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The Triple Agent Who Came in from the Cold Book 1; Part 5 By: J Morningstar Feedback? Please: julie_morningstar@yahoo.com Rating: NC-17 Summary: This is a world where John Doggett does not yet exist. Post-Requiem. Post-colonization. Archive: DitB, Bald Heaven, others, please ask first Beta Thanks: Jessabelle – of the wonderful red pen who catches my many errors and strokes my ego at the same time. Peach - who helped me get over my FWS (frigid writer syndrome) and who gently shows me a different way to think about where I'm going when I get lost. And Judi - for the 'little ass' scene. My betas are excellent, kind and true. Any mistakes you find are due to my last minute fiddling and fixing, like a mother who can't let her child out the door without one last spit-cleaning. See part 1 for disclaimer and longer summary. Parts 1, 2, 3 & 4 can be found at my fiction page: www.squidge.org/~xchick/julie/ and are archived at DITB: http://www.ditb.net/basement/library/authorj/jmorningst-tripleagen0655-01.htm The wonderful poem "There Will Come Soft Rains" quoted within this Chapter is by Sara Teasdale. No copyright infringement intended. Finally – A big thank you to the wonderful men and women on the Skinner/Krycek list who always answer my obscure requests for information, and who have created an atmosphere of support, inspiration, and fun.
Chapter 5 Krycek made a thorough reconnaissance of the house. In what he guessed was the master bedroom he found the remains of the previous inhabitants. He threw a blanket over them and closed the door. As he expected, there were no signs of life. He thought about walking back to camp and escorting Scully back to the homestead, but he suspected that she might resent the implication that she wasn't capable. So he walked out onto the porch instead and gave the signal. All clear. **************** Scully found him minutes later seated at the kitchen table. He had located some paper and was making an inventory of what he'd found, annotating what they should take now and what they might come back for on another foray. "I'm guessing that we can transport what we can stack a foot, a foot and a half high on this table." He warned her of what he found in the closed room upstairs, and she nodded, not interested in gazing on any more dead bodies. He left her to do her own foraging, and she was pleased to find plenty of fabric and sewing supplies. A walk-in pantry off the kitchen contained dozens and dozens of canned goods. Scully was ecstatic at the well-stocked bathroom, tooth brushes and toothpaste and shampoo and conditioner and lotion. They agreed that whoever lived in this remote area must have learned to keep a stock of everything. The nearest store wasn't a five-minute car trip. He did another thorough check of the house starting with the attic. He made notes of what he found and where he found it, marking those items that he wanted to transport this trip and items that could wait for another day. Among the boxes of old records and photos in the attic, Krycek found an old-fashioned, treadle operated sewing machine. They worked independently all morning, meeting occasionally at the staging area in the kitchen. Sometimes short, succinct discussions ensued, rethinking what should be included. Other times they met in silence, but as the day aged, it was not uncomfortable. Scully's first instinct was to hide from what occurred the night before, but Alex's behavior became a pattern for her own. Matter of fact. Focused. Calm. They ate a lunch of flat bread and cold venison, washed down with icy water from the farm's well. The afternoon passed in much the same manner as the morning. An area in the dining room was set aside for supplies to be recovered on a future trip. As the sun faded from the sky, Krycek built a fire in the front yard, heating water. He went in search of Scully and was surprised when he found her. "What the hell is that, Scully?" "It's a dog. I found him hiding under the porch." Alex tipped his head and considered the bit of fluff cradled in Scully's arms. "It looks like a hairball," he observed. "Actually, it looks likes Toto. And it's only got three legs," he realized, disconcerted. Scully ignored his last comment. "We're not naming him Toto." "We're not naming him anything, because he's not coming with us." "Yes, he is." "Scully, be reasonable. We can't afford to feed it. I'm not sure there will be enough food for us, let alone trying to feed a pet." "Look at how small he is. How much can he eat?" she asked. "Skinner will have a fit if you bring that back with you." "You let me worry about Skinner. I can handle him." "Damn it, Scully. Look at him scratch. He probably has fleas." She held up a can of flea powder. "Fine." he said, disgust evident in his voice. "Keep the damn beast. But you explain him to Skinner." She had the grace not to smirk victoriously until he had stomped out of the room. They hauled the warm water to the first floor bath and took turns bathing, luxuriating in hot water and soap. Scully bathed first, then Krycek. Then Scully washed the dog. They made their way back to their camp, where they greedily ate fresh eggs scrambled with bits of venison. The smell of coffee hung in the evening air. The temperature dropped, but it was warm near the