TITLE: Purple Heart

AUTHORS: Jennie and Jami Wilsen

DATE: Dec 18, '01

FANDOM: X-Files

PAIRING: Skinner/Krycek

RATING: R, maybe, for language and the promise of slash to er, come <g> soon

ARCHIVE: RatB, DitB, WWOMB others please ask.

SERIES/SEQUEL: Yes - a sequel will be done soon - by the first of the year.

SPOILERS: Post-Existence, so pretty much everything up until then. We've played fast and loose with the timeline, here. Indulge us.

DISCLAIMER: In the spirit of holiday seasonal cheer and Yuletide festivities, surely CC and Co won't mind if we play with the boys and make them happy? Surely? [g] After all, we can do in slash what network producers can only dream of getting away with...

SUMMARY: Skinner. Krycek. Cabin. Christmas.

NOTE: For Ned & Leny

BETA: Teri

Purple Heart
by Jennie and Jami

Prologue:

"Let me get this straight, Krycek - you want me to kill you?"

"Yes."

"And you'll... come back?"

"Right."

"What the fuck? Have you decided that you're a vampire or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Skinner. Ever since Hong Kong - when the Oil 'inhabited' me - I heal more quickly than most people."

"Krycek, accelerated healing is all well and good but I think resurrection might be a little more involved. Don't you?"

"It's already happened, Skinner. Twice. Got shot once - in the heart - woke up in a damned field somewhere in Nebraska."

"You said twice?"

"Car accident."

"Ah."

"Woke up in the morgue that time."

"Okay - so, I kill you and then what?"

"Then, you provide me with a safe place to heal."

"What's in this for me, Krycek?"

"The palm pilot."

"Oh."

*****

I don't care much for holidays in general - Christmas in particular. The day holds no happy memories for me - not a one. No, it's not a Russian thing. My countrymen can party with the best of them. No, it's not an assassin thing, either. Killers are sometimes fun guys, you know. It's a Krycek thing, I guess. I always end up feeling... I don't know... Alone describes it best.
All those damned television specials and holiday movies only serve to bring home to me that I have nothing. No one.

That hurts.

Which is exactly what I DON'T need. Not now. Hell, here I sit, in the back of fucking beyond, all by myself, with nothing BUT the TV to keep me company. Yeah, there are some books in the cabin. Lots of 'em, in fact. But, since I've never been much interested in the history of the Marine Corps, fly fishing, or home repair, they're not doing me a whole lot of good.

He's been gone for three weeks. When he left, he said he'd be back. Didn't say when, though. Since I'm sure he has plans for the holiday - after all, he does have a family, unlike me - I'm not expecting to see him until after the first of the year.

Who'd have ever though that I'd actually be hoping for a visit from Skinner?

But, dammit, I'm stuck in this cabin all by myself. At this point, I'd probably even be happy to see Mulder. Well, okay, maybe that's a bit much - but, I'd be thrilled to see good old Walt.

It's gotten dark outside. I suppose that means I should look into making something to eat. Skinner left me all kinds of food, you know. Freezer and pantry were very well-stocked before he left, and a kid from the store in the closest town delivers a load of perishables - milk, bread, eggs and such - every Monday morning. To tell the truth, the freezer and pantry are still pretty well full. I just haven't had much of an appetite. The occasional can of soup, eggs, and chocolate ice cream are pretty much all I care to prepare for myself.

I went out this afternoon and cleared the porch, the driveway, and the path to the front door of snow. Actually, I was pretty damned proud of myself for finishing the job - amazing how wearying this healing business is. Now I'm so beat, I think I'll just take a hot bath and hit the sack.

No TV tonight. Not on Christmas Eve. Nothing BUT holiday shit on.

Fuck that noise.

*****

Driving the jeep up through this incredible countryside, I'm reminded why I picked such a location for my cabin. The air is bracing, the trees are green and tall - not like the pathetic specimens in the city. And, as always when I come up here, I'm enjoying the return of the sense of peace that descends over me, the closer I get to the mountains.

A man needs to make time for the soul, or it begins to starve. Hopefully, having Krycek around while I'm here for my Christmas break won't be a burden. We have a lot of history, and although we HAVE admittedly come to a certain understanding about most of it, I do wonder about the guy. Actually, that's a good point. I wonder if he's healed yet, or if I'll find...

