New York City, Noon

The cacophony of discordant sounds, which is New York City--the constant honking of impatient drivers; the thousand simultaneous conversations going on around him; the jack hammering of continuous construction--did nothing for Alex's headache. He'd woken up this morning with it and as yet he hadn't been able to shake it. The pain radiating from behind his eye sockets and reaching back into his brain was troublesome, but not debilitating.

What was annoying, however, was this unsinkable feeling that he was being watched. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his heart rate increased, and his eyes dilated. He tightened the muscles of his body, spinning on the spot to scan the people passing him on the street and to sweep his vision over the shop doorways to see if he could spot anything. He was unsuccessful. As unsuccessful as he had been in Montreal, Boston, Des Moines and London in recent weeks. The feeling was still there, pressing down on him making him hyper-aware of his surroundings, and the people around him.

His fervent hope was that he wasn't developing panic attacks at his age. For a person in his line of work, that could spell disaster with a capital 'D'. But he knew better--since Jarod that is. No sense cussing Jarod out for telling him that these feelings were nothing more than prescience, for Jarod's telling him that he was bred for it. Instead of moaning about it, he decided to work it to his advantage. Nonetheless these feelings were 'spooky'.

Spooky, that word brought a pained expression to his face and a fluttering into his stomach. But, true fatalist that he was, Alex told himself that he had no chance there--Mulder had let him know, in no uncertain terms--and there was no use crying over spilled milk, or second guessing himself over missed chances or deeds long-since accomplished.

With another look around him, Alex entered the Tobacconist's shop. It was just as he remembered--the same musty smell, the same under-lit atmosphere, the same aromas of tobacco from all over the world, which made him regret, for a moment at least, that he had given up smoking years ago.

They were alone in the shop; the owner acknowledged his presence but didn't speak. Krycek made his way to the counter and the man behind it all but ignored him. Reaching into his pocket Alex pulled out a wad of bills, slapping them on the counter but keeping his hand over them. 

"Got anything for me today?"

This got the owners attention. He reached under the counter and pulled out the all-too familiar brown manila envelope. He passed this to Krycek with one hand, and with the other reached for the money under Alex's hand. Alex didn't relinquish the bills, so the man laid the envelope on the counter and covered it with his own hand. He raised questioning eyes at Krycek, clearly mystified by his customer's actions.

"Has anyone been asking about me?" Alex asked with a barely concealed annoyance in this voice.

"About you?"

"Yes! About me. Who I am? Where I live? Why I use this service." Alex explained patiently as though talking with a child.

This time it was the owner of the shop who looked annoyed. "Look," he said, "I run a respectable, if almost illegal service here." He looked toward the wad of bills under Alex's hand. "Do you think for that kind of money that I'd say anything to anyone about you?" He nodded his head toward the hand firmly planted over his payment.

Alex didn't answer him. He waited for a direct answer to his question.

"No!" The owner said. "Even if they did, rest assured, I don't know you; I don't know what you look like; I don't know what you sound like; I never saw you before in my life."

Satisfied with the sincerity of the answer, Alex took his hand away from the cash. The man behind the counter did the same with the envelope. As expected, it was another missive from Jarod.

Time, Alex thought, to make a little more work for Mulder and Scully. 

Baltimore, Five Minutes Later

The street exhibited all the signs of post-industrial decay, although it wasn't as bad as some of the others he'd seen. The buildings were, on the whole, drab and ill-maintained but still serviceable. The lower working class neighborhood was slightly depressing to this man who was obviously used to better accommodations. But he thought the area would be perfect for what he had in mind.

The good-looking man found the building he was searching for--one of the small, rent-by-he week hotels, so prevalent in this neighborhood. He shook his body from head to foot to prepare himself for what he was about to do. The surly, don't-fuck-with-me expression disappeared from his face replaced by something almost approaching a friendly, non-threatening look.

The custodian from within his little, glassed-in cubicle looked up at him as he entered. The man could almost imagine, from the disgusted look on the custodian's face, that he was thinking 'not another one of them' "Sorry," he said, "we're full up...no rooms available." But Anton didn't think he was sorry at all.

"That's all right, I'm not looking for a room. I'm looking for someone who lives here."

"I can't give out that kind of information," the custodian said almost too quickly. "We have to protect the privacy of our patrons." With that dismissal he turned back to the small television he had been watching when Anton came into the hotel.

"You don't understand," Anton said, "I'm not a cop or a debt collector."

"Wouldn't make any difference if you were, I can't give you any information."

Anton moved closer to the cubicle and, with his most non-threatening gesture, placed both his hands on the counter. "My name is Sasha," he said. "Alex is my brother." 

"Alex? Alex who?" The custodian asked him. The disinterest clearly evident in his tone of voice.

"Tall guy; brilliant, green eyes; dark, short hair--always dresses in a leather jacket." Anton looked at the man with such a hopeful look on his face that anyone would have been fooled.

The custodian raised his eyebrows at him and glanced away as much as to say 'what's that got to do with me'.

"After our parents died, we were separated as very young boys. I've been searching for Alex for years. I finally tracked him down to Baltimore and we've been talking by phone for a couple of weeks." Anton's voice cracked a bit with emotion; he was so good at this. "We agreed to meet, for the first time, here tomorrow night. I just want to surprise him."

Anton looked pleadingly at the older man but his words had no effect. He'd seen this type before--embittered by life's disappointments. His hopes and his dreams crushed to ash under someone's boot.

Anton clearly had only one option left to him, short of physical violence, which as a persuasive device didn't always provide the kind of timely information that was useful and, in some cases, useable. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. "Please, Mister...give me his room number, I've been searching for so long." He began to remove twenty-dollar bills from his wallet and placing them on the counter.

From the look on the older man's face, Anton could see that his greed had outwitted his better judgment. His eyes grew brighter, and his lips curved into a paltry imitation of a smile.

"Please..." Anton said again.

"Okay, " the custodian said, "I'll tell you. But only because I like to see brothers reunited. Remember, you didn't hear it from me."

"Agreed!" Anton replied.

"Alex...Alex Krycek is in 2B, but he's not in now, and I don't know when he'll be back."

"Thank you...you'll never know how much this means to me." Anton took another twenty from his wallet and passed it to the man. "Don't tell Alex I was here; I want it to be a complete surprise."

The man took the money but didn't say a word. He just nodded his head and returned his attention back to the television as though nothing had ever distracted him from it in the first place.

Orlando Florida, That Evening

In the center of a barren room, a gray-haired man sat in a chair. He was tied securely to the arms and legs of the chair by a strong nylon cord. In the gloom the man was clearly visible within the circle of light cast on him by a bright spotlight.

"This is not funny, Jarod." The man said in a loud and panic-stricken voice. The large beads of sweat collecting on his forehead looked like gems in the strong light shining on his face.

Jarod walked into the circle of light; the sweep of his floor-length leather coat rubbing against his black denim jeans was the only sound that could be heard in the almost perfect stillness of the room. He quickly glanced toward the other end of the room searching for and finding the red, blinking light--the only evidence that the video recorder was running. In his hand were a long, white, candle and a lighter.

"How does it feel, John, to be so helpless?" Jarod's voice was an even monotone, not betraying any of the disgust he felt for this man.

"But I trusted you, Jarod. We were friends."

"Trusting me, John, was your first mistake and your last. Just like Jenny's trusting you was hers."

"I don't know what you're taking about, Jarod!" His mouth said the words, but his eyes and the increasing panic in his voice told an entirely different story.

Jarod switched on another spotlight, illuminating the ceiling above the man's head. Jarod's captive gasped when he saw a hundred-pound block of concrete suspended above him by another nylon cord. Jarod placed the candle on the table, next to the chair, to which the other end of the cord supporting the concrete block was tied and lit it. His actions were slow and deliberate--methodical--so that the older man wouldn't miss one second of anticipation of his impending doom.

"An innocent child, John, only thirteen. The rest of her life stretched out before her, full of promise and expectation." Jarod's voice raised in pitch as he worked the pulley that lowered the concrete block closer to John's head. "You raped her, and then you murdered her. Not only that, but you planted enough doubt in people's minds, that they think her father did it."

John stared at Jarod in defiance not saying a word. But he couldn't drag his eyes from the block hanging over his head, expecting it to drop any minute. "You can't do this to me, Jarod!"

"Oh yes, I can, and I am, John." Jarod said. "Not only that, John, you killed her mother too. She took her own life; she couldn't handle the grief you caused. She couldn't live with the way her family was torn from her. Jarod erected a Y support over the candle flame and rested the nylon cord on it so that the tongue of flame from the candle licked at it.