fire. They were clean, well fed, and pleasantly tired from their day's toils. It was the best either of them had felt in months. They argued over where the dog would sleep, Scully insisting the dog should share their tent, Krycek equally insistent that he should not. Krycek checked the horses one last time after dousing the fire, then joined Scully in the tent. He sighed loudly once he was settled. Scully, although laying flat on her back, had once again placed herself as far to the edge of the tent as the double sleeping bag would allow. The dog, after sniffing out all four corners, hopping gracefully on three legs, finally curled into a ball next to Scully's head. They lay like that in the darkness for several long moments. When Alex finally moved, Scully jumped. He leaned over her, searching her gaze in the shadows of the night. "Look, Scully, whatever happened last night...well, that was last night. I don't want you freezing to death because you think if you get close to me I'll jump you, okay?" He stared down into her face, and relaxed as she slowly nodded. "All right, then," he muttered, and lay back down. Moments later, she curled up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder and truncated arm, one hand curled on his chest. He turned slightly towards her, offering his warmth. There was a quality to her stillness, as though she had something to say, so he waited, surprised when her hand crept up to the neck of his tee shirt, more surprised when she found his cross and pulled it out. Tipping his head, he watched as she worried at the thing. He felt something on his neck and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, amazed when she sobbed. He turned to pull her closer, murmuring nonsense words of comfort. She finally spoke, her voice thick with grief. "There were pictures there," she said. "Family pictures. So many pictures of children and grandchildren. I hadn't allowed myself to think of my family. Of what happened to them since this all began. Even when I saw their pictures. I didn't let myself think about my mother, who has stacks of photo albums. Or my brothers, Charlie or Bill. Tara and their baby. But tonight, I remembered your cross, and the one my mother had given me so many years ago, and I know...I know they're all gone. That I'll never see them again. That mom will never see this baby, never rock it to sleep, never make a quilt for it." She broke off, crying harder, and Alex whispered, "Ah, Scully" and pulled her closer, not knowing what to say, but wanting to comfort her. He rocked her while she cried herself out, the sounds of her grief rousing the dog, who whimpered in sympathy, then climbed up on Alex's chest and licked the tears from Dana's face. She half-laughed, half-sobbed when she felt it's rough tongue, pulled the mongrel close and burrowed into Alex's warmth. Her tears slowed, and she was left with that half-headachey, half-buzzed feeling that comes from a strong release of emotions. Alex found the shirt he'd shucked off earlier and offered it as a handkerchief to Scully who gratefully cleaned her face and blew her nose. She sighed, then ventured, "I'm not usually so emotional." Krycek turned and looked at her, his expression relaying his admiration for her gift at understatement, then offered, "Babies will do that. Hormones and all." Scully ignored the obvious rejoinder - that as a doctor she knew all about pregnancy and hormones, and instead silently blessed his tact. Lying in the warmth of the sleeping bag, she let her mind drift, slowing drowsing off to sleep, when a thought occurred to her. "What about your family, Krycek?" He whipped his head about to look at her. "My family? Christ, Scully." He looked at her, then shook his head and turned to stare at the top of the tent, as though he could see the stars above instead of canvas and shadows. He was quiet for so long, she wondered if he was going to answer at all. His voice, when it finally sounded, was low and rough in her ear. "I lost my family years ago, Scully." He sighed, closing his eyes. "How do you think I got mixed up with the Consortium in the first place?" "They brought us over from the Soviet Union, my parents, my brother and I. My parents were scientists. Working on genetics, recombinant DNA. They seemed committed to the cause at first. But something happened to change that. I think it was when Dmitrii was taken." At Scully's start, he turned to look at her. "Yeah, Scully. My little brother was taken. Just like Mulder's Samantha." He sighed, fingering his cross, not wanting to remember. "Family is important to Russians. More important than 'the greater good' that Bill Mulder believed in. Instead of turning against each other, they turned against the Consortium. At least that's what I was told." He paused, remembering. "Their lab burned down one night with them in it. The fire burned so hot that no trace of them was ever found. It was as though they had never existed." "I was a boy. Just thirteen years old. My whole family was gone. Spender took me under his wing. Told me I owed the Consortium for all they had invested in my family. God, I hated him. But I knew if I was going to survive, to keep the family name alive, I needed to learn everything he and his thugs could teach me." "Sometimes...sometimes I think I hated my parents