The trip to work is long enough for me to compose myself, so John doesn't notice anything's amiss when I get to the precinct.

Nothing of any consequence happens during the day, except for me begging off dinner at John's place. I don't exactly lie, just tell him I have an appointment and that I might be over later.

John's comfortable enough in our relationship to give me as much room as I need. I suppose that's why we haven't moved in together, although our survival might be more an issue there. Gay cops don't last long on the streets of New York.

8:15 p.m.

Dr. Maxwell Grisham.... I pick up one of the photos from the coffee table and stare at it, as if that will answer all my questions. Not that it's ever done any good before now. But it's a routine I follow:

-- get the assignment
-- study the target
-- ask a lot of questions that'll never get answered
-- complete the assignment
-- report to Spender

Yea, that last part gets me every time, too. After all these years, the man still makes my skin crawl. But he has power and wealth beyond anything I can imagine. And unless I want to find myself on someone's assignment list, I follow his orders to the letter.

"So what the hell did you do to piss off the old man, Dr. Grisham?"

October 17, 1992
Midtown Manhattan
11:25 p.m.

Krycek stood in the middle of Doctor Grisham's study, the last room he needed to case. And since the good doctor was currently in Europe attending a conference, he had all the time he needed to look around. The entire penthouse was tastefully decorated and immaculately clean, but seemed sterile and unlived in. This room, however, was a study in contrasts, and gave Krycek some insight into the mind of Doctor Grisham.

The study was completely furnished with antiques. Most of the furniture was cherry, including the huge desk which dominated the room. What might have been an original Matisse hung on one wall, and a beautiful Chinese porcelain vase, intricately decorated with cherry blossoms, sat on a marble-topped stand.

Tucked away in one corner in the midst of all the elegance and taste, however, was a collection of medieval torture implements, including thumbscrews, barbed whips, and even a half-open iron maiden -- the tips of the spikes brown and rusty. Krycek shuddered and quickly turned back to face the desk. A slow smile spread across his face. He might as well check the place out thoroughly since he was here.

Krycek splashed another handful of cold water on his face, then turned off the tap. He stood leaning over the sink, breathing heavily, for several more moments before straightening up and drying himself off.

Alex made his way into the living room, opened the liquor cabinet and poured himself a tumbler of brandy. He took a large gulp, feeling the burn as it went down his throat, before refilling the glass and moving to the sofa.

Krycek leaned his head back and closed his eyes. But the moment he did, his mind was assaulted by the grisly images he'd found in Dr. Grisham's desk. Children... hundreds of photos of children -- all taken at some type of lab -- their eyes wide and full of fear.

Grisham was experimenting on them as part of the Project, but he'd overstepped his authority. At least that's what Krycek assumed, especially after finding the locked box of photos hidden in the false drawer bottom. All were of nude young girls. Krycek didn't even want to imagine what Grisham had done to them.

Alex finished the brandy and let the warmth of the alcohol run through him. He then made his way back through the apartment, removing all evidence of his visit.

As he locked the door behind him, Krycek smiled. This was one assignment he was truly going to enjoy.

12:57 am

Alex quietly let himself into John's apartment. He'd called before coming over, so John was expecting him. The last thing he wanted was to sneak in unannounced and have his partner shoot him because he thought he was a prowler.

Doggett was stretched out on the sofa watching TV as Alex walked into the living room. John lifted his legs so Alex could sit down, then laid them across Alex's lap.

Krycek stared at the TV for a few minutes before asking, "What are we watching?"

"One of those cheesy sci-fi movies you're so fond of -- Earth Versus the Flying Saucers."

"Hey, this one's a classic."

Doggett snorted and rolled his eyes.

Alex just ignored him, then reached for the bowl of chips on the coffee table. He munched a couple handfuls before tapping John on the foot.

"You want another beer while I'm up?"

"Yea, thanks. Bring the rest of the chips, too, would ya?"

"Okay, I'll admit the special effects were pretty good considering when the movie was made."

"Pretty good. John, we're talking Ray Harryhausen, the master of stop-motion animation. Did you see the way his effects were seamlessly blended with the stock footage? He set the standard back in the 50's."

Doggett pulled on a t-shirt, then crawled into bed. "If I agree with you, will you come to bed?"

Alex smiled and slipped in beside his partner. "You don't have to agree with me. I'm just giving you a hard time."

"I'll give you hard, brat..." Doggett pounced on Alex, then pinned him to the bed. "You know, I like havin conversations with you. You always manage to amaze me with the amount of stuff you know. But you know what I like even more?"

"What?" Alex asked, squirming.

Doggett released him. "Makin love to you..." And John proceeded to do just that.

Chapter 6: Diving In Head First

October 6, 2000
Falls Church, VA
10:11 pm

John walks into the living room and drops on the sofa next to me. "I need a break." He rubs his eyes, closes them, then leans back with an audible sigh.

"You okay?"

"Yea..."

I reach over and brush my hand over his arm. "You don't sound okay."

John opens his eyes, then turns to face me. "Some of that stuff is pretty hard to read. The kids... especially the kids."

"I'm sorry... I didn't think..."

John shakes his head. "Don't apologize. Yea, it's tough reading this stuff, but it's also incentive; a reason to go after these bastards and stop them once and for all."

I don't know how to respond to that other than nod in agreement. I don't want to hurt John, but I know what these documents contain. It's only going to get worse from here, especially when he starts reading about people he knows.

"Hey…"

I must have been quiet for too long because John's caressing the side of my face with his fingertips. When I look into his face… Oh, God… My stomach clenches and all my blood seems to gravitate towards my groin. Love isn't supposed to hurt, is it?

When John moves his hand to the back of my head and pulls me forward, I practically jump in his lap. I want him, dammit; and I know he wants me. So why is that damned little voice of reason telling me to stop before this goes any further?

Because I couldn't bear to lose him again.

I want us to start fresh, just like we did all those years ago. So as much as it hurts, I push away from John, get up and take a few steps away from the sofa.

"Alex?"

Deep breaths; ice… snow… Siberian winters….

"Alex, did I do something wrong?"

I turn to face him and smile. "No, John; nothing wrong. I want this as much as you do. But I don't want to fuck it up. I just want to take things slow between us."

"Slow… as in… you want me to court you?"

I don't know why that strikes me as funny, but I burst out laughing. Maybe because I imagine John laying his trench coat down over a puddle for me to walk over.

"Sorry.… sorry…" I wipe my eyes and go sit back down next to John. I take his hands in mine and tell him, "I think you courting me would be a wonderful thing." I let him know I mean it by pulling him into my arms and kissing him.

When I pull away this time, John's smiling.

"I'd better get back to readin the files." He gets halfway across the room before he turns back to me. "Before I forget to mention it, I do have a spare bedroom in this house, if you're ever too tired to drive back to wherever you're stayin."

And with that said, John goes back to reviewing the documents I gave him.

Now I just have to figure out when I should take him up on that offer.

October 17, 1992

John and I spend Sunday watching sports on TV, grocery shopping and doing laundry. I need normal, and this is about as normal as it gets.

At six o'clock I say my goodbyes and make my way home. I still have to do my own laundry.

I no sooner make it into the apartment when the phone rings. I figure it's John. Boy was I wrong.

"Hello?"

"Forty sixth street in one hour."

That's it, then the phone is hung up. Just what I fucking don't need now.

Damn the Smoker to hell!

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