So we struggle and we stagger
Down the snakes and up the ladder
To the tower where the blessed hours chime.
And I swear it happened just like this:
A sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
The gates of love have budged an inch
I can't say much has happened since,
It's closing time.
I lift my glass to the Awful Truth
Which you can't reveal to the ears of youth,
Except to say it isn't worth a dime
It's closing time.

St. Petersburg
The extreme northern latitude of this, mother Russia's great imperial city, causes the daylight to strike the earth in such a way that everything is bathed in an ethereal light; giving a crispness and clarity to everything in its path. All who visit this place come away with this impression and it stays with them for quite a while.
    All that is, except for one. For high up in a full-length third floor window of his apartment stands Alex Krycek, rat bastard. He stands alone, transfixed, as if seeing everything, but actually seeing nothing. He was never a man prone to extended bouts of introspection, and he knows that his current mood is the first sign of depression but he just doesn't care. There is one thing on his mind, and one thing only. And that thing is a tall, willowy FBI agent—Special Agent Fox Mulder—an ache he can never cure, an itch he can never scratch.
    "Get a grip, Alex," he thought. "What in the hell are you doing to yourself?"
    If he was seeing anything right then he would see, reflected back at him from the window, green emerald eyes burning with passion. He would see impossibly long lashes brushing against pale skin made flush by his memories. He would see thin lips pulled back over teeth in a perfect grimace of pain; but he was seeing nothing right then.
    He was thinking about loss—lost opportunities and lost happiness.
    His hand snaked through his hair as if he were in agony. Alex Krycek was having regrets!
    "Alex, boy," he said to the room, "you don't regret anything. Never did. Never will. You had a job to do and you did it—never mind who it hurt...they were players, you were a player; this is the price you pay."
    But Special Agent Fox Mulder was not part of his budget, his feelings were never supposed to be part of this equation.
    In his mind's eye he could see short silky brown hair and large hands. Sophisticated hands. His mother once told him that smell was the sense that was most closely linked to memory. And he could remember smells, Ivory soap—how typically Mulder, fresh and clean and sunflower seeds...lots and lots of sunflower seeds. And he could still remember that Mulder scent. In his bed, alone, that memory would make a mad dive for his groin.
    "But here you are, Alex. Now what are you going to do about it?" He looked down at his arm—once flesh, now nothing more than steel and plastic—and started rubbing it as if that action could smooth away the pain he so often seemed to feel. But the aspect of his face began to change, the gears in his mind began to turn, thoughts began to form.
    "Yep, sounds like a plan to me", his lips muttered and his eyes smiled. He smoothed his leather jacket over his chest; combed his hand through his hair; grabbed his duffel bag and was out the door stopping only long enough to lock his small utilitarian apartment.

Six Days Later, Washington, D.C.
"Mulder," Scully asked as she breezed into the office, "who do you know in Vienna?"
    "Huh?!"
    "Austria, Mulder. I met the mail guy in the hallway with this package addressed to you personally."
    "I dunno, Scully, who's it from?"
    "No return address, just this drawing of a rat." Dana's eyebrows arched skyward.
    "Shit!" Mulder recovered quickly. "I don't know, let me see it."
    "You're not keeping any secrets from me, are you Mulder?" the teasing was evident in her voice. Her pose was classic Scully—her legs planted firmly on the floor, her hands slightly framing her hips. The look on her face just dared Mulder not to tell her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
    "Secrets? Who, me?" Fox replied sheepishly.
    Fox took the package from her outstretched hands; slowly and deliberately as if it were somehow dangerous, contagious, or might explode at any minute. Intellectually he knew that this couldn't happen as every piece of mail coming into the Bureau was checked for just such a possibility.
    The only thing on the package, besides his own name, were the words "glass", "fragile" and "handle with care".
    When he opened the package and pulled back the paper, his eyes opened wide—unbelievably wide. "Alex fucking Krycek!" he quietly mumbled to himself, half curse, half oath to ward off evil spirits.
    Dana stopped in mid stride. "What did you say, Mulder?"
    "Has to be from Krycek," he said. "Come look."
    Dana crossed the room quickly and what she saw Mulder pull from the box surprised her. Surprised her, yes, but the meaning was nothing short of remarkable, she thought. In Mulder's hand was a small glass figurine, expensive Venetian crystal no doubt, of a fox with a rat on its back.
    "Jesus!" Mulder said. "Scully, do you know what this is?"
    "Is Alex reading Aesop these days? Other than a very expensive toy, no, Mulder, I don't."
    "Look at it, Scully."
    She did letting out an almost imperceptible gasp. "Could it be, could it really be?" she thought. The figurine had a small plug in the bottom and floating around inside the clear glass was a black, oily substance which seemed to have a sentience all its own.
    "You know what this is, Scully! Mulder almost shouted. "We finally have some proof of extraterrestrial life, or it could be one of Alex's sick jokes."
    "I vote for the latter," she said. "Come on, Mulder, we have that meeting with Skinner, we don't want to be late."