for not turning on each other instead of the Consortium. Then they would have survived. Like the Mulders. I could have had a normal life." That brought Scully's head up. "You think Mulder had a normal life?" "Compared to mine? Hell, yes. He got to go to Oxford, study what he wanted. Join the FBI. He got to choose his path. Mine was chosen for me." Scully began to speak, but Krycek interrupted her. "Scully, I completed my first kill at fifteen." He took a deep breath, willing calmness into his voice. "Yeah, Mulder lived with a couple of fucked-up parents, and the grief of losing his sister. But, at fifteen he was in prep school. Playing basketball. Worrying about pimples and grades and which girl was least likely to turn him down for prom." He turned and looked at her then. "His life was a cake walk compared to mine." He sighed, then turned to contemplate the roof of the tent again, while Scully chewed over what she'd just learned. At length, she spoke. "Mulder told me once, not long before he was taken..." her voice trailed off, unsure of how to finish. "What? What did he say?" "That the two of you - you and he - that you weren't so different after all. It was after he found out what happened to Samantha. At least what he thought happened to her. I dismissed it then. But now I wonder. Did he know about your brother?" Krycek shrugged. "I'd heard he'd been snooping around. I was sure there wasn't anything for him to find. But you never know with Mulder." For long moments they were both quiet. Then Scully spoke. "My parents worked hard to instill certain values in me. My mother, in particular, had certain rules for living. She was a real southern lady you know, although she grew up all over - a Navy brat like me." "I keep trying to find a formula for living that will get me through each day. All I know is that nothing my mother taught me is of use now." She found the cross on Alex's neck, and rubbed it between her fingers. Then she leaned up on one elbow to peer at him. "Don't you see, Alex? Everything I'll need to know to live in this new world, I'll have to learn from you. Skinner, too, and anyone else who managed to survive. Whatever else your life has been, it's brought you to this place where you can help save what's left of the human race." He'd gone deathly still, only moving slightly when she'd called him ‘Alex,' but Scully knew he was listening carefully to every word she said. "I think I've just realized how much I've been depending on you to lead us through this. It's unfair, I suppose. But there it is." She settled herself back into the warmth of his side, and the dog climbed up on Krycek's chest, circled once, settled his head on his paws, and looked at the two of them with complete and utter adoration. When he didn't respond, she continued. "And I can't help thinking that regardless of what your life has been the last twenty-odd years, that for thirteen years, you lived in the heart of a family. You know about love. About loyalty. About community, and tradition. You may have forgotten it, or tried to forget it. But it's still here." She tapped on his chest, then reached up and petted the dog, who sighed blissfully. Neither spoke for long moments. Scully was satisfied that she'd adequately communicated her thoughts, but Krycek was awed and disbelieving. Scully, with all her tragedies, personified the classic Russian heroine. Her dignified grace and stoic courage infatuated him years ago, but in a detached and objective manner. He thought himself safe because he believed that at her core, she was without passion. He never knew, never suspected that she had such thoughts. It left him feeling vaguely disconcerted. At length, Krycek looked down at the dog on his chest and sighed peevishly. Scully ignored him. He finally offered, with only a slight resentment in his voice, that if she were going to keep the damned thing, she ought to name it. "Oh, I already have," she remarked, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm calling him Little A." He froze, then turned to stare at her. "You're naming a mangy, maimed, three-legged mutt after me?" He could scarcely keep the outrage from his voice, pissed that he gotten all soft and gooey over someone who was clearly a world-class bitch. Ignoring his frosty attitude, Scully continued. "Isn't that redundant?" she asked. "Anyway, why wouldn't I name him after you? He's a survivor, Alex. Just like you. If he only knew, he'd be proud to wear your name." His anger drained as quickly as it flared. He lifted his hand and scratched the mutt behind the ears. "You make me tired, Scully," but the complaint was mild. "I know, Alex. I had the same effect on Mulder." She smiled. "Go to sleep. You need the rest." He smiled slightly and drifted off to sleep. ******************** The next morning, they broke camp and moved to the farmhouse yard. There, they steadily loaded the travois with the supplies they had chosen to salvage this trip. Krycek spent an hour jerry-rigging cages for the rooster and five hens that would join their small menagerie. To his disgust, Little A seemed determined to dog his footsteps, following Krycek everywhere, cocking his head comically when the man cursed the air blue in frustration. Scully copied the dog's gesture when she got her first look at the squawking birds in their