The acrid smell of melting nylon filled the room. "They say that confession is good for the soul, John. Do you want to meet your maker with this on your conscience."

"But I didn't do it, Jarod."

Jarod shrugged his shoulders as though he didn't really care whether the man did it or not. John cried out as the block dropped about an inch as the nylon rope melted.

"You did it John; you raped her then you murdered her. You took your sick pleasure with her, and then you killed her." Jarod's voice rose to a scream.

"Didn't you, John, you killed that girl, didn't you?...Didn't you!"

"Yes...no...yes." John stammered.

"Well what is it John, you did or you didn't?"

John looked from Jarod's anger-contorted face, to the block of concrete above his head. John's shirt was wet from sweat and fear; Jarod could smell it, pure and raw. He started to walk away from the man in the chair.

"Yes, I did it, but it was a mistake." John shouted. 

"What was a mistake, John? Raping her or killing her?"

"Killing her, I didn't mean to do that...my hands were around her throat to prevent her from calling out, but when I was finished she was
dead."

Jarod's face was sad, most of all for Jenny, who had her life snuffed out so needlessly, but sad too for her mother, who couldn't take the reality of what happened to her daughter or the thought that her husband had done it. He felt sick for her father whose life would never be the same again because of this senseless, useless act. But he wasn't sad for John; for John he only held the utmost contempt.

"For the next five minutes before that block of concrete hits your head, John, I hope you can live with yourself and what you've done. Jarod turned from the terror stricken man and strode out of the room.

"You can't do this to me, Jarod. It's murder!" The man shouted after him. But Jarod never looked back.

"And you know all about murder, don't you, John?"

Jarod stopped in the hallway and picked up the weeping man from the floor clasping him tightly to his chest.

"It's over now," Jarod said. Your daughter and wife can now rest in peace."

The man shook his head, and Jarod wiped away his tears. "But he'll die, Jarod, and it will be murder."

Jarod smiled at this. "No, he won't die, at least not from the concrete block. I hope his heart is strong though, we wouldn't want him to die of fright. The nylon cord has a center of highly tempered steel; the block won't drop. But we'd better get out of here; the police will be here in about two minutes, and we wouldn't want them to find you here. I told them where to find the tape."

"How can I ever thank you, Jarod?" The father asked.

"No thanks necessary."

"But I trusted him, Jarod. He was my best friend."

"I know, I know. You did everything you could to keep your daughter safe. How were you to know? Don't...don't blame yourself for this, it was not your fault."

The father shook his head in agreement, but Jarod knew that it would be many, many years before the man finally got over this--if he ever did.

"Now let's go."

Later that night in his bed-sitting room, Jarod sat in front of his DSA player, dropping handsfull of Smarties into his coffee. He stirred it slowly and with great care and took a sip. "MMM...good," he said, "who would have thought the things you can learn from a television program?"

He brought his eyes back to the screen and watched the record of his life. He saw a much younger Sydney pass him a box wrapped in brightly colored paper.

'What's this, Sydney?'

'A gift, Jarod. It's Christmas. But you must promise me something.'

'What's that, Sydney?'

'You must never tell anyone that I gave it to you.'

'Why?'

'If Mr. Raines ever found out, they'd take me away from you.'

'Okay, I promise, Sydney.'

Jarod quickly wiped a sniffle from his nose with the back of his hand and took another swallow of his chocolaty sweet coffee. He took the disk from the machine and replaced it with another one.

'Here, Sydney, this is for you.' The younger Jarod passed an intricately designed origami bird to his keeper.

'It's beautiful, Jarod.' Sydney examined it closely and marveled at the attention to detail. He passed it back to the young boy.

'But it's for you, Sydney. For Father's Day.'

Sydney looked sad and proud at the same time.

'But I can't keep this, Jarod. I'm not your father.' Sydney walked away from the young Jarod, leaving him stunned and hurt by the refusal of his gift. Jarod remembered going back to his room later, after his session with Mr. Raines, and finding the origami bird missing.  He remembered, in gory detail, all the pain that Mr. Raines had inflicted on him that day.

"Why couldn't you have protected me, Sydney? Why couldn't you have gotten me out of that place?" Jarod asked the freeze-framed picture of the younger Sydney on the screen. He already knew the answers to those questions; over time he had come to blame Sydney less and less for his childhood, realizing that Sydney had been just as much of a prisoner as he himself.

Jarod removed the disk, powering down the DSA player and shut the lid. I have to find Alex, he thought, I have to find the only person in the world who loves me just for me, and not for what or whom I can become.

Mulder and Scully's Office, the Next Morning

"Mulder," Scully said as she entered the office. He looked up at her from the folder he was reading. His eyes were as bright as ever, but she noticed the dark circles around them. Not enough sleep, she reasoned...not nearly enough. She'd watched her partner fidget in his chair all morning, trying to find a comfortable position. The boss must have been particularly hard on him last night, she surmised. She would have offered to get Mulder a rubber donut to sit on, but she knew the offer wouldn't have been well received.

"Yeah, Scully?"

She waved a piece of paper in the air taken from the thick file she carried. "Lynn--in records--gave me this as I was passing her office."

"An X-File, Scully?" He asked hopefully.

She rolled her eyes at him--everything to her partner was a possible X-File. "I couldn't say...no, but it's very coincidental."

"What do you mean, Scully?"

She looked back at the papers and just knew that this was going to set her partner off on another of his crusades for the truth. "Five...Ten...Fifteen...Twenty cases," she read aloud, "all virtually unsolvable, from all around the country." She looked up from the page to see her partner's reaction; she wasn't disappointed. He sat up straight in his chair, his eyes as bright as stars from the possibility of having something to banish the boredom of the morning.

"In each case the police got an anonymous tip from someone. There are all kinds of different crimes here: murder, arson, stalking, kidnapping. With the tips, the police were able to turn these formerly unsolvable crimes into a 100 percent conviction rate."

"What's so odd about this, Scully?" Mulder asked.

"Mulder!" Scully said, slightly shocked by his question. All these tips to the police led them to taped or verbal confessions by the perps."

"Well, lucky for them, Scully."

"But the oddest thing is," she continued, "all these confessions were obtained under duress, and since the police had nothing to do with the forced confessions, the court allowed them into evidence. From the court transcripts, this person threatened physical violence, death, and even emotional blackmail to get the perps to admit to what they had done."

"This is an X-File, Scully. Do we know who this person is?"

"No! That's the strange part. All the records indicate is that he impersonated a lot of different people. They only knew him as Jarod."

Mulder went pale and sat back in his chair as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Do you know anything about this, Mulder?"

"No...not a thing." He lied.

Scully knew her partner too well to believe him.

"This person...this Jarod...is guilty of impersonating all types of different people. FBI agents, policemen, firemen, doctors," she stopped to catch her breath, "even members of the military."

"Cool," Mulder said. "Can I see that?"

He took the documents from her, put his glasses back on and began to read. Scully noticed his hands were shaking slightly, and that he was taking short, shallow breaths as he read. He was nervous, very nervous, she thought.

When he finally was able to compose himself, he looked up at her. "I'll take this up with Skinner." He opened the top drawer of his desk and dropped the documents in it.

Scully knew that he was lying to her, but what she didn't know was why. Scully was a woman who knew how to bide her time. She'd get to the bottom of this, somehow. In time she'd get the answer to this puzzle.

Fox picked up the file he'd been reading before Scully came into the office, but his eyes weren't seeing the words. He looked up at his 'I Want to Believe' poster and stared at it. How could he tell Scully that he knew all about Jarod--well some things at least? How could he tell her that Jarod, working through Krycek, was responsible for some of their biggest successes in recent months? How could he tell her that Krycek turned him on--physically? He didn't know, but he knew his partner. He knew that she was going to find out sooner or later and hoped that he would survive the tornado when she did.

Clancy's Bar and Grill, Later that Day

After having spent twenty years behind the bar of his establishment, the barman had seen every type of Lipstick Lesbian and Gym Queen imaginable and all the permutations thereof. But this guy was something else. Close cropped blond hair, jeans so tight they must have been painted on, and a T-shirt so tight that if he took a deep breath the seams would split. His most striking feature were his blue eyes--so bright and piercing that they drew your attention immediately to his face. To say that his face was handsome would be doing a disservice to it--it was much more than that.