    Mulder carefully placed his prize in his desk drawer, locked it and got up to leave.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner's Office, Ten Minutes Later
Everyone in the bureau had heard about their latest case—Modell and his sister—and the A.D.'s treatment of Mulder. Even Skinner's assistant seemed more solicitous than usual. Not once did she look at Scully with that pitying look in her eyes or think that the female agent must feel like a squirrel gathering nuts. And for once the wait wasn't long.
    Not once did Mulder speak—Scully did all the talking. Not once did Mulder look at her. Not once did Mulder look at him. He just sat there fidgeting, with a look of profound discomfort on his face. Skinner even asked him if there was anything he wanted to add to the report and he replied, "Nope, that should cover it."
    His boss even did the unexpected— asking him to stay behind after the meeting. Skinner told him that everyone else was wrong, Mulder was right. He told Mulder that he had won and Pusher and his sister had lost, had lost big time. Even though it was very unusual for the A.D. to tell an agent that he did a great job, it had no effect on him. All Mulder could say was, "Why do I feel like I lost?"
    Skinner couldn't say that he hadn't expected this. He and Scully hadn't trusted him, hadn't believed in him. He had asked for Mulder's gun and badge, and Scully had backed him up. Mulder had a highly honed sense of trust and loyalty, and once he had given these precious gifts to someone he expected something similar in return; he hadn't gotten it from the A.D. Skinner knew this, understood this, but what he didn't know was how to fix it.
    Skinner walked back to his desk and sat heavily in his chair as though defeated, somehow. His hand reached up to his wire frames; removing them he gently squeezed the bridge of his nose to help elevate his ever-present stress headache. "This is going to be one long, long day," he thought.
    "Kim!" he barked into the machine.
    "Yes, sir," came the reply.
    "Kim, hold all my calls for the rest of the day. And, if anyone should inquire, the Assistant Director has been struck with a mysterious case of deafness. All medical evidence points to a complete recovery by 7 a.m. tomorrow morning, understand?" Walter's eyes twinkled for the first time that day, and a gentle playfulness was evident in his voice—a playfulness he had to hide all too often in his day-to-day life at the bureau.
    "Yes, sir!" Even Walter could hear the sparkle in her voice.
    Fox Mulder's Apartment, 3 hours later
    Fox Mulder laid sprawled across his leather couch dressed in his usual sweats and T. His gun was placed within easy reach on the coffee table. The TV was blaring the usual drivel, more to keep his mind occupied and at rest than anything else. But tonight that strategy wasn't working.
    His face reflected his intense concentration. He was playing with his new toy; he would stare at it for minutes on end then would turn it over and look at the plug in the bottom of the fox and rat. He would toss it in the air and lightly catch it as it fell. All the while wondering what Krycek was up to this time. He was looking at the figurine but what he was seeing was that fresh-faced young agent of what seemed like so many years ago.
    He was seeing those puppy dog eyes. He was hearing that husky voice, so full of adoration. If Mulder had been thinking straight he would have realized that something was missing. There was no anger; there was no hate—there was only regret. And this would have mystified him and he would have been worried.
    His trance was only broken by a knock on his door. Who knocks on that door? People usually break it in.
    Grabbing his gun from the nearby table he walked stealthily to open it.
    "Agent Mulder, are you in there?" came the gruff voice he was all too familiar with.
    "Sir, what are you doing here?"
    "Mulder, just a few minutes of your time, please."
    "Come in then," Mulder replied.
    Mulder quickly placed his gun in its usual place in the drawer of the small table by the door. The expression on Mulder's face was all that was needed to tell the A.D. just how unusual Mulder thought this situation was.
"I'd like to talk with you about this afternoon, Agent Mulder."
    "Why?" Mulder asked. "Nothing more to say, sir."
    Why indeed; it was just that question that the A.D. was pondering all afternoon, and during the drive over here. Sure Mulder was one of his better agents. He had nothing but respect for his intuitive powers. He was in awe of some of the cases Mulder had solved when everyone else had thrown up their hands in defeat. But even this wasn't enough to explain his presence here.
    "I'm worried about you, Mulder. And Agent Scully is worried about you too."
    "Why should you worry, sir?"
    The A.D. was dreading just this question. Don't go there, Walter, his mind screamed at him.
    Skinner was staring intently at the younger man's face. There was no embarrassment here, no one looked away, no one blinked. The A.D. went on.
    "I worry about you, Mulder. I know you take things seriously...I have a sense of responsibility for the people under my command. I should have trusted you when you said that Modell's sister was behind all of this. I should have trusted you, but I didn't and for that I am sorry."
    It seemed to Skinner that an eternity passed and the only sound heard in that apartment was the burbling of the fish tank. Still Mulder stared at him—mystified.
    "Mulder, I want you to take a few days to think about this. Use those days to regroup. Use those days to reflect and to know that you still have my faith and respect. I'll put the paper work through first thing in the morning."
    "Okay, fine," was Mulder's simple reply.
    The A.D. would not have been more surprised if Mulder had gotten up off the couch and punched him hard in the face. For a few seconds he was speechless.