new homes, but only commented that he had done a nice McGyver job. Krycek didn't get the reference, so he ignored it. But he was happy to note that she looked at him directly, with none of the discomfort of skittishness of the previous morning. They consumed a late brunch, and were on their way by noon. **************** With a full travois, the going was slow, and they stopped frequently. But the cold had broken and the day was mild. There hadn't been as much snow here in the lower elevations, and what little there was had begun to melt. Alex hoped this was the beginning of an Indian summer that would last at least few weeks. Krycek often walked, leading the packhorse. The sun was still shining when they decided to stop for the night, setting up camp next to a rocky stream. They unhooked the travois, watered the horses and tethered them for the night. Krycek fed the chickens, gathered kindling, and built a fire while Scully pitched their small tent. They spread a thick blanket near the fire and next to the stream and picnicked on hot pork and beans and canned peaches. Scully heated water for tea while Krycek found a place to cross the stream. He crouched on the opposite bank, scooping up handfuls of small pebbles, then spread them across a flat rock to sort. A few he kept, but most he flicked back into the stream. "Alex." He looked up to find Scully watching him. "What are you doing?" she asked. He shrugged. "Every time we stop, you root around for rocks. Little rocks. You've got a whole jar full back at the cabin. What are they for?" He looked at her through narrowed eyes, considering his answer. "It's just a little project I'm working on." "A project?" she asked flatly. "Right." "Just a harmless little hobby, that's all." He smiled at her. "Getting information from you is like pulling teeth." He grinned. "I will tell you one thing I know." "What's that?" "You, Miss Dana, are a natural redhead." He squinted at her, enjoying the way her mouth had fallen open. "I've always wondered." "How could you possibly be sure of that?" she demanded indignantly. "You couldn't have seen anything in the dark.…" She sputtered off as his look changed from teasing to questioning to amused as he realized what she was referring to. "Well, Scully, with the sun hitting your hair like that, it's clear you don't have any dark roots. Why? What are you talking about?" He grinned at her, intrigued by the flush on her cheeks. He grabbed a few of the stones he'd chosen, slipped them in his pocket, and made his way back across the stream without taking his eyes off the flustered redhead. He made his way purposefully towards her, and she instinctively scooted back on the blanket. He finally crouched before her, slanting her a grin, his pirate eyes dancing. "Come on, Scully. Tell me what you meant. What was it that you didn't think I could see?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "That's not funny, Alex." His grin widened and he leaned closer, invading her personal space. "What's not funny, Miss Dana?" He laughed then, and her lips twitched. "Stop it," she ordered, trying not to smile. He leaned closer and she moved further away, leaning back on her elbows. "I think you're a bad boy, Alex Krycek." Her voice was almost a whisper. "Oh yeah," he breathed, following her down. "I'm the kind they warned you Catholic girls about." She laughed then and let her shoulders fall back till she lay flat on the blanket. He leaned over her, balancing on his one hand, his smile fading as his lips moved within inches of her own. "Do you want me to stop, Dana?" he asked, his husky voice feathering across her skin. Her own smile faded as she looked into those startling green eyes and read the hopeful intent there. Why did he have to ask? Why couldn't he just take? She wouldn't say no. "Damn it, Alex," she whispered, torn and frustrated. She couldn't hide this time, not here, out in the open. She saw the hope begin to whither in his eyes, and felt his hurt echo in her own heart as she realized that he was becoming two different people to her. The Krycek she had known before, and the man she was getting to know now - the man who had held her last night, who seemed to know just what to say. A man she could say yes to. Unexpectedly, she felt lighter, full of promise. A curl of heat rushed through her and she reached for him. He had started to pull away, his face falling with disappointment, when she opened her mouth to his, pressing their lips together, pulling him down on top of her and stealing his breath. He groaned, partly in relief, partly with arousal, and pulled her over till she lay on top of him, laughing down into his face. Little A, ecstatic that they were playing, came bounding over, barking excitedly. "Damned dog!" Krycek rolled Scully back, scooped up the mutt, and zipped him into the tent. "Alex, we could go in the tent. You don't have to shut Little A up in there." "He'll be fine Dana. He's a survivor." She grinned at him, delighted at how he threw her words back at her. "Besides," he said as he lay down over her, "I want to see you. I want to see us together." His voice dropped a notch, its rough-edged urgency exciting her as he continued. "I want to watch your face when you come." She grabbed his face with both her hands, kissing him deeply, as she spread her thighs and