"I haven't seen you around before." The barman said.

"I just moved into the neighborhood a couple of days ago."

"Can I get you anything?" Anton paused for a few moments as though giving his full attention to his question.

"A Corona would be nice." He took the cold beer between his palms and rolled it around. Lifting it to his mouth, he took one long draught of the cool, amber liquid, and before he was finished the bottle was half emptied. He drew the back of his hand across his mouth in a slow, deliberate movement, wiping the moisture from his lips.

"Mike how about a couple of CCs and seven over here?"

"Hold on, Steve," the barman replied without even looking at his other customer, "I'll be with you in a minute."

Anton held out his hand to the barman. "Mike, my name is Sasha. I'm pleased to meet you. Tell me where the washroom is, I've got to see a man about a dog?" Anton smiled at the barman, seeing that he was completely taken in by his forced charm.

Mike pointed to the rear of the establishment. But he didn't take his eyes from Anton's retreating form, noting the perfect butt in the tight jeans, and the play of the muscles of his back, clearly visible under the white T-shirt he wore. Mike was still amazed at the guy--the way he moved. He didn't move like most guys built that way did--that lumbering, Neanderthal walk of the overly muscled--no, Anton moved with grace and great deal of finesse, like a dancer or a gymnast. If I were only 20 years younger, he thought with a small bit of regret, I'd be all over him like cheap suit. The barman reluctantly took his attention away from Anton's retreating form and prepared the drinks for his other customer.

By the time Anton finished his eliminations, the barman was back at his place next to Anton's beer. "Usually this quiet here, Mike?" Anton asked him and placed the bottle to his lips again. 

"Well, in the afternoon, it is--especially on a week-day. At night it's different."

"How so?" Anton asked expressing a totally believable interest.

"The community around here has a lot of gay and BI people. This is their hangout, more or less. At around nine, I have a DJ come in and spin some tunes. The joint's usually hoppin' then."

"Good!" Anton replied. "Gives me something to look forward to. A friendly bunch of people, is it?"

Nothing gets people more relaxed or happy than talking about themselves, and what they own; Mike was no exception. "Very friendly--hardly any trouble."

Anton smiled. "As I came in I saw the 'Help Wanted' sign in the window. Still need someone?

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I need someone to help out behind the bar in the evenings and to take over in the day, on occasion. Are you interested?" 

"Yes," Anton replied with sincerity.

"Have you done this sort of thing before?" Mike asked hopefully. Looking at this man, he figured that his presence would bring in customers by the droves.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I have. Put myself through the Julliard school tending bar in New York."

"Impressive," Mike said. "What did you study?"

"Dance," Anton replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I figured something like that."

"Is it that obvious, Mike?"

"I'll admit that you've got more than your fair share of manly charms, Sasha." Mike said in a low voice. Anton had the good sense to blush. "But it's the way you walk that gave it away."

Anton looked at Mike, not quite understanding what he was talking about. "You walk with a fluid grace, Sasha. It's quite a sight to behold."

"Thanks, Mike?"

"Are you still interested in that job?"

"Yes, really interested."

"When can you start? Is tonight too soon."

"There is one little problem." Anton knew he had Mike hooked, and it was time to reel him in.

"A little problem?" Mike asked. "What's that?"

"I'm being stalked."

"You're being stalked! By a former lover?"

"Yes." Anton told him. "But he's not violent. He has a bad temper but I don't think he'd do anything in here. Tall guy, always wears a leather jacket, short cropped hair and emerald green eyes. If he comes in here looking for me, just don't tell him that I work here."

"That shouldn't be much of a problem, Sasha. I can handle that."

"Other than that, I have no commitments. But I have a few things to do today. How about if I come back at seven and you show me the ropes?"

"Great, I'll see you then." Anton picked up his change from the bar and stuffed it into his pocket. Mike still couldn't drag his eyes away
from the man as he walked out of the bar. Maybe, he thought, with a little luck I can get him to dance here. What a draw that would be.

"Mike!" Steve called, dragging the man's attention away from his thoughts. "Another round here, huh!"

"Sure...sure, Steve, I'll be right there."

Warehouse District, Baltimore

"Mr.?" The rental agent held out her hand to Anton.

Anton looked at her sweetly, innocently as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Mike...just Mike is fine." He took her hand in both of his and shook it gently but firmly.

"Angela," she said, with the slightest bit of embarrassment and desire in her voice.

"I'm glad I was able to find this place so easily and not be late for our appointment. People who aren't punctual annoy me--it's as if they don't care about their business, I think." Anton's piercing blue eyes stared into Angel's brown ones. "Don't you?" he asked.

"Actually yes, Mike. They do annoy me a little. It just seems that when they're really late that they aren't all that serious. But in my line of work, it happens a lot, I've found."

"I can imagine," Anton said as he released Angela's hand.

Anton turned from the rental agent to survey the building. It was a large edifice, covered in metal cladding, with only one door and no windows that he could see. In the back of the building was one large garage door. His face brightened a little when he saw this. Angela was following closely behind him, so he knew to keep his expression as guarded as possible.

"Does this look like something you'd be interested in, Mike?"

"It looks promising so far. What about these other buildings, are they rented out?

"Nope...the economy in this part of town is down quite a bit. You'll be here alone."

"That suits me just fine, Angela. I can play my music as loud as I want and I won't bother anyone."

Angela nodded at him. "That's true, there's no one within blocks of here. They wouldn't hear a sound."

"Shall we go in and take a look?" Anton suggested.

Angela passed him the key to the front door, and they walked back. Anton opened the door and walked into the building, which was in total darkness. Angela entered behind him and reached for the light switch. The interior was now bathed in bright light, which temporarily blinded Anton; when he recovered, he saw the impressive size of the space. It was cavernous looking, especially so being as empty as it was.

"Over there is something you might be able to use." Angela pointed to a door and led the way to it. Opening it, they both walked through. It was a passable office with a small desk. Behind the desk was a dirty, but comfortable looking, couch.

"If you get tired," she said, "you could stretch out on that."

Anton looked at her. "That's a definite plus," he said.

"But come on," Angela said, I'll show you what you're really interested in.

Anton followed her through another unlocked door. Inside was a fully equipped vehicle repair shop. Anton saw the garage door at the back of the shop--the one he'd seen from the outside.

"Is all the equipment working, Angela?"

"Yes," she said. "But...Mike, power is included in the rental, but heat is not. Will that be a problem."

"Shouldn't be," Anton told her, "in this heat, anyway."

Anton walked around the shop and looked at everything. He picked up the controls for the engine hoist, pressed a button and watched it, as he heard the whirr of the motor springing into action. He moved the hoist back and forth with the controls and put it down again. He picked up the lube gun, gave it a little squirt and was pleased to see a little blob of clear grease come out of the end of it.

"Mike," Angela broke his concentration, "do you mind my asking what you want this place for."

"No, not at all. I have an old Jaguar, which needs a lot of work. It's my baby; I've had it for years. It's not the sleek Jaguars you see today. It's very old, the kind of chauffeur driven Jags they had in the 40s and 50s. Worth a lot of money, actually."

"I'll bet." Angela replied.

"That's one of the reasons I wanted an out-of-the-way place to work on it. No use courting danger when you don't have to...it would be too irresistible to a car thief, as there are so few of them around.

"This is going to be expensive, Mike. Couldn't a dealer do the work for you cheaper?"

"Probably...but I'm the kind of guy who likes to get his hands dirty. And besides, I like to work on my baby myself." Anton smiled at her, totally believable in what he was saying. "We might as well get down to business, Angela."

"Okay, the rent is $750 per month; I'll need the first and second month's rent in advance, and the same amount as a security deposit."

"No problem, Angela, how about if I pay for the three month's rent, and the deposit now?"

"Great!" She said.

Anton pulled his wallet out of his pocket and passed her a cashier's check for the full amount. The rental agent put the check in her file folder. I just have a few papers here for you to sign. Shall we go back into the office?"

Mike followed her there, signed the papers and wished her a good day. After Angela had driven off, the sweet smile on Anton's face disappeared as though it had never been there, replaced by something darker, something more full of purpose, something more accurately mirroring his feelings.

He went to his car and brought in the duffel bag that he'd stored in the back seat and went about preparing the garage for its real intended purpose.

Outside Alex's Apartment, Friday Afternoon

Very few people were out on this residential street at two in the afternoon. This hot, hazy day of summer was oppressive--the sun stood high in the sky, and the humidity count was high--the heat bore down on the few people brave enough to be out at this hour of the day. All except for one. He stood sheltered in a recessed doorway; all of him that could be seen by a casual observer, if they were able to see him at all, would have been a pair of bright blue eyes scanning the street in all directions.

