Hand Me Down That Can of Beans
by Callisto

Title: Hand Me Down That Can of Beans
Author: Callisto
Fandom: X-Files
Pairings: Mulder/Krycek
Disclaimer: The character portrayed herein, and the X Files belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and the Fox Network.
Note: Thanks to Elaine and Jessabelle for the beta.

Lá breithe mhaith agat! - Happy birthday Ursula!

*****

Fox Mulder slammed the front door of his apartment shut and leaned back against its solid strength for a moment, to gather the energy to walk across the living room. It just can't get any worse, he thought, trying to put the memory of the God-awful day of bureaucratic paper pushing behind him. What had possessed him, he wondered, to give up the freewheeling days of being the FBI's most unwanted in favor of the suffocating straight jacket of academia?

He looked over at the reason, all six foot two of him, sprawled, as usual, across the worn leather couch, watching the Golden Oldies Movie Channel.

None other than Alex Krycek, the original Rat Bastard, after whose creation they broke the mold. The man who'd sold him down the river more times than he cared to remember and who'd, just as casually, returned to save him and humanity from the alien hordes with seconds to spare.

But it didn't take him long to discover that life at the Hoover could be uncomfortable when you lived with an agent turned traitor, presidential pardon or not, and although Mulder didn't have the genes to be easily intimidated, even his ego couldn't withstand the continual snide comments and smirking glances. Because, despite everything, he loved Alex, always had loved him, always would, simple as that. And while he might be the first to let the rat know exactly what he thought of him, he sure as hell wasn't going to stand by and let others belittle the man.

Giving up the Bureau was the price he'd paid for letting Alex follow him home like a stray puppy on the night they'd consigned the Consortium to the garbage pail of history. Since then they'd lived together, abandoning their Cold War policy of Mutually Assured Destruction in favor of neutral co-existence and lots of hot sex. He found it a satisfying trade-off. Not perfect, but he had no regrets.

"I'm home, Alex," he said, unnecessarily.

The response was a grunt.

"Nice to see you, too," he commented, before dragging his weary bones into the bathroom where he showered and changed into sweats. Feeling revived and no longer able to ignore the noisy way his stomach was talking to him he ventured into the kitchen in search of nourishment.

There was none. Each and every cupboard was bare.  Not a chip, not a cookie, not a pop tart, not a single sunflower seed. He opened the refrigerator. Its icy expanse yielded three bottles of Bud, an out of date jar of mayonnaise and an empty wrapper that had once held a pound of Canadian bacon. He lifted out the piece of plastic and regarded it solemnly.

He knew exactly how it felt.

He walked back to the living room, bringing it with him.

"There is no food in the apartment, Alex," he announced, holding up the wrapper like Exhibit A.

Alex tore himself away from the Myrna Loy and Don Ameche movie long enough to reach into the end table drawer for the 'Happy Starlight' Cantonese take out menu. He waved it in Mulder's direction as he turned back to the flickering black and white images of Hollywood 1940's domestic bliss.

Mulder looked at the well-worn, slightly greasy paper with revulsion.

"No Alex, no take out," he said with conviction. "Or anything with microwave instructions on the packet. I have got to eat something real tonight, something natural, something touched by human hand, something that hasn't experienced an industrial process."

Alex levered himself up so he could cast scorn on the heretic. Reluctantly, he had to admit that Mulder did look a tad strung out.

"When was the last time we actually cooked something?" Mulder asked, searching his memory.

Alex's gaze fell on the wrapper. Mulder looked down at it, too.

"Best before March 7th," he read aloud. "Jesus, Alex, its April 20th!"

Since Alex wasn't in the mood to deal with Mulder on a mission, he initiated a damage control strategy. Taking the bacon wrapper from Mulder's clenched hand he quickly disposed of it and returned to the living room where he settled Mulder on the couch.

