fail, I want my heir to be safe, my secret weapon to
strike back at the traitors who would sell out our race, give our planet to
alien creatures...Quislings! The worst Quislings of all to betray us all!"
Mannerly said, heat reddening his elegant cheeks and destroying his usual
self-contained Noel Coward calm.
"You're insane," Walter said, but he noticing Alex had relaxed in his arms. He
let him go and Alex went toward the clones.
Alex said, "This man that looks like Walter? Are you sure he will be able to
take Walter's place at the FBI?"
"There's nothing left of the man that was," Mannerly assured. "For all intents
and purposes, he is Walter Skinner. When we're ready, we'll wipe the memories
of meeting the real Skinner and of you from his brain. He will replace Skinner
beautifully."
"What about my clone? I don't want him to hurt Mulder or Scully," Alex said.
"He won't. I'm fond of those two myself despite the headache they have been,"
Mannerly replied. "Are you all right, Alex? You seem to be pale?" Swaying, Alex
would have fallen if Walter hadn't caught him. As his eyes rolled up in a
faint, Alex's face murmured, "My father..."
OooOooO The next week was hell as far as Walter was concerned. The more time he
spent with Alex, the harder it became to remind himself that he was here
unwillingly. He told himself that he hated Alex, but the sound of Alex's
voice...that low chuckle that was as mellow as the best whiskey and as
intoxicating...the delicate profile in the morning as he soaked up the few
sunlit hours of these dark Russian winter days. He told himself that Alex was a
chimera. That the face that Alex wore now was as false as the one with which
Alex had betrayed him the first time.
If only the heart could believe, Walter thought, as he helped Alex from the
bath. The sessions with the healer were difficult. Alex was desperately afraid
of the aliens. The tale he had told Walter about what had happened to him when
Mulder had found him in Hong Kong was unbelievable, but then so was the bud of
regenerating flesh and bone growing from the ruins of the left arm.
Enveloped in a huge towel, Alex rested his wet hair against Walter's chest.
"I'll grow it longer for you," he promised. "Long as Rapunzel's if you like.
It's going to be like a fairy tale."
"You just concentrate on getting well," Walter said. He noticed his duplicate
watching them from the doorway. He hated the man with a passion. The other
Walter's behavior was impeccable, but Walter didn't trust him at all. He felt
incredibly violated by what Mannerly had done.
The man, whose name Mannerly refused to tell Walter, entered unbidden and said,
"I'm you."
"Not hardly," Walter said. "I want to be you," the man corrected. "I know I
wasn't much like you in my old life. I heard the men talking at the other
place, but I'm different now. You should give me a chance."
"Get out," Walter replied. "Get the fuck out and stay out of my sight."
"Walter? Are you going to go along with this? I've been talking to my father.
He has it all worked out. We stay undercover and work together to come up with
a plan to defeat the aliens. Meanwhile, our replacements go though the motions.
It's brilliant. It will work," Alex argued.
"Don't worry about it, Alex. Your business right now is getting well," Walter
said.
A devastatingly lovely smile beamed from Alex's face. He said, "Tonight,
Walter, make love to me tonight. I'm strong enough. I've waited so long for you
to touch me the way you used to do."
"If you're sure," Walter said.
"I've never been so sure of anything in my life," Alex answered. "This is like
a fairy tale and I get the handsome prince, as well as finding out that I'm not
really a beggar or a thief."
OooOOooO
They had champagne and chocolate dipped strawberries for dessert. Before that a
tender beautifully cooked filet mignon had satisfied their appetites without
making them feel heavy and sleepy. The baby carrots and new potatoes were
arranged as if by an artist on the heavy old china plates. It was a perfect
meal, the kind Sharon used to want for Valentine's Day.
Walter shoved any other thoughts aside. Tonight he would enjoy himself, savor
the feast...
And Alex was a feast. As tender and sweet as the strawberries. As richly
satisfying as the chocolate.
The ethereal pale flesh of the still growing arm was like a swan's wing. Walter
wasn't fond of ballet, but Sharon had liked it. Still, Swan Lake had an eerie
beauty that even a blunt man such as Walter could see. He never thought he
would have a swan prince in his bed.