As usual, Alex made no concessions to the temperature whatsoever. Dressed in his leather jacket and black jeans, he seemed impervious to the heat. He walked with a brusque pace towards his apartment. Again the feeling of being watched assailed his senses, made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. He swung around quickly and scanned both sides of the street. Not quick enough, however, as the blue-eyed man pulled himself farther into the shelter of the doorway in which he stood. Krycek's eyes passed right by his position and quickly moved on.

Alex cursed himself, again, for these feelings, but he couldn't shake them. He was almost home now, and he continued on his way. His peace of mind didn't last for long; for each footstep he made, he heard another almost perfectly matching his own. His senses on full alert, he placed his hand over the gun he always carried in the pocket of his jacket. He stopped on the sidewalk, perfectly still, but the footsteps kept on coming. He whirled around to face his pursuer, and a bright smile filled his face, his apprehensions disappearing like an ice cube in this heat.

"Jarod!" He shouted. "What are you doing here?"

Jarod didn't answer but continued to walk toward him. When he was chest to chest with the other man, Jarod took Alex's face between his hands and rubbed his palms gently over the beard-stubbled cheeks. Jarod smiled at him and without a moment's consideration for who might see, he bent his head to Alex and kissed him, driving his tongue deep within Krycek's mouth.

Alex returned the kiss and rubbed his cheek up against one of the hands which was holding him.

"Nothing really, Alex," Jarod said breathlessly. "I just needed to see you."

"Something wrong, Jarod?"

"No, nothing's wrong, Alex. Right now, I just need you." Jarod looked troubled, out-of-sorts, and heart-sick in a way that Alex had never
seen before. 

"Well, Jarod, you've got me, " Alex said with a smile on his face.

Jarod licked the sweat from Alex's upper lip; he laid his head on Alex's shoulder as both men rocked together.

From the recessed doorway, the blue-eyed man smiled maliciously. "I've got you now, Mulder," he said in a hushed voice. He reached behind him and opened the door silently and as silently slipped inside.

"Can you stay for a while, Jarod?" Alex asked. "My apartment is just up there." Alex pointed out his building, just a few doors from where they stood.

Jarod nodded 'yes'. "For a few days, Alex, if you've got nothing on."

"I'd make the time, Jarod, you know that. But I'm free for a few days." Alex wrapped his hand around Jarod's waist, and both men walked to his apartment. When they entered, the man behind the desk took his attention away from the television he was watching and looked at the pair of dark-haried men. Alex nodded at him and the custodian returned the gesture.

Krycek hadn't seen Jarod for weeks, and his passion for the man grew exponentially with each second of their trip up the stairs. Alex got his keys and was fumbling with them, trying to get them into the lock, when Jarod took them from him and opened the door. Once inside, Jarod kicked the door shut and pushed Alex up against it and this time kissed him with passion and hunger. His tongue met Alex's repeatedly, licking and sucking on it. Each time drawing his head back and looking at Alex before his mouth would cover the other man's again. This wasn't enough for Jarod; he needed to feel flesh. He roughly pulled Alex's T-shirt from his jeans and forced it up slowly, letting the heel of his palms caress Alex's skin as he did so.

Without letting Alex's mouth go for one instant, he released the cloth and put both his hands on Krycek's chest. His exploration of Krycek's flesh was slow and thorough, as he swallowed the other man's moans.

"God! I need you, Alex!"

Alex didn't ask why, he knew better; Jarod would tell him when he was ready. He knew what Jarod needed, and it wasn't questions. He slipped his hand under Jarod's shirt, shuddering, as he always did, at the feel of the fine hairs covering the stomach and chest of his lover and best friend. He found a nipple fully erect and took it between his fingers, squeezing gently. Jarod closed his eyes in pure pleasure. Alex opened his mouth wide and placed it over Jarod's chin, swirling his tongue slowly and sensuously over the flesh and bone, tasting Jarod's sweat.

Jarod sobbed, as he moved his head and laid it on Alex's shoulder. Alex moved his hand around to Jarod's back and rubbed it slowly, comforting the man who was in so much mental torment at the moment.

Alex felt Jarod's hot, silent, tears as they tracked down his face and onto his own neck.

"Alex, this was a bad one," Jarod finally said between sobs.

"Are you hurt, Jarod?" Alex asked, the concern and panic coloring his voice.

"No, nothing like that, Alex." Jarod lifted his head and looked directly at his partner.

Alex rubbed at the tracks of Jarod's tears, feeling like sobbing himself. "What is it, Jarod. Tell me. Tell me what's got you so upset."

Jarod wrapped his arms around Alex and pulled him into a tight embrace and laid his head back on Alex's shoulder again. Speaking low and directly into Alex's ear he began. "The latest Pretend--it was a bad one." Alex heard the pain and anguish in Jarod's voice. "A thirteen year old girl was raped and then strangled. The police and just about everyone else thought that the father had done it, although they couldn't prove it. With the suspicion of the father growing so strong, the mother didn't know what to do. She couldn't handle it, couldn't believe that her husband would do that to his own daughter. She ended up taking her own life. The man...the man lost everything, Alex."

Alex knew what family meant to Jarod. He knew just how something like this would affect him; how this would trouble this man, whose every waking thought was consumed with his own family and his search to find them. And a child; Alex suspected just how torn up inside Jarod would be over this. Jarod just couldn't understand the abuse of a child, or the nasty things that adults inflict on them. But Alex knew; he knew only too well. He had lived through the grossest debasement that any adult could inflict upon a child. And he'd survived relatively unscathed--well maybe not, but he could still function.

"And?" Alex gently asked.

"It was the father's best friend, Alex, his best friend. He was perfectly willing to let the father take the blame for his actions--his daughter's death, his wife's death. He allowed the father--his best friend--to live in his own personal hell over the loss of his family, and his presumed guilt for it--what kind of a friend would do that, Alex?"

Alex didn't say anything for a while, he just petted Jarod's head, like the lost little boy he was at the moment.

"Not a friend, Jarod. That man was never a friend, he was a bastard, pure and simple. I assume he got what was coming to him.

Jarod raised his head from Alex's shoulder and smiled evilly at him.

Alex laughed. "I can imagine what you did to him, Jarod. Or can I?"

Jarod laughed out loud this time. "Let's just say, it had something to do with a concrete block suspended over his head, a cord and a candle."

Alex laughed with him this time. "You are an evil, evil man, Jarod, I like it."

"Thought you would," Jarod said, with more life in his voice than he had when he entered the apartment.

Alex waved his hand around the room. "It's not a mansion, J, but you're welcome to share it with me for as long as you want."

Jarod looked around the shoddy room and at Alex's meager possessions. "As long as you're in it," Jarod said with sincerity, "any place is a mansion."

Alex kissed his nose and nuzzled his cheek. The renegade was humming inside; this was such an unusual situation for him. Yes, he'd had his share of relationships with men, and he knew that he got more than his fair share of lewd looks from both sexes as he passed them on the street because of his bad-boy, good-looks. But with Jarod it was different; Jarod didn't take, Jarod only gave; he gave till it hurt.

Jarod brought his attention back to Krycek's lush mouth and covered it with his own, licking at the full lips of his lover, licking over his teeth, slowly gliding his tongue over the other man's. He groaned from the sheer pleasure of it.

Without taking his mouth from Jarod's, Alex gently walked them over to the bed. He gently pushed his lover onto the bed and sat next to him, pulling Jarod's head down to rest on his shoulder once again. With a dexterity only the two-handed man possessed, Jarod began to lower Alex's zipper, freeing the engorged cock within. "I see you're happy to see me, Alex." Jarod smiled, and Krycek's insides melted.

"Always, J"

The Pretender began a slow, loving stroking of Alex's erection. It's tormenting slowness driving Alex into a frenzy of passion and need. Jarod covered the bulbous tip of Alex's erection with the palm of his hand and gently kneaded it, rubbing the sweat of the day into the rosy-red flesh. He played with the uncircumcised skin, drawing it ever slower down the length of Alex's erection. Krycek opened his legs automatically, unconsciously giving the other man more room. Jarod reached over with his mouth and began to nibble on his lover's ear. Krycek's breath caught in his throat, and only when he began to moan did he realize that he was holding his breath. Jarod lowered his head and began to lick at Alex's neck, slow, thorough swipes of his tongue, until his mouth completely encircled Alex's Adams-apple and he sucked on it. Alex's eyes had rolled back in his head, and he was in heaven, or at least as close to it as you can get on this earth.