    "Okay, sir, I'll be in the office on Monday."
    With that the A.D. walked to the door and quietly closed it behind himself. He stood in the hallway for a few seconds, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He turned around once and looked at the closed door, pensively, and silently shook his head.
    The look on Fox's face was priceless—mystified by the A.D.'s actions—but still the look on his face showed that his mind was working at full speed. He strode resolutely to the phone and dialed a well-known number.
    "Frohike, turn off that damn machine, it's Mulder."
    "Yea, Mulder what's up?"
    "I have a job for you. I need you to track someone down for me quickly."
    "Okay, Mulder." Frohike was clearly puzzled by this time, "who is it?"
    "Alex-rat-fucking-bastard-Krycek," was all that Mulder said.
    "Enough said, Mulder; but it's going to be all but next to impossible to find him."
    "Not this time, Frohike—this time the bastard wants to be found."
    "Got ya, I'll get back to you as soon as I get anything."
    Mulder severed the connection; stood there immobile and simply stared at the wall, scratching his head.

The Eternal City, two days later
Hide in plain sight, Alex thought. That's what people had said. He hoped his luck would hold this time; Lady Luck was a bitch goddess, he knew. But he loved this hot Roman sunshine. He reveled in it. Loved the feel of it soaking into his body—too long used to the cold he guessed.
    He was glad that Vasili had offered him the use his apartment if he was ever in Rome. And here he was watching and listening. He smirked at hearing the old Italians talking with each other talking—no, more like screaming; these people are so passionate.
    Italian was one of the languages he spoke—one of the many. No conspiracies here. No black lunged bastard to contend with. Nothing to worry him—well not much, anyway.
    Alex smiled that toothy smile and his eyes twinkled. If Alex was ever happy lately, and for the life of him he couldn't remember any time recently, he was happy now. He knew for a certainty that something was about to happen.
 

A cab slowly approached and old, dignified-looking apartment building. Disgorging its dark-haired passenger, it slowly sped away.
    Mulder looked it over amusedly. Rome, Alex. Next thing I'll find out is that you're a special advisor to the Vatican, and I'll believe it. He chuckled to himself and was surprised by it.
    It had only taken Frohike one day to track Alex down. Even Mulder was surprised by this. He didn't know how the Lone Gunmen could do this, and in fact he didn't want to know.
    He just pushed on the front door and, as he expected, it opened to his touch. Mounting the long, narrow stairs he soon came to the apartment he searched for. Apartment Number 42; the irony of this was not lost on Mulder. Sloppy, Alex. If I can find you so easily, so can they. What dangerous game are you playing at, anyway?
 

He just stood there, staring at the door for some minutes. Wondering if he was going to have to break in. He didn't want to do that. How would he explain to Skinner about being arrested for breaking and entering in a foreign country.
    Throwing caution to the wind he just turned the doorknob and, to his complete surprise, the door simply opened.
    Well, like a lamb to the slaughter, Mulder thought as he cautiously entered the apartment and closed the door behind him.
 

As soon as Alex started to mount the stairs to his apartment he realized that something was wrong. He had long wondered if he had the gift; his grandmother was said to be psychic—at least, he was told that.
    No, something wasn't wrong, something was right. Better than all the perfumes of 'Araby' was Mulderscent. And there it was blooming in his hallway. The smell of a recently rubbed and buffed Mulder was unmistakable.
    Alex entered his apartment slowly as Mulder held back in the shadows.
    "Got my present, I see. Get it analyzed yet, Mulder?" Alex asked.
    "Gave it to Scully," was Mulder's simple reply.
    "Ah, yes, Dr. Watson."
    Alex turned swiftly and caught the frown which was just then stealing Mulder's face.
    "Tell me, Mulder," Alex asked, "how long do you think that Scully is going to be willing to play Dr. Watson to your Sherlock?" If the agent only knew how much Alex's sarcasm was coloured by his jealousy of Scully's relationship with Mulder.
    This time Mulder's expression was a full-fledged scowl.
    "What are you playing at this time, Alex?"
    "What, Mulder, can't a guy just give you a present? I don't know what to tell you. Could be three things, I guess. Maybe I want to help you bring those bastards down. Maybe I want to give you the evidence of extra-terrestrial life that you so actively seek. Or simply, maybe, I just want to fuck with your mind." Alex was quiet then, just looking at Mulder.
    For a tall man Mulder could move quickly. Before Alex knew what was happening or could move to protect himself, Mulder roared across the room and caught Alex in the face with an open-handed slap.
    Alex's head jerked to the right, spittle mixed with blood spraying across the room. "That," Mulder said, "is for Scully."
    Before Alex could even catch his breath Mulder's fist smashed into Alex's gut, forcing the air out of his lungs. "That's for my father," Mulder screamed.
    Alex's automatic reflex was to double over in pain as he tried to get air back in his lungs. In a flash Mulder's knee connected with Alex's chin and slammed his head back into the wall. "And that, Krycek, is for me!" Alex stood perfectly still then; stunned, his head was spinning.