Nah. In THIS place? With all this space and the food and plenty of outdoor hiking and exercise? If he knows how to take care of himself when not under the gun as well as he knows how to survive adversity, he'll be fine. I just hope he doesn't get underfoot and make a nuisance of himself. I let him stay up there because he asked... And because in spite of it all, I do have a soft spot for the boy. Hell, he's probably been playing me like a really dumb fish, but once he'd told me his side of the story, I couldn't help but agree with some of his actions. SOME, mind you. He's got a hard edge. Would have to, to stay sharp and alive amidst the company he was keeping.

Well, Mulder certainly bought it. Actually, I think Mulder went into shock. He hadn't expected me to just coldly aim and shoot the way that I did. But I couldn't reassure him, even afterwards, without blowing Krycek's cover. Ah well. Mulder has his own problems to deal with and now that he's gone, I don't think he'll be pestering me about the incident with Krycek, again.

There it is. And the usual accompanying pulse of joy that rises in me whenever it comes into view. I do love this place.

Tomorrow, I think I'll go fishing. Maybe try for that big monster in the deep end of the lake, if the ice is solid enough.

Why, bless his icy little Russian heart - he cleared the snow from the drive and the path. That's a good sign. Parking the jeep outside the cabin in the driveway, I gather my gear and stamp my feet on the doormat. Taking off my glove, I turn the key in the lock. On second thought, he might not be expecting me. I bang on the door, loudly. "Krycek! Krycek, it's me!"

No answer. Hmm. I go inside, and shut the door behind me. He's nowhere in sight. Except... yes, the bathroom door is closed and there's light coming from under it. Okay.

Whistling tunelessly, I start to unpack. My back is to the bathroom and I'm leaning over the table, undoing the straps on my bag. Something big tackles me and I stumble against the edge of the table.

"Walt!" The note of joy in Krycek's voice is something very new. I whirl around, in spite of the man's arm around me and hold him at arm's length. He's dressed in a bathrobe and his feet are bare.

"Krycek?" I manage, staring into green eyes that seem to glow with happiness at seeing me. This is very strange.

*****

He thinks I've lost it. Maybe he's right. But, after three weeks by myself up here... Well, let's just call it cabin fever, okay?

Any other explanation for my joy on realizing that he was actually here is not open for discussion. Discussion, hell - I'm not even gonna think about it.

He's still looking at me as if he suspects I've lost my wits and is seriously considering the possibility that he might need to take some kind of action to restrain me or some such shit. Actually, the expression on his face is down right comical. Kinda cute, you know.

Um. I didn't say that. If anyone asks, I did NOT say that.

I clear my throat and try to gather the tattered shreds of my dignity around myself. "So, Walter..." Yeah, this is going well.

"Are you okay?" he asks with a little frown, studying me closely.

"I'm fine. Just fine. Happy to see you, that's all." I offer him a smile. "It's been a little, ah, lonely. What brings you up tonight? I mean, shouldn't you be with your family or something?"

He shrugs. "No. Since Sharon and I divorced, I spend the holidays up here."

Oh. Divorced. Straight guy, Alex. Let's try to keep that in mind, shall we?

"So, how long will you be here?"

"Got a week off."

HOT DAMN!

"That's great, Walt," I say, smiling even wider. He blinks and looks a little stunned. Guess I've never shown him the full smile before now. "Listen, why don't you go ahead and do whatever you were doing and I'll go get you... ah, you hungry? Thirsty?"

Skinner moves to turn away from me, realizes that he's still holding onto my arms and blushes. That's right - he blushes. Hmmm.

"There's some scotch in the cabinet-"

"Over the stove," I finish. "I found it. Good, I'll get that while you unpack, okay?"

"Sure, Krycek."

"Alex."

"Huh?"

"Alex," I say firmly.

"Okay," he says doubtfully.

"Okay, Alex," I prompt.

A small twinkle lurks in the depths of his eyes. He snorts with amusement. "Fine, Alex. Go get me a drink, Alex. I'll be unpacking, Alex."

I laugh.

Guess he's never heard me do that. Or he's just discovered that he has ice in his shorts. Something is causing that stunned look on his face.

I decide not to make any comment, instead, I go into the kitchen and get the scotch down from the cupboard. Then I grab two glasses, put ice in each and head back into the living room, precariously balancing all three in my one-armed hold.