"Make love to me, Lexi," Jarod begged in a pleading, needful voice.

The years, and the harshness of Alex's life washed away from his face in an instant. His eyes shone as brightly as the North Star. Making Love. When had Alex ever made love? The men he had been with had taken their pleasure with him, never worried or caring about Alex's pleasure. But making love; that scared him. But he was with Jarod, the man who cared the most about him in this world. His heart blossomed, and he felt something odd in his stomach. He couldn't name it; the feeling was so pleasurable that he never wanted to let it go.

He began to fumble with the buttons on Jarod's shirt, and Jarod for his part knew his Lexi and that the greatest act of love would be not to interfere, to let Krycek do it in his own time, unaided. With each freed button, Alex tasted the revealed flesh; twirled the fine hair of J's chest around the tip of his tongue. It was a slow process, but Jarod didn't complain--he was too busy moaning and writhing on the bed. The shirt was finally opened, and Alex pushed it out of the way and started at the beauty displayed before him. He put his mouth to good use again, teasing the nipples, sucking them hard, biting each slowly and erotically.

Jarod was a thin, perfectly proportioned man, which left ample room at the waist band of his jeans, for Alex to slip his hand under and take hold of the prize. Jarod's eyes shot open as he felt Alex caress him, love him, worship him. All those lonely years at the Centre with only his right hand as a bed-mate didn't compare with this at all. Jarod couldn't keep still, thrusting himself against Alex's hand and loudly moaning his lover's name. 

He couldn't stop himself, he levered himself up and kissed the younger man again, thrusting his tongue deep into the recesses of Krycek's mouth, tasting the sweetness and enjoying the heat.

"Alex! Slow down or it's going to be over before it starts."

Alex laughed, and with one quick caress of Jarod's balls, he removed his hand. Krycek left the bed and Jarod sat up. With no finesse at all, Krycek loosened Jarod's boots and pulled them off; socks and boots coming off at the same time. He moved up the side of the bed and fumbled with the belt of Jarod's jeans. Slowly getting it unclasped, he opened each button of the fly, one at a time, and pulled the jeans from Jarod's hips. He wasted no time in pulling Jarod's underwear from his body, so that the man on the bed was completely naked; hard and flushed with need.

Alex laid one chaste kiss on Jarod's belly as he got off the bed. Slowly unfastening the Velcro of his boots, he kicked both boots and socks off his feet at one time. He took the gun from his leather jacket and placed the weapon on the table by the side of the bed, not missing Jarod's frown as he saw it. The T-shirt was next to be swiftly pulled from his good arm, over his head, and then down his prosthetic one and tossed by bed next to his jacket. The jeans came down quickly--with only one arm, he didn't subscribe to the button-fly fashion for obvious reasons.

Jarod chuckled when he noticed Alex wore no underwear. "What?" Alex asked.

Jarod just shook his head and continued laughing.

"Less clothes to wash, you know." Alex answered with a responding smirk on his face.

Jarod reached down and took the jeans from the floor where they landed. He raised them to his nose and sniffed them. "Plus," he said, "it makes these smell so nice...just like you." 

"Bastard!" Alex said jokingly.

"Could be," Jarod replied, "I don't know for sure." Jarod's tone was more somber this time "Technically, Alex, we both are."

"I know." Alex moved toward the bed.

"Take it off." Jarod said and motioned toward Alex's plastic and steel arm.

Alex stopped dead in his tracks. "The stump is so ugly, Jarod."

"Not as ugly as that, Alex. And besides, I want to feel all of you against me. I want you to hold me with your arm and your stump. That thing is not you, Alex, it's not part of you, just a device to help you in your daily tasks."

"This will be difficult." Alex knew better than to argue with the superior reasoning power of Jarod's brain, and Alex was a practical man so he didn't try.

"In one of my Pretends, Alex, I was a contortionist in a circus...I think I can handle it."

As the straps were slowly unfastened, Jarod saw the red welts, from the chafing of the cup that held Alex's prosthetic to the stump. He didn't flinch, he didn't turn his head away; he looked Alex directly in the eyes. "You've been a bad boy, Alex. You've not used that cream I gave you."

Alex shrugged his shoulders and looked at Jarod sheepishly, like a little boy who's just been sufficiently chastised.

"Doctor's orders, Alex. Use it."

"I will, Jarod. Promise."

Jarod held out his arms for his lover, and Alex dropped the arm on top of the pile of his clothing and coming to the bed, eased himself down on top of Jarod. He cradled Jarod's head in one hand and licked his lover's lips softly. He began to rub himself between Jarod's clenched thighs, the feeling of his erection rubbing against the soft hair of Jarod's legs caused his breath to quicken, and a moan to escape his throat. "It's your call, Jarod. How do you want this?"

Jarod appeared to think for a moment, but Alex knew he already had his mind made up. "I want you in me, Alex, face to face." That's all Alex needed to hear, and his erection blossomed to an almost painful rigidity. Krycek slid down J's body until he came face to face with Jarod's erection. He licked at the bulbous head, using the tip of his tongue to trace the large vein down to the root and disappeared into the lightly furred balls. Jarod closed his eyes and smiled his appreciation. The tip of Krycek's tongue traced the same route it had just followed and he swallowed Jarod whole. Jarod made a high pitched squeak, arching his hips, and Alex, off the bed. Alex didn't let go; he didn't slack off the suction one bit, as he deep throated his lover. Alex brought his mouth up to the tip of Jarod's cock and sucked voraciously then swallowed him deep in his throat again."

"God, Lexi," Jarod gasped, "that feels so good."

Alex kissed the sensitive spot on the underside of the head of Jarod's turgid flesh. "Glad you approve."

Alex watched in amazement as Jarod spread his legs so wide apart, so impossibly wide apart, that it would make any performer of the Moscow circus die with envy. "Told you I was a contortionist, didn't I?" But before Jarod's face could paste on that smug, I told you so look, Alex sucked Jarod's ball sack into his mouth. Jarod banged his head back on the pillows forcefully and gave himself up completely to the pleasure he was experiencing. Alex wasn't willing it let it stop there. He gave Jarod's balls a few more strokes with his tongue and his mouth moved lower. The tip of his tongue tracing the perineum to its destination--the slightly puckered entrance to Jarod's body. Alex licked at the dark muscle and moved in for the kill. His mouth covered Jarod's hole and Alex sucked with all his strength, his saliva wetting the muscle as it slightly opened for him. Alex suckled like a baby at its mother's breast, his tongue circling the ridges of the puckered muscle. When it relaxed enough, Krycek thrust his tongue as deeply inside his lover as he could, and kept it still as Jarod's muscles clenched around the intruder.

Under the hand resting on Jarod's stomach, Alex felt the sweat beading in the light fur and spread the moisture around with the palm of his hand.  To Krycek's ears, the sweet sounds of pleasure coming from Jarod were the embodiment of bliss. Alex was achingly hard, and if he were able, he'd be touching himself right now.

"Alex, you're killing me!" Jarod whispered in a lust-darkened tone.

Alex slithered up between Jarod's still parted legs, stopping only when their erections rested side by side. "Lube!" Krycek said.

"Where?" Jarod looked at Krycek slightly puzzled.

"Under the pillow."

Jarod reached under the pillow and found the small bottle. He looked at Alex and chuckled. "Do you have many guests up here, Alex?"

"Nope! You're the first guest, Jarod. I spend many lonely hours in here; a guy's got to have a little fun."

Alex held out his hand, and Jarod squeezed a large dollop of the colorless liquid on the out-stretched digits. Alex smeared the jelly on Jarod's anus, at the same time coaating his fingers. With his index finger he drew little circles around the edges of the tightly puckered muscle to relax it. Jarod closed his eyes and moaned softly. When the muscle relaxed, Alex inserted his finger to the first knuckle. Jarod clenched his muscles around it, but soon relaxed. Alex pushed his finger in as far as he could reach and twisted it around, further relaxing the man receiving his attentions.

"Condom." Alex said, tersely.

"We really don't need one, Alex." Alex knew the real reason they didn't need a condom. The real reason was so painful to Jarod--his part in developing the vicious virus that had gotten out of control--and his own immunity to it, was a continuous dull ache in Jarod's heart. Alex knew when to keep his mouth shut. 