    "Fight back, you bastard. Why don't you fight back?" Mulder screamed at him.
    Alex righted himself slowly and just stood there, straight and proud. Staring intently into Mulder's face. He made no move to protect himself further. After a few seconds Alex discovered that his throat might just actually work.
    "I can't, Mulder." Alex's gaze was locked with Mulder's. "I just can't." It was said so softly that Mulder almost didn't believe what he was hearing. He knew that Alex could take down bigger men than him with just one blow—he'd seen him do it. But he never tried anything with Mulder, never defended himself, not once. Mulder couldn't understand this.
    Mulder moved closer and grabbed his arms to shake some sense into the man. Alex looked at Mulder's face in horror. He could see every emotion that the older man was experiencing written across his face. Alex knew the exact moment when the agent realized that one arm didn't have the same soft give as the other. He saw it register there. He saw Mulder's thoughts, almost. He knew when Mulder remembered the horsemen and what they had offered him. He knew the exact instant that Mulder realized that Alex wasn't so lucky.
    Alex saw Mulder's expression shift, at break neck speed, from realization to horror; from horror to pity; from pity to something Alex couldn't put his finger on, but dreaded nonetheless.
    Alex couldn't move; he was like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car—he was in mortal fear of what he would see written on Mulder's face. A single diamond-shaped teardrop escaped Alex's eye. Before it made it half way down his face, Mulder's long index finger captured it and slowly, every so slowly, raised it up to his eye level and gazed at it intently. Mulder looked at the tear on his finger, then he looked back at Alex, and then looked at the tear again. Before Alex could even register what was happening Mulder deposited the tear on his own tongue, tasting his nemesis.
    Mulder's mind was a riot of disparate emotions. His very essence was screaming at him to be careful. He knew that he didn't feel horror or pity about Alex's lost arm, he knew he didn't feel hate now—far from it. His mind was continuously posing questions to itself on what was happening to him. What was the nature of the situation he found himself in.
    Mulder's eyes never left Alex's. They were joined now, locked in something indefinable. Something unstoppable. Would it be soul destroying or faith affirming, he didn't quite know. But he knew that he couldn't stop it now. He realized too that he was trapped, like a moth to a flame; realized that he had no free will as far as this man was concerned. He realized that this was the case from the first moment that he had laid eyes on Alex. It was only a matter of time—an inexorable trip to this moment in time.
    Blood trickled down from Alex's nose where it had come in contact with Mulder's knee. Quick as a flash Mulder's finger trapped some of the blood as well. He held it aloft and looked at it. Again tasting the salty, coppery essence that was Alex Krycek. Mulder sighed.
    Mulder took his thumb and gently traced the outline of Alex's lips, which now gently parted for him. Moving his face a little closer to Alex's, he could almost feel the man breathing as he gently traced the outline of his former partner's large, perfect teeth.
    Alex was audibly moaning now, lost in his own siren's song of pleasure. He couldn't think—hell, he was barely able to breathe. This was Fox Mulder touching him; Fox Mulder—his heart's only weakness. Mulder's eyes were still locked with his, neither looking away, neither even blinking.
    Mulder moved his face in closer. His hand straying to the back of Alex's neck, holding him, caressing him. He continued ever so slowly, as if time stood still. He was so close now he could feel Alex's breath on his lips. Mulder's tongue gently stroked Alex's lips as he came in for a kiss. No, not a kiss, a lover's benediction. Fox claimed Alex so softly and gently that the younger man's mind went into overdrive with the sheer pleasure of it. The sweetness of Mulder's mouth, so long imagined, was far more than Alex had ever thought possible.
    Alex yielded to Mulder and gave him total access to his mouth. Mulder licked and sucked at his lips, tasting all the drying blood there. Alex was issuing a continuous grown now; he couldn't help himself, he was so lost in sensation.     "Jesus, Mulder," Alex said, his voice breaking with emotion. "Maybe...we shouldn't do this. I've done some things...terrible things...ugly things—"
    Mulder put two fingers up to his lips as though to silence him. "Shush, Krycek, let's just not think about this. Let's just do it." Alex stifled back a sob as Mulder caressed his cheek with his own. Alex felt the slight burn from the stubble on Mulder's cheek as it rubbed against his own. So different from the feel of a woman's cheek, but so erotic; Alex felt a direct link from his cheek to his cock.
    Mulder's tongue kept up its exploration of Alex's cheek, finally trailing away to the small gold stud Alex wore in his ear. He took the earlobe into his mouth, gently biting and sucking on it at the same time. Alex's eyes were wild now in rapture as Mulder's tongue found his ear canal and gently imitated the age old thrusting motion—in and out it went.
    Nuzzling Alex's throat, Mulder began to bestow on him soft butterfly kisses, at once gently sucking and then biting him hard—hard enough to mark Alex as his own for life.
    Alex's breathing was now hard and laboured, showing Mulder the exact state of his arousal. The agent's hazel eyes locked again with Alex's green as though to ask permission to proceed.