wrapped her legs around his narrow hips. Their groans and laughter and murmurings were the only sounds beyond the bubbling stream and the dog's occasional complaints, as they loved each other in the half-light of a mountain sunset. ************* They lay wrapped around each other in post-coital lethargy. Their clothing was askew, half on and half scattered. He stroked a hand through her hair while she toyed with the smooth flesh of his chest, her mind drifting. Then she remembered something she had wanted to ask him about. "How did you do it?" At his questioning look, she elaborated. "After your family was gone. How did you get up every morning? How did you...go on?" He thought carefully before he spoke. "At first it was hard. I felt guilty that I still lived when Dmitrii and my parents were gone. Oddly enough, it was the Brit who brought me around. You met him, I think, in Victor Klemper's greenhouse. He warned Mulder that his life was in danger." "Yes, I remember him." "He was probably the best of the lot, and that's not saying much. Still, he introduced me to a friend of his. A Dr. Matela. She treated patients with spinal cord injuries. She pioneered a number of treatments that prevented the development of secondary disabilities that previously led to early death - kidney failure, pneumonia, decubitus ulcers. It turned out that her family had been rounded up and sent to Treblinka when she was just a child." He turned to look directly at Scully. "She was the only one to survive. She realized, she told me, that she had a choice. She could chose to the let the guilt eat at her and live out her days in anger and bitterness. Or she could make her life a legacy to the family she lost." He paused, thinking. "That was when I started focusing my energy on defeating those who would betray the human race to ensure their own survival. Dr. Matela told me she came to view her survival when so many she loved had perished as a responsibility. A duty to not waste her life, but to do something good with it." She leaned up on her elbow, staring at him, her voice intent. "And is that what you believe that you've done with your life? 'Something good'?" He frowned. "You're missing my point, Scully. I'm trying to explain how I was able to - " "I know exactly what your point is, Krycek." she interrupted. "But how can you seriously make such a claim? To me? After all the pain you've caused for those I care about?" "What the hell do you know about what I've done, Scully? Hell, you only know about me what they want you to know about me. Haven't you figured that out by now? Are you still so fucking naive?" he snapped. He stood, pulling his clothing together, then muttered, without looking at her, that he was going for a walk. She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around her knees, and watched curiously as he stomped off, Little A following him adoringly. She was surprised by his anger. She'd seldom seen him lose control like this, and wondered if this was a glimpse of the 'real' Alex Krycek. She washed up their dishes, then heated water for a sponge bath. As she settled the camp for the night, checking the animals one last time, her movements were rote, her mind elsewhere. She zipped herself into the tent and slid into the sleeping bag, deliberately taking the opposite side. She rolled onto her side, curled her arm under her head, and thought about all the things she knew about this green-eyed operative with his sharp humor and dashing smile, and all the things she thought she knew, hoping to find the truth somewhere in between. **************************** By the time he'd made his way back to the encampment, Alex's temper had cooled, and he was chagrined by his behavior. He was starting to care what she thought of him, and that worried him. He saw that Scully had taken care of the camp for the night, and wondered if he should find his bed out here or risk entering the tent. Little A decided for him, worrying at the zipper, looking up at him as if asking him what he was waiting for. He sighed, then followed the dog into the tent. He slipped off his boots, shucked his jeans and shirt. He slid into the sleeping bag, as far to the outer edge as possible. He heard Dana murmur in her sleep. She turned, reaching out to him, curling up next to his side. As the dog made himself at home on his chest, he felt better suddenly. With Dana on his left, he could curl his arm around her, pull her close, and whisper, "I'm sorry" into her ear. The three of them slept deeply and without dreams. **************************** He woke slowly, luxuriously. A small hand was stroking his cock. Sweet lips left a flurry of kisses along his jaw line. He moaned, turning instinctively towards the warmth of the woman lying next to him. "Hey, sleeping beauty. I wondered how many kisses it would take to wake you up." "Not fair," he rasped, his voice husky with sleep. "How many kisses did I miss?" "I'll never tell," she teased. "See if you can stay awake for this." And she suddenly slid down in the sleeping bag, taking the tip of his cock into her mouth, tasting the pre-cum, before fisting the base and swallowing the rest. He groaned deep in his throat and gave himself up to the pleasure of Dana Scully making love to his cock, gently, sweetly, and oh so completely. After he caught his