"Well, of course we could cook dinner tonight," he cajoled, muting the television, "but that would mean we'd have to drive to the supermarket, buy groceries, bring them home, wash stuff, chop stuff up, wait maybe an hour for it to cook, and no guarantee it isn't gonna taste like shit … " he leaned in and began licking along a sensitive ear tip " … or … we could order in and use the cooking time to mess around."

He pulled back, pleased to note that, having made the preparation of a meal seem equal to the task of splitting the atom, Mulder's determination was waning, while another, more interesting part, was waxing.

"And if we order in pizza," he purred, delivering the coup de grace, "we won't even have to wash the dishes."

Mulder visibly stiffened, but not in the way Alex had intended. Instead, he pushed Alex away and leapt off the couch.

"We have a dishwasher for fuck's sake, Alex, we never have to wash the dishes!"

Damn it, thought Alex, realising, too late, his tactical error. To his annoyance his prey had escaped and was on the loose.

"But someone has to put the dishes into the dishwasher," he whined, "and take them out."

"I'm surprised you know that," Mulder baited him, "since I'm the someone who ALWAYS does it!"

"I do it sometimes," Alex said, defiantly.

"Okay then," Mulder challenged, pointing in the direction of the kitchen, "show me where the detergent is."

"It's in … eh … let me think for a minute," Alex floundered.

Mulder folded his arms across his chest and smiled a self-righteous smile.

"Put your shoes on, Alex, we're going grocery shopping."

* * * * *

Mulder pushed the shopping cart round the corner into the next aisle.

"This asparagus looks good. What do you think?" he asked.

There was no response. He looked over his shoulder to find he was alone. He retraced his steps to the dairy case, the last place he was sure Alex was with him. There was no sign of him. Fuming, Mulder began to systematically search the store for the reluctant shopper. He spied him at the other end of the long line of checkouts, reading a tabloid publication.

His fury and the speed at which he was pushing the cart made the collision inevitable. Oranges and cereal boxes went flying from the other shopper's over full cart.

"I'm sorry," Mulder offered, bending down to retrieve the scattered items. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

He looked up to find his lover hovering over him.

"Alex, could you help?" he asked, exasperated.

"Fox?" questioned a feminine voice. "It is you. Well, when I said we'd be bumping into each other, this isn't quite what I had in mind."

He straightened up and smiled at the faculty's youngest full professor, Dr. Summers.

"Hello Miriam," he said.

But she was gazing at Alex.

"So this is … Alex."

It was plain from the way she spoke the name that Mulder had been making use of its gender ambiguity.

"Eh, yes," Mulder muttered. "Alex, this is Dr. Miriam Summers. Our offices are across the hall from each other."

They shook hands.

"Fox," Miriam whispered conspiratorially, as she leaned on Mulder's arm, "'cute' is the understatement of the year."

Mulder looked over at Alex, who was smiling in a way that made him feel uneasy.

"It was Miriam who gave us the peach cobbler. Remember Alex?"

A little warmth crept into the smile.

"It was very good. Thank you," he told the woman.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. You know I've been hoping that you and Fox would take up my invitation to dinner. I know you're very busy, but maybe – "

Alex saw the horror in Mulder's face at the renewed invitation. "We'd love to come to dinner," he interrupted. "In fact, we're free tonight. If that's convenient?"

"Um … tonight? … it's just meatloaf … "

Somewhere deep in the psyche of the flustered young woman, the hostess took control.

"Well, of course," she told him, graciously. "You're more than welcome."

"Great," Alex flashed her his most alluring smile. "Let me get that for you." He took control of the cart and steered it in the direction of the nearest check out.

Completely outflanked, Mulder trailed after them.

* * * * *

Mulder could tell from the moment that Alex stepped into the Summers' home that he was captivated by it. The sunshine yellow of the hall, with its polished wooden floor and spray of fresh flowers, was as welcoming as the handshake of Miriam's husband, John, who took their unexpected arrival in his stride and went to fetch the groceries from the car.

