Chapter 3: The Best Laid Plans

September 19, 2000
Falls Church, VA
8:53 p.m.

I decide to take John home. He's not in any shape to handle information about alien colonization and rebels and black oil -- at least not now. Which throws my schedule off just a bit, but not enough for me to be concerned.

John straightens up as we pull into his driveway. He hasn't said anything since his little breakdown -- which affected me more than I want to admit. I certainly didn't anticipate that kind of reaction from him. You see, I've been keeping tabs on John -- discreetly, of course.

It didn't surprise me that he joined the Bureau, or that he rose quickly through the ranks. John's got great investigative skills and instincts -- and he's not afraid to do whatever it takes to solve a case -- short of breaking the law. Not that he hasn't come close on a couple occasions. And then there's the fact that John doesn't get caught up in office politics. He's always been his own man, and I hope that's one aspect of him that never changes. That's also the reason I decided to ask him for help in locating Mulder rather than Scully or Skinner.

Scully doesn't trust me, and I'm not going to risk harm to her or her unborn child. I have a feeling Mulder wouldn't be too pleased knowing I put them in danger, even if it was to rescue him.

Skinner... Skinner would be a good person to have on my team if there wasn't so much baggage between us. After all, I did kill him. Yea, so I brought him back to life again too. But Skinner doesn't forgive easily, especially those who he thinks have wronged him or his friends.

So that leaves John. A somewhat unknown factor inasmuch as it's been eight years since we last saw each other. But our history prior to that was good. And that's what I'm counting on the most.

I leave the engine idling and wait for John to make the next move.

"Alex... would you mind comin in? If it isn't too late to make a believer of me, that is."

That's the John I know -- crisis over, now let's move on to the important stuff. So I kill the engine, pocket the keys, and follow him into the house.

Hope he has coffee. I have a feeling it's going to be a very long night.

Nice house -- big, spacious; a good place to raise a family in. That's probably what John was thinking when he bought it. Of course, he had Luke then.

Of all the tragedies to befall a man, I can't think of any worse than the death of a child. Especially when that death is directly linked to your chosen profession.

John was investigating a series of murders as part of the Child Abduction Task Force. It was big news in all the papers, and the press was having a field day blaming officials for not doing more to catch the killer. John was prominently featured in several of the articles, since he was the one heading the task force. The investigation had stalled, so he brought in some outside help from the New Orleans field office.

Agent Monica Reyes had a master's degree in religious studies and specialized in ritualistic crime. She seemed a good choice at the time. Agent Reyes drew up an excellent profile of the killer, and the team narrowed their suspects down to a promising two.

Then disaster struck.

The killer grabbed John's son. Every available law enforcement agent in the area spent three anguished days searching for him. What they found....

I don't know how John got through it, but he did -- that is, if burying yourself in your job constitutes getting through it. He wouldn't let his superiors take him off the case. Just another example of John's bull-headedness. But the strain was obviously getting to him. His wife left him. She filed for divorce shortly after the funeral. He didn't contest it.

The whole grisly affair ended when they found their chief suspect murdered in the same manner as all the victims. But there was enough evidence in the man's apartment to prove beyond a doubt that he was the killer.

I just wish I could have drawn his suffering out for eternity.

John goes upstairs to change, so I wander around the living room a bit before settling on the sofa. How very different from Mulder's place. Everything's neat and tidy and in its proper place. That's probably due to John's military background more than anything else. Nice big TV and a VCR. Maybe I should check out John's video collection while I'm here.

He comes down a few minutes later, the suit replaced by jeans and a gray pullover sweater; white socks, but no shoes.

"You hungry? I could heat up something."

Such a casual statement, but it brings back a flood of memories. I swallow hard before answering. "No, I'm fine. You go ahead though."

John turns and goes into the kitchen, but not to warm up his dinner. He puts coffee on, then joins me.

"I'm not that hungry. So... how are you gonna convince me of this extraterrestrial nonsense?"

I have to smile. "Maybe we should start with that CD I gave you."

We move to John's desk and he pulls up the first batch of data -- which turns out to be a graphic of a group of rebels.

"Jesus...." John whispers. "Those are the good guys?"

"Yes, they're resistance fighters against the alien colonists."

"And the facial scarring? They do that themselves?"

"Yes... it serves as protection against infection by the black oil."

John stares at the screen and thinks about that for a minute. "This black oil... Five years ago Agents Mulder and Scully investigated the case of a World War II plane salvaged from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Agent Mulder's notes indicate a substance was brought to the surface which he described as a highly contagious virus of extraterrestrial origin. He said that it had radioactive properties and could take over a man's body and that it was part of an alien conspiracy to colonize the planet. This the same stuff?"