*****

Curiouser and curiouser. Is he ALWAYS like this, when he's recuperating from getting killed? I don't have any idea and at this point, I'll believe anything. I've seen enough weird shit with Mulder and Scully running the X-Files to last me a lifetime. They came up with more bizarre explanations for what were already bizarre enough cases...

Trying to gather together the remnants of my practical abilities before this new, bouncy Krycek - Alex, ALEX, I repeat to myself - and the alcohol both take their toll on my ability to think.

I never would have believed that Alex in a bathrobe and a smile would cause such a hard-on. Hell, at this rate, I'm gonna be jumping in the freezing lake after midnight. Unless I get so skunked on scotch that not even an avalanche would rouse me. Shit.

I put away the rest of my gear and unpack my clothes, realizing as I put the clothes away in the bedroom that he's been sleeping on that bed for the last three weeks...

What the hell have I got myself into here? I swallow and turn on my heel. Back to the living room. I don't want to think about that. Don't think about the bed. Don't think about him.

He's sitting on the chair in front of the fireplace. He's left me my favorite armchair though. How thoughtful of him. He stands up and hands me a glass. Taking it from him, and sitting down, I say, "Thanks. So. How have you been?"

He shrugs, graceful despite the missing arm. "Can't complain. Nice place you have here. I like it."

Enjoying the smoky, fiery gulp of scotch as it burns down my throat, warming me after the freezing cold drive, I say, "Well, I'm here until the second of the month."

He raises a brow at me. "After New Year's?"

"Yep."

"I'm surprised they let you go for that long."

I snort. "I have more than enough vacation time. I could've stayed for longer but I figured we'd start to grate on each other's nerves by then."

He grins at me. Jesus. What is WITH him? Lightly, he replies, "You never know, Walter. We might get snowed in up here and then you won't have a choice." His eyes are dancing at the prospect.

I'm seriously wondering about his sanity, now. My eyes narrow as I consider him. "Alex? Are you recovered from... you know?"

"I'm getting there. Why?"

"I - You - I'm - You just seem manic, is all."

He splutters on his whiskey. "'Manic'?" He's laughing at me. "What, if I'm not dour and serious like your faithful little Agent Hounddog, I'm 'manic'." He nods, chuckling.

I raise my brows at him. "Agent Hounddog?"

"Yeah, you know, Doggett." He absently motions with his glass, threatening the contents.

"I would never accuse you of being dour," I counter, dryly. This has got to be one of the strangest conversations I've ever had, and I've had some lulus in the past. More than one of which involved this man. "And John Doggett is a good agent. He's far more practical than Mulder was and eminently competent. I trust him."

"Yeah, I can see that. He's the real salt of the earth."

What the HELL? Am I imagining things or am I getting a whiff of... jealousy, here? Interesting.

"Just because he's managed a successful career in the FBI isn't any reason to envy him, Alex."

He stares at me. "Whoa, there. What makes you think I ENVY him?"

Dangerous but familiar ground, here. "Let me ask you this. Are you out of it all, now? For good? Because it isn't too late for you to make a new start. It's never too late for anyone."

Alex is laughing quietly into his glass. "From A.D. to careers counselor, eh?"

I grin and take another healthy gulp. "Seriously, what are your plans now? What will you do? When you leave here, I mean?"

* * * *

"Well, I don't know, to tell you the truth." I smile at him slyly. "I can do that, you know. Think it'll help? Should I put that on my resume?"

He stares at me blankly for several beats. Shrugs helplessly. "What ARE you talking about, Alex?"

This is good. Very good. Even confused as he is by my behavior and words, he's remembering to call me by my first name. As a reward, and because I just LOVE the befuddled expression he gets every time I do it, I smile brilliantly at him. "Truth."

He gapes at me. Then, he frowns and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Wait a minute. Hold the motherfucking phone. Is it? Do I see? Is he HARD? Gotta check this out a little better. Oh yeah. I get up and go to the fireplace, carefully add a couple of logs to the fire, settle back on my knees and turn to look up at him from over my shoulder.

"I don't know what I'll do, Walt. But, I made sure I have a good retirement account in the Caymans, so, I'll get by. One way or another." I turn as I'm talking and resettle myself, cross-legged, in front of the fire.

And manage to get a good look at his crotch in the process.