"I know, Jarod, but humor me."

"Where are they?"

"Drawer by the bed."

Without lifting his lower body at all, Jarod reached into the drawer and retrieved the protection. Placing it between his teeth, he ripped the foil package and went to pass the latex to Alex.

Alex smiled knowingly at him. "Put it on me, Jarod."

Jarod reached for Alex's erection and squeezed it gently then began to pump it harder.

"Bastard!" Alex hissed.

Jarod pumped again. "It's so nice to feel another man's cock--the hardness of it covered in silky softness. So different from the feel of your own." Jarod said as though Alex was another problem to be solved. "I like it."

Alex laughed at him. "Jarod, just put on the condom, will 'ya?"

Jarod quickly complied, coating the outside of the condom with the lube. He raised his ass higher off the bed without the slightest bit of effort and held up his arms to Alex. Alex moved into the embrace and kissed Jarod seductively and hungrily. Jarod reached between them and grasped Alex's cock and led it to the entrance of his body.

"Make love to me, Alex. Now!"

Alex supported his weight on Jarod's chest and pushed the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscle. Jarod sighed with the greatest contentment, seemingly without any pain at all. He pushed his ass forward quickly, impaling himself on Alex. Krycek moved his lips to Jarod's neck, and began to suck at the same time his hips began to move. His ass moved slowly, undulating in its movements, as he entered the very core of Jarod's body and moved out again, only to repeat the same motion over and over and over.

It was a slow fuck, and Jarod, for his part, was moving with Alex in perfect harmony. His breath coming is gasps; deep moans forming in his diaphragm and forcing their way out his throat each time Alex touched that spot within him that caused him to see stars.

Alex's body moved against Jarod like the waves on a shore--cresting one moment and receding the next. Their lovemaking was slow and purposeful, like lovers used to each other's body and able to give the greatest amount of pleasure with the least expenditure of movement. Alex's mouth never left Jarod's, their tongues licking and prodding at each other; their lips permanently sealed together.

With each downward thrust of Alex's body, Jarod's cock was pinned between them and rubbed sensuously on the fine hair of his stomach, the sensation of which drove his senses into overload. Without warning he exploded between them--thick, ropy semen spurting from the end of his cock to coat both their stomachs and chests. With a shout and roar and Jarod's name on Alex's lips, he soon followed, pumping his seed into the condom deep within Jarod's body. Alex had never felt such contentment, such a feeling of being 'at home', such a feeling of rightness.

Alex rested his entire weight on Jarod, and the man under him supported it with little effort. Alex's head rested on Jarod's shoulder, and the older man rubbed his hand up and down Alex's back. Alex sighed contentedly.

"God, Alex, I love you."

Jarod sensed that Alex had stopped breathing for a moment, and then a sob escaped him. The Pretender took Alex's head between both his hands and lifted it up, so that he could look into the emerald green eyes. All of a sudden, Jarod saw them mist over and slow, silent tears began to track their way down Alex's cheeks. Jarod lifted his head and licked them away.

"What's wrong Alex?"

Alex could hardly find his voice, but in a husky whisper he spoke. "Jarod, nobody has ever said that to me before--man or woman. Sure", he continued as though the floodgates had finally opened, "many people have used me, used my body for their pleasure, but never, never...until now, has anyone told me they loved me."

"So what's wrong with my telling you I love you, Alex?"

Alex smiled widely at his bed partner, "Nothing wrong with it, Jarod. I love you too. I'm just so fucking happy, that's all."

Jarod kissed him again, a kiss full of passion and devotion and laid Alex's head back on his shoulder. Alex tried to move off him, but Jarod prevented him. "Stay there, Alex, I love the feel of you on me." 

"But we'll be stuck together, Jarod."

Jarod smiled evilly at him. "And the problem with that is...?"

Alex said nothing, but just laughed. He settled down, and soon both men were asleep.

Alex awoke first and looked at the beard-stubbled man beneath him. He licked Jarod's cheek to awaken him. Jarod's obsidian eyes opened slowly, and he smiled up at Alex.

"Hello, sleepy head. Have a nice nap?"

"Best one in weeks, Alex. And you?"

"Same here."

Alex looked at the clock and noticed that it was late afternoon. "I have to go out for a while...nothing illegal, Jarod," he decided to add. "Do you think you'd like to hang around here while I'm gone?"

"Sounds like a plan to me, Alex."

"I've got an idea, J. Why don't we meet at the bar down the street at say, seven, I'll buy you a little bite to eat, and we'll have a drink. It's called Clancy's Bar and Grill, you can't miss it."

"That could be fun, Alex."

"It's a gay bar J. Does that bother you?"

"Not at all. I'll be there at seven."

Jarod watched the man he had grown so close to over the past months get dressed and prepare himself for the outside world. As Alex reached the door, he turned back to Jarod and smiled. Krycek opened the door and engaged the lock from the inside closing it behind him. Jarod settled back onto the pillows, and sleep soon claimed him again.

Mulder and Scully's Office - Three PM

Mulder sat at his desk, totally absorbed by the paper in front of him. His brow was furrowed with determination, and his lips were drawn up in a thin line with concentration. He took his pencil from behind his ear and added a few more shading lines to the boots. The leather jacket looked pretty good, but he decided to add a few more lines with his pencil for contrast. While he was at it, he put a few more strokes to the hair, shading it a little bit darker. But the eyes were difficult; he couldn't get them quite right. He got the pixie nose just as he wanted it, and the elfin ears were just right. But it was the widely spaced, slightly almond shaped eyes that he couldn't get right. He erased what he had already drawn and started over. This time he was much happier with the results. Just a few more strokes of the pencil, and it would be perfect. He stroked in long, luxurious lashes carefully shading them ever so lightly with his pencil. He took the page from his desk and brought it closer to his eyes smiling with satisfaction. Perfect he thought. He was still looking at his work when he heard his door open and watched as Scully entered shaking five ME's reports in her hands. He looked at her hopefully. 

"Just a fat mower, Mulder." She said with finality.

"More medical jargon I don't understand, Scully."

She laughed. "Not really, just the summer version of 'the fat shovel'."

"That makes it much clearer," he said snidely.

"These five deaths in Portland, Maine are nothing mysterious. Five older men, out of shape, seriously overweight, pushing lawn mowers, and succumbed to heat and exhaustion and took massive heart attacks, Mulder. They all worked in offices, didn't workout, and decided that on the hottest day of the summer, it was time to mow their lawns. Their hearts couldn't take it...end of story."

Scully passed him the ME's reports and he quickly scanned them. "Don't you find it at least a bit suspicious that these five men lived on the same block, Scully?"

"No, Mulder, I don't. It's all there, each of the ME's reports all say the same thing."

"So, there's no X-File in your opinion."

She took the papers back from him and stood, with the reports flapping in one hand and the other placed on her hips in defiance. "No X-file, Mulder."

"I have an informant," he said.

"Don't you always?"

Mulder smirked at her. He opened the top drawer of his desk, and with his free hand he pulled out an official looking report. "According to this, there is something definitely odd about those deaths, Scully."

"And that is..." Scully asked, her eyes flashing.

"In all the cases," Mulder answered, "the dead men's blood totally separated into its constituent parts. It didn't look like much more than rather thick seawater. Is that normal, Scully. Can you come up with any medical justification for this?"

Scully was clearly thrown by this information, and for the moment, she didn't have an answer.

"Where did you get that?"

"From the informant."

"And would you mind telling me who the informant is, Mulder?"

"At this time, Scully, I'd rather not."

"What's in your other hand, Mulder?"

Mulder blushed and looked down at the picture of Krycek that he had just drawn. "Nothing important." He said and quickly threw the picture into his briefcase, closing the lid.

"I can't think of any reason, " Scully quickly resumed their conversation, "for the blood separating like that, Mulder. But I still
don't see this as an X-File." 

"Have you ever seen this type of thing before, Scully?"

"No, Mulder, I haven't."

"But you still refuse to believe that this is odd!"

Scully ignored his question completely. "I'm not saying that it isn't odd, Mulder. Was there anything strange found in the blood components?" She asked.

"No, everything appears to be normal. No strange chemicals or compounds of any kind were found."

"Odd."

"So what do you think now, Scully?"

Scully kept to her position firmly. "There must be a rational explanation to all of this, Mulder, I just can't think of one right now."

Mulder nodded his head, recognizing a brick wall when he saw one. "I think it's strange, Scully, and I'm going to take it up with Skinner on Monday. There's an X-File buried in here somewhere." 