They ate in the big kitchen, sitting down to a simple, home cooked meal that tasted as delicious as it smelled. Afterwards, they settled down in the family room to have coffee. Mulder carried the conversation for both himself and Alex, who had gone into surveillance mode. No detail of the room escaped his attention, but Mulder could tell he was especially fascinated by the interplay between Miriam and John. The couple, without being overt, never lost contact with each other, their communication more tactile than verbal. It was as if they were two halves of a sensory whole.

By ten, Mulder was beginning to feel the strain of covering for Alex's deepening silence.

"Hey guys," he said, checking his watch, "guess we should call it a night."

They all stood and Mulder began the ritual of compliments and thanks. When it came to returning the invitation, he got creative.

"We should do this again," he suggested. "I've got a couple of extra tickets for the Wizards/ Nicks game, a week from Saturday. You two up for that?"

John's face lit up and he looked over expectantly at Miriam.

She smiled at him patiently and said, "Saturday week is the day we promised Mom we'd drive up to fit the screens. Remember?"

Valiantly, John maintained the smile. "Sure honey, I'd forgotten about that."

"Maybe another time?" Mulder offered. "I'll let you know next time I can score some tickets."

And they left, oblivious of the twitch of ruffled chintz and the envious look that followed them down the drive.

* * * * *

Although well used to Alex's taciturn nature, Mulder was a little unnerved by the man's continued silence on the drive home and in the apartment. He watched Alex drift from room to room, looking at each one as though for the first time, before going into the bathroom and closing the door with a determined click behind him. Mulder got undressed and slid into bed. He propped his hands behind his head and studied the faint yellow water stains on the ceiling.

He was as much affected by the visit with the Summers as Alex was. The couple's home had everything a human being craved, warmth, security, continuity. He remembered living like that in the early years of the Mulder household, before Samantha... It wasn't just her he'd lost back then, the feeling of being safe and loved had gone with her and by the time he was old enough to make a home of his own, he'd found a quest that left no room for anything else. Now that the quest was over and the future was secured, what kind of life did he want?

The bathroom door opened and Alex emerged, naked and damp, still avoiding eye contact. Mulder drank in the sight of him, his mind and his body answering the question. Telling him that this man was what he wanted, that everything he needed was right here.

He flipped back the comforter and moved to stand behind his lover. When he wrapped his arms round the warm body, they meshed together like gears falling precisely into place. Alex looked up into the mirror and found Mulder's gaze on him.

"I love you, Alex," he said for the first time.

"How can you love me?" Alex asked, looking unsure.

Mulder pulled the tense body tighter against his own and ran a hand across Alex's chest where he could feel the hammering heartbeat.

"That's not the question," Mulder told him. "Is it what you want?"

Alex closed his eyes and leaned his weight against Mulder.

"God, I want it so much … "

"So do I."

"I love you, Fox,"

There they'd said it, probably for the one and only time. Their bodies took over then, moving together to find comfort and release. Afterward, they held onto each other tightly, ignoring the stickiness between them, until sleep claimed them as its own.

* * * * *

They awoke to the old routine the next morning. At least, thanks to the grocery run the night before, they had bread and milk. But, as usual, Mulder left the apartment chewing on his slice of toast, the cup of coffee left untouched. During lunch he managed to surreptitiously flick through an issue of Cosmopolitan he'd noticed kicking around the staff room for a couple of weeks. He speed-read the three pages on 'How to let your man know he's here to stay'.

Feeling a certain amount of incredulity he threw the magazine back on the shelf and went to take his tutorial group, but on the way home he stopped off at the mall, with suggestion No. 3 - Be open to experiences that appeal to your man - in mind. The specialist travel agency had everything to offer from canoeing on the upper reaches of the Amazon to hiking across the Siberian tundra. He winced at that one and picked up all the available folders on white water rafting in Colorado. It held a certain appeal for Mulder himself and he knew his adrenaline junkie would love it. Then he stopped by the paint section in one of the department stores and picked up a handful of shade cards. That took care of No. 6 – Let him know it's his home too. That was only fair, and besides, the apartment was overdue for a spruce up and so he'd be killing two birds with one stone.