Wow! He IS! His cock is damn near bursting out of his pants.

Well, well, well. Is this one for the books, or what? Carefully, moving with all the grace I can muster, I kneel again and reach for my drink. Can't manage the stretch, though. Ain't that a shame? Still kneeling, I look at him through my lashes - hey, I never said I'd play fair here!

"Hey, Walt?"

He clears his throat and licks his lips. Won't quite meet my eyes - for some reason, his gaze is fixed on the thigh my gaping robe reveals. "Yeah... uh, Alex?"

"Would you hand me my drink? I can't quite reach it."

"S-sure."

Is that cute, or what? He stuttered.

"Thanks," I murmur as I relax back into my sitting position.

He stretches out a long arm and grabs my glass from the table. "Here you go," he says, holding it out to me.

When I retrieve it from him, I make sure my fingers close over his. He stills, stares at me in astonished confusion, then - VERY slowly - pulls his hand away.

You know, I think I just might get laid tonight. And, by HIM. Skinner. Walter. Walt. Whatever you call him, he's just what I'd have wished for as a Christmas gift. Were I inclined to indulge in such nonsensical wishes, that is.

*****

I am NOT imagining this. And I've never had someone play me this well before, either. It's just such a fucking mind-warp to have Alex Krycek, of all people, flashing skin and coming on to me. Another glance down at that pale flesh and I have to drain my own glass.

No, definitely not imagining THAT.

Okay. Time for a reality check. He's still looking up at me with little furtive glances, playing it casual. Jesus H. Christ on a crutch.

The relaxed, uncivilized side of me wants to get down on my knees and turn the boy over onto his belly and just fuck him in front of God and the fireplace...

The rational part of me is keenly and all-too-suddenly aware of the possible consequences. There is no fucking way that this man wants me, ME, balding, aging blackmail victim, and FBI Man. No sirree.

So, what's his game?

I'll have to try to oblique approach because Alex has always been such a shifty little devil; he never answers anything truthfully, not fully. Always manages to leave out some crucial fact or detail. So. Truth, eh? Let's test this new attitude of his.

"You know you're more than welcome to stay up here, until you find your feet, Alex."

Heavens. He sure knows how to put on the grateful act when necessary. Wide-eyed, he peers up at me. "Really? You wouldn't mind?" Then his face clouds. "I don't know, actually. I was going stir crazy until you arrived. I'm not sure I'd last much longer. I only stayed because... well, you know. Healing up and all."

I can't stop my gaze from flicking down to his leg. He notices this too, and a tiny shadow of that familiar smirk that graced his face so often in our previous encounters flits over him.

That's it. Now I KNOW I'm being played, just as I was planning on playing that old fish in the lake tomorrow. I sigh, sternly reminding myself of all the reasons why it would be utter folly to even consider it. Him. Jesus. Like I haven't noticed him all these years. Like it didn't drive me up the walls, to have him prancing around acting like a little shit and fucking up my plans, my life... And looking so good while doing it.

The little bastard. I stand up, ignoring him, most carefully NOT looking back at him. "I need a refill. Want one?"

Whoops. Bad idea. That means more touchy-feely games when I get his glass. But he shakes his head and replies, "No, thanks. I've found I actually rest better with just one glass. I was about to get some sleep when you arrived."

I pour the whiskey into my glass, a generous amount. I look around the cabin's interior. Looks fine. And he's kept the floor clean too. "Well, don't let me keep you up."

An interesting note creeps into his voice. "Want me to make up the extra bed? Out here?"

"Good point," I reply. "I'll do it." I turn and glance at him.

Well, I'll be damned and hog-tied. He looks... crestfallen. And manfully struggling to act like he isn't. Oh hell.

But I really cannot afford to reach out and accept a gift like him, not under the circumstances, and not with him, no matter how tempting. After all, it isn't even a question of trust. I have no reason to believe that it wouldn't hurt. Badly. Just a taste, just once, would be the end of me; at least this way I don't know what I'm missing. Besides, it's a bit late in the game for me to start entertaining romantic notions. I should know better.

Still, I can't help a wince at the shaft of pain that darts into my chest when he sadly gets to his feet and says, quietly, "It's okay. I can do it."

Oh, fuck, fuck fuck... I am so fucked.