    "Oh God, Mulder, yes, yes, yes!"
    Without hesitation Alex claimed Mulder's lips again for a deep, passionate kiss. He put everything he had into that kiss—years of pent-up desire showing itself in this one kiss. Both men's tongues battled for ascendancy, each exploring every crevasse of the other's mouth, both sighing audibly. The kiss only ending when the need for breath made itself painfully felt.
    Mulder pulled Alex into a tight embrace, and Alex just folded into Mulder's body—becoming a part of him. Erection pressed against erection, chest against chest, cheek against cheek; each one bucking against the other softly.
    Mulder broke the embrace first, Alex's hand still firmly planted on his shoulder. Mulder quickly got on his knees and snaked both hands up under Alex's Tee shirt. Noting the fine collection of dark brown hair on his stomach, showing the promise of richer things to come. Mulder's hands explored the broad plane of muscles on Alex's abdomen, each stroke confirming what his eyes were telling him—a vision of classic male beauty standing before him.
    Alex was insensate now, groaning and sighing at the same time. Finally Mulder found his chest. Stroked it, loved it. Each of his thumbs found a nipple and adoringly played with each while his tongue laved Alex's navel, exploring the small dimple he found there. Each of his lover's nipples in turn became hard and nubbed.
    Mulder's tongue was licking Alex's stomach clean, like a cat would clean her kitten. His mouth found the hardened nipple and suckled there. Alex pulled Mulder's head in harder, lost in the sensation of it. Mulder moved on to the other and licked it with his tongue.
    "Oh Christ, Krycek!" were the only words Mulder could get out.
    "Call me Alex, please!"
    "Okay, Alex."
    Mulder straightened up then and reclaimed Alex's mouth as his own. Ravishing it. Abusing it.
    Alex's mind was reeling now, but he realized the moment of truth had arrived as Mulder was trying to get his shirt away from his good arm and over his head. He was dreading this—dreading the moment when Mulder would have to look at his mutilation, at this butchery. He knew that the older man could do nothing but turn away from him in disgust and horror. With the shirt rolled over his head and the remains draped over his prosthetic arm, Alex froze like a statue. He had to turn his face away, he had to look anywhere but at his dark angel, knowing the look he would find in his eyes.
    Mulder would have nothing of this. He took Alex's face in both of his hands and forced him to look into his eyes. No lies here, no deceit—not now. What he saw there shocked him. Shocked him hard. Alex, so brash usually, was now so needy and vulnerable. Mulder realized, for the first time, that he could hurt Alex now, hurt him bad—far worse than any of his blows had ever done. He thought of Scully now, of her disapproval, but dismissed it. His own personal guilt— that little person at his core—spoke to him now. It began taking some of Alex's pain inside itself.
    "It's okay Alex. It's okay. I want to see you. I want to see all of you. You are beautiful, you know, all of you is beautiful. Nothing anyone can do will change that." His tone of voice spoke of soothing a hurt, battered child. Alex just stared at him in horror but let him proceed.
    Mulder very gently removed Alex's shirt and threw it to the floor and as gently untied the straps attaching Alex's arm to his body. The younger man was in a full panic now, Mulder could see it in his eyes. Eyes that hid nothing.
    Presented with the full evidence of this butchery, Mulder's face betrayed nothing. Alex stood perfectly still, but when he put out his hand to touch the stump Alex pulled away. Mulder pulled him into a tight embrace as though making an attempt to wash away Alex's pain—an impossible job even for him and he knew it.
    "It's okay Alex. You're beautiful. You're beautiful to me." Mulder could feel the tension leaving Alex's body as he relaxed against his chest. "Alex, we all have our scars, yours are on the outside, that's all."
    Mulder again reached out to his lover's stump, only this time his partner let him—receiving his absolution. His hand lovingly caressed what was left of Alex's arm, his fingers finding and memorizing each and every scar he found there. His eyes still locked with Alex's as though to assure him that it was alright.
    He moved his head slowly down and planted soft pliant kisses there, sending shivers down Alex's spine. This simple act of acceptance sent Alex's spirit soaring; soaring far higher from this than anything else Mulder could have done or said. This simple act of loving kindness, he knew, would go a long way in his own acceptance of his disfigurement.
    Alex was giddy. He knew that he had that goofy smile on his lips as he buried his face in the fold of Mulder's neck. Just lost in the ambrosial smell of the older man as he sucked in his breath in anticipation when he realized that Mulder was undoing his belt buckle. Mulder's hand slowly reached inside and took a firm grasp on his manhood, playing with the folds of skin he found there.
    "Alex" he said, "I see your arm was your only amputation." Mulder's smile was evident in his voice. He looked down and saw the thickening cock in his hand he said, "Alex, your cock is beautiful."
    Mulder pushed Alex's jeans all the way down to admire the view. Alex pushed himself out of his shoes and stepped out of the jeans. Standing before Mulder as naked as the day he was born, he reached over to the hem of Mulder's Tee shirt and started to lift it up.
    "Don't you think that one of us has way too many clothes on?"