Feeling satisfied he headed for the exit. Something on one of the market style carts in the central courtyard caught his eye reminding him of suggestion No. 10 – Once he's secure and settled, be unpredictable! Mulder hesitated a few minutes before pulling out his wallet and making the purchase. He was relieved when the sales assistant slid the item into a bag and he could go on his way.

When he turned the key in the lock and stepped into the apartment it was to find himself being opened to a new experience. Alex was cooking. It smelled like lasagne and garlic bread. His mouth watered and he felt the nagging knot of apprehension in his belly untangle itself.

"Hi," Alex said, coming out of the kitchen to place a jug of ice water on the table.

They both looked at the makeshift place settings Alex had put together.

"This looks nice," he offered, sniffing the air as he pulled his lover into a hug. "Smells good, too."

"I followed the recipe," Alex told him, making it sound like a disclaimer.

"It'll be great," Mulder said, removing the gift from its wrapping and presenting it to Alex.

Alex stepped back to take in the full effect of the startlingly yellow bear with its t-shirt proclaiming 'YOU'RE THE ONE!’

"Jeez Mulder, I don't know what to say," Alex told him as he accepted the bear. "It's … wow … I've never … "

Mulder grinned at him, pleased with his reaction. They looked at the bear again for a long minute.

"What do I do with it?" Alex asked.

Mulder shrugged. "I have no idea."

Just then the oven timer pinged and Alex looked around the room before deciding on the empty shelf beside the fish tank. He propped the bear against the glass and went to check on dinner, unaware of the excitement he'd generated in the tank.

By the time Mulder was changed out of his suit the food was on the table and they sat down together. The lasagne was good, and not just because Alex had followed the recipe so carefully. It was just one of those special times when life is sweet and you have the good sense to know it. Alex didn't talk much, but he listened to Mulder's crazy stories about life on campus and laughed aloud at the excuses the students had given for not having their papers in on time.

They filled the dishwasher together, Alex producing the detergent from the cupboard under the sink with a flourish.

"I'll cook tomorrow," Mulder said, wiping over the counter.

"You betcha," Alex told him, reaching into the refrigerator for beers.

He followed Mulder into the living room. They looked at the couch and then each other. Mulder flopped down and patted the space beside him. Alex put the beers on the coffee table and eased his way down onto Mulder's side of the couch, where he was encouraged to lay back against his lover's chest. The resistance in his muscles lasted about thirty seconds before he stretched and sighed and pulled Mulder's arm across his chest to hold it there.

Mulder kissed the top of Alex's head and rested his cheek on it. He knew from the files that Alex's life to date contained no experience of a happy home life. The man probably hungered for it as much as he was terrified of it. Maybe between the two of them they could turn this pathetic excuse for a home into one. Make it into a place of safety, where together they could find their way.

The remote clicked and the television came on. Mulder glanced up in time to see the station identification for the Golden Oldies channel. It was replaced with the Paramount logo. There was a swirl of dramatic music that sounded like it belonged to the beginning of a western.

"Hey, the game starts in less than an hour," Mulder warned, trying to grab the remote from Alex's hand.

"It's okay, Mulder," Alex told him, keeping possession, "I only watch this movie up until the bean song."

"The bean song?"

"Yeah, you know - hand me down that can of beans." Alex sang the first line of the song.

Mulder did know it - unfortunately. Together they completed the verse, while the screen flashed up the names Lee Marvin and Clint Eastwood, then the title, 'Paint Your Wagon'. He could tell from the way Alex wriggled himself into a more comfortable position that the man was happy. He reminded himself of suggestion No. 3 – Be open to experiences that appeal to your man.

He could do this.

They could do this.

Hell, they were going to be great at this.

The End.
 
 

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