*****

Well, so much for that great idea. Shoulda known better. Hell, I DO know better. Why the fuck would he want me? Let's be honest here - I'm not exactly a prize anymore. What with the scars, the aging, the arm - god, I hate that arm - and I'm not even gonna go into all the shit I've pulled on him over the years...

I'm lucky he's not dragging me outside so he can just toss my sorry ass into the lake.

So, I go to the linen chest in the bedroom and gather sheets, blankets and a pillow for him. I pause as I walk back out, he's still standing there. Dammit, why the hell couldn't he just go into the bathroom, like I'd expected, and give me a few minutes to take care of his bed? I thought I'd have plenty of time to get this done and go back to the bedroom before he finished.

Well, fuck it all, anyway. With a shrug, I dump the linens on a chair and proceed to pull the cushions off of the sofabed and unfold it.

He's just standing there. Watching me.

"Walt," I say wearily - suddenly I'm so fucking sick and tired of life that I can hardly gather the energy to speak. "Go on and get ready for bed. I'll take care of this."

"Alex..."

Oh, I get it. I wave one hand at him. "You take the bed. I'll be fine out here." Easier to sneak out the door later if I sleep on the sofa.

"No," he says firmly. "You keep the bedroom."

I just don't have it in me to argue. "Fine." There's a window in there - I can just climb out that way. Because, one way or another, Alex Krycek will be far from here, come morning.

Yeah, I'm embarrassed. Wouldn't you be?

He comes over and takes the fitted sheet from me. "I can do this, Alex."

Dispirited beyond reason, I just shrug and head for the bedroom.

"Alex?"

I pause in the doorway, but don't turn around. "Yeah?"

"Sleep well."

"You too. Goodb... night, Skinner."

* * * *

Well, damn. The way he walked into the bedroom... He looked like he'd lost his only friend in the world. Maybe he feels as though he just did. In fact, that IS what I am. Hell. Heaving a large sigh, I toss the sheet onto the sofa. I don't even bother making it up into a bed.

I need a shower. I've been driving all day. And I'm tired.

But something about the way he just... deflated like that. It's set warning bells off inside of me. Ah, I need to get a change of clothes - perfect. Going to the bedroom door, I rap on it loudly. "Alex?"

There's a moment's scuffling sound and then, "Yeah."

"May I come in? I need a change of clothes," I call.

"Sure." Hmm. He sounds subdued.

I go inside and the room is dark. I reach around for the light switch. "I won't be long. Sorry to trouble you."

No answer as I flick on the light and take in the backpack under the bed, the edge of it peeking beneath the valance. A glance at Alex's face where he's pulled the covers up to his nose reveals only his green eyes watching warily.

I go to the closet and open it, noting that his clothes are no longer there. Jesus, that was fast.

I turn and ask gently, "Going somewhere?"

Alex doesn't move. His reply is muffled. "Yeah. Not fast enough, though."

I rub my hand over my head and go to sit down beside him, on the edge of the bed. It feels like sitting next to a lion.

Sighing, I gather my wits. "Alex, where will you go? Listen, when I said you were welcome to stay here, I didn't mean alone. "

A soft snort is his only reply to that.

Followed by a sniff. What the -?

Still sitting by the lion's side, here. But I lift a hand and place it on his upper arm, on the blankets. "There's no need to go. Not outside, and not even into the living room. I want you to stay. Will you?"

No reply. His overly bright eyes close, however.

"Alex? Come on, it's Christmas Eve. Tell you what - I'll give you your Christmas present early, what do you say?"

Still no reply. Then a sniff and he says, roughly, "Walter, give me a break."

"I'll do more than that. I'll give you the cabin."

He's silent.

"I mean it. The cabin is yours. Only one proviso - that I can come up here and stay sometimes, too. Is it a deal?"

* * * *

Great. Now he feels sorry for me. I should've just gone out the fucking window as soon as I got closed the bedroom door behind me. No, on second thought, he'd have only come after me. How humiliating would THAT be?

I need him to go away. NOW. Before I break down and cry. Wouldn't that just make the evening perfect? Jump him when he gets here, act like some adolescent with his first crush, then cry all over him?

Yeah, way to go, Alex.

I open my mouth to say... something, but can't speak past the lump in my throat. So, in keeping with my adolescent self, I pull the covers over my head and turn my back to him. "Sure," I mumble rustily. "Fine, Skinner. Deal."