breath, he turned around and returned the favor. . **************************** The day passed in peaceful companionship. They made their way higher into the Appalachian mountains, both wondering about Skinner, anxious to get home and see how he fared. As they crossed the high meadow where Krycek first found them a month earlier, he sent Dana on ahead as he followed more slowly, leading the packhorse. A half-hour later, she returned on foot with a much healthier looking Skinner in tow. Alex paused, his expression carefully blank as he waited for the older man to speak. "Krycek, " he nodded in greeting. "Skinner," he nodded back, then allowed his expression to soften. "You're looking well." The other man grinned outright. "I'm feeling much better. Much, much better." Krycek wondered what was behind Skinner's good humor, but didn't want to do or say anything to deflate the other man's buoyant mood. Or Scully's for that matter, noticing how she beamed at both of them, Little A cuddled in her arms. Skinner moved forward. "Here, let me help." Krycek gratefully surrendered the reigns of the packhorse to the other man. "So Skinner," he ventured, "you're not upset about the dog?" He nodded towards Scully. The older man looked askance at the bit of fluff lying in the redhead's arms. "That's a dog?" he asked. The two men laughed out loud, sharing a moment of harmony at the indignant expression on Scully's face, before she laughed too. Krycek's breath caught as he studied the other two. For a moment, he was part of their charmed circle. A little of the affection Skinner felt for Scully spilled over on to him, and Alex felt giddy. A thought popped into his head, as clear as though it had been spoken directly into his ear. "You could have had this." His eyes stung, as he wondered for the hundredth time, what would have happened if he had trusted Skinner, trusted what he knew instinctively about the man, instead of what Spender told him. At the time, Spender had convinced him that Skinner was as much a puppet has he was, even though Alex's instincts had told him differently. A hundred thousand threads bound the three of them together. He felt them pulling at him, tearing at his heart, as he followed slowly behind. He wondered at the accord between he and Skinner. Wondered if it could be real, if it could last, or if it was a fleeting aberration. * * * * * * * * * Less than thirty minutes later, they were at the cabin. Skinner and Scully unpacked the travois while Krycek saw to the animals. Even the horses seemed to be happy to return home as they snuffled a greeting to the cow. He helped the others finish unpacking, storing much of their loot on the porch until till they could sort it better in the morning. From the cabin, the smell of supper cooking drew them inside. After they had eaten their fill of a savory fish stew, Skinner revealed a surprise. "I found it," he said. "Found what?" Scully asked. Krycek just looked up at Skinner, not voicing his own question. "Mulder's stash," he answered. "You know. All the things Mulder was suppose to have here, but you couldn't find." He directed that last bit at Krycek. "I found it. Come on. I'll show you." He was excited as a child at Christmas as he led the other two to the rear of the cabin, grabbing flashlights for each of them on the way. There, he pressed on the solid wood wall and revealed a door with no handle. It swung open on invisible hinges to reveal a cave in the side of the mountain. "It's all here," Skinner said. "All the things you told us that you planned on: food, clothing, a hydro generator. Even a wind generator. Grain mill. Saw blades. Everything needed to rebuild." Scully and Krycek followed him; their mouths open, wearing identical expressions of awe and wonderment. In the side of the mountain a series of caves was filled to overflowing with packing crates of all sizes. He moved to another part of the cave. "And books. Cases and cases of books. On everything from growing medicinal plants to animal husbandry to building passive solar housing, to making your own soap." He pulled out various books and handed them around. "And poetry. Lots of poetry books. Who knew Mulder was into poetry?" Neither Skinner nor Scully noticed the half smile on Alex's face as he remembered Mulder's secret love of metered rhyme and free verse. Skinner frowned, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. "I found this tacked on one of the crates. It's from Mulder." Scully grabbed it, and Alex leaned over her shoulder to read. They both recognized Mulder's distinctive scrawl. There was no salutation; rather, the missive began with poem.
"There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
And not one will know of the war, not one
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn
If you're reading this, then I can only hope that at
least one of you found your way here, and knew to look
beyond the obvious. Circumstances have obviously kept
me from being there to welcome you, but know that if
it's at all possible, I will find a way to be with
you. While it saddens me to think that we couldn't
avoid the war, I want to believe that we can find a
way to rebuild - a new world where the lies and
deception of old men will be a distant memory.
FWM
End Chapter 5
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