    Mulder laughed and agreed by quickly removing his shirt and jeans with very deft motions. Alex noticed the fluidity of these movement, comparing them with his own, but said nothing.
    Alex sucked in his breath at the beauty of the man. Standing before him was the long, lithe body he had so often dreamed of. Sparse chest hair leading in a straight line to the riot of hair surrounding one of the most luxurious looking cocks that Alex had had the pleasure of seeing in quite some time. He couldn't help himself, he just had to touch it, to feel its silky essence.
    Mulder pulled him into an embrace again, had to feel Alex's skin against his own. Had to feel Alex's chest against his. Had to take Alex's lips again. He gently bucked into Alex's hand as each man bespoke his own pleasure with audible sighs and groans.
    "Feels so good, Alex!"
    As Mulder continued to move into Alex's hand, both of his own found places on his lover that Alex didn't even know he possessed. How could an arm, a back, a thigh be an erotic pulse point, Alex didn't even know. Couldn't even think about it.
    The kiss, finally broken, the lovers studying each other's faces, Alex's hand left Mulder's cock and found its way to his face. Lightly grazing the flesh he found there, following the contours of the bone, reverently caressing it, studying it. Mulder leaned into the caress like a cat. The intelligence of Mulder's eyes was replaced now; replaced by something known only to passion, to pleasure. His arousal was so strong, so hard now that it was painful. Still Alex's hand was exploring, caressing.
    How Alex wished that he had two hands to worship this man, which was his due. He experienced every inch of skin that Alex touched. Mulder felt loved at this moment, maybe for the first time in his life. He felt Alex's hand caress his thigh.Oh, Jesus! Mulder's mind screamed.
    And when Alex's hand scraped against his balls, caressing them, rolling one and then the other, teasing them, loving them, Mulder's mind shut down completely—giving itself over to pleasure, pure sweet pleasure.
    Suddenly Alex began licking his face. Long slow stokes, tasting him, collecting the salt he found there. Alex was consuming him, his chin, he ear, his eyelids, each lick sending massive pulses of pleasure into Mulder. All at once, it seemed, Mulder's fingers were in Alex's mouth. He suckled each in turn, swirling his tongue around each, sucking, loving. When Alex began to lick the palm of his hand, the sensation was channeled directly to the dark man's cock.
    Mulder broke the embrace. He had to taste this man. Getting down on his knees again, he looked up evilly at Alex and grinned. He nuzzled his nose into Alex's groin, smelled the manly scent of him. He took one ball into his mouth, gently teasing it. Rolling it around with his tongue. Then he replaced it with the other, wetting it, rolling it, experiencing it.
    He took the bulbous tip of Alex's cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Finding the oh, so sensitive spot on the back where the skin joins the glans, he tortured it. Alex sucked in his breath with an audible hiss. His hands finally found Mulder's hair, gently twining silky strands around his fingers.
    When Mulder finally took him, whole, into his throat, all he could do was scream.
    "Oh, sweet Jesus, Mulder!"
    Mulder let Alex's cock drop from his mouth, looked up at him and smiled sweetly.
    "You can call me Fox."
    That did it for Alex, that finished him completely, the precum was oozing out of his slit. Mulder captured him again. Drawing deeply with his lips, he swallowed his partner to the root. Alex couldn't help himself, this was too much. Mulder's lips traveled the length of Alex's cock a few times, he was bucking gently into Mulder's mouth now. His legs were growing weaker; Mulder, sensing this, supported him with his other hand. "I'm gonna' come, Fox!"
    Mulder still didn't stop. Alex exploded into the back of his throat and Mulder greedily swallowed every drop of his essence.
    Mulder stared up at the stoned look on Alex's face and smiled knowingly. He raised himself up and captured his lover in a crushing embrace. Alex's tongue found and tasted his own seed on his lover's tongue. He was lost now, helplessly lost. He melted into Mulder's body as the agent held him erect.
    "Bed, Alex!"
    Still locked together, they managed to get to the bedroom and fell, as one body, onto the bed.
    "You know, Alex, this isn't over. I'm not finished with you yet."
    Alex's only response to this was to pull Mulder closer to him, feeling Mulder's prodigious erection pressing between his legs, his mouth pressed even closer to Mulder's throat. "A guy can always hope, can't he?"
    Mulder could feel Alex's sweet, hot breath on his neck. That sensation sending hot pulses to Mulder's groin. He could feel Alex's words before he could hear them. So soft, so pleading. "Fox, I need you. I need you in me—please, Fox—please."
    He raised his head up so that he could see Alex's face more clearly, see the expression of need there. Mulder's heart was full with what he saw—the complete look of trust on his lover's face.
    Alex nodded complete agreement, his hand motioning to the bed-side table, indicating where Mulder would find the necessary supplies. All at once, he felt Mulder's hands on his body, everywhere. Exploring him, caressing him, torturing him with sweet, sweet pleasure.