I point towards the monitor. "Why don't you just read the files first. Afterwards I'll fill in any gaps or answer any questions you have. Fair enough?"

"Yea, yea... go read a book or something. On second thought..." John hands me his cup. "Would you bring me some coffee first? Please."

I take the empty mug, fill it, and set in on the desk. "You have a bathroom in this place?"

I come back and settle in the recliner with a copy of "Once An Eagle" by Anton Myrer. I'm not surprised it's in John's collection. After all, it is required reading at West Point, and both the Army and Marines use it to train officers.

Next thing I know John's shaking my shoulder. "Hey, Alex, wake up."

Christ! I can't believe I fell asleep. I haven't been that relaxed in... hell, I can't remember the last time I felt safe enough to just drop off like that.

I stretch and ask "What time is it?" Hoping John doesn't pick up the panic I'm trying to hide. At least I didn't go for my gun.

"Almost midnight. I finished reading all the files. Got about a million questions, too. You up to answering them?"

Just then my stomach rumbles loudly.

John laughs. "Well I could go for some food about now myself. How about I fix us something, then we talk?"

"Works for me."

Chapter 4: Revelations

October 12, 1992
9:25 a.m.

The ride back to the precinct is made in silence. Not that John doesn't want to talk. His death grip on the steering wheel, not to mention the twitching jaw muscle, tells me he's wound tighter than a mainspring. But I think he realizes that now isn't the time or the place for explanations. So he doesn't ask. And that's fine with me. I'm not looking forward to that particular conversation.

I guess I wasn't paying too much attention to the passing scenery, because I'm genuinely surprised when we pull up in front of John's apartment building. He advises dispatch that we're 10-7, glances over at me, then gets out of the car. I have no choice but to follow him.

I'm barely in the apartment before John grabs me and slams me into the door hard enough to rattle my teeth.

"What in the hell were you thinking today? You don't ever lower your weapon when confronting a suspect, and you sure as hell don't turn your back on them! What if he'd come after you with that knife? I wasn't in any position to bring him down. He could have killed you."

John punctuates that last sentence by knocking me into the door again. Before I can form a reply, I'm wrapped up in John's arms and held tightly. And I thought he was upset because we let the suspect go.

"Dammit, brat... I don't wanna lose you, especially not that way. I couldn't handle it."

I return the embrace and try to console my partner. "You're not going to lose me, John. I knew exactly what I was doing with Dr. Andrushkevich. You'll understand after I explain things, okay?"

John pulls away, but keeps me pinned against the door. "I'm holding you to that."

He tilts his head and slowly covers my lips with his. They're soft... warm... and I lose myself in the pure sensuality of the act. If kissing were an Olympic event, John would win the gold every time. He once made me come just by kissing and licking my face, neck and chest. JD knows every one of my erogenous zones, and frequently uses them to drive me crazy. And he's the only lover I've ever had who's even taken the time to discover them. That's one of the reasons I love him so much.

John nudges me with his tongue and I open my mouth allowing him access. He moves his hands to rest on my hips, then presses his body into mine, securing me between him and the door.

After what seems like hours, John breaks the kiss and rests his head on my shoulder. We're both breathing heavily and sporting erections, but I know this isn't going any further. It wasn't really about sex to begin with. John just gets this need to play alpha male -- usually after a potentially life threatening situation -- and I let him. It's a way for us to reconnect and reassure each other we're safe.

"I love you, Alex."

I squeeze John a bit tighter and answer huskily, "I know, JD. Love you, too."

John steps away and straightens his clothes, then mine. "Let's get back to work." He tosses the keys at me, smiles and says "You drive."

We agree on a story on the way back in -- Dr. Andrushkevich and the kids were gone, and the apartment empty when we got there. I doubt there'll be any follow up. There's no reason to question our report.

Of course if there is any type of follow up, I can guarantee none of the neighbors will have seen anything. One good thing about Communism -- it taught people to mind their own business.

The rest of the day is pretty routine, with no other unusual occurrences. John and I clock out at six after briefing the second shift, and agree to meet back at his place after I go home and change.

I pull up in front of John's building around 7:45. I have to drive around a bit before I find a parking spot, but it's only a couple blocks' walk.

The elevator's empty on the ride to the fourth floor -- a little unusual for this time of evening -- but it doesn't concern me. I unlock the door, step into the apartment and inhale deeply. Mmmm... tomato sauce, garlic, spices... looks like we're having pasta for dinner.