Now, go the fuck AWAY and leave me to lick my wounded ego in peace, will ya?

He's quiet - but he's still sitting there. On the bed. Next to me - so close that I can feel the warmth of his body. What is he trying to DO to me?

A hand closes on my shoulder - my left shoulder. "Alex?"

Okay. Enough, already. I sit up, letting the covers fall into my lap, and glare at him. "What?" I snarl. "I said okay, didn't I? Go... go take your shower, Skinner. Please. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm tired, that's all. On edge. Don't worry about it. I'll be just-"

"Fine," he finishes for me. "Yeah, Alex, I've got that part. Can I ask you one question, though?"

Oh, fuck. WHY won't he leave me be?

Taking my silence as assent, he asks his question, "Why are you calling me Skinner all of the sudden?"

"What?"

He shrugs. "When I got here, it was 'Walt' - now we're back to 'Skinner'. I just wondered why."

Shit. He's just not gonna give me a break, is he? "I don't know. I just - it seemed more... appropriate somehow, I guess."

"I'm on vacation, Alex," he says gently. "And, since I really would prefer not to go back to calling you 'Krycek', do you think you could..."

He still has his hand on my shoulder. The scary part is that, while I do want him to stop touching me, it's not about my arm. It's... shit, I'm in no condition to handle Walt being nice to me.

"Okay, fine. Walt. Go take your shower. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning. Walt." Do something - anything. Just go.

"Thank you, Alex."

The words are simple. Not anything I'd ever expected to hear from him, though. And his tone of voice... warm, like his touch, gentle, like the soft brown eyes watching me so carefully, smooth, like the scotch we were drinking earlier.

The tears are back, threatening to spill over again. Jesus, I am a pathetic creature, aren't I?

Closing my eyes, I take a shaky breath. "Walt, I'm okay. Really."

"All right."

Well, at least he sounds a little less concerned. I just don't know how to handle that, HIM being worried about me. It just doesn't fit into my world view, you know? I look up, careful not to meet his eyes, fixing my gaze on the bridge of his nose instead. "G'night, Walt. And, uh, thanks, for... you know. Everything."

He nods. Not making any move to leave though. Hell, if he WANTED the bed for himself, all he had to do was ask. With an irritated huff, I lay down again, back to him, and pull the blankets up to my chin. "Turn the light off when you leave, okay?"

There! Finally. He gets up. Crosses the room and switches off the overhead lamp. He didn't get any fresh clothes, but that's his problem. I just so fucking relieved-

"Hey," I yelp when he lays down behind me, puts an arm around my midsection and pulls me close. "What are you..?"

"Hush, Alex."

*****

He's stiff and unyielding - and with good reason. He certainly wasn't expecting me to do THIS. But I know if I let him go now, I'll lose him. He really knocked me for a loop with his pass at me, earlier. I press in a little closer, under the guise of getting comfortable.

"Look, I'm not -"

"Relax," I tell him. "I won't push."

Needled by this for some inexplicable reason, Alex retorts, "Yeah, I noticed that."

Quietly, I ask, "Alex, I'm sorry if I got off on the wrong foot with you earlier. You took me by surprise, you know. You never gave me any indication in all the years we've known each other."

His response is very quiet, nearly inaudible. "I know. Things... got in the way. Too often."

He's still tense. Now whoever would have believed that one day, I'd be snuggling up against Alex KRYCEK, of all people? And trying to convince him NOT to go? "Things have a way of doing that. If I had a penny for every time something got in the way of my happiness, I'd be a rich man."

He snorts. "If I had a penny for every time something or someone in my life FUCKED me over, I'd be a multi-millionaire."

I chuckle. "I hear you."

He sighs. I can feel him relax slightly, even leaning back into me. Just enough to raise my hopes a little. Christ knows I can't afford to let this opportunity slip away now. I don't deserve a guy like him, as beautiful and - damaged as he is. Maybe THAT is where my soft spot for him comes from... He's like a veteran after surviving a war that he hadn't wanted to be any part of. I can definitely relate to that - I hope he knows that.

"Alex? I can't presume to say I know what it's been like for you. But I can tell you that I do respect your enduraance, your ability to survive everything that life has thrown at you. You took what cards you were dealt and you played them to the best of your ability. There aren't many people who could have survived playing on the side that you had to... On the inside. Mulder, Scully and myself - we chipped away on the outside, whittling them down. But you had to walk among them, even after what they did to you. Another unsung hero."