    Mulder saw that Alex's body was writhing with need beneath him, and amazingly he noticed the beginning of another erection on his lover. Raising himself up on both arms over Alex, he noticed, for the first time, the quickly reddening imprint of his own hand on Alex's cheek, the slight split in his lover's chin where his knee had caught him, and the beginnings of a deep, dark bruise on Alex's classically muscled stomach where his fist had connected.
    Alex noticed the guilt quickly stealing away with his lover's face. "No, Fox, no! Don't. Don't think about it. It's all right." As though in answer to Mulder's silent wish for forgiveness, Alex raised his head up from the bed and caught Mulder in a deep, hard kiss. Letting his mouth speak for his soul. Letting his forgiveness wash over Fox like an absolution made flesh.
    Fox slowly returned to him, smiling; knowing that this small part of his guilt, anyway, had just been washed away by Alex Krycek.
    Alex was ready now, he knew. The sated look on Alex's face was replaced by one of pure rapture when Fox sought and found the small, puckered opening between Alex's ass cheeks. And at the first slight touch of Mulder's index finger Alex arched into him.
    "Please, Fox. Please!"
    Alex's breath came in short, sharp rasps now, and Mulder warmed lube and coated his finger. Alex moved to get on his stomach. Mulder reached out a gentle hand to restrain him. "No Alex, I want you on your back, I want to see your face." Nothing anyone had ever done or said to Alex had touched him this way—and nothing ever would again, he knew.
Settling back, Mulder continued his ministrations. His finger gently pushed on Alex's opening and Alex was lost to the sensations as the finger went in him, knuckle deep. A long, satisfied sigh escaped Alex's clenched teeth. Mulder continued the in-and-out motion while adding more lube to his finger. First one, then another finger. Mulder saw the look of pleasure on Alex's face turn to one of deep need as he fingers scraped against Alex's pleasure point.
    "Oh, my God. Now Mulder.  Now!" Alex howled.
    Deftly, Mulder ripped open the condom, applied it to himself and lubed it up. He mounted himself between Alex's legs and allowed one long, languorous look at his lover. Soaking him up. Touching him everywhere. The long graceful neck, the beautifully muscled chest, and neat trim stomach were each touched and caressed in turn.
    Alex took his one hand and reached out for a pillow and placed it under his hips, allowing Mulder easier access.
    The head of Mulder's cock touched Alex and he shuddered. Mulder applied gentle pressure and Alex opened to him, like a flower. He could see the look of pain on the younger man's face and he stopped.
    "No, Fox, don't leave me like this," Alex pleaded. "Now!"
    Mulder continued. The slow even pressure, the small in-and-out strokes finally being rewarded when Mulder began to sink deeper and deeper into Alex.
    Buried to the root in Alex, Alex's keening moans were continuous now, his head swinging from side to side uncontrollably, the awareness completely gone from Alex's beautiful, green eyes. He was lost in his own world. He arched his back up to meet Mulder's downward thrust.
    "Oh Fox, fuck me, fuck me hard!"
    Fox reached out and grasped Alex's turgid cock. Establishing a rhythm with his hand matching the age old movements of his hips. His own moans of pleasure were becoming audible now, and he heard himself quietly repeating his lover's name, over and over again, like his own personal mantra. The measured self-control he had achieved was slipping now. His groin slapping into Alex's ass. His cock searching for and finding his lovers A Spot. His sweat mingling there with that of his lover.
    He could feel Alex's organ become larger and he knew that Alex was close. He wanted his lover to come first. He opened his eyes then, had to soak up the look of pure rapture that was evident on Alex's face. Had to memorize it. Had to feel it. He silently thanked whatever beneficent deity that would allow them this.
    Alex came then with the scream of his lover's name on his lips. Shooting thick, sticky cum on their chests. Mulder couldn't describe the sensations as Alex's internal muscles were bearing down on his cock, milking him, begging him forward. With a groan he came hard. Could feel it start deep within his ass, feel the pin prick of sensations as they exploded inside his being into this feeling of bliss. He could feel himself spasm again, and again into the tiny bit of latex separating him from his lover. How he silently wished this precaution wasn't necessary—he wanted to be able to add his seed to Alex, marking him forever as his own.
    Exhausted, he collapsed onto his lover. Alex's cum mixing with his sweat, and then attaching itself to the hair on his chest. He loved the feeling. With his own erection fading he emerged from Alex and threw the used condom into the waste.
    He gently touched Alex's cheek as though in a prayerful thank you. No words were necessary between the men now, and none were spoken. Hands did the talking now. Each man reached out to the other to touch, to feel still-tingling flesh. Mulder touched Alex's seed and brought some to his lips, tasting.
    He claimed Alex's mouth now in a long, slow kiss—a lover's kiss. They only broke when the need for air expressed itself as pain in their lungs.
    "Tell me something, Alex," Mulder breathed softly into his lover's flesh.
    Alex was dreading this, knew it was coming. Knew it had to come.
    "Why, Alex, why did you set up Scully?" Mulder asked, not threateningly as he usually did.
    The pleading for the truth was evident in Mulder's voice. Alex was surprised. This was not the question he'd expected. No, not the question at all.