Walter's lips grazed Alex's forehead. He suckled the elfin tip of one lovely
ear before tracing the line of the throat lower. He marked his lover's throat
thoroughly before moving on to the hard pink nipples rising from his Alex's
chest.
"You taste like chocolate," Walter growled.
Alex's chuckles rippled the flesh under Walter's questing mouth. "Yeah, well,
if you were aiming that last strawberry for my mouth, you missed."
"I won't miss this," Walter said, nuzzling downward until he found that
fascinating line of fuzzy hair that led to the beacon of Alex's cock.
"Mmmmm, oh, yeah, your aim is improving," Alex said, as Walter breathed an
inviting heat on his eager erection.
Lips traveled up and around the turgid flesh. Alex was loud in his
appreciation, groaning lustily as Walter remembered how to evoke the maximum
level of sensation from him. It didn't seem to take much. Alex seemed to thrill
at his touch, gasping and moaning with pleasure.
The feel of Alex's rigid flesh encased in his mouth and brushing his throat as
he went deep sent waves of need down Walter's body. His hands roughly pinned
the strong hips as they arced into him.
Part Three
Alex's hands, the strong right one and the ghostly outline of the one still
growing, clenched at air. The right hand caressed Walter's head, holding back
from pushing into him, but trembling with excitement.
The thrusts quickly became uncontrollable. Alex writhed, his eyes rolling back
as his body went rigid in orgasm.
Before Walter had caught his breath, Alex was on him smothering him with
kisses.
"Thank you, thank you," Alex whispered between frantic kisses.
Walter had not meant to kiss him, but he was overwhelmed by the onslaught. He
had meant to stay in control, but his senses were roaring. He told himself that
it wouldn't hurt to lose himself in the illusion for one night...
Within moments, Alex was astride him, lowering himself onto Walter's erection
with an expression of both agony and bliss. They had never done it in this way,
seldom made love in a fashion that allowed them to see each other's
expressions.
Oh God, Walter wanted to believe...
Wanted to believe what he thought he saw in Alex's face.
Yet, the history of the betrayal was too great a barrier. He had been tricked
once and the wounds would never heal.
Let it be just the meeting of flesh. Let it be the pleasure of their joined
flesh. Their sighs and moans as they gathered heat, nerve endings creating an
incendiary level of stimulation.
Walter nearly passed out when he came. He was barely aware as Alex washed them
both and then pressed to him. He didn't believe what he heard; that faintly
voiced, "I love you."
OooOOooO
Walter grimaced as he looked at the calendar and saw that it was Valentine's
Day. He didn't want to deal with the feelings and memories.
Coming into the room, Alex put his arms around Walter's waist, his face buried
in Walter's neck from behind.
"Come to breakfast. My Aunt Gubin has made us something special," Alex said.
It wasn't the right time. Increasingly, Walter realized that it was not going
to be the right time soon and perhaps not ever. He brushed his hand over Alex's
head, smoothing the ruffled short strands. "Alex, I..."
"Just come and eat," Alex said, tugging at him.
There was a Valentine at Walter's place. Walter felt a stab of pain as he
looked at it. Alex said, "Yeah, I know, something guys aren't supposed to do,
but I was so happy when I woke up"
"I shall ail with him when he is weak, and, when he puts out to sea through
stormy waves, I shall sail with him," Walter read. He said,
"Callicratidas?"
"It's the way I feel," Alex replied. "I know you can't believe that right now,
but I'm going to prove it to you one of these days."
"I wish I could believe that," replied Walter. At the fallen gaze, he added,
"Let's just enjoy the day, Alex. Just one day at a time."
The day sped by too quickly. Alex was finally strong enough to go outside.
Bundled in a heavy coat, his head covered by an uncharacteristic hat, he was a
pair of dancing green eyes peering out from a heap of wool.
Walter could feel the warmth of Alex's hand even though their gloved hands. He
held him tightly. He knew he didn't want to let him go, but what was right? He
couldn't abandon his life for this betraying lover, no matter how sweet he
seemed. He told himself that Alex was sugared poison, an addictive drug of
which he must shed his dependence before it was too late.
And so the day ended, woe mixed with joy.
OooOOooO
On February 15th, the world ended.