"I don't agree, Mulder, and I can't back you up on this with him."

Mulder expected nothing less from her, but was disappointed nonetheless. "Okay, I'll let you know what his decision is on this; I'd have my bags packed just in case." Mulder smiled at her in the way that always seemed to diffuse the tension between them.

"Want to put some money where your mouth is, Mulder?" Scully smiled back at him.

"I'm not a betting man, Scully. If Skinner signs the 302 you owe me a lunch; if he doesn't, lunch is on me."

"Deal," she agreed. "I'd still like to see what you hid away so quickly in your briefcase, though."

"Not a chance, Scully."

"Secrets, Mulder?"

"Well a guy's got to have a few, doesn't he?"

Scully laughed at him as she left the office to go make copies of the ME's reports that she still held in her hand.

Midtown Real Estate Office, Same Time

June stopped typing at her computer when she heard the chime announce that someone had entered the office. She looked up ready to deal with another hopeful client. She smiled, slightly relieved, when she saw who it was. 

"Angela. How did it go?"

She really didn't need her question answered when she saw the smile on Angela's face. The real-estate agent reached into her portfolio and pulled out a check. She began the little 'happy dance' that she always did when she accomplished something she clearly felt was impossible. 

"I assume that it went well."

"You can say that again," Angela said, "as she waved the check under June's nose. Three month's rent in advance, plus security deposit."

"I assume that went well." June deadpanned.

"Cute, June, really cute."

"Who in the hell would want to rent that place?" 

"Some blond, blue-eyed hunk." Angela said as she opened her portfolio and drew out her papers. "His name is Mike something," she said, as she consulted the document, "and he owns a bar downtown. Has a vintage Jaguar, apparently, that he likes to repair himself."

"Boys and their toys," Angela said, as she passed the papers and check to June. "I wouldn't mind playing with his toy, myself," Angela said and fanned her face and winked her left eye. 

June scanned the documents she had been just given. "Well you won't be playing with his toy anytime soon, Angela. He owns a gay bar." She laughed as she put the documents and check in the first drawer of her desk. 

"Well, shit!" Angela replied. "Isn't it always the way, they're either gay or married...or both? Anyway, the commission will be pretty hefty; how about you and I go out for dinner and drinks...on me?"

"Sounds good to me, Anglea. Say about seven?"

"It's a date then." Angela said, as she grabbed her phone messages and headed toward her office to make a few calls. 

Clancy's Bar and Grill, Friday Four-Thirty PM

Mike was on broom and glass duty today. Sweeping the floor, busting tables of empty glasses and bottles, keeping the ash-trays empty and the tables washed. He didn't mind giving up bar duty at all. Not one bit. Hiring Sasha, he thought, was the best decision he'd made for a long, long time. He looked over at the bar and saw Sasha serving another customer. Mike could hear that cash register go clang, clang, clang in his mind. Yes, hiring Sasha was going to do great things for his bank balance. Mike wasn't a man to question too closely when opportunity knocked on his door. Why, for example, was Sasha--a man who looked like that and obviously well experienced at what he did--willing to work for so little. No, Mike was not a man who thought too far in advance. If there were any consequences to any of his actions, he had always thought, he would deal with them later. 

Mike stood at the end of the bar and looked at Sasha. The young man had shown up for work today dressed in way Mike could only describe as a 'come fuck me' look. He wore tight, tight, laced leather shorts. The exquisitely bronzed legs could be seen from his waist to his heels. An inch of so of his skin was visible on either side through the lacings. The shirt was provocative as well. A shirt, could Mike really call it that? The T dipped so low in front that it exposed a small amount of dusky colored nipple on either side. The man's bulging shoulder muscles showed to great effect by the thin, spaghetti like material that joined the front of the T to the back. The shirt itself stopped just below the bulging pecs. Anton's strong, well-formed stomach muscles were completely uncovered, showing to all who would look, the sun bleached diaphanous hair covering his belly, slowly growing somewhat thicker as it disappeared beneath the band of his shorts. 

Yes, Mike was a happy man. Sasha had been here only two days, and already the rumor mill had done its work. He couldn't remember any time in the recent past that this place has attracted so many puppies. Mike knew why they were here and it wasn't for the ambiance--or the booze either. It was to get a look at his new, hunky barman and maybe to try their luck with him. Mike wished them all the success in the world, although he suspected that none of them would succeed. Visions of a full till still flitted across Mike's mind when Sasha looked at him.

"Need any help, Sasha?"

"No, thanks Mike, I've got it covered."

Mike nodded at Sasha and picked up the bar-rag again, going about his cleaning, when he noticed that one of his older customers had beckoned to him. 

"Zeke!" He said loudly, as he walked toward his old friend. "Been a long time."

"Yeah! Mike it has." With his foot, Zeke pushed out the chair opposite so that Mike could sit. 

"Can I get you anything, Zeke?"

Zeke held up the hardly touched bottle of imported German beer he held in his hand. "No, I'm fine." He nodded toward Anton and shook his head. "New Guy?"

"Yeah, just started yesterday. Can you believe that word has spread so quickly?"

"Listen, Mike, did we ever look like that?" Mike laughed. It was a kind, warm sound. A laugh usually only reserved for one's closest and oldest friends. 

"I don't think so Zeke. If we did, I don't think we'd be living in Baltimore anymore."

Zeke nodded his agreement. "Mike, I wanted to thank you for all you did for Steve and me."

"It was nothing, Zeke." Mike reached for his friends hand and covered it with his own. "You and Steve are among my oldest friends, it was the least I could do."

"Mike, it wasn't nothing. When Steve got sick, most of our friends deserted us. But not you. Your coming to see him around the end meant a lot to him, and to me too." Zeke's eyes still bore the pain of his recent loss. 

"How are you dong, Zeke?" Mike asked. 

"Each day's a challenge, you know. Living without him, eating alone, getting into our empty bed. But I'll survive."

"How long were you two together, by the way?"

"Twenty years...would have been twenty-one..." Zeke's voice trailed off to the faintest of whispers. He raised his bottle in a salute to Mike. "Can you imagine this in the old days, Mike, having someone dressed like that tending bar, and all the young ones hanging on his every word. 

"I know," Mike replied. "Remember the women I had to hire just to sit in the bar. And that cop...I forget his name now. He'd call when he got wind of a raid on the bar, and I'd hit the panic button, and a red light would come on signaling the women to grab a man--regardless of what or whom he was doing--and drag him out on the dance floor, so the cops would have no idea of what this bar was?" Mike laughed with his friend again. 

"Yep, I certainly do...those were the good old days, huh!"

"Were they? I don't know, but they were certainly fun. Zeke, I've gotta get back to work now, but I don't want you to be a stranger. There's always a sympathetic ear here for you, and one old friend who wants to see more of you."

"I'll try Mike. I'll try."

"Hi! I'm Pete." The young man said to Anton, as he sat at the bar. "You new here"

"Hi, Pete. I'm Sasha, and yes I'm new...just started yesterday. What can I get for you?"

"A Bud Lite would be great." Anton turned his back on his customer to fetch the beer, and Pete gave him the once-over. Twice-over, three times-over, actually."

Anton turned around and smiled, as he passed the young man his drink, ringing up the sale and noticing the more-than-necessary tip. 

"Nice outfit, Sasha. Do you live around here? I can't say I've ever seen you before...believe me, I'd remember."

"Thanks. I just moved into the neighborhood. I don't live far from here. " Anton told the man and smiled the brightest smile he could muster. 

"It's not a bad place if you're careful. But in your case, I doubt you'll have any problems." Pete said noticing Anton's bulging muscles. "If you need someone to show you around, I'm available."

"I'm sure you are," Anton replied. "I think I'll find my way around, thanks anyway."

Pete was nonplussed. "Remember my offer." He ran his finger up and down Anton's forearm, which was planted firmly against the bar. For his part, Anton looked at Pete as though he were a fly that had to be disposed of. He took Pete's hand off his arm and squeezed it with such force that the small bones in Pete's hand were crushed together so forcefully that the young man's face screwed with pain. 

"Jeez...what's your problem?"

"No problem, buddy, no problem at all. You can look, but you can't touch." Anton's face had lost all the forced charm that it so recently showed. "You'd be well advised to remember that."

From the other corner of the bar, Mike noticed the exchange between the two men. He saw the customer grab his beer from the counter and head toward one of the empty tables to nurse his wounded pride. Yep, Mike thought, Sasha would do just fine. Anton pasted another smile on his face and moved down the bar to tend to another young man demanding his attentions. 