John's stirring things and tasting as I walk into the kitchen, wrap my arms around him and lean over his shoulder. "Smells good. Anything I can do?"

"Salad still needs to be made."

I give him a quick kiss before pulling lettuce, veggies and dressing from the fridge. The salad's done just as John starts draining the pasta. I grab two beers, open them, then sit down at the table. John joins me a couple minutes later with the pasta and garlic bread.

We dig into the food and just enjoy each other's company for awhile. But the silence doesn't last long.

"So tell me about this morning."

Talk about cutting to the chase. I swallow hard and take a long swing of beer before answering. "You mean with Dr. Andrushkevich?"

John nods around a mouthful of pasta. "Yea... you said you'd explain why we let him and the kid go."

I push the plate away -- my appetite suddenly gone -- and concentrate on peeling the label from the beer bottle. "Dr. Andrushkevich mentioned a name near, but definitely not dear to me -- Spender. My parents worked for a man named Spender. He came to the house a few times when I was small. I remember he was always smoking, even though mama didn't allow it in the house. And he frightened me. There was something about the way he'd look at me that gave me chills."

"Who was he besides your parent's boss? I mean, what did he do?"

"I don't know. But Dr. Andrushkevich was convinced he was the one who killed his wife."

"And you believed him. Why? You know something about this guy Spender you're not tellin me?"

"John..." I get up and pace the kitchen a bit before stopping at the window. It'll be easier to face the outside than JD for this part. "My parents didn't die in a car accident. They were murdered -- shot once in the back of the head -- just like Anna Andrushkevich. It happened a few days after Spender came to the house and argued with them -- when he took my brother Stephan away."

I jump when John wraps his arms around me.

"Why didn't you tell me this before? Why concoct the car crash story?"

I shrug. "Didn't want you looking into it and dredging up old memories."

John turns me to face him. "Alex... I wouldn't have done that. Not without asking you first."

"I know that now. But back then... we were too new." I lay my head on John's shoulder and just enjoy the feel of his hand running up and down my back.

I don't know how long we stand like this, but John eventually breaks the silence by saying, "Tell me you weren't home when it happened."

JD must have felt the shudder run through me, because his arms tighten reflexively.

"Oh, Jesus, Alex! You didn't find them, did you?"

My throat tightens. I can't answer, so I just nod into his neck. Every instinct is telling me to run away. And if John weren't here, I'd probably be doing just that. But having him near is enough to ground me; enough to drive the ghastly images of my parents' spattered brains from my head; enough to forget the feel of their blood on my bare feet...

I push John away and run for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I barely get the toilet seat raised before I start throwing up, then try to gasp for breath before the next spasm hits.

John joins me almost immediately -- holding my head and murmuring words of comfort. When I finally finish, he hands me a glass of water so I can rinse out my mouth, then lays a cool washcloth over my forehead and draws me into his arms.

He doesn't say anything for a long time. Eventually we get up and John puts me to bed. He crawls in behind me and holds me as I fall asleep. The last thing I remember is hearing John whisper 'I'm sorry' over and over and over.

September 20, 2000
Falls Church, VA
12:30 a.m.

John throws a couple turkey sandwiches together for us; even warms up some tomato soup. He piles everything on a tray, carries it into the living room, then sets it on the coffee table.

"Dig in." He motions towards the food as he takes one of the sandwiches for himself.

I help myself to the other one and take a big bite. We settle into a comfortable silence -- just enjoying the meal -- until John chuckles.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

John shakes his head no. "You want some more?"

I look at the plate and realize my food's gone, but John's still working on his.

"Go help yourself, Alex. Stuff's still on the counter."

I take the empty bowls with me, wash them and put them in the drainer. Least I can do for the hospitality. I move over to the counter and call towards the living room, "You want another one, John?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

John's finishing as I settle back on the sofa. He gets up and goes into the kitchen and comes back with two cups of coffee. "You still take it black?"

"Yea, thanks." I take a sip... it's fresh. John must have made another pot while I was sleeping.

"You up to answering some questions now?"

Before I can respond, John's phone rings.

"Doggett... No, you didn't wake me. What? Oklahoma... What kind of case? Uh, huh. Yea, I'll meet you at the office in an hour."

John comes back into the living room with a scowl on his face. "That was Agent Scully. Looks like I'm goin outta town for awhile. Can I think about all this and give you an answer when I get back?"

"Sure thing. I'll be in touch." As I reach the front door, I turn and ask, "You need a lift back to the Bureau?"

"Yea, that'd be nice. Make yourself comfortable again. I won't be long."