Alex's father returned from his trip. He said, "We had better get you two moved
to safety. Spender is looking for Alex and suspicious of your absence, Mr.
Skinner."
"I won't be going with Alex, Mannerly," Walter said. "Our agreement was that I
would help Alex get well. He's almost totally recovered now. I've done my job
and I want to go back to my life now."
"But I thought," Alex began and then willed himself to silence.
"It was a job, Alex, an agreement to keep Mulder and Scully safe," Walter said.
He watched his lover shatter and wall away his pieces behind an uncaring mask.
"I'm sorry if you thought it more. I'm sure you can understand. It was no less
than you did to me, doing your job."
"What I did with you and what I feel for you were never part of the job," Alex
said.
"Mr. Skinner, I had a plan," Mannerly said. "If you think..."
"Father, let him go. You can't make him love me, but you can make him hate me
more if that is possible. I'm okay. I'm a survivor. That's what I do. Let
Walter go back to his life."
Had Walter known that the blade he welded was double edged, he would never have
played out his plan in this fashion. It should have made him glad to see Alex
feel what he had felt. Instead, it was an acidic dissolution of his soul.
"I'm sorry, Alex," Walter said and turned to leave the room.
Walter packed the last of his belongings, aware that Alex had followed him and
was watching from the doorway. He concentrated his gaze on his clothing, folded
precisely into the small case. He looked around and snorted as he saw the
Valentine. He walked over to the dresser and picked it up to throw it away. At
the last moment, he couldn't. He avoided Alex's gaze for another reason as he
laid it on top of his clothing and shut the case.
"I won't let my father hurt you," Alex said. His eyes fluttered and he added.
"I deserved what you did to me, but you're wrong. I did love you. Even
this...this doesn't change the way I feel."
OooOOooO
"Glad to see you, Sir," Mulder said.
Walter looked around at the basement office and said, "What's going on?"
"I was cleaning my office," Mulder said. "I thought I would take some personal
files home to assure there won't be any more problems with them going missing
from here."
"That's a good idea," Walter replied.
"How was your trip to Russia? Cold?" Mulder asked.
"At times," Walter answered.
Mulder gave him an evaluating look and said, "You'll have to tell me sometime."
Turning back to his desk, Mulder pulled at the lower drawer. He said, "You
know this thing has jammed for years."
"Here, let me give you a hand," said Walter, reaching over to tug at
the drawer.
The entire drawer exited its tracks and spilled its contents wildly. Trails of
sunflower seed hulls flew through the air like confetti.
"Shit,' Walter summarized. He and Mulder bumped heads as they leaned down at
the same time to clean up the mess.
Walter peered into the body of the desk when he couldn't align the tracks with
the drawer. Reaching in, he pulled out ragged edged wads of paper, an evidence
bag that he hoped hadn't been needed in some long ago trial, and a chunk of
moth eaten fur.
Mulder grabbed the fur and said, "Oh, yeah, my so called Sasquatch hide. Turned
out to belong to a bear with mange."
Walter finished cleaning out the hollow where the drawer would fit. As he
checked again, he encountered something square, nearly flat and hard. It was a
CD-Rom case.
"Shit, I found that at Krycek's place after he got away from us when Scully was
abducted," Mulder said. His cheeks went red. "I just assumed that they took it
back before I could see what was on it."
Mulder stuck it into the CD Rom of his processor before Walter could caution
him.
"It's a video file," Mulder said, switching to a media player on his computer.
"Looks like your office a few years back."
"The Smoking Man," Mulder said, as Walter's worst nightmare appeared on the
screen. "And Krycek. That looks like Krycek's apartment. Krycek looks as if
they roughed him up."
Mulder wasn't joking. Alex's face was scratched. He had a black eye and swollen
lips, as well as a dark bruise that marred one side of his elegant features.
His hands were handcuffed behind his back and two big goons stood holding his
arms.
"Well, Agent Krycek, you've made a muddle of things as usual," the Smoking Man
said.
"Fuck you," Krycek spat.
One of the goons slapped him without instruction. The look that Alex shot him
was furious as a Fury's. Walter wouldn't sell that man long term life insurance
unless he was the beneficiary.
Spitting blood in the Smoking Man's direction, Alex said, "You left those
cigarettes in my Bureau car on purpose. You set me up."