"Jesus, Walter. You keep going on like that, I'm gonna start thinking I deserve a medal or something."

"Purple heart, at least. Two times over."

He tenses again, and then abruptly relaxes completely. He seems to be mulling it over. Finally, he says, hoarsely, "I don't think Mulder would agree with your assessment of my 'heroism', Walt."

"Mulder isn't here, Alex. But I am. And I'm asking you to stay. At least until after the New Year. Will you? We can work this out, if you'll give me a chance."

Inside, I'm praying, please, please, please let him say yes. Don't run. It's time to stop running. Maybe it's time for BOTH of us to stop running, and hiding from what we really want.

* * * *

Okay. Hold on. I just need a minute. To think. He's ASKING me to stay. All but came out and said that he does want me.

When was the last time someone - anyone - ASKED me for anything? Orders, sure. Those I know, understand. Coercion, I can deal with. But - this? I just don't know how to handle it.

"Alex? Will you? Stay?"

Oh hell, like I could really leave now. If he's playing me, setting me up for revenge, it's working. It's worked. I sigh heavily and tentatively touch his arm with my fingertips. "Okay, Walter. I'll stay. Until New Year's."

"You promise?"

The really scary thing is that I know - I KNOW - that if I give him this promise, he'll believe me. Scary, hell; that's fucking terrifying! It's... it's responsibility. If I give him my word, I'll have no choice.

Because I don't think I could live with myself if I hurt this man again.

"Alex?"

"Okay, yeah... I promise."

"Thank you," he whispers in my ear.

Which is what does me in. The tears that have been so close to the surface finally break free and roll down my face. I sniffle and scrub at my eyes irritably. Dammit. I'm a killer. An assassin. A betrayer of just about everyone who's been unlucky enough to come into my life.

Where the hell do I get off crying? Just because someone's being nice to me.

"Shhh, Alex. It's okay. We'll be fine, you'll see." And, with no apparent effort, he lifts and turns my body so that I'm cradled in his arms, face buried in his neck. "Just let it go. No shame in that, you know. We all have to cry sometimes."

I give a watery chuckle. "Walt, I haven't cried since I was nine years old."

"Well then, you have a lot of catching up to do, don't you." He presses a light kiss to the top of my head and tightens his arms around me.

*****

Fortunately, he accepts my embrace - as well as my reassurances.

Out of the blue, he says, "Walt, you don't have to give me this place. I know how much it means to you."

I laugh, quietly. "I'm not an Indian-giver. And I really didn't just say that on the spur of the moment. It's yours, Alex. I was going to tell you tomorrow, but I figured it might help to change your mind."

Carefully, he asks, "So, I'm not just getting a cabin - but a live-in house-guest, as well? What a cherry deal. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Think of it as bestowed for services rendered, services above and beyond the call of duty."

Alex stiffens. "I'm not-"

"All the things you've lost, Alex. All the times you got screwed over," I remind him. "Your arm, your life, your parents, the whole works."

Roughly, he states, "Your friendship is worth considerably more than a cabin in the woods."

"So is yours," I point out. And punctuate it with another kiss on the top of his head.

He seems to go limp at this point, draped against me. I think he's finally giving in to the inevitable. "Time to stop running," he whispers.

"Better believe it," I say. "Besides, you run from HERE and you'll just end up in a bear trap."

He laughs. "You have a point there."

We lie together for a long time, and I listen to the way his breathing calms. Moving slightly, I turn, shifting so that we're on our sides. Pulling the covers over and around him, I kiss him on the forehead. "Just got to take that shower," I inform him, quietly.

He murmurs something unintelligible.

In the shower, waiting for the hot water heater to bring the icy shower to a temperature fit for standing naked under, I suddenly contemplate the fact that Alex is naked and in the same bed I fully intend to sleep in tonight. I get into the shower well before the water is warm enough.

I really don't want to scare him off. I'll have to play this one carefully. Wait for his signal, and the next time he gives it, I think he's going to be surprised at the result. I won't be brushing him off.

Nope. The boy doesn't know it yet, but he's MINE.

* * * *

Yes, there WILL be a sequel - it'll be our New Years Eve story.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of y'all!