October 6, 2000
Falls Church, VA
8:05 pm

John and I agreed to meet again after he returned from handling a case in Dexter, Oklahoma. I know it didn't go well as soon as he opens the door -- the dark circles under his eyes are a dead giveaway, as well as the alcohol I can smell on him.

"Alex?" John glances at his watch, then mutters "Shit!"

"Is this a bad time, John?"

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head no. "C'mon in."

We head into the living room and settle on the sofa. There's a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table along with several open photo albums. A video's playing in the background with the sound muted -- a little boy and a woman at Christmas opening presents. John's Glock is here, too... with the safety off.

I pick up the nearest album and thumb through it. It's filled with pictures of John's son.

"He looked a lot like you." I say softly.

When I look over at John... God, there's so much pain on his face that I automaticaly reach out and pull him into a hug. That's all it takes. He wraps his arms around me and begins to sob quietly against my shoulder.

"Shh... it's okay, John. I'm here. Everything's going to be alright."

We stay together like that for some time, the only sound an occasional murmur from me, until John finally pulls back to face me.

"Thank you."

"Not necessary. Bad case?"

John shakes his head yes.

"Want to talk about it? I don't have anywhere I have to be."

I get a shrug in response before John grabs a tissue and wipes his eyes and nose. "Not much to talk about. It just brought back a flood of memories, that's all."

"About Luke; I take it a child was involved somehow."

John grabs the remote and turns off the TV and VCR. "Yea, a kidnap victim from 10 years ago suddenly reappeared out of the blue. Only he hadn't changed a bit in all the time he'd been gone. I won't go into all the details, but after everything was said and done, it turns out the victim had been killed years ago. We did stop the killer from takin the boy's brother though. So I guess some good came outta it."

"And it brought closure to the first case." I add.

"Yea... I guess so."

"But..."

John sighs heavily. "I just can't buy into the whole justice from beyond the grave crap."

I laugh out loud, which gets me a strange look from John. "Sorry... but this is just so fucking bizarre. You're the skeptic on the X-Files and Scully has finally become the believer. Guess she's trying to fill Mulder's shoes in a big way."

"You got that part right -- about filling Mulder's shoes. And are you tellin me that there's something wrong with being a skeptic? I'm a cop, Alex, with cop's instincts. I rely on hard evidence, not leaps of faith. The only thing those get you is dead."

I shake my head no. "Don't misunderstand me, John. Good instincts are a wonderful thing, but you shouldn't limit yourself by closing your mind to other possibilities."

John smiles. "Next thing you'll be tellin me is 'the truth is out there'."

"Nah... that's Mulder's line, anyway. The truth... the truth is in here." I reach inside my jacket and pull out several CD's, then hold them up for John to see.

That gets John laughing. He takes the CD's from me, stands up, then gestures towards the dining room. "I'll be at my desk checkin these out. Make yourself at home til I'm done."

Chapter 5: Deeper, Darker Secrets

October 13, 1992
6:25 a.m.

I wake to the smell of bacon and coffee, and my stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me of the previous evening's activities. I quickly shake off the unpleasant memory, throw back the covers, and head to the bathroom for a quick shower.

John's piling food onto plates as I enter the kitchen; I give him a big smile, hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

"Morning."

"Morning, yourself. How you doin?"

I sit down at the table and take a sip of juice. "Better, thanks."

John gestures towards my plate. "Eat up, there's plenty."

I smile and dig into the feast he's prepared -- bacon, eggs, toast, juice, and coffee... John's way of making things better. That's one constant about him. If I'm sick or hurt, John fusses over, then spoils me, and always... feeds me. Not only healthy stuff, but comfort food like chocolate and ice cream. He says it's a Southern thing, and considering he was born in Georgia... well, it makes perfect sense.

John joins me after a minute, and the only conversation that follows is when he asks if I want more of something. Afterwards John loads the dishwasher while I wipe down the counters and table, then we get ready for work.

John stops me on my way out the door and asks, "You sure you're alright, Alex?"

"JD, I'm fine. I'll see you at work in a bit."

At that point my partner pulls me into a fierce hug and whispers, "Love you" before letting go.

I nod and tell him "I know" as I step into the hall.

I open the car door and momentarily freeze when I see the unmarked envelope on the seat. I swallow hard, feeling my world tilt suddenly. I take a deep breath and slide behind the wheel, then stick the envelope under the floor mat. I didn't need to open it. I know what's inside -- several surveillance photos, a name, address and a date.

I take another deep breath, then start the car and quickly drive away. I get about two blocks from John's building before I pull over and throw up my breakfast in the street.

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