Walter knew that advantage taking smile all too well on the face of his old
enemy.
"Alex, did you really think I didn't notice you were questioning things that
were not your business? I won't have you switch sides on me. I made you. I
formed you as my tool and I will destroy you how and when I choose," the
Smoking Man said.
"Of course, let me educate you, Alex, show you how quickly your heroes turn on
you," the man added.
Walter watched a monitor within a monitor as Cancerman ran a surveillance video
of his office. He could imagine how Alex felt hearing Mulder's condemning words
and watching how easily Walter seemed to believe the worst. He had been shocked
when Mulder confronted him, concealing his pain beneath the dry words and
emotionless reactions.
"Do you really think that Krycek thought about coming over to our side?" Mulder
said.
"Yes," Walter said. "I'm sure he did until he saw that tape of us talking."
The CD ended when another man rushed into the room to say, "FBI agents are on
their way here. We had better move."
The Cigarette Smoking Man drew a gun and aimed it at Alex's forehead. "Your
choice, Alex, come back to the fold or you can stay here until Mulder spits on
your corpse."
"I don't care," Alex said.
"Then a little reeducation will remind you that there are worse thing than
dying," the Cigarette Smoking Man said.
Walter saw the aged hand reach toward the computer and then the CD went blank.
"I found it outside on the grass," Mulder said. "He must have lost it in the
hurry to get away. I meant to see what it was, but there was a call about a
possible sighting of Scully. It turned out to be another red haired woman, but
by the time I got back, the CD was missing. I assumed that it was just another
vanished bit of evidence."
"Sir, are you all right?" Mulder asked. "You look as if you are having a heart
attack."
"Indigestion," Walter said, "Excuse me. I'm going to see if I can get something
to settle my stomach."
A long walk through the capital didn't clear Walter's head. He found himself
walking to his gym, donning gloves and taking out his pain and anger on the
bag.
The number that the Englishman had given him was disconnected.
Like in a lot of things, Walter started to believe he was only given one
chance. The Englishman was not to be found and his Alex was somewhere deep
under cover.
OooOOooO
Walter went to the gym everyday for a week. He craved pain. The beat of his
fists into the punching bag. The furious hard punches from a semipro opponent
until even the most masochistic refused to spar with him.
Walking out of the gym, Walter was only dimly aware of the limousine parked in
front. When it registered, he ran toward it. The same chauffer got out and let
him into the back seat.
"I'm on my way to meet with Agent Mulder," the Brit said. "You've been trying
to reach me."
"I changed my mind," Walter said. "I want to be with Alex. You can replace me,
but I want personal control of my duplicate. I want to make sure he does my job
well and that he watches over my friends."
"Agreed," said the Brit. "Are you sure? I won't tolerate another change of
heart."
"I'm sure," Walter said. "I thought I could live without him, but I can't."
OooOOooO
A private plane, a long drive....
There's a shady lane and it's spring in England. Myriad wild flowers riot in
lush green meadows. The house at the end of the road is not quite a manor, but
it's more than a cottage. The entire scene resembles a landscape as painted by
John Constable. There is even a blood horse running in the pasture, roan hide
streaked with sweat as it prances.
The driveway is long and winding, but Walter can hardly breathe in
anticipation. He almost asks the driver to turn back, but his lion heart won't
let him choose a coward's route. If Alex can't forgive him, he has to know.
The car stopped and Walter got out. He took a deep breath. He assumed so much.
What if Alex didn't want him back after what he had done?
His lover stood in the doorway, head cocked to one side as he watched the car
approach. Walter stood in the driveway, uncertain of his welcome.
Alex's face glowed. Alex flew to him and wrapped two strong arms around him.
Walter was where he was meant to be.
Whatever happened from here on out, they would face it together. If they should
fall, they would fall together and any victory they wrested from the aliens
would pale beside the one gained against those that opposed their love.
Part One
weat gilded the heavy shoulders as the narrow hips twisted into each blow. The
thud, as each strike connected, sounded deadly...like the impact of a car
hitting flesh. The man grunted as he struck. He had come here directly from
court and silently tore the discreetly expensive suit from his body to put on
the bedraggled sweats, worn almost too thin to be seen in public.