Mulder and Scully's Office, Five PM

With a sigh, Scully flipped the cover of the dossier she was reading closed and checked her watch. "Mulder, it's quitting time...and it's Friday."

Mulder took off his glasses, pushed his chair back from the desk and sprawled fluidly in it, as though he hadn't a bone in his body. "Yeah! Scully--no harm in starting the weekend early."

Scully made a rude sound with her tongue. "Mulder, I know we're not all as dedicated as you, but this is not early. I'm willing to bet that the building was already half-empty an hour ago." Mulder didn't comment or argue, instead he started piling file folders in his brief case for the weekend. This however, didn't escape Scully's eagle-like notice. 

"Taking work home, Mulder--sounds ominous. No trouble in paradise, is there?"

"What do you mean, Scully?"

"It's the weekend, Mulder. Isn't the big guy taking you out dining and dancing?" Scully had a truly evil smile on her face. "You're not tripping the light fantastic this week end."

"No, nothing like that." Mulder said matter-of-factly. "Walter's going out of town for a conference, so I'll be alone this weekend."

"You're letting him out of your sight, unchaperoned? You are a self-confident man. Aren't you afraid he'll bring home some buff twenty-year old who has a real 'jones' for big, bald, authority figures?"

"Funny, Scully. Actually, I'm taking it easy this weekend. Lots of rest--don't say anything, Scully...I know it's on the tip of your tongue--a little jogging and a little culture."

"Culture? You!"

"I will have you know that I am a well-rounded man." Mulder said with a lilt in his voice. "I've rented a few videos for this weekend which represent the highest achievement in the American Cinematic Arts."

Scully knew she's regret asking, but the temptation was just too great. "And they would be...Mulder?"

Mulder sat back in his chair--so relaxed--but the gleam in his eyes gave him away. "Let me see. Yes, there's How the West Was Hung, West Hollywood Hope, and last, but certainly not least, Buffy, the Vampire Layer. Care to pick up some Chinese, or a pizza, and join me, Scully?"

"Sorry, Mulder, as enticing as you make that sound, I'll be busy this weekend." Scully had to put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

"A hot date, huh! You've been keeping secrets from me."

"No, Mulder, no secrets. I'm going to wash my hair."

"Well, Scully, I'm wounded. Let it not be said that Fox Mulder doesn't recognize a rejection when he hears one." This time Scully could contain herself no longer and laughed out loud. 

Clancy's Bar and Grill, Friday 7PM

The bar was unusually quiet for this time of the night, just a lull in the proceedings, Anton was sure, between the busy afternoon he'd had and the even busier night to come. Anton could let himself relax a bit--turn down the forced charm and remove that pasted-on smile. There was no one around except for him and Mike, and Mike was at the other end of the bar, his feet up, a cool one in his hand and puffing on a cigarette. He had grown to like Mike a lot over the past two days--his relaxed attitude to just about everything, the ease with which he spoke with Anton, and above all, the way he acted towards him--more as a friend than an employer. 

Anton felt good tonight--confident. Somehow he knew that tonight would be the night that his plans would be set into action. He rubbed his hand along the pocket of his leather pants and felt the outline of the small vial of liquid he carried there. The stage was set, the props were assembled ,and he had his mind attuned to the job at hand; for now, he could sit back a bit and enjoy his current situation, confident that all was well in hand. 

His musings were cut short by the sound of the small bell above the bar door, announcing a customer had entered. An older gentlemen approached the bar slowly and smiled at him. 

"Mike sick?" He asked Anton, in a friendly yet concerned manner. 

"No." Anton told him, pointing to the other end of the bar. "Just taking it easy. I'm Sasha, I'm helping out. Can I get you anything?"

"Yes, please. Anything you have on tap would be fine." Anton quickly pulled the beer and passed the mug to the guy, who paid him without any further delay. Uttering his thanks, he slowly made his way over to where Mike was sitting. Anton quickly wiped the bar free of the small amount of moisture left behind by the other man's beer mug and noticed that the small bowl of nuts was almost empty. He located the container of Pistachios and refilled each carefully. 

Again, Anton heard the small tinkling of the bell above the door announcing another customer. Jarod entered the bar and looked around quickly trying to locate Alex. When Anton saw the object of his obsession, the friendly face disappeared and was replaced by a look of pure, raw hatred. The look came and went so quickly that even if the bar had been full, no one would have noticed it. Not able to locate Alex, Jarod walked toward the bar and sat himself on the stool in front of the bartender. 

"Hi," Jarod said, "I'm looking for someone."

"Aren't we all?" Anton smiled. 

Jarod acknowledged the small joke with a nod. "Tall guy, close cropped hair wearing a leather jacket."

"I haven't seen him this evening." Anton told him. "But he might be in later on. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

"It's Miller time, I guess," Jarod replied. 

Anton turned his back on Jarod and quickly removed the small vial of liquid from his pocket. Popping the caps of the vial and beer simultaneously, he quickly spilled a little of the beer into the sink and replaced it with the clear, odorless liquid he carried. 

"Isn't that strange," Jarod said while Anton's back was turned. 

"What's that buddy?" Anton's heart almost stopping or a moment.

"Red nuts," Jarod said, looking directly at the bowl in front of him. 

"They're Pistachios," Anton explained. "Don't tell me you've never seen them before."

"No, I never have."

"Where in the hell are you from that you've never seen those before?" Anton asked. 

"Canada," Jarod answered. Anton just shook his head as though that explained it all. 

"Try them. Maybe you'll like them."

Jarod took a fist full of the nuts and popped them into his mouth. Too late, he realized that the nuts had shells, but still his face screwed up into an awful grimace. He grabbed the paper napkin from the bar and spat them out, placing the napkin and nuts in his pocket. "God, they're awful," Jarod announced. "I've never tasted anything so bad." Jarod lifted the beer to his mouth and drank over half of it in one swallow. 

"Well, if you don't try something once, you'll never know, will you? You live around here, Buddy? Anton asked. "I don't think I've seen you before."

"No, just visiting a friend."

"And it would be this friend that you've come in here to meet."

"Right." As Jarod spoke he began to notice that his tongue felt think and cottony in his mouth and his vision was blurring just a bit. He felt a little disoriented, as though the beer was hitting him harder than it should have. For a man with such a brilliant mind as Jarod had, it didn't even occur to him that he might have been drugged. 

"I should never drink on an empty stomach," Jarod finally said, slurring he words as he spoke, finding each word harder to pronounce than the one that preceded it. 

"You alright, buddy?" Anton asked through the saucy smile on his lips. He looked at Jarod again and was quite satisified with the look of stark terror he saw reflected in Jarod's eyes. "Mike!" Anton shouted at his employer still seated at the other end of the bar taking with his friend. "Can you take over for me? Buddy here seems to have had a little too much to drink. He only lives around the corner, I'm going to walk him home."

"Sure, Sasha, no problem."

"I won't be gone long, ten minutes, tops," Anton assured him. 

By now, Jarod knew something was seriously wrong. He was totally aware of the things going on around him. He clearly heard Anton's question and Mike's response, but he couldn't speak. He swayed slightly on the bar-stool, but he didn't seem to be in control of his own body. 

Anton knew that he had to move quickly before the full effect of the drug hit the man. He didn't want his victim to pass out completely in the bar. Quickly hoisting Jarod up by the shoulders, he began to walk Jarod out of the bar. "Don't worry, Mulder," Anton said to the nearly unconscious man, "now the fun really begins. Payback's a bitch!"

Anton dragged a non-resisting Jarod into the alleyway, where he had parked a small, nondescript vehicle--so plain and ordinary as to be indistinguishable from the thousands of others like it in this city. He roughly ripped open the rear door and threw Jarod onto the back seat. He made sure that he locked the door before he closed it. He got into the drivers seat and before inserting the key to start the engine, he slapped the steering wheel with both hands and shouted 'Yes'. He looked around to see if anyone had seen him, but there was no one about. He turned the key, the engine sputtered to life and he slowly drove away. 

Mike's friend had followed him from the table to the bar and planted himself on the stool just vacated by Jarod. He and Mike talked of old times and old friends. It came as mild shock to Mike that a half-hour had passed and still Sasha had not returned. Mike wasn't worried, concerned, yes, but not worried. Something deep inside him, however, was screaming that something was definitely wrong. 
 
 

Continued in  Part 2

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