    Alex slowly shifted his gaze up to Mulder's eyes. Saw the need for the truth there; deciding in a heartbeat that he would give it.
    Slowly he opened his mouth, found the words, but they wouldn't pass his throat. Struggling to get the words out he simply said, "Jealousy."
    "Jealousy?" Mulder whispered. The shock in his voice could not be hidden.
    "Yeah, Jealousy." Cautiously he went on, his eyes speaking as loudly as his voice. "I was jealous of you, I was jealous of her, I was jealous of what you had with her. I could see it, Mulder, even from the beginning. I knew that I would never have what the two of you shared. I wouldn't have it with you, and I wouldn't have it with anyone else, either." Alex's face twisted as if in pain. "A bad date, remember?"
    "I didn't set it up, Fox." The flood gates were open now, and Alex couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to.
    "I simply told that black-lunged bastard that Scully was a problem. I told him that being far from a solution to his problem with you, Scully had only intensified it. I said that to get you away from the truth he would have to separate you and Scully, permanently. He simply told me that every problem had a solution."
    Alex paused for a moment, as if reliving that distant memory held him in thrall; looked up at his lover and saw the pain evident in his face.
    "I swear to you, Fox, I didn't know what they were planning to do. I wouldn't do that to anyone—I wouldn't do that to Scully. I wouldn't do that to you. A bullet would have been kinder. They had it all set up and simply told me to keep you away from Skyland Mountain. I didn't kill the tram operator, either. He was alive when I left him."
     "Confession good for the soul, Krycek?" Mulder sneered.
    Alex couldn't help but wince at Mulder's use of his last name. In a heartbeat Mulder's mood softened then. "Why the gift, Alex, why 'the Fox and the Rat'?"
    "Thought it was cute, couldn't bring myself not to appreciate the symbolism. I thought: with all I've done to him, why not. Maybe I will give him some of the evidence that he's so occupied trying to get. Why not? Why not give him something that might help him bring those bastards down?"
    Mulder considered this quietly for a moment. Decided to take Alex at face value. Maybe a man could change—
maybe. Maybe Alex was getting soft in his old age. He looked at his lover again, gauging him, studying him. Searching his eyes—eyes cannot lie, he thought.
    His only answer was to hug Alex closer to him, not in forgiveness, but in acceptance. Perhaps forgiveness will come later—maybe not. With a final kiss, Mulder reached down and pulled up the blankets to cover them. Pulling Alex tighter still, wrapping his legs amongst his lover's, they both greeted sleep, peacefully, happily.

The More Things Change the More Things...
The warm Roman sun was streaming through the crack in the half-opened curtains. Inching forward, gently heating the room as it went, the streak of sunlight finally reached Alex's face. His eyes slowly fluttered opened, and he met the day with a feeling of inner peace and contentment—emotions with which Alex Krycek was not overly familiar.
    Lying in a tangle of sheets, his nostrils were assailed by the scent of Mulder; moving ever so slightly his body came in contact with the crystallized evidence of the previous night's passion.
    Raising his only hand to smooth back his short, cropped hair and rub the sleep from each eye in turn, he knew the Mulder wasn't in the bed beside him. He didn't have to call Fox's name, he knew he was gone—the stone cold silence from the apartment told him that.
    Rising slowly from his bed and dressing, the knot of pain in the pit of his stomach growing tighter; he steeled himself against the sting of tears in his eyes, willing them back.
    He entered the living room half expecting to find the note he saw draped across the arm of the couch. Picking it up he read:

Alex:

I hate leaving this way, Alex—I hate leaving you. But it's the only way. We can never be together, not this way. It's too dangerous for you, it's too dangerous for me. But know this, Alex Krycek—I will remember last night until I no longer remember anything else—I will remember this.

I don't hate you, Alex, I don't think I ever did. I believe you—I believe that you didn't kill my father, I believe that you didn't kill Scully's sister. I guess, Alex, I believe in you.

Take care, Alex, watch your back—for me please. When I get your sample analyzed I'll have some evidence, at least, maybe enough to bring some of those bastard down. Thank you, again.

Fox

Alex smiled with a wry humour. Dammit, he thought to himself, he signed it Fox.
    Folding the note lovingly, he searched for the black satchel that he always carried with him. Finding it, he placed the note in one of the pockets.
    From a concealed compartment he withdrew the picture he always carried with him. All these years he carried this; at first he really didn't know why.
    Alex withdrew it and looked at the glossy 5x7; staring back at him was a fresh young FBI agent, dressed in a terribly bad suit and smiling a big, toothy grin standing next to Special Agent Fox Mulder. He didn't even remember who took this picture or how he got it.
    After staring at it for some minutes he took out his black-tipped marker. In explanation, perhaps, for what could have been—for what he had lost—he slowly drew small pear-shaped teardrops trailing from both of his eyes down his face.
    Krycek replaced the photo in its secret hiding place. Packed the rest of his meager possessions. Completing his task he slowly scanned the apartment one last time, and with his head held high, he walked stridently towards the door and then was gone.

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